War Not Easily Won
Summary: AU in which Eleven comes back to Pete's World to put flowers on Rose's grave. He finds a better adventure instead.
Ship: Rose x Eleven.
A/N: Final chapter! I enjoyed writing this chapter, and I hope you guys find that everything is wrapped up just fine. I would like to thank you all for your continued support, and I genuinely appreciate every single review you guys post. I know it's been a month since my last update, but school really sucks the life out of me. I think this finale is a good fit. Now, enjoy. :)
( part six; as it should be )
The Doctor has made it a habit to pick up unlikely heroes on his journeys. Since his last meeting with Rose (what is it now, two hundred and some odd years?), he's traveled with a Scottish woman dying from a disease that had a cure not around in her time, a high school drop-out that wandered the streets of Manhattan, and an Eurasian twenty-something who seemed to avoid death at the last minute with every trip they took. Their names, their stories, their beginnings, their endings, their struggles — all ghosts in the Doctor's book of old haunts.
The Doctor knew how to say goodbye. He knows, more than anyone. But it's never easy, always harder than he thought, always worse than the last. He couldn't save Arella — the illness took her in the end and she had refused the new-age medicine he got for her. Chloe ended up going to university five years into their travels, desiring to pursue a career in the sciences. And Blake died in battle, a war inadvertently caused by the Doctor himself, leaving behind six or some odd years of camaraderie and the alien in years of depression.
Other companions came and went in between. Some, he has traveled with before. He traveled with Jack again, just for a couple months. Wilf wanted one last trip before he passed. And Clara's daughter met the Doctor after six fervent phone calls from the woman herself.
There was the seventeen year old girl who fell in love with the Doctor and saved his life when it did not need saving. There was the man who almost jumped to his death if not for the time travelling alien. And there was the child who brought happiness to the Doctor when he was at his lowest.
But each goodbye brings him closer to Rose, as awfully detached as that seems. Because while farewell is unbearably terrible, there's a step taken closer to her with each one. A little birdie once told him that to be happy, he has to find the best in the worst.
So this is what he is doing. Finding the best in the worst.
At the moment, he is traveling with a teen whose time-agent parents have left him behind (he must admit that he does in fact miss Jack, and that this indirect connection to him only presses his yearning more), a blonde, lean sixteen-year-old named Toby. He is American in all respects, a new thing for the Doctor, and he is trigger-happy and has too much knowledge about time travel that it actually takes away from the Doctor's enjoyment as a guide.
But Toby — well, he's lost, frankly, and he's probably never going to see his parents again. And the Doctor knows how it feels to be alone. Toby especially is a unique case; after all, a child born between two agents of Time acquires ability far beyond most people — Toby is a certified genius, but only because his parents took care to make algebra a skill at four and physics second nature at ten. So he doesn't mind that this human seventeen-year old knows too much for his own good, because the Doctors knows the lonely path of a genius far too well. And this kid's gob is probably keeping him from crying and breaking down, and while the Doctor believes in an occasional emotional release, he's not to sure how to deal with a crying teen.
Right now, at this very second, Toby's complaining about the TARDIS's chameleon arch and the Doctor is contemplating on whether or not he should really take the two of them to twenty-second century Nice, France or not. The control room has been revitalized again, now almost monochromatic with a tinge of metallic blue in the levers and buttons. Chic, if you ask the Doctor. His companion has been by his side for a year now, and he's done his best to make things fun for the teenager. But the Doctor is old and so out of touch with 49th century interests, and luckily Toby understands.
In the short year he's been with the Doctor, he has proved two things: he talks a lot, and he is a pain in the ass that only the Doctor can love like a son or younger brother. The teen gabbles on as per usual, messing around with the controls and rapidly discussing on how a simple rewire could fix it up in a jiffy.
"I'm serious, Doc, all you gotta do is take a day off and just take apart her chameleon arch and reweld the wires to their proper places," Toby says, unhooking a wire from its proper place. The Doctor scowls at the boy, and the TARDIS beeps in annoyance. The sandy-haired teen nods in understanding, putting back the wire where it was before. "Sorry."
"Toby, I like the TARDIS how it is. In fact, I love it. Now stop touching my ship!" the Doctor says, shaking his head at the boy. The alien ventures around and snatches the screwdriver Toby had built for himself a month ago from his hand. "You can have this back once you stop messing around with her!"
"Thanks, Dad," Toby replies, rolling his eyes at the last bit. "I swear, I make a suggestion and you shoot it down. I bet you we aren't even going to Nice!"
"Too many nude women," the Doctor says in return, tucking the screwdriver into his coat pocket. He treks back over to the array of levers and buttons, setting the destination for random and praying that the TARDIS doesn't end up in Nice. The Doctor spins the wheel and continues in a rather flat boice, "You are too young and I said so, so it's final."
"Hardly a reasonable argument," Toby grimaces, following the Doctor back to the other side of the console. "I am of age, basically."
"Seventeen is barely of age, Tobias, and certainly not in America," the Doctor reminds him. They've had several arguments before concerning his age; one quick trip to the planet Phineus Q-IV, where the legal age is fifteen, and Toby's got it in his head that somehow, he's legal enough to do everything.
Which isn't the case for the Doctor's rules, anyhow.
"But, see, Doc—"
The alien holds his hand up to stop the boy from continuing. On the console, a series of beeps begin, all coming from the same source. He peers at the beeping screen in front of him, telling Toby, "I tell you what, when you turn eighteen, I'll take you to Nice and you can see all the lovely naked women there are on that damned beach."
"Really?"
But his question goes unanswered, for a situation arises that the Doctor did not expect — certainly not now, not suddenly without warning. The beeping screen beeps for a message most important. A wormhole spiraling out of a supernova, just a couple light years away. So in reach, so real, so quick.
The Doctor doesn't have to change his course; the TARDIS is already heading that way. He smiles at the gesture, knowing fully well that the ship is excited for what this means just as he is. Rose. He strokes the console softly, murmuring a low, "Old girl," as he does so.
"Doc, you alright?"
Oh, Toby. The Doctor nods without looking at him and hops to the side, running onto the platform towards the door with glee. He can feel his smile stretching his face more than what he can tolerate, but there is no quelling this feeling. Oh, centuries he's been waiting for this. Two hundred years to see her again, to have her again. Two hundred years too long, if you ask him.
"Doc?" Toby asks again, this time with an odd mix of confusion and amusement in his voice. Warily, he follows the Doctor slowly towards the door. "What's going on?"
"A wormhole, dear Tobias, oh, glorious and wonderful wormhole! Just off the Andromeda Galaxy, just on the corner, oh nothing too big but big enough. Just big enough for us to go through and come back! Perfect size, perfect. Oh, Tobias, I know what we're doing today, and it's going to be fantastic!" the Doctor explains, his words hurried and quick as he shrugs on his tweed coat. He stares at the boy, his hand resting on the door, as if waiting for him. "Well, come on now, this is important!"
"Wormhole?" Toby questions.
"Yes. Now, put your coat on, this is London in the winter we're talking about here," the Doctor nods to the rack, where the teen's signature leather jacket rests. "Well, Tobias, along!"
Toby sighs. It's not a rarity for his questions to go unanswered after all. He pulls on his jacket and throws a scarf around his neck; as he does so, he tries again, "Doctor, why do we need to go through a wormhole. They're for—well, they're gateways to parallel words, aren't they? What's there that isn't here?"
The Doctor presses his lips into a line. He stifles a chuckle — Toby really doesn't know, then. Instead of answering immediately, the Doctor pushes the door open, and they are greeted with a white Christmas in London, England, in a world known as Pete's World to him.
"This world has Rose," the Doctor tells Toby once they step out of the TARDIS. He stuffs his hands in his pockets and peers around, taking in his surroundings. London looks as beautiful as it is in his world. That's a good thing to go by, if anything. Toby stares at the people around, dressed nothing too extreme but nothing normal to him, and gapes at the Zeppelins in the sky in wonder. The Doctor see this and decides that once with Rose, he owes the boy a good story.
The Doctor does a quick scan around, and there are no poor littered on the streets, no gloomy grey skies overhead, no people crying and dying in the alleyways. No people crouching in fear or huddled near a radio or telly to listen in the news, or hidden behind papers detailing the war. The atmosphere is lighter. Happier. Better. He can taste laughter on his tongue, and it is then that he knows that everything is okay. The Doctor smiles and there are butterflies in his stomach, because if anything, he knows that he will be happy, absolutely, from this day on.
Toby nudges him the rib. "Rose Tyler? The one you told me about?"
"That's the one," he agrees. "You're lucky to meet her."
"Are we visiting?" Toby asks, raising an eyebrow.
"No," the Doctor replies. "No, but we're taking Rose with us." He flashes a quick a smile at him and adds, "She's delightful. You'll like her."
The boy grins. "I get to travel with the love of your life, Doc, the Defender of the Universe," Toby says with a laugh. "I'm honored."
The Doctor chuckles and throws an arm around Toby's shoulders in glee. "Let's go find her, mm?"
o0o0o
Rose Tyler winds a scarf around her neck and reaches for her keys. Her office smells of paint, and her heightened senses doesn't help her headache; the fumes make her dizzy, and she specifically said to the workers to repaint her office while she was on business in Seoul, which was a month ago. Of course they didn't. Of course they started the renovation the first day she got back.
She sighs to herself and straightens her back. Today will be a good day, she tells herself as she walks out of her half-done, half-empty office.
"Good afternoon, Rose Tyler," an airy voice calls from her side. Rose looks to see that it is her predecessor (and successor, as well, technically), Joyce DeWitt, a kindly old woman who had been Rose's protege forty years ago, when Rose traveled to the States to run UNIT.
It was like that, now: Rose and her ever-reliable perception filter and identity change, taking up one position every thirty years or so, and coming back when her thirty years were up. She alternated between the two careers, only telling the people she appointed her story under the promise they tell no one else It was a cycle to avoid all questions, and it worked, for the most part. Rose likes it, but it is a tiresome routine if anything. She had been hopping out of her seat when Joyce gladly stepped down five years ago — UNIT had been running dry during her recent term, and Torchwood is always dearer to her heart anyhow.
Joyce is long acquainted with retirement, but still she hangs around with Rose at the office whenever she can. As of late, she and Rose's current protege are the only ones who know of Rose's seemingly infinite life. It's not an easy secret to keep or to tell, but a nice conversation starter every now and then. It's even more interesting since the perception filter had broke a couple years ago, much to her chagrin.
"Joyce," Rose greets back, smiling warmly at the elderly woman. "Good afternoon, Happy Christmas. How's it been with Paul?"
"Oh, well, husband's always great with a beer situated near the telly. Men, as you know," Joyce replies, rolling her eyes at the thought. "Lucky for you, your man is not human. The best ones never are."
"I haven't seen my man in two hundred years, Joyce. Just remember that next time you think old Paul isn't anything less of a good husband," Rose teases as they make their way onto the street. Around them, the air is tight and cold and biting - the snow has stopped falling, but the blanket is still fresh. Rose grimaces. Hopefully her car isn't stacked with snow like it was yesterday.
Then again, her luck is pretty much shit nowadays.
"Oh, Rose, it's odd to think that you're older than me," Joyce tells her after a few seconds. She shuffles her feet, doing her best to avoid walking directly in the snow. She lifts her eyes to look at Rose's. At this, the latter averts her gaze to ahead of them. Joyce continues, "I forget sometimes. You're centuries old and I - well, I've got wrinkles to show for sixty years of age, and you've got the smile of a twenty-something. But your eyes... oh, they're the telling ones. Only the ancient have eyes like yours."
"Don't suppose it's a compliment, now," Rose murmurs softly.
"An observation at best, Miss Tyler. Now where are you going?"
Joyce's voice leaves her ears as Rose walks away to the other side of the street. She turns, only to shout to her friend, "Going to see Liat at the shop! I'll see you at dinner, Joyce!"
The old woman only nods in acknowledgement. Rose gives a smile and turns once more. Joyce is a sweetheart, no doubt about it. But she's always been too analytical for her own good, and what's worse, she doesn't know how to filter her words. Their conversations, although hearty and good-natured, turned philosophical far too many times, and often Joyce would say something that stung Rose.
Far too often Rose would say something to combat it, a witty comment here, a rebuttal there. But today, today Rose will brush it off. Though certainly, tonight's dinner with Joyce and Paul will be interesting, as Paul's questions are more crude and straightforward than Joyce's.
She sighs to herself and stops in front of the coffee shop. Through the store window, she sees a black woman at a table, sipping a cup and typing away at her laptop. Rose smiles to herself; at least Liat could brighten her day.
o0o0o
Liat scrunches up her face at the spreadsheet in front of her. The numbers all look wrong in her eyes, but then again, she's running on three hours of sleep and has been sitting in an uncomfortable position for more. Working on Christmas isn't something she wants, either.
She pulls back her dark brown hair into a loose ponytail, shifting in seat to crack her back. Doing so would only accelerate her impending back problems, but she is too tired to think of her well being. The barista refills her cup, and Liat whispers a soft, "Ta," in return.
"You work too hard," the woman tells her as she takes her empty plate.
"I have to. I'll be running Torchwood someday," Liat says.
"Someday isn't today. It's Christmas. You shouldn't be working, Miss," the barista presses.
"I could say the same for you," Liat counters, slipping the barista a few pounds for the refill. She focuses back onto her laptop, refraining from yawning right then.
"Touche, touche," the barista says, laughing. She holds up her hands to refuse the money. "You keep it. On the house. Happy Christmas."
"Happy Christmas," Liat nods, typing away without further acknowledgement of the barista.
It isn't as if that she didn't enjoy her job. It's just... well, she didn't enjoy her job. Plain and simple, it's one of the most stressful things she's ever experienced. Perhaps it's because she knows of the responsibilities to come, and perhaps it's because she keeps a very large secret as well. Regardless of the reason, Liat is a worrier at heart and this job puts too much pressure on her that she doesn't think she can handle.
But then there's the perks of her job. Travel. Aliens. Science and history all in one. And the people she works with are amazing.
She supposes thats her silver lining.
She supposes that's why she stays.
"Liat."
She looks up, and there is her mentor, her predecessor, beaming at her with wide eyes. Rose Tyler, everlasting woman, who single handedly changed the country for the better, reshaped a previously corrupt organization, and built a home in the city that forgets who she is every half century.
Liat has admired the woman since the moment she stepped foot in Torchwood as an eighteen year old intern who scraped by with the bare minimum for most of her life. Five years later, and now she is training to follow Rose's footsteps.
"Good afternoon, Rose," Liat greets warmly, standing to properly hug the woman. "Shitty Christmas, too?"
"Oh, like always, you know. Christmas in coffee shops with contracts to read." Rose folds her arms and stares at Liat for awhile. She reaches to close the notebook before the young woman.
Liat pulls the notebook out of her reach.
"Go home, Liat, you need your rest. You need a good holiday," Rose tells her, almost scoldingly. "Take a week off, come back on the second. Don't stay cooped up in your flat or come around to dinner at Joyce's. Take a train to Suffolk and spend time with your family. Enjoy your holiday."
"I need to finish up work," Liat says simply. "But thank you for your concern."
"It wasn't a concern. It was an order," Rose says.
Liat watches her carefully. She wasn't kidding.
"If I'm going to run Torchwood one day -"
"-You're going to need to know how to balance your time. I know how it works, Liat. It's been my job for four centuries now."
Well, there goes her argument. Liat knows Rose is right. She know if she continues on, she'll drop dead from overexerting herself.
Liat hates being wrong.
"Walk with me," Rose says after awhile, getting up from her seat. She extends a hand to the girl, who takes it warily. "We'll go to Hyde Park and walk, if that's okay. Leave your stuff here, I'll have it dropped off at your place."
Liat only nods. She leaves a tenner on the table, and as they leave, she catches the barista's eye, who gratefully smiles back at her.
o0o0o
The snow starts falling again.
Rose walks side by side with her protege, who talks about strictly business. The girl knows how to talk about work, but when it comes to personal things, she becomes a wall. The older woman is not sure if she appreciates or not.
"How's your mother?" Rose interrupts the girl mid-sentence, something about the Queen's recent call to Torchwood.
Liat suddenly tenses, and Rose can see her mind locking and her jaw clenching. "Good," Liat lies.
"Don't lie to me."
"She's good considering her usual self," she says. "I don't wish to spend Christmas with her, though. She'll only ask for more money."
"Does she need it?"
There's a long a silence and Rose catches the pause in her breathing. The young woman closes her eyes and shakes her head. "Not from me," Liat says tersely. "But I know Ella will give it her. Even if I tell her not to."
Rose doesn't say anything. Not in response to that, anyway. She mentions the color of the sky, how it has faded to an off-white, how cold it is when she doesn't realize it. She brings her jacket closer to her, timidly finding warmth in the wool lapels.
Snow days like these remind her of the Doctor. Two hundred years past and he still makes her heart whirl.
"I don't suppose you think you'll be staying at Torchwood for long." Liat's quiet voice breaks the silence, her eyes focused on the path ahead.
"I might travel, I might not. Maybe I'll stay long enough and milk my time. Maybe I'll leave next month," Rose answers her. She hasn't thought about it, actually. This is the earliest she's picked a successor, though, so maybe she's trying to tell herself something.
"I can't imagine your patience."
Rose frowns at that. "How do you mean?"
"Waiting. For The Doctor. It must get tiresome for so long."
"A decade is a second to me. I've got enough time to kill," she replies accordingly.
"You think he'll come soon?"
"I don't know."
It's the only answer she knows to be true.
Rose grimaces at that.
"Do you think he'll ever come?"
Oh, no one ever knows the answer to the question. It's a tricky one, a complex one at best. The Doctor never goes back for the people he can't save. Perhaps she's just one to jot down in his book of the dead. Perhaps she's destined to save a world who doesn't need saving anymore.
Maybe the reason why there was never a Rose Tyler in this world was because it has been waiting for her to come along.
Or maybe the Doctor is happier without her.
Oh, Rose, always the optimistic one.
But before she can answer, a boy runs into her. Completely by accident, of course, but it puts Rose off and she grumbles under her breath.
"Jesus, I'm sorry ma'am," the boy, a blonde teen with disheveled hair to match his otherworldly clothes. Reminiscent of the twenty-fourth century, if you ask her. American, too, which isn't strange considering many tourists come to visit family around this time. Still... the Californian twang in his words isn't from this time.
This boy shouts time traveller. Liat picks up on this as well and nudges Rose in the ribs.
"S'alright, just watch out next time, son," Rose says warily. The boy is watching Liat carefully, almost admiringly. He reverts his attention back to Rose.
"Thank ma'am, Merry Christmas!"
He walks off, this time in a slow pace. The boy looks around, as if looking for someone. The two women turn around back to the path.
Liat murmurs to Rose once they're out of an earshot, "Pick up on that time-traveller-ness?"
"Oh, of course," Rose grins. "He was looking at you, you know. He's quite attractive, by the way."
"He quite young, too," she laughs, playfully pushing Rose aside. "Coulda babysat him."
"There's another place you could've sat on as well," she teases.
While their laughter echoes around, a new layer of snow covers the park, and Rose thinks to herself that this Christmas won't be too bad. After all, it could only get better from here.
o0o0o
"Doc, I finally found you."
"Yeah."
"There was this really pretty girl - needed to see her closer, so I ran smack into this blonde woman, her friend I think - and it worked! She saw me. She smiled at me...she wants me."
"Toby."
"Can we take her?"
"Toby!"
"Oh, I suppose we'd have to explain ourselves then... you do it, you're better with words."
"Toby, seriously."
"...Sorry."
The Doctor shakes his head and laughs. He slings an arm around the boy's shoulders and pulls him close. While sometimes the Doctor has to parent the teen, he's more of an older brother than a father. He likes it better that way.
"I may have embarrassed myself," Toby groans. "I barely say a word and she thinks I'm weird. God, I'm hopeless."
"Nah, don't say that, you're a handsome fella. Girls like you. Just don't talk and they'll all want you."
Toby mocks laughter and punches the Doctor in the side. "Oh shush, Doc." He sighs dramatically. "There they are, Doctor. Rounding back here, we're bound to run into them. Lets turn. Now, if you love me, Doc, let's go."
But the Doctor stops in his tracks.
His hearts jump to his throat and he feels his last breath leave him. It's like someone had punched him in the stomach, leaving him breathless and winded and absolute, positively surprised. And inside, he lurches for her, for her touch, to brush his fingers over skin, to lick salt from chips from her fingertips.
He isn't aware that he's walking towards Rose until she's in front of him, staring at him like he's the best thing in the world. A voice in the back of his mind reminds him that to her, maybe he is. He smiles. She smiles.
Her voice flutters. "Where's the bowtie?"
"This new me abhors the word," he tells her. Truthfully, this new him hates most things the last one did. The only constant is the absolute fascination of the anomaly that is Rose Tyler.
The smile reaches her eyes and she nods in understanding. "I like your face. I really do."
Of course she does. Many women have sought after this one, chased him for years to get a good look at him. "How'd you know it was me?"
Rose shrugs. Like she herself doesn't know. "Only you look at me like that. Like I'm the best thing in the world."
"Because you are."
Then Rose Tyler in his arms and he breathes in deeply. She smells like talcum and roses and a new perfume he can't quite put a name on. She feels softer, is softer, and her bones have smoothed over into skin and her muscles are taut against his.
She is Rose Tyler. She is Rose Smith. And she is better, infinitely better than what he remembers.
"You came back," Rose whispers in his ear.
"I came back," he confirms, and he kisses her cheek. The softness of her skin meets his slightly chapped lips, and she is real, definitely real.
He's so happy.
Unbelievably happy.
She steps back and sniffs, drying her eyes with her sleeve. "This..." she hiccups, smiling at her inability to form words. She reaches for the skinny black woman beside her, pulling her forward. The young woman is shocked, pleasantly of course, but shocked nonetheless.
The Doctor extends his hand and she takes it without hesitance. "I'm-"
"The Doctor, I know, I know," the woman says gleefully. "I'm Liat."
"She's the new director of Torchwood," Rose says, slipping an arm around Liat's middle.
The Doctor watches Liat's face change from a state of wonderment to a state of surprised joy.
"Rose..." Liat says slowly. "Are you -"
"I'll be leaving tonight. I'll be gone forever. I trust you," Rose says, smiling at the woman as if she were proud of her. She turns to the Doctor, then to the boy behind him. "You the companion of this old fool?"
"Yes'm," he says shortly, stepping forward to offer his hand. The Doctor grins at this; he's starstruck and flustered, but mostly the latter.
"Your name, son?" Rose feigns a military voice, strictly formal and commandeering in every aspect. She takes his hand and shakes it firmly.
"Tobias," he says shakily. "Toby for short."
The Doctor slings an arm around Toby's shoulders and grins. "This one is a bit stuck with me. Been with me for about a year now, right Toby?"
Rose giggles at the teen's expression - the boy looks like he's in awe of her, a compliment well-received. "He looks like Jack. You sure this isn't his kid?"
The Doctor laughs. Then, he freezes, slightly concerned. The thought has crossed the Doctor's mind before, but never has it seemed so...plausible.
Nah.
"Course not, Rose, I've thought of that already," the Doctor says quickly. "Now, come on. The TARDIS has missed you."
"And I've missed her too, Where is she?"
"Collecting snow... right over - " the Doctor spins to point at the ship, a few dozen meters to their right. "There."
Then he holds out his hand, and then she takes it.
And after all these years, the Doctor thinks he's finally happy. The two of them walk in silence, taking in each other's presence before it becomes solidified reality. It seems too good for him, too. It seems like this isn't real, like the universe is being too kind to him.
But the doubt fades away when they arrive to the TARDIS. It opens upon his arrival, a feat that impresses Liat and makes Rose giggle is surprise. Toby steps inside, complaining about the cold. Liat stands outside in wonder.
"Come on, you going in or not?" Toby says from the inside, his words directed to Liat.
She is puzzled, and both Rose and the Doctor laugh. Then the young woman shakes her head, crosses her arms, and walks in.
"This better be as good as Rose told me," she says while taking the waiting hand of Toby. She steps in, closing the door behind her.
The Doctor and Rose wait for a second. Then:
"Are you aware that the inside is like ten billion times bigger than the outside?" Liat says, popping out her head from the inside of the ship. "Because bloody hell, it is."
The Doctor only smiles as he watches Toby pull her back inside. He hears him whisper to her, "Let them have their moment."
And so he and Rose do.
She looks at him, expectantly. All he wants to do is...
"You owe me a kiss," he says suddenly.
"I do owe you a kiss," she replies, like she's been expecting it for awhile now.
And then.
Her lips meet his. It is gentle, fragile, like the slightest step forward would break all meaning and ruin all of time and space. Her fingers tug at the collars of his polo, and his blood runs hot through him and he can feel it pounding in his ears to a rhythm that is entirely for them. For her.
She leans back. Her eyes flick down to his lips and her laugh barely makes it out when he pulls her closer and kisses her again. He craves her more than anything right now, he misses her, God, he misses her like crazy and it's been too long. He needs to be closer because if not, he thinks he will damn well explode right then and there.
A snowflake lands on her nose mid-embrace.
They part. She reaches forward to smudge her lipstick off of his jawline and says, a laugh dancing at the corner of her lips, "That color look horrid on you."
"I think I can pull it off," he jokes, catching her hand and pulling it towards him. "Rose Tyler."
"Hm?"
"You make breaking my hearts quite a habit," he whispers as he rests her fingers over his chest. "But it is all worth the pain as long it is you."
The Doctor is doomed to fall even more in love with her. He can feel it in his bones. And when she smiles - when she dips her head down and pulls her fingers to grip his shirt to pull him closer - he is only certain that she was put on this Earth to save him and save the world for as long as they both shall live.
Two hundred years without her doesn't seem too bad when they could spend two thousand more together.
"Let's go inside, Dame Rose, or else you might get sick, and that will ruin all my plans," the Doctor says as he leads her inside the TARDIS.
"Plans?" Rose asks, a wider grin gracing her lips.
"We never did go to Barcelona," the Doctor whispers in her ear. Then, he directs his attention to the other two occupants of the console room - Liat and Toby, both of whom were sitting in silence in front of a screen. Inwardly, the Doctor rolls his eyes. Toby must've accessed the camera outside so that he and Liat could watch him and Rose reconcile.
The disgust on Toby's face and the smirk on Liat's confirms his suspicions.
"Liat, it's been a pleasure, but I'm afraid now that you're the new director of Torchwood, you have to stay here," the Doctor says simply, holding out his hand for the girl to take. "But I can take you anywhere you want for Christmas. Name a place, and I'll bring you there. A gift, as thanks for keeping my Rose company. So, where to?"
The woman glances at Rose, then back to the Doctor. Not sure what to expect, she takes his hand. "Home. Suffolk. I need to see my family."
"Excellent!" the Doctor says, bringing Liat to the console. He presses a few buttons, then points to the lever adjacent to a flashing blue button. "Pull that, and we'll be right outside your home."
Liat pulls the lever, and within a second, they're outside a homely place. The four of them step out to face a scene taken straight out of a wintry fairy tale: a small cottage with crawlers growing on walls and trees covered in white, bricks aged but well-kept, smoke billowing from a chimney and the smell of coffee sifting through the air - Liat stares at her home, then says to Rose, "I'm here."
"Tell your sister I said hello, and that I wish her the best," Rose says quietly, going up to the young woman to pull her into a hug.
"What do I tell them? Joyce?" Liat asks, her voice cracking at the the last word. Her hold tightens as tears run down her cheeks; trails of smeared mascara and eyeliner now smudged onto her lids, she leans back to wipe at her eyes.
"Tell them I went away. That I won't be back for awhile. Joyce will know better."
"Okay," Liat whispers, her lower lip quivering as she draws in a deep breath. Pulling her lips into a watery smile, she says, "You'll be a mystery for the ages."
"That's the plan," Rose tells her. "Oh, Liat, you'll do wonderful. I know you will."
It's all in Rose's strength to not cry in front of the girl. To not break down and admit she's hesitant to leave. For the past four hundred years, this has been her home. For the past four hundred years, this is all she's known. But what good would it be to let Liat see her crack?
The Doctor understands. More than anyone else, he thinks. Toby crunches the ice beneath his feet beside him. He pats the Doctor on the back affectionately. "Deep in thought, Doc?"
"I don't like goodbyes," is all he says. He stuffs his hands in his pocket and exhales.
"You're not the one saying goodbye," Toby says after a while.
The two women hug once more, and a cold breath manages to seep from his throat. "Doesn't make it easier on me," the Doctor murmurs as he opens his arms to take in Rose's trembling form. He watches Liat go for Rose as she buries her face into his chest, and he watches Liat wave to the three of them for one last time. Then she disappears into the house, and suddenly, the three of them find themselves trudging back through the snow to the TARDIS.
She walks out from under his arms the moment they enter the TARDIS and heads for the console; as she runs her hands over the panel, she whispers something sweetly familiar, something he hasn't heard in ages.
Melody, like music; words, like English; home, like her...
She speaks Gallifreyan so naturally to the TARDIS.
Toby stares at her.
So does the Doctor.
She perks her head up at them. "Four hundred years on that world. I've learned a few languages on my way."
"That -" the Doctor starts to say, but she cuts him off.
"John taught me." She lowers her eyes to the console and brushes her thumb against the surface. "Took a while to master it...still haven't got it down, but..." She trails off, her eyes meeting his when she lifts her head.
The Doctor nods briefly, coughs nervously. He hate how much he fidgets around her, how unnerving it is to know that she's not the nineteen year old shop girl from the Powell Estate anymore. That she's went through as much pain as he has and has seen too many tragedies and travesties for her to ever be the same anymore.
But she's still Rose, and she's here with him. And that's better than anything he could ever imagine.
He walks towards her, holding out his hand for her to take. He flashes a soft smile. "Where are we going, Rose?"
"Wherever," she replies, lacing her fingers through his. "Whenever. I don't mind."
"Chips? Applegrass? New Earth?" he says excitedly, his words bouncing off the walls as he drags her around the console to set their destination. "Cardiff? Jack? We need to catch up, Rose Tyler! And you should pick the place."
He starts to fiddle with the devices, pulling levers and pushing buttons before her fingers clamp around his wrist and pull him closer to her. She stands on her tip-toes and leans in, her warm breath brushing against his ear and her hands traveling under his shirt as she whispers, "How about your bedroom, yeah?"
He hears Toby mutter to himself from the other side of the room and leave without another word.
The Doctor chuckles, his core stirring at this type of "catching up." He grabs her hands, pressing them against the nearest surface - the wall, as it ends up being - and moves in to capture her lips with his. He lifts a hand to cup her cheek and smooth across her skin with the pad of his thumb, this time his smile reaching hers in one more kiss. "I missed you," he tells her.
"I missed you too."
"You still love me?"
"Does it need saying?"
He finds her lips once more, pinning her to the wall with his whole body. It is then he realizes just how much he's missed her, and it is then he realizes just how much he needs her.
When she nips at his bottom lip, he realizes that it's the same for her, as well.
The two stumble into his bedroom moments later (something the TARDIS helps with) and there is nothing too eloquent, too soft about them. Ardence is lost just as clothing is shed, and he melts with her, wholly, entirely, completely.
He is drawn to her like a moth to a flame.
He can say the same for her, too.
And so here they are, lying in bed and tracing scars and sketching all the endings and beginnings to the stories they tell. They map out the stars on their skin and the stars in the sky, and for once, the universe is kind.
This is the Doctor and Rose Tyler, in the TARDIS, as it was before, and as it should be.
F I N
or is it?