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His eyes were playing tricks on him. It wasn’t the first time. It had been over a thousand years and a young blonde could still turn his head in hope. Clara had joked that he had a type. He didn’t. Not really. There was just the one.
So why did his hope linger on this young blonde in particular?
Sitting on a park bench, a book in her hands going unread as she watched children play. A sad smile etched across her features and a heavy heart clear on her sleeve. Her eyes were old, far too old for such a young face. Even as his hearts screamed Rose his brain told him to be cautious. He’d been tricked before.
Slowly, painfully slowly, he crossed the lawn. Even before he reached her she was sliding over to make room for him. He settled beside her, his hands kept in his pockets, afraid if he removed them he’d reach for her like he had before. The silence stretched on, awkward but not uncomfortable. He could feel his hearts pounding against his chest and he wondered if she could hear them. He hazard a look out of the corner of his eye and watched as a small smile grew upon her face.
“Hello, Doctor.” She said softly, turning to catch his gaze with her own.
His hearts stuttered before reaching for the heavens. How?
She grinned and he realized he must have muttered that allowed. “How what? How do I know it’s you? How am I here? How can you be sure it’s me?”
“All of it. Any of it.” He took a hand from his pocket and moved to place it over her own. Before their skin touched the briefest tremor of fear coursed through him. What if he touched her and she disappeared? What if he touched her and she broke? What if he touched her and she wasn’t real? Like so many times before.
She didn’t allow him to fear. Instead turning her hand over and linking her fingers between his. Her fingers were soft, cold, and felt so right tucked between his.
She let out a deep sigh as her eyes locked on the hand joined with hers. “I suppose the short answer is that you just have to trust me. Just like I trust you. Like I’ve always trusted you.” She brought his hand to her lips and placed a kiss against his knuckles. “My Doctor.”
The Doctor let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. Pulling his other hand from his pocket he rested his palm gently against her cheek, turning her gaze back to his. “I trust you. I just don’t trust myself. I’ve imagined you here with me so many times and you always disappear. You walk away, or you fade.” He dropped his head, his eyes closing at the painful memories.
“Doctor. Open your eyes.” She pleaded softly. “Look at me.” Her hand wrapped around the base of his neck and rubbed small circles into his silver curls.
Slowly he opened his eyes, storm blue locking on to whiskey brown. He raked his gaze across her face, to every freckle, line, and smooth expanse he had memorized so long ago. When he’d taken in every piece of her he could see he returned his eyes to hers.
“Rose?” He whispered, “My Rose?”
“Hello,” Rose whispered back “My Doctor.”
A tear ran down the young woman’s cheek before being caught in the corner of her grinning lips. The Doctor gently caressed the droplet away with the pad of his thumb and felt his own smile forming.
“Now,” He started as he pressed his forehead gently against hers “why don’t you tell me the long version?”