We own none of this story, neither Let'sDoTheTimeWarpAgain or Scout Girl will get any money out of this so please Read and Review

Dancing with the Past

She was gone. She was truly, utterly and completely gone.
Every corner of the TARDIS seemed to remind him of her- a hairbrush in the bathroom with blonde strands of hair still in it, clothes in the wardrobe, romance novels in the library. Every single corner of the ship.
Was she trying to subconsciously punish him for not doing more, for letting her stay with him? The Doctor wished for a distraction. Any distraction, big or small, as long as it meant he could think on his feet and not focus on the past, so he could look to the future- well, the present at the very least- and not drown in memories, memories, memories.
And now, as he stood at the controls of the TARDIS in an empty console room, he sighed, the small sigh echoing slightly, almost mocking him, though there was no point, because there was no one to hear that sigh: there was no one to comfort him, no one to even tell him to shut up and stop moping, apart from that little voice in the corner of his mind, and of course that didn't count.
He needed to go somewhere, anywhere, somewhere to stop this tedium, this pity, this grieving... but why was he grieving? Rose was still alive! She hadnt been sucked into the void she was alive. He should be happy, he should be glad she was doing the one thing he could never do, living a normal life. She could get a job, get married...
His stomach lurched.
She could have children; live out a life that was meant to be, because it was natural, because it was human, because that's what she was meant to do in the laws of the human race. Grandchildren, maybe.
His stomach lurched again. Deep down, he knew exactly why he was grieving, and knew that it all laid in those three little words he'd never been able to say to her. Why not? Why couldn't he? Gallifrey was gone, gone, blown to smithereens, so what did it matter? What did one human girl matter? He knew the answer to that too, and in a far, far away part of his mind he was able to say it honestly: he had loved her. Loved her in a way that he hadn't loved Gallifrey, which sounded awful, one human over his race.. He'd had time to say goodbye to Gallifrey, said goodbye to it as he stood disconsolately clutching at the ashes which burned, before the grinding sound came to him and then when he woke up...
...But with her he hadn't been able to say goodbye. Not properly. Not in the way he have liked to. And that was what cut him up.
Steering his thoughts away from that, he turned his attention to the console, drawing his brown trench coat more tightly around him, like a shield, like the armour that he had made the leather jacket. Like the armour which only Rose could get through. Rose.
She wouldn't want him to grieve for her, just as he wouldn't want her to grieve for him. But he knew she would be. Or at least he thought so. He did know her very well, he had to admit. But the point was, neither wanted the other grieving... or did they?
Too many thoughts.
Thoughts and memories played in his mind, like a shortened down video tape: Rose smiling at him that Christmas which had seemed oh-so-long ago now, the first time she'd seen him in his new suit. Running for their lives together, sitting, talking happily on the apple grass of the fifteenth New York. Being knighted. Her dismay at Sarah Jane, and Reinette... the look of pure joy on her face after he'd confronted the beast... and the look of pure despair and devastation upon her face as he'd tried to say goodbye to her in Bad Wolf Bay. He could feel the tears on his face again...
Raising a hand, he wiped them away.

Too. Many. Thoughts.
"Come on, then!" he proclaimed in as cheery a tone as he could, staring down at the familiar controls with a little more enthusiasm than what he'd been able to muster previously.

"We'll go somewhere, eh? Just you and me, and we'll rest for once, maybe even cloud-watch together, what do you say to that?"
The lights glowed green reassuringly and the Doctor smiled, one of the first true smiles he'd smiled for days. That was better, he thought happily. Good. Smiling. Now he just had to keep that smile...
He was glad of the TARDIS, ever glad of her presence in his mind. It stopped him from thinking too much, from feeling too much...
Clang.
Famous last words, he thought with a grimace as the TARDIS gave a lurch and he plunged headfirst into the creamy coloured casing which bordered the bottom of the Time Rotor. Ouch. Now he was feeling, feeling a pain in his head. Thanks to her.
So much for that, then.
But why had she done that? Why had she lurched so suddenly?
Looking down, he raised an eyebrow, one hand to his head, and nodded, although it hurt to a little, suddenly understanding.
He'd been unaware of the fact that his hands had wandered automatically to the controls and the levers, and in fact, he'd been setting a course without his knowing. He peered at it closely. Hmm. To Brighton. Why Brighton? Why not... Mars or something? Brighton was hardly somewhere quiet...
"Never mind then, eh?" He muttered the question, standing up straight this time and not allowing his thoughts to wander.
He didn't want to be mistaken for a purple foreheaded Fluvon, seeing as though they had a particularly... enchanting... habit of pouncing on their fellows in what was thought to be an affectionate way. Wherever he ended up.
Especially Brighton.

Something's up...

His head was spinning. That... almost psychic feeling...

Something's not right...

It was familiar...

The TARDIS was lurching, dipping, swerving, and he was dimly aware of it, though his head was bothering more.
"Stop!" he ordered, snapping back to himself, darting around the console, pushing buttons, winding levers.
But she wouldn't stop.
"What's gotten into..."
He trailed off, his voice fading as his head began to spin again.
Then, as suddenly as it came, it went.
No spinning. The TARDIS was back to normal.
Her engines were perfectly still, perfectly stable. And she'd landed reasonably well, he thought, getting up off the floor.
"White knuckle ride was not what I needed," he said with a grin as he switched the screen on.
His grin froze, eyes widening. Dread lurched into his stomach, and an encounter came back to him, an encounter in his previous self with a man in a pinstripe suit who had stared at Rose in such a way it had made him shiver.
No...

He was in York.

Writen by Scout Girl and Let'sDoTheTimeWarpAgain

BETAed by Let'sDoTheTimeWarpAgain and Scout Girl

(nifty hey)

Please Read and Review