DW Fic: Of Discovery and Sacrifice (4/5)
Sep. 18th, 2007 04:22 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
salienneTitle: Of Discovery and Sacrifice (4/5)
Author: salienne
Characters: Doctor/Rose, Jack, various OC’s (I’d tell you which Doctor(s?), but that’d give a bit away :P)
Rating: PG
Beta: Thanks so much to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
lunaserenade, who managed to beta this while taking care of a new Doctor kitty and Master kitty. All hail!
Disclaimer: I don’t own “Doctor Who” or Jack or Rose anymore than I own my own TARDIS. Shame, that.
Spoilers: Through Doomsday
Summary: Post-Reunion. In an attempt to rediscover herself, Rose decides to leave the Doctor, but like all things, this decision is not without a cost.
A/N: Are you ready guys? Almost there. Just one bit left after this. I am sorry to say that I did mess up with the last chapter, though: I wanted to stick another section onto the end, and I didn’t. As such, it’s here at the beginning. I apologize if the flow is off, but I hope y’all will bear with me.
So, as always, enjoy, and comments are encouraged! Thanks so much to those who’ve been commenting! :D
Nearly fifteen years have passed since Rose left the Doctor to find herself, and she has stopped crumbling. She can no longer feel the timber of his voice in her ear or picture the shape of his glasses, but she’s almost able to convince herself that this is all right. Then she meets the Face of Boe again and he tells her where she might find Jack; she kisses the glass of his case.
Upon seeing her old friend, Rose doesn’t quite know what to do. They meet at a hotel on the primary continent of Citrafall Nine, and miles below them, beneath the clouds, cars whiz by and people of all shapes and colors and beliefs go on their way to work or lunch or rest or love. She almost feels like one of them and thinks she could be one day. She might even enjoy it. She just doesn’t want to.
“Been expecting you, sweetheart,” he says, grinning at her across the doorway of his room, and then they’re hugging and she’s laughing and clinging to him and he’s swinging her around as the door hisses shut behind them and then they’re kissing and she doesn’t know if she’s ever been this happy. She hasn’t, not for fifteen years.
They sit down in armchairs that change shape and color at the touch of Jack or Rose’s skin, conforming to the sex and species to provide the most comfortable fit. Of course the seat becomes too tall and soft for Rose but she doesn’t care; she’s leaning forward, just watching Jack and noting every little detail again, the way his right hand rests on his knee and he cocks his head to the side and he moves about when he speaks and he smiles so easily. He hasn’t aged and he still wears that old army coat, reminding her of Earth and the girl she’d been then, flirting and dancing on a spaceship in front of Big Ben during the London Blitz. It’s almost enough to convince her that nothing has changed, except, of course, it has. Rose can’t help but feel a little sad.
They talk.
Rose gives him a run-through of some of the adventures she’s had, the supernova she just barely escaped and the archaeological dig she participated in, boiling under an orange alien sun. She even tells him about Crespallion, holding her chin up high against her blush, but he just shakes his head and says, “Thought that human freedom fighter might be you.”
When he talks, she sits there and listens, not as quick to jump in and ask questions as she might once have been. He’s not sure how much she’s heard since their last meeting, he says, since their timelines are like books and Swiss cheese stuck in a blender, so he’ll tell her what he thinks she hasn’t heard. He got married once, a long time ago—him, Jack, settling down. “I know, right?” he says, noticing the surprise on her face. If he notices the jealousy hiding behind the joy, he doesn’t comment, and she’s glad; she doesn’t want him to see the worse part of her.
“She’s dead now,” he says, putting on a nonchalance she knows is forced, “Died three years ago. Life span like ours, lives like ours, we’re not exactly hazard-free.” He can’t quite hide the bitterness in his tone, and something in Rose understands completely.
“I’m sorry,” she says, leaning forward, grasping his hand and squeezing it.
“Yeah, well… it’s how these things go.” He sits back and adopts a lighter tone and Rose can’t help but think of the Doctor, if only for a second. “Bright side: least we never had any kids. Don’t know how they’d handle a daddy who could never die.”
“There are worse dads out there,” she says, still holding his hand.
“Better ones too.”
She doesn’t quite know how to respond to that, not when the topics of fathers and children have always been such sensitive ones for her, so she keeps quiet until Jack does what he does best—he comments on the way her breasts press against the tight fabric of her shirt as she bends over. Rose rolls her eyes, laughs, and straightens up.
“You’re lucky you don’t get a smack offa me for that,” she says.
“Good. I’d hate for that t’happen when I have so much clothes on.”
They move on.
He tells her how he’s settled down twice, once as an agent of the Pyloris System and once as a security guard. The second time was part of a con, though it was for the greater good of some orphans, he assures her. That was how he met his wife, Krista. He tells her of the places he’s visited, how he spotted a younger version of himself once and hid, how he space-jumped between all twenty-six moons of Phoebus and won eight hundred credits. He tells her lots of things, since she doesn’t want to talk so much as listen, but the entire time, there is one unspoken subject practically screaming in Rose’s head.
Jack has almost run out of words when Rose decides to stop being afraid. “The Doctor,” she says, “have you seen him lately?”
Jack sits back in his chair, and already, he seems stiffer, more guarded and formal. “Yeah.”
She sits up too. “And can you… can you get in contact with ‘im?”
After a moment, he nods and points to the earpiece in his right ear. “My very own superphone.” He flashes her the shadow of a grin, and Rose feels a touch of nostalgia. She takes a deep breath, preparing to ask the hard question, but before she can, he continues. “Rose, before you see him, there’s something you should know.”
It only takes a second for the bottom of her stomach to fall away, and then she’s leaning back against the too-soft chair with a hand to her head and everything just feels so surreal. She whispers, “He’s changed.”
“Yeah.”
“How?”
“A Dalek.” She almost smiles at the irony. “Just one Dalek left in all of time and space and the Doctor runs into him. What are the chances?”
For the Doctor, Rose thinks, they’re pretty damn good.
Rose doesn’t ask for the exact circumstances and Jack doesn’t tell her. Neither says much after that revelation, and soon, he leaves to go get a drink and pick up some food and maybe even some company—he says this last part with a wink. Rose knows that this is all just a cover for him giving her some time alone with her thoughts, but he won’t listen to her protests about how this is his room, not hers, and how she hates to impose. He’s gone, and she’s left to think.
At first, all Rose can do is sit there and stare off dumbly into space, her eyes roaming carelessly across the swirling texture of the walls and what constitutes as artwork in this galaxy. Then she gets up and paces, wandering through the bedroom and bathroom and image room and living room, just trying to push past the numb despair in her lungs and the haze in her mind.
Her Doctor is gone. Except he isn’t.
She remembers how she jumped right on the regeneration bandwagon the first time around, or at least tried to. She pretended to fully accept this new Doctor until, gradually, she wasn’t pretending anymore. Until he was once again the man she loved. Would it be like that now? Rose knows that she’ll still love him; after all their discussions on the topic of regeneration, after all she’s been through with him, she knows the core of the man doesn’t change. What worries her most, she realizes, isn’t the man her Doctor has become or whether her feelings will change. What worries her most is that, after the way she left him and after all she has done in their time apart, this new Doctor will no longer love her.
When Jack returns, Rose’s mind is still in a flurry of emotions, but she works around that easily enough; she’s learned how to in her time alone. “I want to see him,” she says, and Jack obliges.
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Author: salienne
Characters: Doctor/Rose, Jack, various OC’s (I’d tell you which Doctor(s?), but that’d give a bit away :P)
Rating: PG
Beta: Thanks so much to
lunaserenade, who managed to beta this while taking care of a new Doctor kitty and Master kitty. All hail!Disclaimer: I don’t own “Doctor Who” or Jack or Rose anymore than I own my own TARDIS. Shame, that.
Spoilers: Through Doomsday
Summary: Post-Reunion. In an attempt to rediscover herself, Rose decides to leave the Doctor, but like all things, this decision is not without a cost.
A/N: Are you ready guys? Almost there. Just one bit left after this. I am sorry to say that I did mess up with the last chapter, though: I wanted to stick another section onto the end, and I didn’t. As such, it’s here at the beginning. I apologize if the flow is off, but I hope y’all will bear with me.
So, as always, enjoy, and comments are encouraged! Thanks so much to those who’ve been commenting! :D
Nearly fifteen years have passed since Rose left the Doctor to find herself, and she has stopped crumbling. She can no longer feel the timber of his voice in her ear or picture the shape of his glasses, but she’s almost able to convince herself that this is all right. Then she meets the Face of Boe again and he tells her where she might find Jack; she kisses the glass of his case.
Upon seeing her old friend, Rose doesn’t quite know what to do. They meet at a hotel on the primary continent of Citrafall Nine, and miles below them, beneath the clouds, cars whiz by and people of all shapes and colors and beliefs go on their way to work or lunch or rest or love. She almost feels like one of them and thinks she could be one day. She might even enjoy it. She just doesn’t want to.
“Been expecting you, sweetheart,” he says, grinning at her across the doorway of his room, and then they’re hugging and she’s laughing and clinging to him and he’s swinging her around as the door hisses shut behind them and then they’re kissing and she doesn’t know if she’s ever been this happy. She hasn’t, not for fifteen years.
They sit down in armchairs that change shape and color at the touch of Jack or Rose’s skin, conforming to the sex and species to provide the most comfortable fit. Of course the seat becomes too tall and soft for Rose but she doesn’t care; she’s leaning forward, just watching Jack and noting every little detail again, the way his right hand rests on his knee and he cocks his head to the side and he moves about when he speaks and he smiles so easily. He hasn’t aged and he still wears that old army coat, reminding her of Earth and the girl she’d been then, flirting and dancing on a spaceship in front of Big Ben during the London Blitz. It’s almost enough to convince her that nothing has changed, except, of course, it has. Rose can’t help but feel a little sad.
They talk.
Rose gives him a run-through of some of the adventures she’s had, the supernova she just barely escaped and the archaeological dig she participated in, boiling under an orange alien sun. She even tells him about Crespallion, holding her chin up high against her blush, but he just shakes his head and says, “Thought that human freedom fighter might be you.”
When he talks, she sits there and listens, not as quick to jump in and ask questions as she might once have been. He’s not sure how much she’s heard since their last meeting, he says, since their timelines are like books and Swiss cheese stuck in a blender, so he’ll tell her what he thinks she hasn’t heard. He got married once, a long time ago—him, Jack, settling down. “I know, right?” he says, noticing the surprise on her face. If he notices the jealousy hiding behind the joy, he doesn’t comment, and she’s glad; she doesn’t want him to see the worse part of her.
“She’s dead now,” he says, putting on a nonchalance she knows is forced, “Died three years ago. Life span like ours, lives like ours, we’re not exactly hazard-free.” He can’t quite hide the bitterness in his tone, and something in Rose understands completely.
“I’m sorry,” she says, leaning forward, grasping his hand and squeezing it.
“Yeah, well… it’s how these things go.” He sits back and adopts a lighter tone and Rose can’t help but think of the Doctor, if only for a second. “Bright side: least we never had any kids. Don’t know how they’d handle a daddy who could never die.”
“There are worse dads out there,” she says, still holding his hand.
“Better ones too.”
She doesn’t quite know how to respond to that, not when the topics of fathers and children have always been such sensitive ones for her, so she keeps quiet until Jack does what he does best—he comments on the way her breasts press against the tight fabric of her shirt as she bends over. Rose rolls her eyes, laughs, and straightens up.
“You’re lucky you don’t get a smack offa me for that,” she says.
“Good. I’d hate for that t’happen when I have so much clothes on.”
They move on.
He tells her how he’s settled down twice, once as an agent of the Pyloris System and once as a security guard. The second time was part of a con, though it was for the greater good of some orphans, he assures her. That was how he met his wife, Krista. He tells her of the places he’s visited, how he spotted a younger version of himself once and hid, how he space-jumped between all twenty-six moons of Phoebus and won eight hundred credits. He tells her lots of things, since she doesn’t want to talk so much as listen, but the entire time, there is one unspoken subject practically screaming in Rose’s head.
Jack has almost run out of words when Rose decides to stop being afraid. “The Doctor,” she says, “have you seen him lately?”
Jack sits back in his chair, and already, he seems stiffer, more guarded and formal. “Yeah.”
She sits up too. “And can you… can you get in contact with ‘im?”
After a moment, he nods and points to the earpiece in his right ear. “My very own superphone.” He flashes her the shadow of a grin, and Rose feels a touch of nostalgia. She takes a deep breath, preparing to ask the hard question, but before she can, he continues. “Rose, before you see him, there’s something you should know.”
It only takes a second for the bottom of her stomach to fall away, and then she’s leaning back against the too-soft chair with a hand to her head and everything just feels so surreal. She whispers, “He’s changed.”
“Yeah.”
“How?”
“A Dalek.” She almost smiles at the irony. “Just one Dalek left in all of time and space and the Doctor runs into him. What are the chances?”
For the Doctor, Rose thinks, they’re pretty damn good.
Rose doesn’t ask for the exact circumstances and Jack doesn’t tell her. Neither says much after that revelation, and soon, he leaves to go get a drink and pick up some food and maybe even some company—he says this last part with a wink. Rose knows that this is all just a cover for him giving her some time alone with her thoughts, but he won’t listen to her protests about how this is his room, not hers, and how she hates to impose. He’s gone, and she’s left to think.
At first, all Rose can do is sit there and stare off dumbly into space, her eyes roaming carelessly across the swirling texture of the walls and what constitutes as artwork in this galaxy. Then she gets up and paces, wandering through the bedroom and bathroom and image room and living room, just trying to push past the numb despair in her lungs and the haze in her mind.
Her Doctor is gone. Except he isn’t.
She remembers how she jumped right on the regeneration bandwagon the first time around, or at least tried to. She pretended to fully accept this new Doctor until, gradually, she wasn’t pretending anymore. Until he was once again the man she loved. Would it be like that now? Rose knows that she’ll still love him; after all their discussions on the topic of regeneration, after all she’s been through with him, she knows the core of the man doesn’t change. What worries her most, she realizes, isn’t the man her Doctor has become or whether her feelings will change. What worries her most is that, after the way she left him and after all she has done in their time apart, this new Doctor will no longer love her.
When Jack returns, Rose’s mind is still in a flurry of emotions, but she works around that easily enough; she’s learned how to in her time alone. “I want to see him,” she says, and Jack obliges.
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2007-09-18 10:11 pm (UTC)Her Doctor is gone. Except he isn’t.
You killed off Ten? *sobs*
This is brilliant, though, I'm loving every second of it; looking forward to seeing what the new Doctor's like ...
(no subject)
Date: 2007-09-18 11:44 pm (UTC)I didn't want to, but I tried writing the story with the 10th and the 11th Doctors, and the ending with the 11th just worked better. That means, though, that you guys get the good version. :D
Thanks for the comment, and I'm really happy you liked!
(no subject)
Date: 2007-09-19 02:03 am (UTC)I loved that Rose met up with the Face of Boe (honestly, I don't know if RTD was pulling our leg about that), I also love that Rose was willing to risk the chance that this new new new Doctor did not love her.
And of course the Doctor would meet up with a Dalek, Doctors and Daleks are never without each other.
(no subject)
Date: 2007-09-19 02:13 am (UTC)And I'm not too sure about the Face of Boe thing either... hence I left it ambiguous as to whether or not the FoB is actually Jack or just happens to know Jack and Rose or something of the sort. :P
Yup, those were my thoughts. It would just... fit for that to be how he 'died' this latest time, especially in terms of how Rose would react to hearing that she wasn't there for him when he faced another survivor of the war that killed the Time Lords.
(no subject)
Date: 2007-09-19 08:40 am (UTC):) But this fic is, as usual, excellent. I love the nostalgia and the hope in the tone of the piece and just ... it's good.
Now really anticipating the next chapter. *bounces*
(no subject)
Date: 2007-09-19 05:38 pm (UTC)I'm glad you're still enjoying the fic, though, and I hope you like the next bit too. :D