Here's part two of Run by Sick Pupies, as requested by AFireflyInSerenity.
Rose was not adapting well to this new universe. She'd left Pete's house all of once—and that was to say goodbye to the Doctor at Bad Wolf Bay. Since then, she'd barely left her bed.
Her mother worried about her…then got angry with her. Now she was threatening to kick Rose out, but Rose knew it was just a ploy to try and get her up and out of her funk.
Rose had no desire to get out of her funk.
She rolled over in her bed, away from the window; the window she always kept the curtains covering, so that she wouldn't have to face the zeppelins in the sky. So she wouldn't have to face that she was not where she belonged.
Rose stared at the wall, and wished for the numbing comforts of sleep. In sleep, she was safe. In sleep, she couldn't feel.
Sleep did not come often enough.
She wondered what the Doctor would think of her behavior. She could picture piercing blue eyes telling her to have a fantastic life without him. She could picture warm brown eyes telling her to move on.
Or, if she was feeling particularly self-loathing, she could picture those same blue eyes glaring at her, telling het to get up and get on with her life. The brown eyes looking at her in pity before turning away.
Neither was particularly pleasant.
She had to get up and go on eventually, she knew it. She even planned on it. She just wanted a little more time to mope; and the more time she took to mope, the farther into depression she sunk.
She rolled onto her back, contemplating the ceiling now. 'Impossible,' he had said. It was impossible for her to ever see him again. Impossible for her to ever go home. Impossible, impossible, impossible.
She hated that word, impossible. Always had. She'd seen so many things while she was with the Doctor that were supposed to be impossible, that she'd all but forgotten that there was anything that was impossible.
And who was he to declare something impossible, anyway? He'd been wrong before. Rose glared at the ceiling. He'd been wrong before.
She sat up, the blankets falling away from her.
He'd been wrong before.
And God damnit, he would be wrong again.
She launched herself out of bed, moving with a purpose for the first time in weeks. "Pete," she said into her cellphone, barely letting her pseudo-father say hello. "Is that job offer at Torchwood still open?"
She had some running to do.
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