[ O9 / ? ] prompt: ... angst without kissing.
one of my friends sent me a beautiful prompt, but given the nature of that one, it was sure to involve kissing [ and REAL kissing at that this time ] once again ... and after Losing Strings, I felt like I had to write things just a bit more brotp for a while. orz ; not that I don't ship them as otp either, but let's be fair, 12.5 year old marrieds don't continuously snog ( andthat'swhattheyare ), plus there's no denying tenth x rose, really.
SO. random angst. again. yay. also post - finale like Letterbox because I'm SUPER creative. wordcount 444 somehow. prettyneatwhenthisisseason4.
uhh. could say I'm not a big fan again but you're probably tired of that so [ hopefully ] ENJOY.
SPONTANEOUS ABORTION
[ tenth / donna ]
It was almost like a honeymoon, after finding her again. It wasn't Spain, but even further off yet, and he'd seen her in dress before.
A honeymoon always comes after, though, and now at this point, there is none.
There was her, and there was the dress, and then grand fun and tears, some vows and some promises, some even of forever, together, in one place, no children, but still them. It's more the ceremony, ring and all, right at the beginning, and then the reception, the party, complete with song and friends and family, with special drinks and laughter, a few uninvited guests that were equally unwanted -
or maybe there wasn't even that.
Or maybe there was for him, but there's no more for her right now. There's no party, no reception, no church, no dress, no ceremony, not in any order.
Now there's only him carrying her out, in his arms, bridal style, out the door of what was almost their cathedral, the tall – standing proof of the engagement they entered, almost in eternity, but mostly until death do part.
Death would have made her wait a long time, in that event, but he did not think it to be so soon – and especially not so cruel as her no longer waiting in the end.
It's good for her, he tells himself. It's almost like he dies each time, dead and then born again, but without the weight and troubles of that past life to carry. It's a better version of the Timelord – the humanTimelord – the Timelord called the DoctorDonna.
He doesn't ring the bell immediately. In fact, at first, he doesn't actually ring the bell at all. He just sits there, knees collapsed, like he just dropped his bride, with his head against the door that should not be there, for by logic, the one of matrimony, they should now be outside, the two of them, off to a new life.
It's not what he carries her into when he finally gets up. It's her old life, and a new marriage, the one of normalcy and blandness and lack of self – esteem, where she does not know what happened, and does not know what she had, with him, in a way their children, except not called as such but simply named ' memories ' instead: spontaneous abortion somehow post that pregnancy.
That's why he can't tell her either. This death is worse, he realizes, in between the two goodbyes of holding her hand and kissing her forehead, but no mother and wife could live with the thought of having killed what they created themselves.
He leaves the doorstep empty-handed.
