Update Tab: Right now I am working on finishing On Rationalizations, Fetishes, and Giving in & should have it posted soon
Billie Piper out and about in London, 25th July (x)
Rating: All ages
Eight x Rose
Summary: Dimension hopping Rose encounters someone she didn’t expect
A/N: This is an expansion on this post. Thanks to tkross for asking if it would be expanded. I have never written anything more than a paragraph so I don’t judge me too harshly. All mistakes are still mine!
She spreads her arms to let the sensation carry through to her finger tips. A buzzing tingle that starts in her belly and spreads along her veins like wild fire. The crackle reminds her of carpet shocks; the smell of toasted marshmallows with a bit of ozone thrown in for good measure. It’s not entirely unpleasant, this ripping through the void, but it’s not about the act, it’s about the destination. So many are wrong, on so many levels and she starts to doubt she’ll every find the right time, the right universe. Every time she jumps she throws a dart into a vast emptiness hoping to hit a spec of dust. But those thoughts lead to a place she can’t go back to, a place of hopelessness. If there’s one thing she’s learned it’s there is, surprisingly, always hope; the one emotion she needs above all others.
And the world is now a little better.
"Not a bad life." "Better with two."
"How long are you going to stay with me?" "Forever."
tk, i’m not even gonna try to answer this one because there is no way to answer this .. you can’t just choose between one or the other .. so how bout we enjoy these gifs and forget this ever happened
David loses his grip on the damn thing as he hears Billie giggle behind him. It goes flying, knocking a pile of scripts off the coffee table and onto the trailer floor.
"Shit! Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you," she says, clutching her sides. "It’s just— Well, what the hell are you doing?"
He smiles sheepishly and bends to pick up the stacks of paper, though when he thunks them on the table half of the scrips slide back to the floor.
"Was practicing my moves for the fight scene with the Sycorax."
"With a curtain rod?" Her tongue is poking out from behind her teeth and he swallows.
It’s not supposed to happen. It’s the wrong time, the wrong him…again. But he’s still him and she’s still her and there it is. She can’t stay and he won’t make her. As she goes she wonders if she’ll always be falling in love with him and then saying goodbye. Forever and ever, round and round in a figure eight.
The Rose who appears on the dark war-torn street with a gun under her arm and a smile on her face isn’t the same woman he burned up a sun for.
It’s subtle, but she’s changed—hardened, almost—and she still has a quick grin but it’s slower, somehow. Her boots are black and her jaw sets tight and there’s something militaristic about her decision making, which makes sense, he supposes, considering.
(Her eyes haven’t changed, though.)
He’s afraid to ask what happened to her. Not that he has a chance to ask, anyway.
Later, when the evil doers are undone and everyone is hugging and celebrating in the console room, he leads her into the hallway with a gentle hand on her elbow, fingers hardly ghosting purple leather.
She looks at him and the years strip away.
"I should have done more."
He’s cradling her face in his hands and by the way she leans into his palm he has a feeling she understands all the ways he means it.
"You did what you could."
She turns her head, kisses his lifeline.
(The irony of the gesture isn’t lost.)
"It wasn’t enough."
He’s committing every inch of her face to memory; the curve of her nose, the swell of her lips, the gold-flecked honey of her irises.
"Doesn’t matter — I’m here now, aren’t I?"
There’s that grin again, slower to form, but just as sweet.
Rather than answer, he kisses her and it’s all too much to catalog — the taste of her tongue, the tone of her sigh, the feel of her stomach against his hips.
(He can’t tell her, not yet.)
(He’s never been good at goodbye.)