I'm not jealous. I'm not.
I mean, why would I be? It's not like we're . . . me and him aren't . . . I'm with Mickey.
I'm with Mickey and I'm not jealous.
He can do whatever he wants, for all I care. Okay, that's a lie. I do care. But not in a naggy kind of way, I just –
All I'm saying is I don't like the way she looks at him. Or the way he looks at her. Seriously, they met, what, four times? And suddenly she's all "One may tolerate a world of demons for the sake of an angel" or whatever. It's like she's stealing my lines or something. . .
I mean yeah, she's sort of pretty and yeah, she's the uncrowned queen of France and stuff . . . but what gives her the right to swoop in here with her sticky-out dress and her clockwork stalkers and her . . . her horse and sweep my guy off his feet?
But he's not though. That's the thing. He's not 'my guy'.
And he never will be so stop wishing your life away.
Still, the Doctor's not stupid. He's a bloody genius for crying out loud! So why can't he see the obvious?
Doesn't he see how I blush every time he smiles at me?
Doesn't he see me trying to hide my grin when we're walking hand in hand?
Doesn't he hear my heart pounding at his touch?
Doesn't he feel my hurt when he pops up holding another woman's hand, claiming she used to travel alongside him?
'Used to' being the operative words. God, that was one hell of a day. I mean, metamorphic humanoid bats attempting to take control of the building blocks of the universe is one thing. But the Doctor's ex? A whole other kettle of fish.
Well, I say 'ex'; Sarah Jane's (er) affections could hardly qualify as "requited". I mean, he plonks her miles from home and then just flies away into time and space, leaving her alone to get on with some average life after seeing the wonders of the universe with an alien in a time machine? Not cool.
Is that what he'll do to me?
He did it to Jack. Left him stranded on Satellite 5. Every time I mention it to the Doctor, his face just sort of goes "whoosh" and he whisks me away to some new, exciting time or place and refuses to talk about it. And I just can't figure out why. I mean, one day, we're the Dream Team, ready to kick some serious Dalek butt and save the world yet again and then BAM I'm bringing him back to life and the Doctor's changing and we're leaving him behind.
Will that be me one day?
Of course not. Of course he won't leave you.
Don't think about it.
So I don't.
Even after five and a half hours, when I'm curled up in a ball and squeezing my eyes shut to hold in the tears, I don't let myself think for a second that he's left me. I tell myself again and again, he'll come back, he'll come back, he'll come back. . .
He'll come back for me.
I'm not jealous. I'm not.
I mean, why would I be? She's just a friend.
Just a friend called Rose who travels with me.
Just a friend who happens to be kind and understanding and clever and fun and patient and beautiful and just plain brilliant.
Which is why I'm not jealous.
And even if I was (which I'm not), there're a million reasons why nothing could ever happen. Ever.
For one, she's a separate species. That's so easy to forget. Sometimes, she'll say something or do something and I look at her and it's like . . . it's like I'm not the last of the Time Lords anymore. When I'm holding her hand, I'm not alone any longer. But then I feel her heart beating out a single, lonely rhythm beneath my fingers and I force myself to remember that she's human, she's human, she's human.
Secondly, she's twenty and you're nine-hundred-and-something, you freak.
And third, she has a boyfriend. He was there first. And I'll adopt a Dalek before I admit to being jealous of Mickey Smith.
There're a million reasons why nothing could ever happen. Ever.
So why can't I shut that voice in the back of my head up? That one that whispers 'Who are you trying to fool?' whenever I catch myself watching her out of the corner of my eye, whenever I breathe in the smell of her hair as we embrace after another close shave.
One thing's for sure; the second I admit to myself that the little voice in my head tells the truth, there is no turning back.
(But would that really be such a bad thing?)
My head floods with images contemplated a thousand times before, her face, her scent, the feel of her lips on mine on Satellite Five. . .
No! There're a million reasons why nothing could ever happen. Ever.
So I distract myself. Reinette is beautiful and intelligent and brave . . . so why do I imagine someone else's lips pressing against mine when she kisses me?
You know why. It's because you l –
Don't even think it. The second I admit to myself that the little voice in my head tells the truth, there is no turning back.
Too late for that. You couldn't turn back now if you tried . . .
A/N: Thanks for reading! Please feel free to let me know what you think.