SWS: In which Rose meets John Smith (Family of Blood John & pre-Journey's End Rose.)

1. Get over him.
2. See the stars again, properly.
3. Manage a proper date with a real bloke.
4. Learn how to dance the tango.
5. Find the best steak and mushroom pie in the world.
6. Get Torchwood Manchester back on track.
7. Stop hearing the TARDIS in my dreams. (See #1)
8. Finish my masters & decide one way or another on the doctorate. (And stop letting the 'doctor' part of that word make it twist in my guts.)
9. Learn how to relax again.
10. Find my way home, smack him silly and then take him back.
10. MOVE ON!

The echoes of the departing TARDIS whisper across the Bay, ringing in her ears long after that little blue box had disappeared. Her eyes remain on the spot where it had been, but she can still taste the other-Doctor and his kiss lingers on her mouth like the last sip of a glass of wine... except that, if she wants it, it's not the last sip, but the first. A few feet away, giving them some measure of privacy in the deserted landscape, her Mum calls Pete to arrange for a pick-up. He'll send someone within the hour, you have no doubt, and then you never, ever want to see this beach again.

She can feel his eyes burning into her as he hesitates a few feet away, as unsure as she is. He needs you, the Doctor had explained.

Rose turns and offers a tentative smile. And her hand. "Well," she began. And then stopped, unsure of what came after 'well'.

Muse is on hiatus.

AU, diverts from here

rude_not_ginger:
"I'm fine," the Doctor said, far too firmly. His arm went around Rose's waist, and somewhere in there, he'd decided that kissing her was a good idea.

Not a terribly good idea, but a good one.


doctorsplusone:
One moment, Jack had managed to get between them, and then the next, the Doctor's mouth was on her own. She'd have put her hands up between them, but there was the problem of a glass in each. She closed her eyes and allowed him a moment -- closed lips -- and then drew back, and walked back to the table ahead of both of them, more shaken than she was showing on the outside.

Not now. No. Get it together.


rude_not_ginger:
The Doctor took a breath, then smiled at Jack.

He was trying at least. And incredibly intoxicated.

Alcohol rather increased his low libido, he decided. He should write that down.


jackinabluebox:
"Doctor, are you trying to move in on my girl?" he asked with a teasing tone.

Jack followed Rose back to the table, the Doctor at his side. He kept a steady eye on her -- he had a fairly good idea how thrown for a loop she probably was and it really wasn't fair to her. Only once did Jack have to pause to catch the Doctor in a stumble, to his credit.

Their drinks were already waiting at the table for them and he took his previous seat again.


rude_not_ginger:
"She's not your girl," the Doctor said, firmly, "She's Thete's. I'm the slimy bastard, Jack. Not you."

With that, he slid next to Rose, and put an arm around her waist as he sipped/gulped his drink.

"This is rather...well, intoxicating seems to obvious a word..."


doctorsplusone:
"She's her own bloody woman." Rose Tyler: Daughter of Feminism speaking. Take a number and wait for the destruction of the dominant patriarchal paradigm. "And she's right here."

And getting tipsy. Hrm. Wow.

Setting down the two glasses, she drummed her fingernails on the table-top idly, a four-part beat.


rude_not_ginger:
"Then what does she want, exactly?" the Doctor asked, raised rather pointed eyebrows in her direction.

Her lips looked rather sweet again. Without his usual preamble, he leaned forward to kiss them again.


doctorsplusone:
"Not to be emotionally fucked about by bloody Time Lords -- or ex Time Lords, and to have five minutes fucking peace," she growled softly at him. "And, furtherm -- mrfph!"

He cut her off abruptly.


jackinabluebox:
Oh, for fuck's sake.

Jack was beginning to really experience what Rose's frustration with the Doctor was -- and it wasn't just two pints talking, which made him look like a bloody teetotaler with this crowd -- and it seemed to be summed up with 'emotionally bipolar cocktease'.

But -- and this bit pained him a bit, because Jack was always a bit of a tech geek -- he figured out the one way to get the Doctor off 'let's finally shag Rose, maybe' and onto... well. Anything else.

Jack blurted: "Doctor, I have your TARDIS."


rude_not_ginger:
TARDIS?

The Doctor's mouth broke from Rose's just long enough to say: "Really? Where'd you find that?" Before reattaching itself to those rather sensitive points he'd found behind Rose's ears.

His hand slid down her torso, hooking firmly to her hip. Libido + Alcohol = Heightened.


doctorsplusone:
She groaned -- a raw, fucking embarrassing noise -- and batted futilely at his shoulders. "Do -- ohh -- Doctor! Stop it," she pleaded softly. Not now. Not after everything between them... Not with Jack there. Not when she was finally starting to mend, just a little bit.

And then the bastard made his way down to her throat.

He'd learned, fairly early on in their time together since France, about those wicked little places behind her ears and down her neck that just made her toes absolutely curl. And he'd never hesitated in using them against her.

She met Jack's eyes, her expression somewhere between confused, pained and aroused. "TARDIS, Doctor. Yours. The one you left on the ship in the 51st -- whimper -- century. The one I took care of for you."


jackinabluebox:
He never figured he'd be the prude in the group, but damned if there wasn't a first time for everything.

"That's how I hopped dimensions. I flew the TARDIS," on my own I might add!

Whether or not the two of them ought to be doing anything wasn't his problem -- his problem was keeping Rose as safe as he could and keeping them from being arrested for lewd behavior. The actual shagging was the Doctor, Rose, Thete and Reinette's collective problem.

He rummaged in his knapsack and pulled a chunk of concrete on a long thick cord out of his bag and put it squarely in the middle of the table. At least this way, no one but him would be watching.

Real life's a little crazy at the moment, so bear with me, re: tags. If I owe you a reply, please comment here with the link so I don't forget.

Thanks!

Everything has an end.

The Doctor tried to teach me that one several times over and then -- and then what?

What happened in the TARDIS over those last few months? We got comfortable? Yes, but there was more to it than that. There's got to have been more to it. He doesn't do domestics, so settling in and ... all that implies would probably be insulting to him if I'd said it out loud.

We fell into a pattern. That one's just as true and perhaps part of it, too. We'd find a place, inevitably wind up neck-deep in whatever trouble was going down in that time-space location, run for our lives -- there was always, always a lot of running -- and then help out however we could. Then we'd head back into the TARDIS and re-consider the infinite possibilities of anywhere, anywhen.

There was a lot of running... maybe that's Rule Two: when traveling with the Doctor, wear sensible shoes.

Rule One'll get you, though... but if you ignore Rule Two, Rule One's more likely to catch up quicker. So, you sort of need Rule Two to help postpone Rule One, which is absolute. Unless you're Jack. Which should maybe mean he needs his own rule -- and wouldn't he love that?

I suppose Jack's experiences of Rule One are much like the Doctor's. Just because he's immortal, doesn't mean he doesn't experience loss. Loss of all us other finite creatures if nothing else...

Rule Three: Immortality isn't all it's cracked up to be..?

Maybe it was just that he was lonely. Maybe he's always lonely. And we all – all his traveling companions – come to him for a brief time to ease that loneliness a while. I used to think I was special. Unique. He had asked me to come see the universe with him – he asked twice... and then I met Sarah Jane and got him talking. There were many others before me, and who knows who he's traveling with now?

But that's okay. It's fine – and it's good. He shouldn't have to be alone. It's a big old universe out there, and really? It's better with two.



How long are you going to stay with me?

Forever.

Written from a list of prompts unofficially borrowed from 100_situations.

Features: Torchwood!Rose, Jack/Rose, implied Rose/Doctor, London, Cybermen, etc.

( Prompt: Disease )
( Prompt: Bathroom )
( Prompt: Delirious )
( Prompt: Autumn )
( Prompt: River )
( Prompt: Sunset )

The waves crashed against blue sand under the rising trio of moons. Stars shone brilliantly in the dark sky -- the stars that they'd come from and were heading back to. Rose leaned her head in the doorway of the TARDIS and watched those stars, wondering if one of those tiny pin-pricks of light was her own homeworld's Sun, wondering if it was even visible at this point in time and space.

What a day it had been! Like times of old, her and the Doctor sweeping in to a random place in the universe, only to find trouble with a capital T unfolding, and ending up right in the middle of it. A totalitarian regime, almost on its knees, lashing out in one final attempt to destroy those extremists who had dared to believe in the radical concept of freedom. How could the Doctor resist such a cause?

And then she'd been taken by the sentry-patrol while breaking in to the High Chancellor's command station, held hostage. There had been something desperately cold in the Doctor's face when the High Chancellor had threatened her life if the Doctor didn't agree to aiding them in eradicating the rebels. Desperately cold and almost... frightening. She could count on one hand the number of times that she'd been frightened of the Doctor, but today was definitely among them.

He'd done what he always did, though, and saved the day. And if there had been a little more malice in the retribution he had wrought on the High Chancellor... well, she'd talk to him about that later. When they had both had a chance to breathe.

Another long look at the trinity of moons, the beach, and the stars, and she headed back into the console room. He'd been watching her the whole time she had been in the doorway, she'd felt his eyes, and now he met her gaze as she closed the door. His face was almost mask-like, but that she knew him too well. The unruffled surface was almost too calm for the Oncoming Storm he'd been short hours before.

"Alright," she told him. "I'm ready to go."

Continues in the same universe as this.

*

He'd cupped her chin in his hand and looked her in the eye. "It's going to be hard for you, pet," he'd said, and she appreciated the honesty. The TARDIS had come ripping through her sky apparently due to sabotage. A polymorph had gotten on board -- "terrible, terrible creatures: they prey on your emotions, take the shape of the person you most long to see and exploit that vulnerability" -- and had almost stolen the time ship out from under him.

"And I know it's tracked me here." He looked at her with a grave, grave seriousness that still didn't manage to quite overwhelm that twinkle in his eye, the pleasure at being together again. "I need to get the TARDIS back to optimum capacity, and I can't be interrupted. I need you to stop him if he comes here."

She'd nodded, pleased to be able to be useful. "Of course."

"Brave girl." He grinned wickedly at her and pressed a kiss to her lips. "I knew you'd say that. Between us, and your time with Torchwood -- he's going to love that -- I know you can handle anything or anyone who comes through that door."

He glanced at his pocket watch, smirked at her surprised expression, and galloped off into the bowels of the TARDIS. Rose stared after him, raising her fingers to her lips absently. Something twisted in her stomach deliciously, and she broke into a smile.


Her uneasiness grew as she paced the console room, waiting for the polymorph. "Why don't we just lock the door?" she'd asked the Doctor, who had shaken his head emphatically.

"If we do that, he'll damage the TARDIS trying to get in, pet. We can't have that."

So, she waited, with the door unlocked and a gun at her hip. Funny how confident she'd been before -- she was worried now. Anticipation playing tricks on her, swirling in her blood and quickening her pulse. Whose face would come walking through that door? It was like the bloody boggarts in Harry Potter or something...

Her head snapped up at the sound of a key in the lock. Oh, but you're good, she thought, biting her lip as the door slowly, slowly creaked open. She stayed half behind the Time Rotor, obscuring herself from the creature's sight so that she could see it before it saw her.

"Fuck," she whispered, watching the polymorph make his way into the TARDIS with a very, very familiar gait and proprietary manner. His long fingered hands touched the timeship with affection and he bared his large teeth in a wide, wide grin.

"I can't believe he left you undefended, old girl. That's not like him at all... unless he wants me in here? Is this a trap? Or -- or did he have to leave and assumed that I would assume that it was a trap if I came here and found the whole place seemingly empty? That would like him..."

(His voice ripped through her like an electrical jolt, followed with an equally fierce surge of shame at her disloyalty to the new Doctor. And it had to be disloyalty, because why else would the polymorph take on her old new Doctor's face?)

She stepped out from behind the console, and leveled her gun at his chest. "He didn't leave the TARDIS undefended," she said, and the polymorph almost convulsed at the sight of her, staring open-mouthed. (Much like he would have, if it had really actually been her Doctor. Don't look at me like that!)

Her hands shook as she held its (his) gaze, and she gestured with her gun to the door. "Get out, or I will shoot you."

She tears past the painted 'Eight' on the wall, gripping the banister firmly so as not to pitch down the stairs, running harder than she'd done in a while. To see her run like this, you'd think she had a pack of Cybermen on her tail, but no. No, this is a good run. A 'too excited to wait for the lift' run.

Seven: she can't think straight. Giddy. Happy. There's tears of joy running down her face and she doesn't care. Doesn't let go of the banister to wipe them away.

Six: her earpod chimes that someone's ringing her and she hits the ignore button on the wrist-piece. It's probably Mickey, she thinks, calling to tell her about --

Five: -- it, and he doesn't need to. She saw it for herself, pitching drunkenly through the sky, narrowly avoiding taking down several Zeppelins, before crashing down at the foot of Torchwood's Canary Wharf headquarters.

Four: Her pulse echoes in her ears, beating out a simple rhythm: he's back. He's back. He's back. (She should have kept up her running; she's gotten slow in the last two years. Time was, she'd be there already.)

Three: Almost, almost, almost there. Still too high to simply slide down the banisters.

Two: Bursting with excitement, she's almost there. Her legs are wobbly and it takes real effort to keep them from missing steps in her exertion and haste. Careful now.

One: The lobby. She contains herself to a fast-walk as she heads through the reception area, not wanting to look unprofessional here, overwrought though she is. He's back, she thinks, and it's about all she can think.


Outside, she catches sight of him picking his way out of the fallen TARDIS. He kicks the timeship in temper, and it's then she notices what should have been obvious from the first moment, but her too-excited brain had stupidly overlooked: he's regenerated again. His clothing runs to the eccentric -- a baggy-sleeved old-fashioned men's shirt, a waistcoat, cravat, watch-chain -- but he looks good.

"Doctor!" she cries out, and his head whips around, and he stares at her in shock as she throws herself into his arms. "Doctor, you came back for me!"

He hesitates for a moment, and she looks up at him, about to ask what's wrong, when his handsome face melts into a smile. "So I did... my dear."

Content, Rose holds onto him, burying her face in his neck. He's back, she thinks, and that's just fantastic.

The cup slipped from her fingers, hot liquid spiraling out in the split-seconds before it struck the ground and splintered. "Come again," she breathed, her knees all but buckling in.

"They didn't make it out."

There had been a call for help that had come on their radar -- a colony of half-converted Cybermen, living in an abandoned tube station. Threat, had been her assessment. A threat to the population that needed to be stopped. Everyone in this universe had suffered at the mechanical hands of the Cybermen, and the notion of mercy hadn't even occurred to her until her husband had come into her office -- without knocking, a rare thing for him -- and had pleaded with her for their lives.

"They could still be people, Rose. They're scared and -- and this could be our chance to figure out how to properly reverse the conversion process!"

She'd given in, and she shouldn't have. What had begun as an aid mission, as an act of humanity, ended in a massacre. (It was so cold in her office; the April rain pounding on the glass and... was the heat even on? She'd have to call maintenance.)

A look downward to steady herself (her hands were shaking) revealed the tan-coloured stain on her carpet, the fragments of white china. She dropped to a crouch, half-glancing up at the young man whose words had made her a widow. "Get everyone on alert and preparing for a strike. I want that place razed to the ground. Salt the earth."

"Ma'am." An acknowledgement.

"And I'll... I'll be along shortly."

"Yes, ma'am."

Boy was efficient. He left without another word, and she could hear him already contacting the appropriate people via his headset, leaving Rose alone with the shards.

Congrats to rude_not_ginger & ambitious_woman for winning the Tammy for Best Looking Couple!


... which I kind of can see ;)

To Whom It May Concern:

In some ways, writing this letter is a little morbid, as it presupposes an ending. But endings come upon us, whether we want them to or whether we don't, whether we are ready for them or whether we are not. And, when I met Sarah-Jane, I learned that there were others before me and that has led me to thinking about those who will come after me -- like you -- and it led to this letter.

My name is Rose, and I used to travel with the Doctor, too. Sarah-Jane, whom I mentioned, traveled with him too, a long time ago according to his linear time. And now there's you: the new companion. Welcome to the TARDIS. Yes, it's bigger on the inside. Yes, he likes to stroke and occasionally smack it. Yes, she's a sentient machine and she gets into your head. I think that about covers the basics...

Where was I? Right. Welcome to traveling with the Doctor. It's going to completely change your life, your way of living and even the way you think about pretty much everything. If you're open to it, it can be the best experience of your life. I always promised I'd stay with him forever, but the fact you're reading this means I'm gone. However long you choose to remain with him, live it fully. Whoever you are, you owe yourself that.

You also owe it to him. The Doctor is, a lot of the time, a deeply lonely person. Yes, he can be manic and eccentric and so completely extroverted that you'd never think for a moment that he knows what silence sounds like... but that's only a part of him. His planet is gone; he's the last of his kind. The rest of that story is his to tell, but I'll give you that one as a freebie, for his sake. Remember that about him and you'll understand the privilege it is to travel with him.

He chooses you; you don't choose him. If you think otherwise, it's because he's letting you, probably because it amuses him to do so. Let him have his amusements, but don't let him push you around. He won't like or respect you if you let him bully you too much. But don't ever forget who drives this magnificent time ship that you and I have come at different times to call home.

Whether he ever mentions me or not, I was here, and I loved it. This letter is, I suppose, my way of passing on the important things I learned -- and my way of looking out for him when I'm no longer there to do so. I'll warn you now: it is breathtakingly easy to fall in love with him. Staying in love with him is harder, because sometimes, he'll scare you. Sometimes he'll push you away and sometimes he'll cling so hard you're afraid to breathe for fear of breaking him. (Not that he's super-fragile or-- you'll understand in time.)

I suppose that's why I'm writing this. I do love him, with everything that I am. Who knows, you might, too. That's fine with me. I'm not jealous of companions from the past or yet to be. If anything, I rather want you to love him and want him in your life, because that means that you'll take care of him, too. He needs people in his life, even though he will likely try to push you away.

The Daleks (his people's enemy since pretty much ever; kind of look like scary, homicidal pepper-pots; tend to shriek 'exterminate' a lot) have a name for the Doctor in their language -- and it translates to 'The Oncoming Storm'. It's apt. In many, many ways, it's apt. Be wary, but stand your ground.

Your Mum, if she ever meets your strange new friend, is going to hate him. Just a warning.

He likes his tea to be two-thirds tea, one third milk; not very strong; five sugars. Preferably with a chocolate biscuit on the side. He has a fondness for bananas. Oh, and a serious oral fixation. I'm warning you now, he will lick the strangest (and sometimes most disgusting) things.

Oh! One thing that completely caught me off guard when I went through it with him. He 'regenerates'. It's this thing that Time Lords (his people) do in order to cheat death. Rather than dying from a fatal injury as you or I might, when he's fatally injured, every cell in his body kind of goes into flux. There's big golden flashing lights, and when it all stops, he looks different. And acts a bit different. It's like he's a completely different person, except that he's not. He's still the Doctor, but -- but different parts of his personality will be more emphasized than others. It's completely weird and worrying and disconcerting at the time, but you do get used to it. I promise.

I need this one thing from you, in return for the pointers I've given you here: I need you to look after him for me. Even if it's just for a little while. If I could, then I would never leave him. I'd follow him through eternity and beyond, across time and space, but I can't. I'm just human and mortal, and he's a Time Lord. He's going to live, if not forever, then for a very, very long time, and I'm not. When I'm gone, he'll need someone else to cast a light into his shadows, and I need to know that someone out there will be able to do this.

Oh, he could make it on his own, I know that. He's a survivor. But this life? Journeying across the universe and throughout all of time? It's better with two.

I'm entrusting this letter to the TARDIS for you, and I know she'll give it to the right person at the right time. And I need you, whoever you are that is reading this letter, to step up to the task and hold his hand. If you can do that, then, even though I will probably never see your face, or laugh with you, or cross the universe by your side, I want you to know that I love you for it and that you have my eternal gratitude.

(As for showing him this letter? You may, if you want to, and you feel that it is right to do so. The last thing I would want would be for this to make him sad. Use your best judgment. I trust you.)

Again: please take care of him for me.

Love, Rose Tyler

Fashions come and go, across the dimensions she has lived in. And it has been a long time since she left behind the jeans and hoodies that were practically uniform on Powell Estate.

She doesn't even own a hoodie anymore; this side of the dimensional divide, they were never in. She contents herself with tailored jumpers in touchable lambswool or angora, because she's more of a grown-up now, and a professional, and it shows in her wardrobe. And the family actually have money now, and she's always enjoyed clothes as fun, rather than just body-coverings.

Of course, echoes of her old life remain. She has a favourite leather jacket that her Mum and Mickey call her 'Doctor coat'. The buttery soft leather is so comfortable and the lining is lovely. And yes. It smells like he used to before the regeneration: the Doctor she first knew and his quiet, rare smiles. She has a pair of bright pink chucks that she wears when she's not working and always smiles because they remind her of him after his regeneration, when he was longer and leaner and more frequently manic.

But those are just trappings. Echoes. Her past clings in one other, more tangible way, always hanging around her neck. Literally. She keeps her TARDIS key upon a long silver chain that always dips beneath her jumpers or blouses, over her heart. Secret and safe, and ready. Just in case.