Categories: Ship, Het, Angst, Romance, Vignette
Characters: Rose Tyler
Spoilers: Doomsday (the series two finale)
Credits: Screencap courtesy of time-and-space.co.uk
Disclaimer: Today we're stealing from BBC Wales.
Bad Wolf Bay
It's the last place she'd seen him -- her Doctor -- and Rose couldn't bear to just drive away and leave it. Not yet. She'd had a good cry on her mum's shoulder, and now she stood on the rocks and watched the sea crashing up against the shore.
He burned up a sun for her. Burned up a sun, and it wasn't even enough to bring her back to him. She stared up at the sky, but night was hours off yet, so she couldn't see the stars. Not that it mattered; she could look all she liked, but they weren't his stars. He wasn't out there. That supernova was collapsing in a whole other universe; her own, actually, but she'd never see it. Ten million light years away, or only ten, its light would never reach this Earth.
"Rose, sweetheart, you know he's not coming back."
"I'm just . . . staying on a while, is all. Saying goodbye."
They left her alone again, to watch the waves. Each one rushed up to meet the land, and she likened them to the Doctor, rushing up to hug her with his brown coat billowing around him. What she wouldn't give for one more of his bonecrushing hugs. For the warm smell of him surrounding her. And for a taste of those things she'd never known.
So many times, she'd watched his hands fly over the TARDIS controls as he raced to avert disaster, or in quieter moments, slow down to lovingly stroke bits of it. She wondered what those hands would be like, gliding over her body. The love of her life, and he'd caressed his spaceship, but never her skin. They'd never shared so much as a proper kiss.
She closed her eyes and imagined the feel of his lips against hers. A soft brush of lips to send electric tingles down her spine, a firm press of mouths to make her heart pound in her chest, a wet merging of tongues to make her knees turn to jelly as the sensation reached every part of her, and left her head spinning.
Just the thought of it left her head spinning.
She imagined the heat of his mouth on her throat, the play of his hands along her ribcage, his weight pressed against hers as they came together. She imagined the intensity of his gaze moving down her body with that delighted seriousness that only the Doctor could manage. And he'd say something like -- well, she didn't honestly know what he'd say, but it would be wonderful.
Just the way he said her name filled her with joy and excitement.
Once, just once, would that have been too much to ask? Just once to melt with ecstasy beneath the Doctor's touch, to hold him close and taste his skin, to hear her name on his lips as their bodies joined. Her skin hummed just to think of it, and her breath came quicker.
What was sex even like on Gallifrey? Time Lords must have had sex -- they had children. He'd had children, she remembered with a sharp pain, and he'd never told her about them, not really. Her heart ached at that. He'd lost everyone, and he was out there all alone now, with nobody to hold his hand. The tears rose anew, and she blinked them back.
The wind stroked her cheek, and played in her hair. She wanted to pretend it was the Doctor, to lose herself in fantasy, but the Doctor could never be anything as ethereal as wind. His presence was a solid thing. It had gravity and energy that went beyond charisma. He was her Doctor, and without him, a part of her died. She had more than most people. She had her parents and Mickey and Torchwood, and more fantastic memories than anyone on any Earth, but her heart was lost in another universe, orbiting a dying star.
At least she'd told him. He'd have that, and she'd have this ordinary life. She'd even do her best to make it a good one, for him. She turned and headed back to the jeep.
This transformative work constitutes a fair use of any copyrighted material as provided for in section 107 of the US Copyright Law. Doctor Who™© and related properties are Registered Trademarks of BBC Wales. No copyright infringement intended. No profits made here. © Spiletta42, January 2008.