So I'm having a Doctor Who party with some friends tomorrow, and we're going to be watching some of the first series, and it got me thinking about how much I love Rose Tyler. So, instead of lamenting over how season two ended, I decided to write a lovely story. Probably never going to finish it, seeing as that's how I do things. But I really just had to write this. So, without further waffle from me, here's my story of Rose getting back to her Doctor.
Disclaimer: I do not own Doctor Who.
It was a normal day at Torchwood. The birds were chirping outside. The computers were humming. Rose Tyler was looking off into space, mind stuck in the past as her fingers typed out a report. Her final report.
It had been fifty years since she had been trapped in Pete's universe. Fifty years since she had last seen The Doctor. Fifty years since she had felt right.
There was a wrongness about this world. A wrongness that seeped slowly into Rose's bones, saturated her skin, kept her from ever feeling at ease.
Her mother had told her that it was all in her head. But since when had Jackie known about these things? She didn't when Rose had fallen down the stairs at the Estate, fracturing her leg sixty years ago, and she definitely didn't know now. Buried six feet under, Jackie didn't know anything anymore.
Rose sighed and waited for her report to be sent. Leaning back in her chair, her mind wandered a bit. Musing here and there over inconsequential things that had happened, thinking about what she was about to do, trying to ignore the odd music that someone was playing nearby.
The computer beeped, telling her that her work had been sent, and she pulled herself out of the chair, grabbing her coat as she did so. She took one last look around her office, remembering all of the times she had spent in it. Remembering all of the people that had once leaned against the doorframe, sat in that chair, or were blasted across the space both accidentally and on purpose. She had had some good times working at Torchwood, but now everyone that she had initially known was dead. Her mother, Pete, even Mickey. No one was left to keep her safe from the prying eyes, the suspicious glances. At 70 years old, Rose Tyler had the body shed had at twenty. Her hair, though not the same bottle blonde as she used to wear it, was now it's natural golden color with no hint of grey. Only her eyes betrayed her age, holding all of the experience no young girl should have.
She left the building quickly, not stopping to chat, not pausing to say goodbye to any of her coworkers. The song she had heard in her office was growing louder with every step she took, and she really just wanted to get out of the building and away from it.
She reached her car and looked around, realizing that the music she had heard was had not been coming from inside the facility. It was a familiar tune, she mused. One that reminded her of dreams and light and The Doctor. Happiness and yearning replaced the annoyance she had first felt upon hearing it, and she embraced this new feeling, closing her eyes and smiling.
With a blinding flash of light, Rose Tyler disappeared from her car, leaving behind a scorched drivers seat, and the sooty outline of the words: Bad Wolf.
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