It was three days before the Doctor declared Rose well enough to run for her life. If she had been in a conventional hospital it would have taken weeks for her body to heal; just one more benefit of life in the TARDIS. Another benefit was, of course, the ability to travel in time, which allowed one Captain Jack Harkness to remain with the Doctor and Rose for three days and still return to his team just after he left. Leaving the two of them was more difficult than he thought it would be, even with Rose’s promise of frequent visits and the Doctor’s promise to indulge her. The TARDIS was home, but more than that—the two of them were home. It would have been easy to fall into familiar patterns, but that wasn’t fair to either of them, to his team, or to himself. Responsibilities, after all.
“Besides,” he told the Doctor before they materialized, “I have a sneaking suspicion that you’ll want the TARDIS to yourself for a while.” His lascivious grin left no doubt as to why that would be. The Doctor rolled his eyes. Rose remained oblivious.
They left him on the Plass with hugs and promises. Some of them they might even keep.
In the end, they sort of just fall together. She’s not the wide-eyed girl of the Powell Estates that hopped into the TARDIS for adventures in space and he’s not clinging to the last vestiges of a childhood love.
She’s a bit daft, but nowhere near reckless as she races down the silver corridor in search of the main control room. They’ve got a nasty wraith infestation, the things are absolutely everywhere. Rose remembers (not fondly) of the wraith incident in a primary school down the street from the Powell Estate. She and Jack had barely cleaned that up before it became disastrous. Very few dead, but many shaken, and many barely saved.
Um, Jamie requested something like this a long time ago, and I’m not quite sure this fits the bill, but I also don’t think it completely doesn’t either, if that makes any sense…
He has a hangover the size of Texas. Or rather, he thinks he has a hangover the size of Texas—he hasn’t been there, hasn’t even been to America in this stupid, fragile, human body, so susceptible to liquor.
So susceptible to the…thirteen shots of vodka he had last night, as he looks down at the marks on his arm and groans. He’s woken up on his (used to be their) bed in a cold, disgusting sweat, and he feels like he could puke. In fact, he only has time to pant for a moment or two until he heaves himself off the side of bed and upchucks into his shoes.
(This has been on Teaspoon for a bit, but I thought I’d post it here, too.)
CHAPTER ONE: Long Have I Sought Thee
The Doctor stood on a chilly, wind-swept beach in Norway and watched Rose break apart.
There were no tears; her grief was dry and strangely empty. She dropped his hand, and he thought of satellites that finally slip out of orbit and plummet to the ground. She curled into herself, and he thought of ancient stars collapsing, all their fuel consumed at last.
As much as he might need her to keep him steady in this new world, in this moment, she didn’t have anything left to give. He’d never seen her look so tired.
“Rose” he said, instinctively reaching for her, “I’m the same man. He and I, we’re the same person. I promise.”
Eyes closed, she shook her head. “I know.” She rubbed a hand over her face. “That doesn’t really help, though. That just makes it worse.”
He dropped his hand. “Worse how?”
She opened her eyes and looked at him, her gaze level. “Because. That’s the point. You’re exactly the same. Except for one thing.”
I’ve been following your site for a while and I absolutely love it!! I saw your post on July 29 of a DW school AU and I’m really hoping I didn’t step out of bounds or anything because inspiration hit me and I wrote the story. It’s short, pretty much a one-shot but I thought I’d pass it onto you.
Rose Tyler looked around the room nervously. It was her first day and while she wanted to take her lunch and hide away in her classroom until next period she knew she needed to get to know some of the fellow faculty. There were eight teachers sitting around three different tables, talking and laughing about their day, but her attention was drawn to the fourth table in the room. He was sitting alone and reading a book, horn-rimmed glasses perched on his nose and a hand in his hair, tugging it every now and then as he read. His brown-and-blue pinstripe suit with matching shirt and tie looked almost too professional but he wore it in a way that told her he might consider it casual.