Chapter Text
“Hold on–Doctor, be careful!” Rose whispers (yells) as he switches between clawing at her waiting hand and the stone ledge. Out of all the hasty and ill-timed decisions to pull on the day before their wedding, scaling her balcony was not one she thought him capable of, and for that, she could just about smack herself on the forehead for being so naive.
This is the Doctor she's talking about; of course, he’d do this!
“Shhh….tell the whole east side of Scotland now, why don’t you?” He whispers back, equally hasty but tinged with a wee bit more panic. She glances down at his feet; his slippers are slipping on the stone slabs– or rather, her mum’s bunny slippers are currently sliding on the slabs. She frowns. Of course, leave it to him to follow one impulsive decision with another.
‘I defeated the Sycorax unscathed in a pair of jim jams and a borrowed robe, Rose; what is one building going to do?’ The sheer cheek to say that when she told him this was an awful idea. She just about shooed him away with a blunt,’ A lot,’ but he was far too stubborn to hear reason– already three steps up the stone wall before she could so much as ready a few choice words of her own
Two things concerning the unscathed comment... One, during that specific incident, he did not, indeed, come out unscathed. In fact, his mere existence at all is due in part to the loss of a hand that took place on that day. Two, he is fully human now as far as it matters, so there is no repeat of number one in the case that something does indeed go wrong, and sorry for the cynicism, but she’d rather marry him as he is, not in a full body cast.
‘Oh, you worry too much. I’m great at climbing; some might say even extraordinary— everything will be fine,’ he had reassured her, again, big pleading eyes and all, when his flawless reasoning fell flat and she looked at him like he grew a second head. Didn’t take long after that, to drag her into another one of his schemes, with how utterly irresistible that pout of his is. Damn him for being so hard to say no to; otherwise, they wouldn’t be in this mess– with him clinging to her hand, feet sliding, while she does everything in her power to pull this daft man of hers up the stone ledge.
She could kick herself for this. Maybe then, Jackie would have reason enough to set both of them straight with a good smack upside the head. But above any genuine worry, also swells a fondness for his madness, and in spite of her better judgment, her love for him seems as blinding as it is all-encompassing, for it is that very reason that she pulls harder.
“Just heave with your back–good, that’s it. You must’ve been a rock climber in a past life, Rose Tyler. You have one hell of a grip!” He says in that manic, breathless way that is so him as he uses her desperate grip on his hands to muster up some sense of stability in his back legs.
She grunts out when his wriggling gets especially taxing on her shoulders , “Oh, I’ll show you just how good my grip is if you don’t get your arse–” but the rest of her threat remains unsaid when a swift switch of positions on his end, manages to get his body more than halfway up the stone ledge, and they capsize. Falling to the ground with a clap of dust that momentarily renders them a coughing heap of limbs.
Surprisingly, the impact doesn't hurt as much as she thought it would, considering it's her back that took most of the crash, though it does ache. The blonde lets out a scoff. She’s probably had worse accidents trying to pry Tony’s pet lizard from her legs back at home, but the thought does very little to alleviate the current discomfort of feeling dirt and who knows what else between her body’s crevices. Her bare legs, being especially dirty.
She cringes, before coughing out the culprit of said uncleanliness as her companion’s own hacking mirrors her own. If he were normal, she might have entertained the notion that this little mishap would serve as a lesson. You know, something akin to the saying of “do something stupid and win stupid prizes,” but knowing him, he probably finds this experience all the more exhilarating now that he has something to remember it by. Figures, a madman with a box will always be a madman.
He’s the first to recover, making his way to his knees just by her prone form. A winning smile greets her as soon as he leans over her less-than-impressed frown, completely unfazed.
”Sorry, Rose, guess your mum’s bunny slippers are really not the most ideal scaling instruments, eh?”
She sits up, ignoring his insensitive comment in favor of blowing away a strand of hair that fell over her eyes. Rose must be an absolute sight at the moment, she muses, with how much the dust seems to stick to his sideburns. She rolls her shoulders just in time to hear a pop. Nothing serious, as always, but no less, a sobering reminder that they’re both getting to the age where neither of their bodies will be as forgiving as they once were.
Stubborn as he is, even he has to realize this particular stunt of his was especially irresponsible. He’s no longer immortal and she can only use that bronze medal she won when she was like seven for so long, before it starts sounding like a deliberate attempt to cling to the past. She mutters something along the lines of how this must be how her mother feels when she makes excuses for her own aging, though she quickly follows it with the horrifying conclusion that she’s way too young to be feeling this way.
Blimey, that’s sobering.
“You know, most people just use the door— saves us the trouble of having to get one of those buttons that call paramedics when we’re what? Fifty?”
The space between his brow cinches,” Now, where would the fun in that be? Far more romantic this way, for a man to woo his soon-to-be, over her terrace. Plenty of writers have used it in their stories.”
“True stories?”
“Well…no,” he tugs at his ear,” There hardly used to be a terrace that was safe enough to do it back in the day.”
She sighs, “There you have it, then,” her hand rubs at the back of her neck, another pop. God, maybe investing in a neck brace would do the two of them some good,” 'Cause they failed to mention the part where said soon-to-be has back pain for the next twenty years.”
“Wait– are you hurt?” At the mere mention of injury, the decidedly boyish smile on his lips slips into a stern frown. His hands hurriedly fix themselves on her skin. Checking, with ample worry for any injury, as he mutters sincere apologies under his breath.
Any grievances on her end fade just as quickly as they came at the sight of him so distressed. Oh, who is she kidding? She loves this oddball of a man too much to ever hold a grudge for too long. They could both be in a bloody cast tomorrow for all she cares, and she’d still be just as content. A completely sane Doctor, is just not what she signed up for.
Rose stills his wrists,“I’m okay, Doctor, really, no fuss,” and his palms find themselves etched on either side of her face. He tilts it towards him. Up and down, trying to suss out if she is displaying any signs of an oncoming concussion. Probably the most medical-like action she’s seen him do since she met him. The blonde can’t help but smile,” See? Everything’s in order. Nothing to write home about– well, unless wrinkles count.”
“Don’t be ridiculous; you’re as beautiful as the day I met you,” he says genuinely, and she chuckles. Attempting to laugh off the very prominent blush that makes its way up her face.
He continues, “You sure? You know me, I’m a bit scatterbrained this time around; it’s hard to control where my head goes. Like just a few you seconds ago– I happened to spot you here and thought, ‘ Oh well, that looks rather cozy– my precious girl, stargazing. Did all the necessary bits; sized up the height and factored in the average velocity I’d have to maintain to avoid a very unfortunate saunter to the gravel below your terrace–” Rose nods her head, adding in an assortment of ‘oh’s,’ and “ah’s” whenever his rather detailed explanation (something about how Romans used the same method to calculate the accuracy of catapults?) delves into territories she only ever hears in those physics lectures him and Clive like to go on about.
Mind, she has come a long way since they first met in terms of knowing the general meaning/ application of said terms and concepts, but even then, her head doesn't work nearly as quickly as his does. She has to ease herself into it, while the Doctor works at it with the subtlety of an oncoming semi truck.
But, that's what she loves about him. Loves the way his mind works and the slight timbre of his voice when he rambles. Or the way his eyes sort of shine when she finds herself repeating the names of all the terms and such he uses. So she always listens, even if half the things he says sound completely mad.
His hands are going haywire again, having long since abandoned her face in favor of giving himself more mobility. He motions over the ledge, then himself,”... I was so preoccupied with just looking at you, that I forgot to change,” he looks down at himself, pinstriped ensemble, now marred a light ash from the dust, ”Obviously,” and Rose properly laughs at the absurdity of it all.
The timelord adds with a smirk just as she finishes swiping at her eyes,” Think Jackie will be more forgiving about the whole ‘seeing you before the wedding’ thing if I show her the state of her slippers? She might be too angry over that to remember I snuck up here.”
She raises an eyebrow, amused, “How’d you even manage to find them? Mum barely lets them out of her sight— says it’s her lucky pair since Tony came to be. Something about it helping with the pregnancy swelling?”
“It was dark. Had to get a bit creative, what with Jackie snoring down the hall, so I just grabbed whatever was near. Thought they were mine— though… on second thought, perhaps the overall width of the soles should have been a dead giveaway,” he cringes, presumably thinking of how disturbing it is to wear something that is likely caked in her sweat. ” Not my fault your mum insists we all leave our slippers in the same place so as not to muck up the carpet, then again…. They are rather comfortable, might have to get some of our own. Say, think she’ll tell me where she got them?”
“I could ask— same color and everything?”
“Why not? Pink bunnies can be manly.”
Rose smiles, “Well, I’m not planning to run off and tell her–” he narrows his eyes,” About you being up here, not the bunny slippers—i’ll ask tomorrow,” he nods in appraisal. She giggles, tracing the stone floor with her finger as she imparts him with a coy look, “Though it might be best just to spend the night here, you know… not to give yourself away? ”
He smiles even brighter, if possible, “I can stay then?”
“Might as well, wasn’t planning to let you go,” she finishes with a wink and her playful retort has no longer than a few minutes to persist before he presses his lips against her own. Patient, loving, she melts into the kiss as he cradles her jaw. Guiding her backward, as she does all that she can to cling to him—not that she needs much an incentive to do so when he so expertly renders her a puddle of pure bliss just by simply being.
The Doctor smiles into mouth, shifting knees just as he nips at her bottom lip, and her fingers curl over his bicep. Drawing him in as to finally feel the thrumming of his heart against her own– only for an especially abrupt gust of wind to cover them in, what would be, the second wave of dust that day, and they suddenly part. All passions diminish in favor of their respective coughs, and the timelord turns away. A sneeze so loud leaving his sniffling figure that she has no means of not choking on her laughter as she rubs his back.
“Blimey, you’d think they’d give this place a good vacuuming every once in a while, even if it is a castle! I mean, I highly doubt one of the selling points here is the centuries of dead skin cells and dirt you find lying about–,” his voice goes up an octave,” Oh yeah, lovely place you have here; mind if I breathe in a quarter of your ancestry?” He ends his little rant with a sniffle, the tip of his nose red from all the rubbing he did with the back of his hand, but Rose is still reeling from the dead-skin comment.
“Hold on a minute– dead skin cells?” She manages, growing more perturbed by the minute,” Are you saying I’ve got someone’s grandad all over me right now?”
He blinks as if the revelation is as unsurprising as finding out the sky is blue, “Just about, maybe even ashes? You never know; plenty of people go around sprinkling their loved ones over just about anything these days. A bit morbid if you ask me, I could–”
The Doctor, unusual and alien, pats the ground and is just about ready to put said dust in his mouth before she stops him with a firm grip on his wrist– the nerve, he has, to then look at her as if she is the strange one for stopping him.
“Don’t,” she shakes her head, “Just don’t. I’m okay with not knowing.”
“Suit yourself,” he sighs, disappointed, and she just about doubles over from how hard her eyes roll to the back of her head. How is she going to keep this alien of hers alive if he insists on putting things in his mouth that aren’t edible? … Or is it? Honestly, the fact that she is asking this question at all is probably reason enough not to encourage it.
The reminder of anything dead on her body is enough to make her itch.
She pats his knee, “Come on then, help me up; last thing I need is to be haunted by someone’s grandad tomorrow morning– think meeting Dickens was enough of a reminder not to mess with the paranormal,” and he laughs, with a hand in both her own; the pair of oddballs make their way to their feet. However, the serenity of it all is quickly interrupted when he adds, “Don’t forget the dust mites.”
“Dust mites?” she squeaks, temporarily discombobulated by the knowledge that she might yet again have another organism lurking on her person, and she latches onto him. It is when she feels his body trembling from the weight of his laughter that she has half a mind to poke his side in retaliation for such a cruel joke, but the need quickly fades away the moment she presses into his shoulder. Rather effective that, works every time he needs to wiggle himself out of a lecture.
“Git,” she mutters into the plush fabric of his nightshirt, but it comes out breathier than she intends, and he presses his nose into her hair. His breath, tickling her forehead when he speaks. “Oh, like I need to make up a reason to have you in my arms,” he teases, and his arms wrap even tighter around her much smaller form. A masculine— ancient aroma, his scent, filling her nose and quieting the incessant ruffling of leaves in their surroundings.
“I missed you,” the Doctor says, resting his chin on her head, and the corners of her mouth pull into a grin against his shirt. She plants a kiss just below his collarbone, and he chuckles as his fingers trace random patterns into her back,“ Never thought your mother to be the superstitious type– I mean, not seeing each other before the ceremony– we share a flat? A bed? Why would the day before our wedding be any different?" She feels him shake his head, "It’s not even a tradition that's meant to be romantic; folks were just worried that the groom would never make it to the altar.”
Stopping her content nuzzling, she raises her head with a frown. Rose raises a brow,” What, seriously?”
“18th century, lots of arranged marriages back in the day. Grooms didn’t always know what their soon-to-be spouse looked like until the day. That whole ‘unlucky’ diatribe was just a front; it was actually to prevent either party from cutting the ceremony short in case they thought the other was unpleasant to look at.”
Her mouth gapes,” You have to be joking… is that what the veil is for, then? To hide her face so that some flea-ridden bloke won’t turn her away?”
His lips disappear, pressing into a thin line as he digs through that catalog of obscure knowledge his brain seems to never run out of, ” Sort of? As far as I know, they were more of a purity thing that was adopted later on; most weddings during that time period didn’t even include them. Well, not until Queen Victoria popularized it in the 1840s– a trend of sorts, really. She seems to be behind a lot of things— that and the color white for wedding gowns.”
Rose makes a face, “Good thing we’re only following the traditions that still matter then, yeah?” But then her expression molds into one of teasing; a nice, big grin on her lips, “ Though, the running thing does seem pretty tempting. Might save us from having to pretend we like the Torchwood execs that are coming.”
“Jackie would hunt us down,” he chuckles, and the weight of it seeps into her skin. Rose nods her head in agreement, listening,” She’s been pestering us about the wedding since we brought it up– wouldn’t be surprised if she’s already set up some sort of system to keep us there. I’m half expecting to be tackled in a few minutes by Jake for violating her rules,” he jokes, and she tucks her head into his shoulder again. Laughing, all while the Doctor presses chaste kisses onto her hair.
They’re rocking now. Side to side, as if participating in a waltz that neither exactly knows the steps to, but all the same, remains synchronous. They relish in the intimate setting, all the more sweeter now that they’re properly alone and away from any judging eyes. Mum would throw a fit if she found out they went against her wishes, but then again, that’s why they’ve resorted to sneaking around. If she could, she’d stay here all night in his arms, but she’s afraid there’s only so many mosquito bites she could take before she starts getting lightheaded from all the blood loss.
“You’re right. Mum would never let me hear the end of it.” His hands slide to opposite ends of her shoulders as she shifts— lifting her head just enough so that he can see her,” But it’s never been about that, has it? If it were just the two of us, I would have been just as happy, you know?”
A huge understatement, really, considering just how long it took for them to get the wedding plans into motion. They had gotten engaged quite quickly, a year in, but the date itself kept getting pushed back due to their Torchwood duties. Extraterrestrial contact has become more commonplace since the galaxy came to find out that the Doctor now resides in this universe ( How? They’re not sure yet, but they suspect it might have been the cybermen invasion that put them on the radar of just about every sentient planet in the solar system. That is, unless her Mother spread the word…again) and through Pete, the Doctor and her have taken it upon themselves to lead any operations involving it. Choosing to rally behind the peaceful option, if not for the occasional alien invasion that forced their hand otherwise, and implement them into the human population slowly, as opposed to stunting the undergoing evolution of a peaceful coexistence.
All operations have remained undercover for the time being; the public is hardly ready to find out that the nice family down their streets is likely an Aquanox couple cleverly cloaked in a device akin to the Tardis's Chameleon arch, but it’s been an enormous win so far. No real problems other than the occasional missing loofa or fragrant soaps. They needed that above all, really, after so many years of treading through the worst facets of humanity: a reminder that the world wasn’t always so cruel and unforgiving. If change means having to postpone their wedding so that their children could live in a world more fit to accept them and all their unique qualities, then they would do it.
Or so, was the plan, until her mother right about dragged the two of them to their living room after a visit and gave them a lecture, in that direct manner of hers that meant the pair would not get a word in until she had her fill,” Oi you two, four years and counting, is it? Are you doing a trial run or something? What’s the hold up with the wedding?”
Mind, both being equally as stubborn, they were hardly swayed in their decision to postpone it at first, until she brought up the fact that they would never get anything done if they kept putting their life on hold for the sake of their duty. “Live, you two. Enjoy the opportunity you were given at a happy life and put all that alien business to the side for now.-- and for god’s sake, give me grandchildren already! It’s not like you two aren’t already practicing!”
Final uncomfortable declaration aside, her mother had a point. One would think with all the fighting they did to have what they have now, they’d realize that, but habits die hard. Their work unknowingly became a priority and after a long heart-to-heart between her and the Doctor, they agreed. Sure enough, the news sent her mother into tears (Pete almost pulled his back out trying to tear her off the Doctor, who was whining after receiving one too many Tyler kisses to the face), and the wedding was set into motion. With how delicate their respective duties were at Torchwood, they left most of the hiring and such up to Jackie to handle, though her mum being well… her mum, always insisted it be a lot more extravagant than she and the Doctor had planned. An argument she since dropped after Pete stepped in to remind her that it was their wedding, and so, their say.
Pete had been a massive help as well. They’d grown closer as a result of the whole returning back to Pete’s world debacle that occurred all those years ago– helping her come to terms with what happened and guiding her through the process of building up the nerve of confessing her feelings to the Doctor. Their relationship has since evolved, and though he never will replace her father back in her own universe, the role he has since filled is more akin to that of a stepfather, and he nearly cried when she asked him to walk her down the aisle.
'Are you sure, Rose? I– blimey, I wish I could say that I considered that you’d want me to do this, but– Oh, who am I kidding? Yes, of course, love– I’d be honored.'
Rose still can’t help but smile at the memory. Biological or not, she can’t help but think her father left a piece of himself behind in this universe just so that she’d have someone there to take up the mantle in his regard. He may not be her Pete, but he was still a father to her in every way that mattered, and for that, she can never not see him as anything but her Dad.
The sides of the Doctor’s eyes crinkle,” Don’t doubt it; it’s a miracle in itself that we managed to get the ice sculptures she wanted out of the venue. Imagine that? Two eerily perfect carvings of our heads, in ice, staring back at us while we eat— I already had one dismembered hand to deal with, not exactly itching to add a head to the list,” he presses the tip of his nose against her own after her giggling fit settles. She flutters her eyes shut on instinct, “But I can deal with a few torchwood royals if it means having you as my wife.”
Right, the guests. Were she not already in such a good mood, the reminder of having to face said individuals tomorrow would have been enough to have her resume her prior sulking. It’s not that she thinks it's a bad idea. In fact, it's a brilliant idea– diplomatic in a way only her social butterfly of a mother could think of. The plan is, by inviting a few major Torchwood investors and associates, they’d have more of an incentive to accept the policies that they’ve been working on in the last four years regarding the integration of alien forces within Torchwood itself. They were already familiar with the technology, so why not the people as well?
It's a well-thought-out scheme, enough to have prompted the Doctor to tackle her mother in a big hug the first time she brought it up (to which, he followed it up with a dig at her perfume– just to balance out the forces of nature that drove him to do such a thing) from how simple, yet clever of a plan it was but well…she’d be lying if she said her distaste now at the thought of shaking the hands of so many unfamiliar people was present before. More like a recent development of sorts, that was enough to drive her to the balcony, just to calm the racing of her thoughts.
But that’s neither here nor there yet. The Doctor is here, might as well take advantage of these little moments they have just to be a couple for once. Two humans– well, one half-human, and her, a full human just enjoying one another’s company under the stars. Rather romantic, spontaneous, all things considered.
Rose can feel all those happy jitters flutter in the pit of her stomach, just thinking about the mere prospect of being his wife.
“Mrs. and Mr. Tyler, huh?” She tests the names with a dreamy smile, trying to see if it rolls off the tongue. It’s not wrong, per say. Her eyebrows scrunch. At least, not in a way that makes her cringe at its mere mention, but it is relatively simple. Simple, in the sense that it does very little to embody the uniqueness of who he is to her. Her Doctor. No moniker will ever compare to the power those two words hold in her heart. Even if the legal paperwork says otherwise,"'S nice, but I think I’ll just stick with Doctor and Rose, if that’s okay with you?”
He lets out a gust of air, as if the reminder that he will not be expected to respond to the name in private is enough to ascend him to the heavens, “Oh, I wasn’t expecting anything less. Mind, I love the name. Tyler, Rose Tyler, it has a certain ring to it– but Doctor Tyler? God, having people call me John is already enough of a hassle to correct– now, Dr.Tyler? Do I have to make up a doctorate too?”
“Me, a wife to a Doctor? Seem’s mum really hit the bragging jackpot with you, huh?”
They both burst out into a clammer of lighthearted giggles. A joyous sound that is almost juvenile as they cling to one another— harboring just enough awareness to shush the other when things get too out of hand. They stay like that for a bit. Tugging at each other’s sleeves until their strength gives out, and all that’s left in its wake is their breathing. Soft, content breaths that tickle their lips until all that stands between them is the possibility, the need.
It’s chaste, the kiss he gives her after cicadas fill in the gentle lull of silence that befalls them, but with the pretense that it is the first, of many that await them in a shared future, it’s enough to give it the weight it holds for both of them. And when they part, there’s no hiding the shameless display of adoration on his features as he watches her. Drinks her in, and sullies the very beauty of the atmosphere around her because to him— there's no sight that will ever compare to that of her own face.
A fond smile graces her features. It’s moments like these where she can’t help but chastise her younger self for being so blind. Of thinking he could never feel the same for her as she did for him, when it is evident from the way he looks at her that his day only starts the minute she blesses him with a smile. Lucky him, the task is never challenging, but she imagines the novelty will never disappear. Not even when they’re both grey and bitter, could she see herself ever keeping it to herself if it means having him treasure it like he does.
“Stargaze with me?” The words leave her lips, blissful, and he moves a strand of her hair to the side— planting another kiss on her skin, this time on the space between her brows, “Lead the way, Mrs. Tyler.”
She takes the lead. With the lights of the castle now off, the limited gleam of the moonlight is the only real light source they have to guide themselves. They do well enough, all things considered. Stumbling only once, but they recover quickly— taking their next step, albeit a bit more cautiously. Her hand never leaves his own and before long, they reach the space she was occupying just before he interrupted. Their shoulders touch.
They look up then, and when they do, they bear witness to the sight of millions of stars. She grins. Speckles of pure white and yellow, big and small, litter the sky in waves. An ocean of pitch blue cradling each and every star, and for a moment, she considers counting them. Is there a limit, she wonders. How does each little orb of light know where to remain? Where to spawn next? She just about asks, turning to the Doctor to get some of his intel when she sees him look out into the distance. Missing the stars entirely and focusing on the sounds, closing his eyes. She follows his lead, fluttering her own shut—when she hears an all too familiar buzz tickling the recesses of her mind.
She chuckles. Their fully grown Tardis, calling to them, it seems. It creates a soothing timbre that complements the chirping of cicadas as it sits only a few feet below—the only real spectator to their rebellion. Funny how such a sound blends in, yet she can pick it out were it ever to disappear. The price of knowing its absence, she fears, enough to have the relief seeping in her bones drown out the haunting emptiness of the latter.
“It’s rather nippy,” he comments, peering at her from the side,” Scotland is always a bit cooler at night. Was surprised to find you out here at this hour; seems like the kind of weather that would send you into a deep sleep. Thought you’d be drooling over your pillow by now.”
Rose chuckles.
“Oh shut up,” she lightly bumps him with her shoulder,” Couldn’t sleep.”
“Felt like looking at the stars then?”
“Better than rolling around in the dark.”
The timelord hums.
“Fair. Does feel like the kind of scene to do that in,” she can hear the smile in his words,” To dramatically brood as you watch the trees move in the distance. Rather green,” and he has a point. The horizon is breathtaking, nothing but shrubbery and grassy hills for miles. In its midsts, are clicking crickets and the soft croons of wildlife that she has yet to spot with her naked eye. Probably for the best, considering she’s already had her fill of unknown creatures of the night since her last visit. Leave it to her wacky lifestyle to make her fear of werewolves all the more plausible.
“I don’t brood…”
“Could’ve fooled me.”
She rolls her eyes. Rose had been unreceptive to the idea at first, of holding their reception in Scotland. Just felt a little too grandiose for a small party, but when her mum showed her the pictures of the venue, a castle. Coupled with the charming sights of stone relics and ‘highland coos,’ as the Doctor put it, she couldn’t help but fall in love with the idea the more she thought about it. That isn’t to say that the timelord didn’t have a choice on the matter. As soon as the word ‘kilt’ left her mouth, he had already reveled her in an abrupt (and highly detailed) recounting of all the reasons why kilts were the superior form of garments. Suffice to say he was just as, if not more, excited by the prospect of a destination wedding than she was by the time they agreed.
Though maybe he did have a point. She’s feeling rather nostalgic— all things considered. Must be the change of atmosphere, or maybe she’s been running from the thought for so long that it has finally caught up to her.
“What’s bothering you?” He asks, just as abruptly, and she bumps his arm, “You’re here too, you know? Don’t think I didn’t see you wandering before you came here. You’re hard to miss. Nearly had a heart attack when I saw you— walking about like some scarecrow.”
The Doctor shrugs, “I’m always exploring, though. Hard to stay still when you never know if there's a handful of werewolves rummaging about. It’s not like we haven’t had a case of those in the past; can’t blame a man for being protective.”
The blonde looks at him plainly, not convinced in the slightest, “In my mum’s bunny slippers and with no sonic screwdriver? Who are you scaring off? The tooth fairy?.”
He scrunches his nose, “Point taken,” rubbing the back of his neck, he offers,” You first?”
She smiles but at the reminder of her prior musings, the sincerity of it seems to stall.
“Was thinking about Mickey–”
“Oh?” The Doctor says before she can finish, and when zeroing in on his expression, there’s no mistaking the flash of jealousy that appears on his features.
“Not like that, Doctor,” and the timelord tugs at his ear with a sheepish frown,” …Was I that obvious?”
“A bit, yeah,” she says bluntly, but eases up on him when she sees him grow embarrassed. Rose giggles, “Not just him, but all the people we left behind in the other universe.”
His brow furrows, but not in a way that suggests he’s upset at the revelation–more surprised. His mind seems to wander momentarily, and after a few seconds of pursing his lips, he looks at her confused,” Me too, actually.”
“Psychic link?” She suggests jokingly, but he seems more than genuine in its consideration.
“What number am I thinking of?”
“Erm, 3?”
“9,000,567. 52 ,” She blankly stares at him, and he raises a brow,” What? You didn’t think I’d make it easy now?”
“Why not a whole number?”
“Because Rose, that would defeat the purpose of it being unpredictable, now wouldn’t it?”
She sighs; of course, he’d find a way to overcomplicate something so simple. Both her elbows rest on the railing now, and he mirrors her posture. Their arms touch as they converse.
“You sure you want to hear it? For all we know, we could be thinking about the same thing. No point in bringing it up.”
He bumps into her side, shaking his head, “Now, what kind of husband would I be if I thought ignoring my wife’s problems was a smart thing to do? Think we both know that’s not going to happen.”
“Well, if you put it like that,” she softly smiles, before fixing her gaze somewhere out on the horizon, and yet she still hesitates. Never been an easy thing, to talk, but ever since the two have made an effort to remedy their past miscommunication, she finds every stumble to be another step towards progress. She can do this, she tells herself. He’ll understand.
“S’just, tomorrow– growing up, I think most girls think about their big day. The kind of dress they will wear, the flowers they want, the groom–” Rose giggles then, leaning into his shoulder, “Though, I think little me probably didn’t think I’d end up with a timelord.”
The Doctor waggles his eyebrows at her, “Fair, I am rather dreamy, aren’t I? A bit impossible to conjure up.”
Rose hums, rolling her eyes, “ Yep, completely mad. The kind of thing I'd make up after having one too many sweets.”
“Oi!”
Snorting in amusement, she continues,“We make all these plans, right? Think up all the details, maybe have a couple of mates at the top of the list of who we’d invite…and I guess… I just didn’t really think of this at first, what with all the chaos with Torchwood, but– we’ve lost so many people, haven't we?”
Her head turns towards him now, taking in the manner in which he blankly stares at the spot right before her ear. Listening, but in a way that suggests that he is doing some thinking of his own. The wind ruffles his hair and yet, she can’t help but think he looks almost ethereal, drowning in the moonlight.
“Don’t get me wrong, I love the few mates we have here too. I'm glad we still have Jake and the rest here– but Shareen, Kiesha, Mickey– they were all such big parts of my life at some point. I grew up with them– Micks was practically family…I guess I just thought I’d at the very least have them there for my wedding…and now, tomorrow..”
“They won’t be there to see you off,” he finishes for her, and she nods her head in agreement, “Yeah..”
It’s strange because no one ever talks about how often planning events such as these make people reevaluate the role of loved ones in their lives. Growing up, she was always deathly aware of her father’s passing. Kind of hard not to be when everyone looked at her like she was yet another estate sob story, but nothing ever made his absence as prominent as the topic of who would give her away on her big day. Of who would walk her down the aisle? Because that’s when things really settle in, don’t they? Sometimes loss isn’t felt until one realizes that there is no one left to replace the gap that the individual used to fill.
Yet, now as the minutes inch closer to dawn, she can’t help but consider the irony of now having a father but losing the people she grew up with along the way. Rose will feel it tomorrow– the missing seats when she walks down the aisle, and eventually, the ability to recall the faces of people she treasured enough to invite when her wedding was just an idea. Rose is not superhuman, after all. There’s no guaranteeing that in time, that hole won’t heal, and perhaps that’s what makes it all the more real.
Moving on..when they are not dead, just elsewhere– is it fair?
Rose Tyler is dead in her old universe. If anyone had the right to mourn, it’d be the very people she was thinking of– her mates back at the estates and even distant family members. Rose wasn’t perfect. The people she remembers now are the very people she never got the chance to appreciate when they were present, and yet they matter. Matter simply because they were alive and real, and after losing so many people in her life, she realizes now more than ever how important it is to hold on.
But can she let go?
She certainly didn’t hesitate the first time, and neither did the Doctor, but with so much at stake on Bad Wolf’s bay, the extent of that sacrifice never seemed as heavy as it is now. Where they are left to share a happy moment with their loved ones– but the numbers have since been reduced to a select few. And maybe, in some way, she should be glad. At the very least, they’ll have mates and family they love left to enjoy the day with, but still, if she finds herself thinking back to what could’ve been– what must the loss feel like for someone like the Doctor who has even less?
“You miss them,” he verbalizes, and she wonders if it is that simple. She’s allowed that much, isn’t she?
“A bit, yeah,” and Rose finds her gaze returning to the sky again. To think long ago, they all used to exist beneath those very same stars, and now..well.. they’re scattered amongst timelines. Living life as they’ve always have and moving on.
“Me too,” he admits, and the words hang in the air for a good few minutes. What can you say after such a confession, after all? ‘I’m sorry,’ or ‘I know,’ doesn’t nearly hold as much weight as it used to, not after all they’ve been through— but still, there's comfort in that shared pain. Thus satiating that desire to hold on to the past, but never at the cost of their future.
Having them here might not be possible, but perhaps the yearning will give them life in some way. Make them real and tangible, even if it’s limited to the recesses of their memory. That's enough, she thinks. Should always be enough.
“Not enough to stop anything though, by the way, you—” she points at him, then at herself. He snorts, eyes crinkling,” Are not getting out of this. You are stuck with me.”
“Wouldn’t have it any other way,” he says, knocking her lightly on her shoulder and his gaze lingers on her face. As if holding on to the present just as tightly as she is— looking at their reason for continuing, for living. But there’s more to it, isn't there? That nagging uncertainty of what they, in turn, miss out on still remains.Weddings, anniversaries, baby showers; what will come of the lives of the people they left behind? Will they be okay? Happy?
She can't help but voice what's really been keeping her up.
“You think they’ll be alright?”. The question comes out quietly as if the mere doubt will make it real, and there’s a certain finality to the statement that makes her cringe. His eyes widen, and before long, his face assumes that same passive smile. The kind he resorts to when he overwhelms himself with the human inclination to wonder, to ask. Such a brilliant mind he has, filled to the brim with so many memories— he must have catalogs upon catalogs of names and faces. All people he once knew and treasured, then left behind.
The blonde can't help but silently chide herself over the bluntness of the question. Way to go, Rose; why not mention the time war while she's at it?
She rubs his back. An innate habit of hers that she can't help but realize developed after their respective sacrifices. That’s one thing she’ll forever be grateful for– the freedom to love, to no longer hide the extent of her feelings for him. Were they to stay as they were, apart and with the people they no longer have in their lives, perhaps this reality of hers would never come about. Her heart clenches at the thought. As much as she misses them, the mass of such a burden could never equate to how much she loves the man before her… and maybe that's selfish. Self-centered, human, but she'd do it all again if it meant waking up to his face every morning. Perhaps that’s why running was such a tempting thing for the Doctor all those years ago, she thinks.
A genuine smile graces his features.
“Can’t say," he answers,” and maybe that’s for the best.”
“Is it?”
The Doctor hums.
“Because we can choose to believe they are doing better than before.”
She blinks in surprise, not having expected such an answer; he continues, “And they were brilliant, weren’t they? A mishmash of all the best humanity has to offer; we’re lucky to have met them, no?” and there’s no missing how his eyes glimmer at the memory of their little club of adventurers. How the pride and love radiates off him in waves as the voices— the memories of all their friends seem to surround them at that very moment. The late-night talks, the schemes, the jokes, the laughs, the pain, and the final goodbyes on the Tardis– perhaps he has a point: they can choose now. Reap the good rather than focus on what can never be.
“Yeah,” she affirms with a swell of pride in her throat. Her Doctor…. to think he’s come so far in just four years. Her arms wrap around his, bringing him closer, “ Probably out there, changing the world. Fixing your messes-”
“Oi!” but there’s no offense in the way he protests the notion, only humor… perhaps too aware himself of the fact that he never did function well on his own for that very reason. She tries not to linger on that thought for too long, the other him— for it is in the reminder of letting things go that she realizes she’s already made a habit of moving on, she just never noticed. She can only hope he’s doing well. That wherever he is, is as warm and welcoming as the chest she seeks refuge in every day. Rose looks to the sky; that’s perhaps all the thinking she’ll do for him today. After all, her place belongs to the present now— wherever she needs to be to exist as they do currently, cuddling below the night sky. She presses a kiss against his shoulder, their forever, from here on out.
The timelord rests his head on hers, moving the arm Rose was snuggling into as a means of wrapping it around her waist, “Sarah Jane has her son now– she never needed me; shined all on her own. I have no doubt in my mind that they’ll carry on doing as they always do, saving others.” She hums in agreement, her chest swelling with affection at the memory of a former ally. There’s no doubting her capabilities; a woman strong enough to guide her when she too was just as lost, is not a person who’d likely crumble under the weight of such responsibility, and for that reason alone, her faith in her isn’t shaken.
'Some things are worth getting your heart broken for,' is not a phrase said by a person who’s never experienced a difficult choice in her life. Rose reasons that now, Sarah Jane has found her reason for living, too.
He adds in with a smirk, “Same with Jack… though I have reason to suspect his ventures are probably not as wholesome.”
She chuckles,” Shagging through the universe, as always?” Jack always did have his stories, didn’t he? Tales of failed hijinks that always ended in the same way, with him naked and imprisoned. She used to look forward to them. The four of them would drink, and exchange stories, though at the time, her first Doctor would never join— just watch. A shame, really, considering just how cute he can be now when he’s enjoying himself with the rest of them. Jack would be proud too, she reckons, of his growth. Would even go as far as to credit himself, she laughs, for his newfound excitement in all the simple pleasures of life.
“Just about,” he says, with a Cheshire grin, and the thought seems to trigger another memory, and soon enough, she finds herself smiling.
Mickey, the sly man– she saw the way he was looking at Martha. The way his eyes would follow her, as she made her way around the Tardis console. He never did find himself in another relationship, not even when there was no guarantee that they’d manage to find their way back to their original universe. ‘Too much of a fuss to deal with; I have a universe to save,’ he would say when asked, and Jake and her would tease him relentlessly for it, but there’s no mistaking that look. The look of a man, no longer a boy, who set his eye on an equal and found himself admiring their beauty as well as mind. The Smith was properly smitten.
Rose lowers her voice, leaning in, “Speaking of, I think Mickey and Martha will probably get on.”
“Really?” The Doctor’s eyebrows furrow as if genuinely surprised by the sudden pairing,” What makes you say that?”
“You didn’t see them talk back at the Tardis– Mickey was making her laugh.”
“I make people laugh.”
She pokes his chest in jest, “Well, not like how he was doing it. Mickey was on a mission– practically went rushing after her when she left with Jack.”
“....Huh? Didn’t notice,” and his admission is genuine, though she doesn’t doubt there might be a hint of protectiveness hidden there somewhere. Always has been that way with him; he loves his companions dearly, and for that reason— the standards for those who seek to love them have always been high. But with Mickey, this new Mickey, Rose is more than sure that Martha will be happy with the person he has become. That’s all she could hope for: their happiness.
The Doctor smiles fondly, “Martha would have been happy, I think, to see where I am now. For us. I was a bit of a killjoy for a while, don’t really know how she managed to deal with it for as long as she did— Well, I say that but,” he sniffs, “She fancied me for a time– think I told you.”
Rose hums in agreement.
“You did. Mind, wasn’t exactly thrilled to hear it at first– but I don’t blame her, s’hard not to.” It took a bit of self-reflection on her part to accept that it was more than plausible that the Doctor had had more than one companion in her absence. She had been jealous at first. Her first nights in this universe were spent mulling over it, dreading the possibility of having lost him to someone better, more fit for a life of adventures… but slowly, those feelings seemed to transform into something productive: understanding. Loneliness, she’s had her own experiences with it. To ask him not to crave the company of others when she was lost would be cruel… and maybe that’s why Martha loving him only hurt for a bit, because it meant someone was there to care for him when she couldn’t.
“Really?”
“A bit, yeah”
“Just a bit?”
Rose rolls her eyes, “Oh, come off it, you know the answer already.”
He puts on a look of confusion, “Do I? Think I need a reminder,” he says with a grin, before leaning down to give her a peck on her lips, and she obliges, albeit incredulously…the sheer cheek of this man.
“Git,” she mutters, and the timelord sends her a wink. Rose only shakes her head, laughing, before continuing with her original point, “That Martha Jones, though, just from your stories— she just seems so brilliant all around. It’s a shame I never got to talk to her much.”
He tugs at his earlobe, “A good thing, if you ask me,” she raises a brow at this, and he continues, embarrassed,” Having her and Donna together was humbling enough. Now, the three of you in a room, together, I think I’d actually burn to the ground.”
“Probably,” the blonde snickers, “Shame, I think we could’ve shared some stories. We’d get on, a support group of sorts, the three of us. Great way to get blackmail, no?”
The Doctor cringes, as if picturing the multitude of well-deserved slaps he’d probably receive had they been able to exchange more than just a couple of words. Though the association of Donna and weddings seems to jumpstart a flash of realization, and in spite of his prior distaste, he finds himself smiling.
“Now that I think about it, I think I’ve been to at least two weddings with Donna. Both of which were her own.”
“Go, Donna.” God, she knew she liked her.
“Mind, they never went anywhere. You see, she had a knack for choosing some of the worst partners. One was the right-hand man to a Racnoss Empress, and the other was a prince. With all the prestige he had, you’d think the man would have, at the very least, had the nerve to talk back to his mother but no. Nearly got axed by death itself that day.”
She raises both eyebrows, eyes wide, “Death? As in,” she motions a scythe with her hands. The timelord nods and she gapes,” How do you always end up in these situations?”
He shrugs, all cool-like, “Easy; trouble finds me.”
“More like you look for it.”
He swivels his head from side to side, a playful grin on his lips, “Fun, remember?”
“Let me guess, Donna saved the day?”
“Yep,” though the light in his eyes dims slightly, there’s no mistaking the fondness evident in his words, “Was always good at doing that, saving me. Even when I couldn’t do it myself.”
Her eyes soften, and she holds him tighter. He didn’t need to delve further into it than that– she knew Donna was different now, but the very little she did spend with Donna was enough to cement in her heart just how incredible she was as a person. He never talked about her much- or more like couldn’t, not really. The sentiments would always get caught in his throat before he would so much as say her name out loud, but Rose has always been good at gathering the pieces. Of painting a picture of her own with what little he could manage, for the sake of keeping her alive.
It dawns on her then. These people— spectacular, special, treasured- they don't have to have their legacies end in such a way. If not in their memories, then they will pass down to the next generation; the spectacular adventures of the Doctor's oddest family, they'll call them. Tales of their children's uncles and aunties, who send them their love from the other side of the rift, just as they will theirs.
“They’re probably thinking the same thing, about us,” Rose comments, and suddenly, the stars seem brighter, reachable.
“Yeah?”
“We're all a bit chatty, aren't we? Hard not to bring up all the things we've seen and done- might as well return the favor,” she smoothes out one of the lapels of his nightshirt, smiling, “We’ll just have to make sure this next adventure of ours will be worth sharing. For them.”
“For all of us,” he corrects, and his hand presses down on where her own lies on his chest. The soft thumping of his heart, his one heart–tickling her palm.
She smiles, “For all of us.”