A Rose is a Rose is a Rose
A/N: This takes place between Girl in the Fireplace and Rise of the Cyberman. Let it be known that I've only seen the new season of Doctor Who so if there is anything technically incorrect please inform me!
They sat near each other on the sweet green grass of a rolling hill that fell gently into a sparkling lake that glittered a brilliant blue below them. The clean cool breeze that wafted from the rippling expanse of water carried with it a faint fruity scent that she could not identify. Above her, the light of two large suns basked her in a warm golden glow. Rose and the Doctor sat near each other, but not too near.
She chanced at glance at him and bit the inside of her lip. Even now, though they had been through quite a few adventures already, his profile looked foreign to her. She didn't like it. It had nothing really to do with his physical appearance itself. In fact, he was really quite charming. He was slim and cut a sharp figure in a pinstriped suit. His soft shock of ruffled brown hair combined with warm chocolate eyes gave him a comfortable down-to-earth (so to speak) appearance. Oh, and the freckles. She loved that barely noticeable smattering of freckles along his nose and cheeks.
He sensed her staring and turned his head to smile at her. His smile was sad. It had always been sad but this was a different smile. That was the problem. He was attractive but he was different. She still could not yet call him her Doctor and he was a wholly different man no matter what memories of her he had. He claimed to know her which was indeed the case but she did not know him. She had fallen in love with one man and he had changed into another. Recent events had only accented this point. He had abandoned her on that cold lonely ship that smelt of human death. He had left her knowing he might not come back—knowing that she and Mickey could have died up there alone and afraid.
She tried to smile back but it was a bitter smile. It even tasted bitter and she found herself grimacing more than smiling. She thought of the both of them smiling their shallow smiles at one another and her eyes pricked with tears. The Doctor was dead. She was still mourning his loss.
His smile faded. He knew her and he knew that he had damaged her. That was also part of the so-called "curse of the Timelords." It wasn't only his loss but hers as well. Timelords healed and preserved but they were also capable of immense destruction. Even for the Lord of Time it was inevitable, that old saying: You always hurt the ones you love.
He leaned back, unfolding the impressive length of his long thin body and reached behind him to pluck something. She took the opportunity to brush a quick arm across her eyes, conscious of the abnormal sparkle of her grief. The tears were still there. She glanced down at the soft dark inside of the Doctor's overcoat, which they had spread upon the ground as a makeshift blanket like a picnic. Or perhaps even like a date.
His hand moved into her vision which was veiled on either side by her hair. Clasped gracefully between his thumb and his slender forefinger was the long white stem of what appeared to be a rose. It looked like a rose but it was different—like him.
The petals were clear but caught the sunlight and threw rainbows across the ground like prisms. Nestled at the center was a diamond-like gem. She looked up into his fathomless brown eyes. That hadn't changed, at least. They had always been so deep…so, so deep like gazing into the center of the universe.
"Wha-" Her voice cracked so she cleared her throat and tried again, "What's this?"
"It's exactly what it appears to be. It's a rose. A rose for Rose." He extended his arm and held it close to her nose. It smelt of starlight, or what she imagined starlight must smell like. It was brilliance and burning and distant wishes. It was promise and hope and eternity. Or perhaps she was just slightly mad and it smelled like a rose ought to smell after all.
She thought of hoof beats and the cold brilliant shatter of a one-way mirror. She did not smile. She did not accept the beautiful gift from him. Instead she found herself speaking.
"What good is a rose?" Immediately after asking this question she realized that it had been an immensely rude thing to say. Feverishly she wondered if perhaps some of his rudeness had rubbed off on her somehow.
His eyes widened almost imperceptibly and she blushed at her own impertinence but most of all she blushed because she was ashamed. She was ashamed of her jealousy and of her fear and most of all she was ashamed that she blamed him for her selfishness. She felt small and childish. She looked down again.
"Well, practically I don't suppose there is much reason for it." His voice was slightly amused. It made her very angry.
"You can't eat it. You can't ride it. You certainly can't be its friend. Well, no, scratch that. I suppose you could get along quite well with a rose but it would be a dreadfully one-sided relationship unless, of course, it was a different kind of rose altogether. There is a planet I know completely over-run with sentient roses. Good chaps, the lot of them."
There was a long pause as the Doctor reflected upon the pros and cons of conscious plants. After a moment he shook his head, chuckled, and continued.
"But, you see, roses have a much higher purpose than the bare necessities required for the survival of a species. Roses are special."
The whole conversation was so ridiculous that she laughed quite involuntarily. He smiled back at her.
"Oh, you laugh but roses definitely have a purpose. Everything that exists does." He ran a hand through his hair causing it to stand up right on end. She smiled again.
"You see, roses are beautiful." He glanced at her, twisting the stem between his fingers so that the revolving flower threw a glorious spectrum of light across his face and hers.
"The universe is full of darkness, pain, despair, and fear so anything beautiful is a rare gift to be treasured. And, of course," he winked at her, "The rose is a symbol of love. Not just on earth, mind you, in many places. Rather coincidental, actually."
He paused and caught her eyes in his own. "You ask me what good a rose is, well, a rose is good for love. A rose is good for making people feel beautiful and,"
He took her hand with his own and pressed the rose into it. "A rose is good for making people feel loved."
She felt small but huge all at once. He had always made her feel that way—both weak and strong. It was something about the way he looked at her. Most of the time she felt so very small compared to his majesty, she was the lost child and he the god who walked the ages stepping from millennium to millennium as if they were the squares of a sidewalk. But every so often she felt his eyes on her and for a moment she would feel infinite. He saw something in her she could not see herself. What it was she couldn't imagine but the few times she'd caught his eye during one of these infinite moments she'd beheld an awe so astounding that it made her head spin. Imagine it! He, time traveler and walker of the universe in awe of her! She could not understand it. She probably never would.
He squeezed her hand gently and then suddenly bounded to his feet, pulling her along with him. "Come on!" He cried, lifting her from the ground with immense ease. "I want to show you the lake! You must taste it; it tastes of wine. Oh, and the mermaids! You really must see the mermaids! Well, you would call the mermaids but really they are more aquatic humanoids of both male and female gender."
He took off sprinting down the hill with her hand clasped firmly in his own. Despite herself she gave a great shout of joy and leapt along with him. The two of them went bounding down the hill: The rose and her heartache side by side.