Disclaimer: It's obvious I don't own anyone because if I did, Rose would still be with the Doctor. 'Nuff said.
Spoilers: 10/Rose, if you squint. PostDoomsday, but not a reunion!fic.
A/N: Just a little oneshot, inspired by the radio. I love this song and apparently so does my muse. Not a song!fic, but inspired by Everything Will Be Alright by The Killers. Oh, and some swearing. But it's fleeting.
What hurt the most was she had nothing. No mementos, no pictures. She didn't even have her own clothes and had to rely on Pete to provide for her in the beginning.
She was slowly and steadily paying him back, but that wasn't the point. The point was that she'd literally come into this world with nothing.
She was so afraid that she'd forget what he looked like.
Oh, she'd always remember the rough, upholstery suede of his overcoat, the chocolate and teal of his suit…the always-messy hair, that little quirk of a grin that seemed to transcend regenerations…
But she'd already forgotten the exact shade of his eyes. She only knew when she pictured them in her mind, as she often did, they were either too dark or too light, but never perfect. She wasn't quite sure how much taller than her he was anymore, couldn't quite remember where exactly her head laid on his shoulder. She could remember the feel of his hands, but not the way his fingers looked gripping hers.
She'd forgotten the unique mix of cologne and engine oil and him. She'd not washed or worn her turquoise hoodie for the longest time, because she swore she could still smell his scent. She'd been wrong, of course, and it'd been washed since then.
Didn't hurt to dream sometimes, though.
She sighed, pressing a hand to the window, gazing out at the rain as it dripped on the soggy people 30 flights below her. Sometimes, if she just glanced out, it looked so much like her London that her heart ached and she reached for the key that still hung around her neck. But then a zeppelin would come into her sight or some other little anomaly and she'd feel that crushing sense of disappointment again.
She blamed herself for it. They'd taken each other for granted. They'd taken their situation for granted and they'd been arrogant with their lives. All in all, they rather deserved what they got.
Didn't make it hurt any less, though. She thought now, constantly, of a comment Jack had made to her in passing. An offhand comment that really didn't mean anything until something monumental happened to you and you suddenly realised that everything they said about hindsight was true.
Jack had been intelligent, far more intelligent than the Doctor made him out to be.
No, don't think of Jack. Still hurts just a little too much.
"Don't fuck with fate because fate fucks back," Rose murmured to herself, echoing the Jack in her mind, following the path of a raindrop down the window with her fingertip.
They'd been obnoxious, they'd gambled and they'd lost. Simple as that.
She knew why she was being so melodramatic. She'd been doing so well the last few months, moving on.
No, not moving on, because you couldn't ever really move on from someone who'd changed your life so irrevocably, for good and bad, but…
…packing away the hurt and accepting life. It would never hurt less. It would only be easier to deal with, in time.
She wasn't weak. She wasn't the type to break down and die inside just because the Universe had violated her so brutally. On some small scale, she still believed they had deserved it.
But that wouldn't stop her from trying to find him. And she would, some day.
It'd been a year ago today, see. A year ago since she'd stood on the top floor of the Tower, bruising and bloodying her hands against the wall in the Shift room. Eight months since she'd last seen the Doctor.
She appreciated his effort, but it'd been cruel not to be able to touch him. They were so tactile, the two of them, constantly holding hands or leaning against each other. Not being able to feel his hands one last time had killed her more than saying goodbye had done.
But, she always had been and still was the Doctor's Rose. She didn't take anything lying down, not even this. She turned back and settled in her chair, flicking through the paperwork on the cluttered top of the desk.
She always let it pile up until the end of the week and now she was stuck at her desk after hours on a Friday, as usual. It was a habit she'd formed the first few weeks of working at Torchwood and one she intended to keep.
It was life. Habits were life, even menial habits like this one. It was living.
It was without the Doctor and that was her only regret about her life.
Life wasn't perfect.
But it would be alright.