Disclaimer: As per previous chapters.
The man was sitting on a park bench, in the middle of a busy suburban park. Little children in their bright vibrant clothing hurried on by, most clutching ice-cream cones and toys; skateboards and skipping ropes as well as the latest technology in ipods and game boys. Even the adults were laughing, cheerful, younge couples bashfully held hands and giggled. The sun was warm and vibrant and seemed to glow on all the living creatures, plant and animal.
The only exception was a single man. It looked like the sun made a point to avoid him, and everyone moved around him. Not wanting to be near him. He was so old, ancient. The oldest she had ever felt. But he couldn't have been. Roughly judging him, he looked late twenties, early thirties. Yet he was old, and powerful, even if he didn't know it yet.
Bad Wolf.
It was her fault. All her fault. Because she thought she could be great. Because she tried. Because she thought she could help.
She saved the Doctor by getting rid of the Daleks. By saving his friends. And Methos. One of the great Immortal survivors was going to be just that, he was going to help Earth.
Or at least, that was what she told herself.
She doesn't know how she managed it, when she looked back on her past, but somehow she managed to stumble over to the lone man, and sit beside him, sitting still and silent. Then she couldn't take it anymore.
"Does it hurt?"
Those words came by themselves, full of sorrow and sadness, guilt and grief. She mourned for him, for what she had done.
"I beg your pardon?"
He looked at her strangely, sizing her up, and freezing when he noticed what she was. What she was made from. What they called Quickening, was in fact, her life force. Herself. Bad Wolf. Yet she wasn't immortal.
"Does it hurt. The lives that pass so quickly. What might have been, what could have been, what mustn't have. The endless." She half smiled and toyed slowly at her jeans. Her face was full of anguish, misery and pain. "I'm Sorry."
Methos gave her a dubious look, trying to judge weather this was a prank in very bad taste by any of his friends or allies. Or neither. Perhaps he thought she was a nutter. Rose mused.
"You did well, you know." She continues, even with his questioning gaze, not wanting to meet his eye. "You once were death. Death on a high horse, but now." She paused.
"Now you're different."
The Immortal's eyes were scanning around him, obviously looking to see if she had any backup, slowly, after a minute pause. He met her eyes.
"Who are you?"
"Rose."
She held out her hand, and slowly moved it back to her lap when he stared at it blankly for a few moments. It was in that moments, that she realised he thought her a threat. She supposed it must be strange, to see someone with that much quickening. He probably thoughts she was an ancient, who very good with swords.
"Adam –" he started to say, but stopped as soon as he noticed the strange expression on her face.
"No. No its not." She laughed, and clasped her hands together. "You have so many names. So many. But only one has a true meaning to you. Methos."
"Who are you?" His voice raised a notch. Drawing the attention of passing people. His voice, so old, so full of command. So full of demand.
"I'm Sorry."
He stared at her, trying to judge what she was, what she meant. She sighed and stared at the park, watching girls and boys drawing chalk squares on the ground, while their friends searched for stones. And at the older children listening to ipods while skating and jumping over schoolbags.
"What for?"
He was attempting another approach.
"For everything. For life. For quickening. For this entire stupid game!" she paused "I'm Sorry."
He froze. Mouth slightly ajar, looking entirely baffled.
"I'm Sorry."
"How-?"
Rose stood, rearranging her blue jacket, and looking utterly despondent.
"I'm Sorry Methos. I am so so sorry."
And she faded.
She ran.
Bad Wolf ran, too afraid to look back.
Because she was the little would-be-god who had been bored one day, who decided to play a game.
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