My first Doctor Who fic! YAY! D Many thanks to Kathryn Shadow for betaing this…if you haven't read any of her stuff, you are missing out!
Anyhoo, I obviously don't own Doctor Who. If I did, do you honestly think Rose would have ever been allowed to leave?
It took me three years to finally get closure, to recover from the events at Wester Drumlin's and realize that maybe the world wasn't as twisted as I had started to believe. Those three years were the hard ones, the ones when I had to constantly reassure myself that yes, the angels are gone forever, and yes, I have Larry now. In a strictly logical sense, I knew that I was fine; I knew that there was no reason for me to wake up in the middle of the night, drenched in a cold sweat and desperately clinging onto Larry to assure myself that I was really, truly, alive. Unfortunately, my subconscious didn't really seem to be listening to logic at the time, the damn thing, and logic couldn't stop those three years from hurting.
It took me three years to stop hating the angels. It took me three years to finally understand. Before that, I just didn't get them at all; and that disturbed me. I didn't understand why they had killed Kathy and Billy, how they could dare to steal away futures, to deny us of something so intrinsically ours that to have it snatched away feels wrong, filthy. I could only come to the conclusion that they were evil things in a cruel, unforgiving universe, and that scared the shit out of me. It wasn't until late one night, three years later, that I finally had the epiphany.
I was lying in bed, my face buried into Larry's shoulder, surrounding myself with his warmth. His lips pressed into the top of my head gently, and I looked up slightly, smiling at him, memorizing his face – tracing its contours with my eyes. It was as natural as breathing now, staring at him. At first it had been awkward, back in the days when we were tentative and unsure, glances hurried and cheeks reddening. Gradually, we became more confident, and then it was ludicrous that we had ever been so shy; my eyes needed him just as much as they needed an optic nerve or cornea – because what's the point of eyes if they're looking at emptiness? And it was then, letting Larry's gaze fill me up with contentment and drinking my fill of his features, that I realized a deeper layer of the angels' actions – and pity swept through me like a tidal wave.
They were lonely. So incredibly, completely alone. They could never experience what I was feeling at that very moment, the serenity that comes from absorbing someone you love through every one of your senses, from soaking them in and retaining them in your mind. They could never look longingly into the eyes of the people they cared about, never know what it feels like to have someone stare at them like they're the only thing that matters. They couldn't even know their own reflection – they were forever strangers to themselves. I tried to imagine that existence – to never, not ever, have anyone know who you truly were, because to be known is to no longer exist. To live every second of your life terrified that someone might just happen to glance your way, yet secretly wishing that they will just so that you can get some small scrap of attention, to finally experience the love you so crave.
Maybe my walking into that house was the best thing that ever happened to them. They had probably never been looked at for that long.
They must have been reveling in it.
Maybe that's why they reached out for me, tried to grab me – they wanted to hold someone, just once. For God's sake, even that is stolen from them.
I brushed my fingers lightly over Larry's arm, suddenly in awe at the way his skin felt under mine, at how lucky I was to be able feel him, to see him, to be seen. Their lives must have been miserable. Miserable and unmoving. That must be why they feed on potential; it's because they could never have any of their own.
Could I honestly blame them for going a bit mad? Absolute isolation for all of eternity – better conditions than that have snapped even the strongest of men. The universe isn't cruel for me, I realized. Only for them. They didn't deserve hatred. They deserved compassion.
I snuggled closer to Larry, his arms wrapping around me. Sad is happy for deep people. That's what drew me to that place – the complete misery radiating from the old house. I leaned up and planted a kiss resolutely against Larry's lips. Sad is happy for deep people, but I'd kill myself if I were that happy.