Donna Noble, Rose Tyler, the new Doctor and the art of being less than what you were.
AN: None of this is mine. Short insight into the changes (and losses) of three characters after the finale. The order is Donna, Rose and the human Doctor. Spoilers of course. Hope you enjoy (this is my first story...forgive any errors.)
Who does she think she is, The Queen of Sheba?
The last few months have been a bit of a blur. She remembers her mother's annoyed voice and her grandfather's steady support but sometimes, when she comes home from work or a night out with the girls, it feels like she hasn't seen her family for ages and part of her aches at the thought.
There are things she knows but can't explain. She's suddenly handy with electronics, attracted to men with dark hair and speech impediments and dreams about blue boxes. Her grandfather winks at her from behind his telescope and she joins him more often on the hill, looking up at the stars.
She gets a job working for a family friend, Mr. Chowdry, and makes quick work of climbing the ladder. But she's more confident and less contrary and feels older and wiser than she knows she is. She spends more time daydreaming and is more interested in improving her own life than gossiping about others. Her friends note the change and smile, because she's getting better and her coworkers mumble about her attitude and, hasn't she been putting on aires and graces.
She still loses the job but her mother smiles, shushing her while making tea and telling her daughter that she can do so much better.
The day after she gets up to look for a job - a proper job. Despite her lack of skills she knows that she can type 100 words per minute and that she is Donna Noble and she deserves better. This belief seems less ridiculous with the support of her family (unexpected but welcome) and she finds that night school isn't as horrible as she thought.
Despite the years that have passed she still yells at the world in the same frenzied volume and pitch.
She's surprised to find that lately, when she looks up at the night sky, she gets the feeling that someone is listening.
Chin up, Rose Tyler.
Jackie is holding baby Tony and chiding her daughter while Pete fusses over the return of his girls. The Doctor is passed out on her bed, having finally been able (and wanting) to sleep while Rose stares morosely into her cup.
Jackie reckons that the Doctor gave her Rose the best gift - a safe, happy and normal life. She reckons it's no more adventures for those two, what with no TARDIS, no screwdriver and no super-human abilities. And deep down Jackie doesn't want to believe that Rose could leave her new life and new family behind.
No, she's always been a moody girl and Jackie knows that she will come around.
Rose's spent the better part of the last 3 years working out ways to get back to him. Now her hands feel idle. She isn't quite sure who she is now that she has everything she's been fighting for (in a manner of speaking). Life on this alternate Earth was easier when she was focused and furious - she was sharp and determined and made little note of anything else.
But the days are longer on the slow path.
She takes time to re-learn her new old Doctor. He's just as irrational with his hatred of pears and his fear of aspirin but she knows he loves her just as much, if not more, than her old Doctor. And at night she lays her head on his chest and falls asleep to the incomplete melody of one heartbeat.
It's not perfect - but neither are they.
Stuck with you, that's not so bad.
It's hard reckoning with the fact that he's no longer the Last of the Timelords. This new body and this old mind make him the first and last of something - and he's no less lonely.
He was angry at first. Raging against his limitations and his desires and his hate until this human body could take no more. She stood by him - just as she had done before - but this time there was more understanding in her eyes. She misses what he once was too. And while he's always loved this planet (his one true constant over the 900 years) it's riches and mysteries pale in comparison to the life he once knew.
Despite all of the changes and subtractions - he still manages to find some semblance of what he once had. The Jack Harkness of this world - he heads up Torchwood with his Rose and finds ways to live the same life they once did.
Although now he travels in a space-hopper instead of a sports car and he spends more time prepping his missions (translating texts and languages is harder without his TARDIS) than having adventures. And when he runs, hand in hand with Rose, there's real fear behind every gasp because there's no promise of regeneration or second chances. He isn't sure if that makes every moment so much more - or just more tragic.
But it isn't all shortcomings and wishful thinking. He fills the role of John Smith easily, pushing paper and eagerly waiting to come home (his first real home since he was a boy) and start a family. He picks up silly Earth customs, Rose's love of chips and actually needs his brainy specs when reading but his dreams seem closer to the ground now that he's more firmly planted. And while his memory isn't what it used to be, he finds that he has a greater capacity for so much more.
(And despite his regrets and his shame with each passing day he finds that he is more of the man that Rose deserves).
Now he's easy smiles and big plans but he's still wistful when alone. His head feels empty without the hum of his TARDIS, his hand incomplete without his screwdriver. He misses the feel of the turn of the planet under his feet and oh, Rose how do you cope?
He knows by now where and who Donna is - the sheer impossibility of a sustained human-timelord-hybrid - and he's almost jealous of her ignorant bliss.
Rose holds his hand and looks up at him and he knows she wants more than his one heart can give.
They are all settling, in a way.