Author's Note: Okay, so these aren't actually drabbles, but that was the original idea and the title's grown on me. Didn't think you guys would mind. Enjoy!
Timeline: Starts just before "Army of Ghosts", the rest spans seven years post- "Doomsday". Twelfth in the 'Incompatible' series.
Summary: "Mummy! Look!" Her body doesn't know whether to laugh or cry: a tiny version of her Doctor, standing with his goofy grin and messy hair, his brand new screwdriver held in his right hand.
The Christmas Drabbles
It's Christmas. Well, it's not actually Christmas- in her time, it's actually July, or maybe August, she can't quite remember- but the Doctor has brought her to Sweden twenty-three thousand years in her future where he swears they have the greatest Christmas celebrations.
And he's right. It's perfect.
Fluffy white snowflakes are falling, lightly dusting the darkening city, sparkling in the glowing Christmas lights.
They spend Christmas night in a quaint pub- well, that's what it looks like to her, but the Doctor makes sure to correct her assumptions. It's actually a Christmas restaurant, created and run purely during the holiday season. The best turkey and generous pints of spiced beer are given to them freely and they enjoy their time together, enjoy sitting hip to hip and shoulder to shoulder as they eat and drink and laugh and chat amicably with the families and couples surrounding them.
The night's crisp when they walk out of the restaurant. It's late, the sky is completely black, the ground is perfectly paved white with snow. Rose almost hates to walk through it and mar its perfection. But, at the same time, she loves the sound it makes as her shoes sink through it, crunching into flawless footprints.
He kisses her and she almost wishes she could be standing off to the side to watch it. To watch two people holding each other, lips locked passionately, hands stroking each other lovingly. To watch as the snow settles around their bodies and the dim light of the nearby buildings sets them off from the night sky. She thinks they must look wonderful together. The perfect couple.
He takes her hand to lead her back to the TARDIS and, as he does it, she thinks this might be his first attempt at romancing her.
His fingers brush over her temples once they've made it to the warmth inside. His mind strokes hers, his lips gently ease hers open, and she knows he's finally getting the hang of human courting rituals- as he puts it.
Because tonight he's taking her to bed. His hands are burning fire over her skin and his mind is driving her towards oblivion. And when their bodies are spent, he holds her against him, gently soothing her body and mind.
She can't help but think that everything is perfect.
She hates it there. She hates the giant house and the stupid zeppelins, and their chips that taste all wrong. She hates the heat wave the tear created and she hates that it's a warm, green Christmas.
What she hates most is that it is Christmas.
It's been two months of waiting. Of hoping. Of crying. Of needing to pound on the walls until she mars their beauty with her crimson blood. Of wanting to kick and scream and trash her room. Of being too empty to dredge up the anger to try.
It's Christmas Eve and she's staring out of her window at no snow and flickering Christmas light. They're not celebrating this year. No Christmas tree. No Father Christmas decorations. No presents. Just a few lights outside to give the empty house some life.
She hates this world. It's duller, less alive. It's lonely. It's torn her away from the life she chose. And now- now it's making the happiest moment of her life hollow and painful. Held in her limp hands is the impossible news she had longed to hear months ago, before everything fell apart. But now that positive sign is such an ironic statement in her life. Or perhaps simply a paradox she doesn't want to face.
But at least she has Mickey, her only anchor in this turbulent new world. Between a father who's not her flesh and blood and a mother who's so close to pretending that nothing is different or wrong with their lives, she still has Mickey, still has that familiar face and a strong shoulder to lean on.
She appreciates him even more now that he's developed a sense of impeccable timing. He leaves when she wants him to, without a word passing her lips, and he arrives, unannounced, at exactly the right moments.
Like right now. He doesn't say a word as he sinks onto the bed next to her and wraps his arm around her shoulders. He doesn't even comment when his soulful eyes notice the white stick in her hands. He just holds her, like he's become accustomed to over the past weeks, and waits for her to be ready.
"He's really gone."
"You don't know that. He's the Doctor; genius, him. He'll find you."
"No he won't."
She's so empty. Somewhere between watching her grip loosening on that lever and watching the plus sign slowly materialize, she lost that hope that used to come so naturally to her naïve mind.
"Don't give up on him just yet."
She doesn't say anything, just watches as a lumbering, white zeppelin obscures her sight of the stars.
He's looking down again, studying the white stick and the pale red plus. It's not that large of a leap for him, she knows he's already figured it out. He doesn't comment, doesn't make accusations or demand any answers of her. He just waits. She loves him for that.
In her own time, she shifts against him, resting her head against his shoulder, still staring. "I'm pregnant."
He doesn't answer. There's no reason to.
"You and mum would always ask if we were… I sort of lied about it. It's just that… it wasn't really like that, it wasn't. It was so much more. We were so much more."
She wants to cry. She wants to yell in frustration. He's gone and she's alone and now she can't even explain what he was to her.
"We were so close. We fit so perfectly together. When we were intimate, it was a lot more than sex." She debates telling him more, but decides that, while he might not want to know about it, she wants to explain. "Remember how I told you he's telepathic? Can read minds if he touches your temples?"
"Yeah, I remember."
"Well… when we… when we made love, he would do that to me. It was like… pouring out everything you felt for the other person. It was like electricity, literally."
They're quiet. Just watching. Just waiting. For what, she's not sure.
"We were trying to get pregnant."
She's so quiet, she wonders if he heard her. But then his hand squeezes her arm and his hold tightens around her.
"This should have been an exciting night."
"I'm so sorry, Rose."
"I'm keeping it," she says before he can ask. He wasn't going to. He knows her better.
He wants to say something to make her feel better about it. Wants to tell her that she'd better keep it, because he's coming for her. But he doesn't, he can't do that to her.
"Good," is all he says and the room is completely still.
Mickey just holds her as she holds the white stick, both watching as the white zeppelin moves out of view, revealing the starry night.
She had promised him forever, knowing it would end one day; but was surprised at how soon it came. And now she has him again, in a smaller package, a tiny version of him growing inside her. Maybe some things are really impossible, but not with the Doctor.