So this story is based on an awesome prompt I got from The-Always-Angel. The prompt was 'Eleven/Rose – My Hand in Yours', and, well, we all know how I love my sad Eleven-missing-Rose stories (coughPinkandYellowcough). Thanks for the prompt, dearest! And here we go…
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"So that's it?" Amy asks as he pushes open the TARDIS door and they all get inside. "We leave her there?"
"Sisters of the Infinite Schism," he says brightly. "Greatest hospital in the universe."
"Yeah," she agrees, "but she's our daughter. Doctor, she's River, and she's our daughter."
"Amy, I know," he says. "But we have to let her make her own way now. We have too much foreknowledge." He glances up at the monitor, which is showing information they downloaded from the Teselecta. One piece of information in particular. "Dangerous thing, foreknowledge," he murmurs.
Amy leans around, peering towards the screen. "What's that?"
"Nothing," he lies quickly, turning off the screen. "Just some data I downloaded from the Teselecta. Very boring."
"Doctor," Rory calls. "River was brainwashed to kill you."
"Well, she did kill me," he points out. "And then she used her remaining lives to bring me back. As first dates go, I'd say that was mixed signals."
Rory is not dissuaded by his attempt to lighten the mood. "But that stuff that they put in her head," he says, "is that gone now? The River that we know in the future, she's in prison for murder."
"Whose murder?" Amy asks, as though she expects him to know. Of course. She always expects him to know. And sometimes he does. In this case, he does. Yeah, he really shouldn't, but he does.
But they shouldn't. It might just destroy them, that information. The knowledge that their daughter was going to kill their best friend? How could anyone live with that?
So he doesn't say anything. He just smiles vaguely and then turns his back on them, beginning to charge in circles around the console.
"Will we see her again?" Amy asks.
"Oh, she'll come looking for us," he calls confidently, breaking away from the console and starting up the stairs.
"Yeah, but how?" Amy calls after him. "How do people even look for you?"
He turns around, a smile on his face, and he can tell by the way that her face doesn't fall that for once she can't tell that his smile is fake. "Oh, Pond," he says, forced cheeriness in his tone. "Haven't you figured that one out yet?" And then he turns around and dashes up the rest of the stairs and down the hallway beyond them.
He leaves the Ponds behind in the control room, and as soon as he's out of sight, he slows his pace to a walk. No, less of a walk and more of a wander. His feet drag along the floor behind him; his shoulders are hunched; his head hangs. The false smile has vanished from his face because Amy can't see him now – there's no one around to put on a show for. When he's with her, he puts on the mask of a man who never stops smiling. He laughs and he runs and he pretends that the shadows of his past don't haunt him everywhere he goes. He pretends that he can't hear old voices of people long gone whispering in his ear every step of the way. He pretends that he doesn't see them in every dark-skinned young woman, every redhead with attitude (this includes Amy), every glint of sunlight off a sheet of smooth blonde hair… He pretends that he isn't constantly on the lookout, hoping that by some bizarre miracle, some wonderful mistake, he'll get them all back. He takes them to the future, and he pretends that he isn't stuck in the past.
It's a beautiful lie, a shining disguise that not even Amy's keen eyes can see through all the time. It's such a perfect deception that sometimes he believes it himself. But it doesn't take him long to remember that that's all it is – a deception.
He loves the Ponds. He really does. Amy, the girl who's known him all her life… Rory, the boy who's loved her all of his… River, their magnificent daughter who loves him more than all the stars in the sky. Who he does love in return, but not in the way that he's loved before. Not in the same way that he loved another blonde girl with the same first letter of her first name.
He loves all of them. Every last one. But inevitably, they all leave him in the end. He's left alone again. The wandering god, adrift on the seas of time. The man without a home.
He drags his feet all the way to his room and pushes through the door. It's a fairly plain room, as he doesn't spend much time in here. His ninth self never slept; his current self barely does. It was his tenth form who spent the most time in here, because his tenth form was unarguably the most human of the bunch. He sort of misses that about himself. And it's odd, but even though the TARDIS rebuilt itself when he regenerated, this room is exactly as it was before. He can still see remnants of his past self everywhere. Every surface in the room is covered with books – shelves, tables, desks, even the floor. There are books everywhere. The desk is slightly different in that it also holds quite a few pieces of paper with pencil sketches on them. He remembers the artistic phase he went through – after his time as a human in 1913, he took up drawing for a while. He steps over to the desk, sorting through the papers – there are quite a few of Martha (she really liked sitting for them), several of Donna (he had to do those from memory because she categorically refused to sit still and be sketched), lots of the various monsters that they encountered… and many, many of one particular girl with sunlight glinting off her smooth blonde hair.
He goes to the bed, kneeling down beside it and reaching underneath it; feeling around until his fingers land on what he's searching for. He grabs the box and pulls it out from under the bed – it's a plastic crate with a large C scrawled on the top in his tenth self's handwriting. C for companions.
He opens the box, reaching in and pulling out the first item he finds. It's a small bottle of nail polish – the clear stuff, the kind that just gives you a sort of glossy finish over your fingernails. Martha's favorite. He remembers having to make regular pit stops in the 21st century whenever she ran out so she could buy a new bottle. But when she left, she left it behind, along with all the other beauty products she kept on the sink in the bathroom. And there they stayed for ages because he didn't even feel like cleaning them up, until one day Donna became fed up with them, grabbed them all, walked out to where he was sitting in the control room, dumped them on his lap, and demanded that he put them somewhere other than her bathroom. So they went into the box of old companions' things. He glances down into the box – between other items, he can see Martha's makeup bag, Martha's hairspray, Martha's extensive hair tie collection…
He should really give this stuff back to her at some point. She is, after all, the only one of them that he could go back and see if he wanted to. Because she was the only one clever enough to get out while she still could.
He drops the nail polish back into the box and reaches in again – this time, his fingers meet fabric, and he closes his fists around the dark blue blouse and pulls it out. He lifts it up, pressing it to his face and inhaling the soft flowery scent which still lingers there, subtle but present. So many memories that he associates with this simple piece of clothing… New Earth, Cassandra possessing them, her kissing him (though of course it wasn't really her)… meeting Donna for the first time…
"That's my friend's."
"Where is she, then? Popped out for a space-walk?"
"I lost her."
He breathes in deeply. He doubts he would be able to if he were human, but with his superior Time Lord senses, he can still smell the floral fragrance which would fill the air around her. It wasn't a perfume, or her shampoo, or anything like that. It was just… her. Maybe it was the universe trying to be poetic and giving her the very same scent as the flowers that are her namesake.
"Can you do voice interface in here?" he calls out to the room, and a second later, he hears his own voice reply, "Voice interface enabled."
He lowers the blouse, looking up to see the flickering image of himself staring off into space. "No," he says softly. "Give me someone I like."
The image glows and shrinks down, and when the light fades, he's looking at little Amelia Pond. The TARDIS remembers what he'd said last time he asked her to 'give him someone he likes', just earlier that day, and she's giving him the person he settled on. Little Amelia. But that's not who he wants to see.
"No." He blinks back tears, taking in a deep, rattling breath. "Show me her." Even now, even though he's got Amy, even though she's got his duplicate, it's still hard to say her name. But finally, in a broken tone of voice, he manages it. "Rose Tyler."
The image shimmers again, and when it solidifies, it has taken the shape of his beautiful pink and yellow girl. Immediately, the guilt surges up within him, but this time, he ignores it. Because it's worth it. Just to see her face again. Upturned nose, plump lips. Concave cheeks and warm hazel eyes. A blue leather jacket tight around her torso. Sunlight glinting off her sheet of smooth blonde hair. Everything about her is exactly right, modeled perfectly off how she was the last time he saw her. The outfit, the sad heaviness in her eyes, the shade of her hair (slightly more natural than when she was first trapped in the parallel). The way she stands, her posture, the way she holds herself – all of it signaling strength earned through a painful struggle that's left her scarred and slightly bitter, with heavy eyes to prove it. And when she speaks, the mellow roughness of her Cockney accent is spot-on.
"Voice interface enabled," she recites in a mechanical, emotionless tone.
"Rose," he breathes.
"I am not Rose Tyler," she says robotically. "I am a voice interface."
"Yeah, yeah, yeah," he agrees, standing; he leaves her blouse draped over the side of the box. "D'you mind pretending?"
"Negative," she says. "I am not programmed for deception."
His hearts drop, though he can't quite figure out why. He knows she's just a program, just a – as she so astutely puts it – voice interface. He didn't need her to confirm that to him. So why does it pain him when she does.
"Yeah," he murmurs, reaching out to her. "Rose, I…"
It's a bit odd. This regeneration never holds anyone's hand, despite the fact that his last one practically never stopped. But facing Rose, or at least a voice interface with her image, he can feel traits from his past bleeding through, and without conscious thought, he's reaching for her hand. To clasp it, to hold it, to squeeze it reassuringly. To lock his fingers with hers so that they could not be pulled apart. Just like old times.
But of course he can't.
Because she's not Rose Tyler. She is a voice interface. She is a holographic projection of a simple computer program, and his hand goes right through her.
The image wavers and blurs where his hand passes through it as Rose stands there in perfect silence, staring ahead into space. He makes several more attempts to take her hand, even though he knows that of course he won't be able to – this time it's her who's just an image. No touch. But even though he knows this, every time he fails to touch her, his hearts sink lower.
"I'm sorry," he tells her weakly. "I'm so sorry, Rose."
"I am not Rose Tyler. I am a voice interface."
"I miss you," he murmurs – this isn't like when the poison was affecting him and he genuinely thought he was talking to little Amelia for a few seconds. He knows full well that this isn't Rose. But it's the closest thing he can get. "I've got a new companion – Amy, you'd like her. You two would get along. She and her husband Rory, they travel with me, and sometimes their daughter shows up – maybe he's told you about her, River Song, he met her once…"
"I am not Rose Tyler. I am a voice interface."
"I hope you're happy," he says suddenly, and he means it. "I hope he makes you happy. I hope you've got the best life possible, everything you ever hoped for. That's all I want for you. I just…" He swallows. What is he afraid of? There's no one here to hear him. Well, no one but himself. "I just wish," he admits after a moment, "that it could've been with me, instead of him."
"I am not Rose Tyler. I am a –"
"I know you're not Rose Tyler!" he shouts suddenly, cutting her off. "Rose Tyler is gone! Okay? Gone! She's not coming back!" He's silent for a moment, breathing heavily, trying to compose himself. "She shouldn't come back," he says finally. "She can be happy with him. Like she deserves to be."
Rose offers no response, so he slowly backs up until he hits the bed, and he takes a seat on the mattress. With his head ducked and his back bent and his shoulders hunched, he despondently instructs, "Deactivate voice interface."
There's the same small noise that plays when the interface shimmers and changes, and he looks up expecting to see an empty space where the voice interface in her image stood a moment before. Instead, he sees her.
It's different, though. She's not wearing the blue bomber anymore – he recognizes her outfit as the clothes she wore when they met Sarah Jane. Her hair is slightly shorter, the peroxide blonde shade that it was just after she cut it after he regenerated. She's moving, shifting back and forth, whereas the interface stood perfectly still. Her eyes lack that telltale heaviness.
"This thing on?" she questions, and her voice is not harsh and mechanical, robotic tones and computerized cadences. Its' her voice, her diction, her inflection. God, he hasn't heard her voice in so long. She reaches out, tapping something in front of her; satisfied that it is on, she clear her throat, rolls her shoulders back, and looks directly at him. "Doctor," she says simply, and he almost falls apart right then and there. Because just that one word spoken in her voice, her real voice, is enough. "Hi. Um…" She gives a short, nervous laugh. "Not really sure what to say, I haven't planned this out. I, um… I sort of realized today that I'm not gonna be with you forever, like I say I'm going to. I mean, I guess I always knew, but today – everything with Sarah Jane, what you said to me – I guess I'm sort of just starting to understand what it means. For us. For you. One of these days, I'm gonna be gone, and you'll be on your own." She shrugs. "So I'm leaving this recording for you.
"I'm gonna tell the TARDIS to keep it hidden for a while after I'm gone. She'll let you find it when she decides you need it. After that, you can access it whenever. You know, if you want." Another shrug. "So, I, um… I wanted to tell you that wherever I am right now, I'm missing you. Doesn't matter when and where, doesn't matter if I'm…" She swallows before she lets herself say the word 'dead'. "Doesn't matter. I'm missing you. You're in my heart and in my mind, always. No matter what face you've got.
"I, uh… I wanted to say, don't be alone. I dunno, maybe you've already got someone else travelling alongside. And that's good. I mean… that's good. You should never be alone, Doctor, not ever. You've got half the universe in your debt – I know that out of that whole lot, you should be able to find someone to hold your hand as you run for your life from the other half." She allows herself a small laugh, and he joins in, chuckling halfheartedly. "But really, I mean it. You should never be alone. Find someone else, take them alone, and… I dunno, maybe…" She takes a deep breath. "Tell them about me. Not a lot if you don't want, just a few stories. That way, in an odd sort of a way, Rose Tyler will still be travelling the universe with you."
He smiles softly at that. Oh, if only he knew how often he used to mention her. Every second of every hour of ever day of every adventure, she was on his mind. Her name came up so often – poor Martha got the worst of it, and he knows it made her feel unwanted and unimportant. He feels sorry for that now. He should apologize to her when he returns her nail polish. And then Donna, who only ever heard the occasional tale, who was able to comfort him in the way that only a best friend could. Donna, who made him laugh again, but still his pink and yellow girl was on his mind.
He doesn't mention her so often anymore. He's not sure that the Ponds have ever even heard the name Rose Tyler. It's probably better that way. Amy would ask lots of questions and he'd have to relive that pain all over again.
"And be nice to them," Rose adds suddenly. "Maybe slow down when you talk a bit, use simpler words. You know none of us can ever understand you. Don't ask too much of them, but don't act like you think they can't do anything on their own. Don't expect them not to wander off when you tell them not to. Don't make them make choices that hurt them. Let them get into trouble once in a while. Don't let their families be put in danger. Don't –" She huffs a laugh. "Don't take them home a year later than you meant to."
Well, he didn't do that. He did leave Amy for twelve years longer than he meant to. Oops. He chuckles quietly to himself – Rose would have something to say about that.
"Keep them safe when they're in danger," she continues. "Let them have faith in you. Don't ever let them down. Don't ever leave them behind."
Leave them behind… of course that's what she would be worried about. This is her just after meeting Sarah Jane. The irony is, that's exactly what he did to her. Not once, but twice, he left her behind.
"And… I dunno if I ever told you this, but…" She swallows. "I love you. I have for a while now." A soft shrug. "Just wanted you to know."
His throat tightens – she's so calm, so casual, like it's this thing that happens every day. Like it's perfectly normal for her to be in love with a man who will outlive her by millennia. Like loving him isn't something that will eventually tear her apart. Something that did eventually tear her apart.
She bites her lip, hunching her shoulders and shuffling her feet as she looks down at the floor, unsure of what to say next. After a few seconds, she looks up, gives a tiny smile, and holds out her hand. Her palm faces outward, like she's gesturing for someone to stop, but he knows that's not what she's doing. He knows exactly what she's doing.
He stands up, closing the distance between himself and the hologram of her in a single step. And he lifts his own hand, placing it so that if she were really, physically there, his palm would be pressed against hers. He's careful to hold it so that he doesn't actually move his hand through the hologram, but he keeps it close enough that he can imagine the press of her soft skin against his.
"Rose Tyler," he murmurs quietly. "You are extraordinary."
"I love you," she says, and the timing is so perfect that it almost sounds like she's replying. She stands there, holding up her hand so he can pretend that he can touch her, until there's a clatter in the background of the video.
"Rose?" calls a muffled, distant voice that he recognizes as his own in his tenth regeneration. "What are you doing? Where are you?"
"Here," she calls over her shoulder in reply, and then she turns back to him. "Always and forever," she says earnestly, her voice quiet so that her Doctor cannot hear but loud enough that this Doctor can. "That's how long I'll love you for. Always and forever." And then she reaches out of sight and whatever camera she's using to record shuts off, and the message ends. And her flickering holographic image blinks out of existence.
He stumbles backwards and falls back to where he was sitting earlier on the foot of the bed. He can barely breath past the lump in his throat; silent tears are forming in his eyes, and one is subtly working its way down his cheek. God, he misses her. He doesn't know where he found the strength to do what was right for her and leave her behind with his duplicate. He doesn't know how he managed to give her what she deserved when she deserved so much more than him. All he knows at this point is that he has regretted it since the moment the TARDIS door closed on Bad Wolf Bay that last time, and he will continue to regret it for the rest of his life. It might have been the best thing he could ever do for her, but that doesn't change the fact that it was the biggest mistake he ever made.
There's an Earth saying he's heard. If you love something, let it go. If it comes back to you, it's yours.
He loved her. Oh, yes, he loved her.
He let her go. He had to. He wouldn't have if there was any other choice, but he couldn't run the risk of collapsing two parallel universes and killing every living thing in both. Including her.
She came back to him. She fought so hard for so long against impossible odds, and she managed to come back to him. He thought it impossible. He told her so himself. And yet she still fought. Never one to do as she was told, Rose Tyler. Never one to follow the rules.
She came back to him. And yet he did not make her his. He cheated out with a weak, "Does it need saying?" And then he let her go again. He left her so that she could have everything she ever wanted, everything she deserved. He left her with everything, and left himself with nothing.
When he finally works up the courage to reenter the real world, he opens the door of his room to see a familiar redhead leaning up against the wall across from the door. Her head is tipped to the side, and she's watching him silently through sad green eyes. "Are you alright?" she asks, her Scottish lilt permeating her words.
Okay, time for the mask. He summons a fairly convincing smile to his face. "Why wouldn't I be?"
"I, um –" Amy covers her mouth with her fist and clears her throat. "I heard that." She points to the door of his room. "Some of it, I mean – well, a good bit. I didn't mean to eavesdrop, I just… I came to find you, and…"
"It's alright," he says, and for the first time, he lets the mask fall away. And he thinks that it's the first time that Amy Pond ever truly witnessed the depth of the sadness in her Raggedy Man's bottle green eyes. He can see the way it resonates with her, see the shock and sympathy and wordless apologies of 'I'm sorry, I didn't know' all playing across her face. She knew that he'd lost people.
Until today, she didn't know he'd lost so much.
"Who was she?" Amy ventures cautiously. "The girl, the voice interface. The one in the recording. You called her –"
"Rose Tyler," he finishes in a broken tone of voice as he slumps against the wall, watching her across the corridor. "Her name was Rose Tyler. Is Rose Tyler."
Amy nods. "What happened to her?"
"I –" He falters, his normally smooth diction broken up by emotion. He can't talk about her casually. "She got left behind."
"What happened?"
He looks up, tearing his gaze away from the floor beneath his feet and meeting her eyes. And he says, plain and simple, with a sad, nostalgic little smile dancing on his lips, "She came back."
"She –" Amy frowns. "But she's gone now."
"Yeah," he agrees softly. "She came back to me, and I left her behind again. It was for the best," he adds quickly. "It was – it was what's best for her. She can have a normal life, a normal love, a man who'll grow old at the same time as her. I gave her that, I gave her all that. She's happy." He swallows. "I hope she's happy."
Amy doesn't pry, doesn't ask for more information or a better explanation. She just nods and asks quietly, "Did you love her?"
He's slightly surprised by the question, and he knows it shows on his face because she immediately adds, "I, um… heard her. That recording. She said she loved you. Did you… did you love her?"
It's an eternity before he answers, but when he finally does, it's with a simple, "Yes." He hadn't expected his response to be so uncomplicated. Their relationship certainly wasn't. But when the question is 'did you love her', he requires no answer more complex than a simple, plain, basic, honest yes.
Amy just nods.
Suddenly, he steps across the corridor and leans against the wall beside her, and without even making eye contact, he takes her hand. She's stiff for a moment, surprised, and he understands why – they don't hold hands. This regeneration just doesn't hold hands. But now, after seeing Rose again, after all this time… he needs to. He needs someone's hand in his. He needs a hand to hold.
His hand fits together quite nicely with Pond's.
Not quite as nicely as his last body's hands fit together with Rose's.
They stand there for a while, together, just wishing. Wishing for a time and a place better than here and now. Wishing for a daughter who didn't routinely try to kill her best friend, a daughter she could've raised, a daughter who stays. Wishing for another day, even just another second, with Rose Tyler, for a way to hold her hand again, for a love that could last.
Wishing for a hand to hold.
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Thanks so much for the prompt, dahling! I probably took this in a different direction than you were imagining, but I hope you like it anyway. Same goes for the rest of you. Also, thanks to all of you who submitted prompts to me. I wish I could do every single one of them, but I really have no time at all!
If you liked this, you'll probably enjoy Pink and Yellow – it's a similar idea, though it's not quite this long. This one-shot sort of turned into a monster. This may actually be the single longest thing I have ever posted on fanfiction EVER. Sheesh.
Anyway, thank you so much for reading, and if you want to take the time to leave a few thoughts in the handy dandy review box, that would be much appreciated. Thanks!
Love you!
-Caskett54