009. Flicker
Jack Harkness
Before, when he was human, he didn't really understand the Doctor and Rose's strange relationship. There was always something more lingering under the surface, but it never managed to bubble to the top. Instead it simmered beneath, manifesting itself as excess energy in the air, biting against their skin. He could always see the yearning in her eyes, and the guarded apology in his.
Now he's not human, and he understands.
She was sugared floss, and carnival candy on a warm day. She was a cute thing, all laughter and pink on yellow. Yet, she was a flower, and here while she was blooming, soon she would wilt. Fragile skin would break and glass bones would shatter. She was a flame, flickering, and while now she burns so brightly soon there would be only a whisper of smoke where she once was.
And for all of his strength, that was one thing the Doctor was not strong enough to see.
That he understands now. More than he ever wanted to.
With a sigh, he got to his feet, leaning down to finger the mortal woman's grave one more time. The bite of memory was not as harsh this time, but it still burned.
Sometimes, he knows now, it was easier just to flicker and fade rather than burn on forever alone.