Yes, I succumbed to The Demand... erm... -cough- Challenge.
I stole a chapter from TCASM's What If series. It's chapter... erm... I want to say 120-something? Oh, I dunno. I've underlined her bits. The italicised-ness is just our favourite superintelligent pan-dimensional luminous being talking.
Disclaimer: I don't even own the first chunk of this chapter! -pause- Rassilon, that's sad.
SIAPNIAN: By the way, this is a reunion!fic. -smirks at your rolling eyes- I'm also trying to emulate the series itself as fully as possible (i.e. thirteen "episodes"), but only have the idea for the first "episode" and little bits of the finale. In other words, the updates will be even slower than they usually are, as A. I'm working on a science-fiction story over on Fictionpress (Yes, I DO write non-fanfiction), B. School has begun with a vengeance, now that I've finished the finals and midterm (B in Physics, which really isn't bad considering I didn't study for it until about 11.30 the night before the test, A in Algebra and A in English), and C. I need to poke my family members for more episode ideas.
Dedication: My father. He requested I do a pseudo-episode with this plot-line. He just didn't know that he was fuelling my addiction to writing reunion!fics...
He stopped looking.
I wonder why, even though he has yet to discover half of my messages. Did he think I was simply a fluke? A quirk in the otherwise 'normal' life of one Rose Tyler? Did he think if he put me out of his mind I would never be needed or seen again?
I am always there for him, for my friends and family. I show myself to Jack sometimes, but even though the little voice in his head always says that something is going on, he doesn't listen. How very human, poor Jack. The Doctor passed my signature by without a second glace, and how did he not notice where his and her 'last' meeting was?
Everything ends, everything has its time.
But mine and ours is nowhere near.
Rose slung her ever-present satchel over her shoulder— you couldn't work with Torchwood as long as she had and not get into the habit of carrying some things with you wherever you went— and started to walk out of the building.
She spun around to the sound of Mickey calling her name.
"D'you want a lift back home?" he asked of her.
More than anything, but you can't give it to me, came the bitter thought.
"Nah, I was just gonna walk," she replied, biting back her original answer.
"You run for your life every few days, though," commented Mickey. "Thought you wouldn't want to stand any more."
She used to run for her life every day, until her legs wouldn't have held her if not for the fear— no, not fear, she corrected herself; she was hardly ever afraid. It was the thrill of being chased that kept her running. And then, sometimes, the Doctor would have to carry her back to the TARDIS when that wore off... He could be so sweet, when he wasn't being a complete git...
She swallowed, forcing the pain which tried to emerge into a small, cold knot buried in the centre of her fractured soul, shoving the Mickey-directed anger away along with it. He couldn't know, she reminded herself; the Doctor hadn't exactly been truthful about most of their escapades so that he could avoid Jackie's slaps and Mickey's protests that he wasn't keeping her safe enough...
She shook herself sharply, shoving that in the darkest corner of her mind, closing and locking the door.
"You'd be surprised," was all she said.
And she started to walk.
A month, it had been. A month since Bad Wolf Bay, since the Doctor left his last words to her unsaid.
Had it only been a month? said one thought.
Had it really been that long? came another.
She had pretended to get over it, crying for most of the way to Pete's mansion but then just... not. The Doctor wouldn't have wanted her to be upset. He had said before that he wanted her to have a fantastic life.
Her life couldn't be truly fantastic without him, but she could pretend. And maybe if she pretended enough and her facade became good enough, she could convince herself.
But there were times when someone said something apparently harmless, and her pretence cracked enough for her to see how truly false it was.
This wasn't helping, she snapped at herself, and shook her head sharply to clear it of the sound of the TARDIS, but, being a very persistent illusion, it remained.
She had heard the TARDIS several times in this world, but knew it was just her imagination; what else could it be? He had said it was impossible, in the sort of tone which meant it was impossible even for him, and unthinkable to anyone else in that or any universe.
This time, though, it was different.
This time, the TARDIS was materialising, not dematerialising.
And this time, the battered blue box appeared on the street corner.
She stopped dead, staring, part of her irked that she was hallucinating as well, the other part glowing with hopeless hope that she wasn't...
Without warning and without her command, her legs sent her running to the box and the pinstripe-clad man who was stepping out of it, a cry of "Doctor" tearing itself unbidden from her lips.
She skidded to a halt just before him. "You... you did it? Did you do it?"
He blinked. "What do you mean? Do what?"
She glared at him.
"Oh. Ah!" He paused. "Ahm, you see," he began, rubbing the back of his neck absently, "time travel's a bit weird, things don't always happen to me in the right order, and even when they do I have a horrible memory— you know how it is... Then again, maybe you don't..."
She rolled her eyes, unable to keep a smile from creeping across her face at his incessant babbling.
"But the point is... what was the point?" He paused, frowning at the sidewalk. "Ah! Yes! Um... Do I... know you?"
If this chapter was crap, it's because it is currently 0006 (12.06 AM for those of you who don't understand) and I just skated around a very, very crowded rink while trying to maintain a conversation. Which is harder than it sounds. So I am very, very tired.
Review or the pirate-who-is-somewhat-cute-but-is-most-definitely-not-as-cute-as-Ten gets it! -holds up chibi!William Turner threateningly-
And please give me challenges for future pseudo-episodes 'cause Rassilon knows I can't do it on my own. Well, I probably could, but only if I had considerably more time on my hands than I currently do. Which I don't. Obviously. And if I use your challenge you get dedicated! I won't be relying solely on you, probably more on Mum and Dad and maybe Jessa as well, but I would very much like your help.
And if you can think of a better title, that'd be good too.