|The Nightlight Keeps The Horrors Away
Author: Jasper winked PM
Despite the constant sound of her heels, she's only a wraith. She never looks back, never responds to his shouts. Never, never, never. 10/RoseRated: Fiction T - English - Hurt/Comfort/Romance - 10th Doctor & Rose T. - Words: 912 - Reviews: 8 - Favs: 8 - Follows: 1 - Published: 07-28-10 - Status: Complete - id: 6186709
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
A/N: I saw Inception a bit ago and it pretty much rocked. I recommend it. :)
Disclaimer: Doctor Who isn't mine.
The Nightlight Keeps The Horrors Away
He's not scared of the monsters—they're scared of him. (Sort of, anyway.)
He's not the one peeking under the bed, cocooning himself in his covers, whispering for a goodnight story. (One with a happy ending this time, please.)
He doesn't avoid sleeping; it's just that he needs to make sure the library didn't end up in the wardrobe room again. He'll be finding scarves in between the shelves forever. (Really.)
But she sometimes (always) manages to make him walk to that silent, rarely used room and sleep.
He wonders if she knows what she's doing to him.
She's walking away from him, steps oddly loud. Her regular trainers are gone, replaced by fancy high heels she always complains she can never wear on their adventures.
Clack clack clack.
Despite the constant sound of her heels, she's only a wraith. She never looks back, never responds to his shouts. Never, never, never.
They're never ever gonna separate us, the girl says.
The Doctor runs faster. His converse skid uneasily against the floor—linoleum, he thinks, linoleum with a touch of malice—but he continues.
The hallway he's running down reminds him of a school. The floor is a standard, school kind of white, tinged with gray. A black line runs down the center of the hallway, as if separating two sides, neither of which he can figure out.
Rose is walking on the line, her back still to him. Despite her heels, she's in everyday clothing, her favorite pair of jeans and a magenta shirt he vaguely remembers. Her blonde hair is done up sloppily, blond wisps escaping constantly.
She turns—finally, he thinks—and suddenly, the shade he's been chasing is right in front of him. That wisp of her, just a two-dimensional tease, has come unfolded—and like a pop-out book, there she stands.
Her hazel eyes stare at him, familiar mascara rimming them. Her cheeks are a bit too red, as if she's running a fever, but her smiles widens, tongue between teeth.
And then, in the time of an eyeful of her, he can feel her turning to stone, fading before his eyes.
The background doesn't melt—she does. Like a black and white movie, that's what it seems at first. Her color fades, until he's left with a gray, withered Rose. He reaches for her, voice rusty. But she's not there, not really.
(He figured as much.)
Her picture runs, as if someone ran ink under water. Lovely Rose turns into streaks, which turn into nothing. The black streaks thin into unforgiving gray, which scatters into small pieces, ashes on the non-existent wind.
She is nothing.
And then (oh, but then) she appears farther away again, as if blinked back into existence.
She's walking away from him, as if she never faced him, never smiled at him. Like he hasn't ever faced her, smiled at her, (wanted to kiss her.) Like he never wanted her, like he never needed her. Like he hasn't always needed her.
And she walks away.
The Doctor wakes up.
He stumbles into the main room, sliding back to lean against the console. The TARDIS hums in comfort, a draft of warm air washing over him. The lights are amber and his eyes are almost closed.
His almost misses his blond companion walk into the room, not from the direction of her room, but from the kitchen. She carries two cups of tea.
He opens his eyes to see (her) fully, but before he blinks she's next to him, sliding down and leaning slightly on him, legs out in front of her.
The Doctor takes the tea offered, the warmth of it spreading, and doesn't ask how she knew he was up. (She always does.) They sit in silence for thirty-one minutes and eleven seconds—he's only counting to distract himself from her.
His eyesight is full of amber lights and peroxide hair. Drifting, he wonders if she's completely golden. The answer might just be yes.
Then Rose turns to him, grinning, and her eyes are simply alive. (Alive, he tells himself.) She asks him if he wants to go for a midnight snack, there's bound to be one chip place still open.
And he thinks that eating chips with Rose Tyler at midnight is an absolutely fine idea.
A/N: A vague idea of this has been in my head for a while, but it turned out a bit different when I wrote it. Comments will be appreciated: did everything overall fit together? Did the lack of dialogue work? I'm wondering about things like that.
Also, I'm going on an about a month vacation, with no Internet access (I know, bummer, right?) so starting probably midday tomorrow, I won't be able to write, review, or respond to reviews/PMs. I might be able to grab Internet access in little bits, but probably you won't hear from me for around a month.
But I will write, review, and respond to any reviews/PMs when I get back.
Thanks for reading. :D Reviews will be appreciated, loved, and overall worshiped. ;)