If you've not heard this song ("Wolf's Law" by the Joy Formidable), you need to. It was used in the Downton Abbey series 4 trailer, and I've fallen in love. This was begging to be written. It doesn't really matter when this takes place, it could work pretty much anywhere.
Enjoy, and please review.
Disclaimer: I don't own anything. Duh.
Wolf's Law
[Want to pull it back and pretend that it's dark, that we made it here unharmed; I'm your friend, not your guard. -The Joy Formidable]
Running, running, running.
Gasping for air, feet hardly touching the ground.
Chest heaving, legs pumping, sharp pain piercing her side.
Danger behind, danger ahead.
Death behind, a chance ahead.
This is what it means to live.
Rose runs like she's never run before. The cold air of winter in London stabs at her throat, but she can't make herself breathe through her nose. Wind whips at her face so that her eyes sting with icy tears. Her lips are chapped, her skin cold, her fingers and toes numb.
She darts across a street without looking both ways-a honk is sent toward her, a biker rings his bell, a couple shouts at her for bursting through their joined hands. (It isn't like they can hold hands forever, anyway.) Not a single apology leaves Rose Tyler's lips. There isn't time, isn't energy, isn't breath.
Her ears are ringing with a deafening chill. She's been mistaken so many times before; what is so special about this one time? Without stopping, Rose tugs down the hem of the red shirt she's got on beneath her leather jacket, wishing she had put a jumper on earlier, or at least worn a scarf. Her ratty fingerless gloves are one day going to wear out.
Rose shivers from the cold, but also from nerves. She stumbles over a rubbish bin as she turns a corner, nearly bowling over a man. She doesn't care, could care less. People are yelling, but it doesn't matter.
She follows her instincts, her gut, or whatever you wanted to call it; she's been wrong in the past, but it doesn't matter-she could be right now.
When Rose hears it again, she sprints all the faster. Her heart pounds in her chest; she thinks it might rip right out if she isn't careful. Does she even have a heart anymore? It seems to be a subject of great debate. (She gave her heart to one man; he would always hold it.)
Anticipation bubbles in Rose's chest, butterflies flitter in her stomach even as she runs. It is close, she can feel it. She's so happy, she could sing. But then she turns that final corner, and it's just a normal alley. A cat exits a cardboard box down at the other end, staring at her like she doesn't belong here. (She doesn't on so many levels, no matter how you look at it, but that is another story for another time.)
Rose stops dead in her tracks, staring at the empty space where a magnificent blue box should stand. All along-as it always is-it was her overeager imagination. He wouldn't return for her; he couldn't. Besides, it wasn't as if he'd left her alone. She had everything she could ever want, right here, even if it was wrong.
Trying her very hardest not to be disappointed, Rose sighs. It was too good to be true. She hates it here, hates the sky, hates the air, hates everything that reminds her of home, of him.
Scuffing her worn trainers on the concrete, Rose walks through the alley, desperate to lose herself in the city. She wants to forget who she is, who she was, who she could have been. Tears slip down her cheeks, possibly proving she is not full of ice. Of course, ice can melt, often with the warmth of a familiar light. But the light was absent, so maybe she wasn't entirely frozen.
The cat hisses as she passes, but Rose doesn't pay attention to the animal. Her hands are stuffed in her pockets, and she walks without thinking about it. She doesn't want to return to work where everyone will make fun of her, or go home where her mum and the rest of her strange little family would worry excessively about her mental state.
This time, Rose has given up. It was just her imagination. That is, she'd given up until she heard it again. Her stomach clenches, her hands tighten to fists in her pockets. She pauses, gritting her teeth to keep from looking over her shoulder. It hurts too much. Maybe she should let her family hospitalize her, even if it's just to stop her from running after every mechanical wheezing sound.
"Rose?"
It's a soft voice; one that Rose knows all too well.
She turns, afraid of what she might or might not see.
A smile splits across her face. She starts to run. He starts to run, too. They meet in the middle, no pesky distractions this time. Rose springs herself up around him, throwing her arms around his neck, her legs around his waist. She never wants him to leave her again.
Any words she dreamed of saying are choked by the sobs she can't control. The Doctor is crying too, his face buried her hair. Moments go by before Rose can drop to the ground, only to look up at him and lace her fingers through his. "You found me."
"I found you."
This is what it means to live.