Author's Note:
Okay, from the beginning, this looks like it isn't Doctor Who related at all, but it gets better. Don't worry. :P Just a random little one-shot I wrote yesterday. The conversation at the end is really sucky, and I apologize. But whatever. Hope you enjoy.
(Also, I'm sorry about tense-changes. The beginning is present tense, and then it converts to past. Sorry if I made a mistake somewhere in there, as there is bound to be one)
Darting high in the sky, my wings are cutting easily through the air, effortless and light. I swirl around another bird, twisting together in the endless space, happy and free. Then I go higher, leaving her behind, and she turns grey and disintegrates. My mind spins endlessly, making circles and spirals and turns and tumbles as my body does the same, repeating the actions.
I don't know any more.
Breathing hard. Is that possible for a bird?
I should feel free.
But I don't.
I have the sky at my fingertips.
But I am not happy.
I have the opportunity to meet anyone I like.
And yet, still, I am alone.
My head is small, but my mind is infinitely large.
I am in pain, mentally. It is almost, just almost, so bad that it is physical.
Too much.
It is too much.
Help me.
My wings fail to keep me aloft. Muscles strain, feathers twirl to the ground as brittle, fragile bones collapse in on each other, half-heartedly attempting to stay in the air.
I can't.
I don't care.
I should just fall.
Falling is good.
Falling means that there is an end.
But not for me, never for me.
And then I simply release, loosen my tense muscles, furl my wings into my flanks, close my eyes, clamp my beak shut. My tail retracts, feathers layering, and my legs tuck inwards. I drop like a stone, not caring about the impact that is sure to come.
Then there is a voice. I feel a flash of confusion, then guilt. Regret. Why? Then the sound focuses, like the lens of a camera or a microscope being turned to just the right setting, and I can make out the words.
Doctor! Doctor, wake up!
The Doctor jolted awake, sweat running down his face. He was lying on his bed in the TARDIS, covers in a mangled heap by his feet. Rose was standing over him, dark eyebrows furrowed in worry, blonde hair tucked into a messy up do, falling into her face as she bent.
"Doctor, you were having a nightmare. Shoutin' out about somethin'. Saying you didn't know, or you didn't care. And there was somethin' about loneliness, too. Are you alright?"
The Doctor frowned. I talk in my sleep? "Yeah, yeah, I'm fine. Just a dream, that's all."
"You sure? I could, I dunno, make you some tea or somethin'."
"That'd be nice, yeah."
"You know, that's the first time you've slept in at least a week. You were out for about ten hours. That's good, Doctor. It's good to see you sleep well, for once, even if you did have a nightmare. Do you want to talk about it?"
"No, no. It's all right. It wasn't a big deal. Just a bit odd, that's all."
"Okay. Just let me know if you do want to talk, yeah?"
"Yeah. Thank you, Rose." He smiled at her and Rose returned the favor warmly. Then she walked out of his bedroom and down the hall, off to the TARDIS kitchen.
The Doctor yawned and stretched in his bed. He was wearing the blue and white striped pajamas that Jackie lent him all those months ago. He'd never really returned them, but Jackie had told him to keep them anyways. After all, who'd want jimjams covered in Sycorax filth and blood spots from his formerly severed hand?
He laughed to himself, and then pushed himself wearily from the simple king-sized bed. It's fairly plain – a red blanket covering a thick white duvet, and a few fluffy white pillows. It sat against the back wall of the Doctor's small room, and was usually covered in little gadgets and mechanical devices, but they had all been pushed aside onto the wooden desk in the opposite corner, to the left of the door. A different door on the right hand side of the room led to a medium-sized bathroom, containing a shower bath, sink, and toilet, nothing extravagant. The Doctor had given a more luxurious bedroom and bathroom to Rose, just larger and comfier in general. He didn't need anything excessive for himself. He usually didn't sleep much, anyways. This morning, however, the Doctor was feeling particularly drowsy, so he stumbled into the bathroom to take a nice hot shower.
The Doctor came out in his regular pinstriped suit and old cream-colored Converse high-tops, feeling refreshed. Then he walked out of his room, feet clanging slightly on the rough grated floor. The kitchen is located down the stairs from the control room, as most of the rooms are, and just down a single hallway. It has the same grated floor, but it actually has a proper table and chairs. The table is connected to the wall and made of dark polished granite, with surprisingly comfortable smooth metal chairs. Two doors sit on either side of the table, and along the other walls are granite counters similar to the table, and a good-sized refrigerator and some other kitchen appliances and cabinets. The Doctor usually never used it and instead preferred to grab meals on his favorite marketplaces, sometimes just a foreign fruit, sometimes a weird, freshly made pastry, or perhaps some barbequed meat from a strange butcher shop on a trading planet. However, ever since Rose began to live with him in the TARDIS, she'd forced him to actually buy groceries, and make his own meals. Then she'd discovered that he couldn't make any sort of food well without burning it to a crisp or accidentally freezing it with his sonic screwdriver, so she'd taught him a few recipes and they had begun to alternate cooking days.
In the beginning, though, the Doctor had found a loophole in the plan to "go and get your own groceries to cook with" and had brought home four bags of bananas, claiming that frying them on a pan would make a meal perfect to eat at any time of day. Rose had promptly scolded him and told him that he could only eat two bananas per day, and not as an entire meal. That was when she's given him the recipe books. After that, the Doctor had grudgingly realized that cooking could actually be fun, especially when he could find a setting on the sonic screwdriver to make it go quicker. He also discovered that he enjoyed learning a new skill, as he always did. Reading was always fun, even if it was about different ways to cook tilapia.
Today, the Doctor entered the cozy little kitchen to find that Rose was making tea on the stove. It was a new type – blackberry, by the smell. The Doctor always liked blackberry tea – not too savory or strong. He had quite a sweet tooth, actually. He smiled at Rose as she dipped the teabags into two steaming mugs.
"Doctor, could you maybe get me some slippers the next time we go shopping? This grating is hurting my feet when I walk around in the kitchen."
"You know, I have a better idea. I'll change the floor. Not in the control room, just in the kitchen and maybe the path from your room to here. I'll only have to rewire a couple of circuits, and voila, nice new floors, perfect for a certain Rose's soft human feet! Carpeting, stone, wood… what would you like, my sweet Rose?"
"Wood, if it isn't too much trouble." Rose smiled at him softly. She knew better than to be surprised or shocked that he would make such a seemingly large offer. After all, it was only a few steps to take.
"Not at all, Rose, not at all. Sit down, drink your tea – I'll make breakfast this morning."
"But-" Rose tries to protest, but the Doctor playfully covers her full lips with his hand.
"I know it's your day, but you look tired. Did you sleep at all last night?"
"Not really. I was in my room, reading. Couldn't sleep. Something felt wrong, and then after a while, I went to check on you, and you were having a nightmare."
"Hm. The TARDIS must have been trying to alert you. Thank you, old girl," the Doctor said, directing the last sentence to the ceiling, chuckling to himself.
He began to stir ingredients together in a metal mixing bowl, and twenty minutes later, pushed a plate of fresh blueberry pancakes at the center of the table, seating himself across from Rose.
"Very American, Doctor."
"I know. It's the one breakfast besides bananas that I've mastered, though, so you can't complain. Better than blackened waffles any day!" He grinned cheekily at her, and she smiled back. They ate in companionable silence, putting their plates in the sink when they were finished.
Rose yawned as they made their way over to the control room. She was fully dressed already, except for her feet, and the Doctor frowned.
"Did you ever even get into bed last night?"
"Yeah…"
"Rose Tyler, you are a fantastic woman, but a horrible liar. Come on. We're not going anywhere today – you need to rest."
"I'm not being put to bed like a toddler, Doctor!"
"I know! All I'm saying is that you should relax today. I know just the thing."
The Doctor grabbed her hand and led her up a seemingly endless spiral staircase until they reach a door at the very top. When he opened it, they were inside a glass half-sphere, coated in lush, soft green grass. The sky in deep space was spattered with stars and colors and swirls of galaxies. It was breathtakingly beautiful. Rose gasped, and then she turned her head to look at the Doctor, excited wonder and adoration in her eyes. It made the Doctor feel warm inside when she gazed at him like that, to see her so happy. He felt so far away from last night's lonely dream. With Rose Tyler, he never wanted to fall.
They lay down together on the grass, and the Doctor took a blanket seemingly out of nowhere and draped it over Rose. After a very long time of stargazing, she wrapped extra material over the Doctor, and he raised a dark eyebrow in surprise. He felt an odd urge in his stomach, but remembered his dream, remembered loss, remembered all the warnings in his mind that kept his yearning hearts at bay. He wondered what Rose feels, if she cared, what it was that she had locked in her heart. Her face was so open, so innocent, so beautiful as she stared at the sky, her brown eyes wide and intelligent. He sighed heavily, smile fading away. The loss would be too much. He felt lonely again, and the dream didn't seem so far away anymore. Even with Rose at his side, he knew that he led a solitary road.
Rose seemed to sense his sudden withdrawal and rolled over onto her side to look at him. They were suddenly incredibly, intimately close, and the Doctor felt his hearts beat faster without his consent.
"What's wrong?"
"Nothing. I'm fine."
"That's not going to work on me, Doctor."
He sighed. "I don't… I don't know what to do anymore, Rose. I know that you can't stay with me forever, and I can't stand it. I… Rose…" He stared at her helplessly, trying to convey his jumbled feelings in one desperate look.
To the Doctor's surprise, Rose laughs. Not cruelly, but softly, gently.
"Doctor, you are an idiot, you know that? I can tell what you're feeling."
"Can you?" He felt a tiny spark of hope.
"No matter what happens, I'm staying with you. We will always find a way, Doctor. Always. Do you understand that? We can do the impossible. We will make it happen. Got it?"
"Yes."
"No, you don't." Rose smiles, and wraps her hands around the Doctor's neck, still grinning. Then she leans in closer.
Their lips meet, sweetly, gently, softly. It is amazing, it is love, and it is the best thing in the universe. Surprise radiates from the Doctor, but it isn't a bad surprise, only a relieved one. He kisses her back, and then pulls away, not in doubt, but to speak.
"I love you, Rose, Tyler."
"And I love you too, Doctor."
They kiss again.
It is beautiful.
End note:
This is the first really romantic fiction I've posted/written. As in like ever. I was a little bit nervous, to be honest. I'm hoping that it's acceptable to write this sort of thing in my circle of friends, haha. Oh well. How did I do? Should I write more like these? Let me know! :)