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misscamWatson's Ghost 8+9/9
by Camilla Sandman
Disclaimer: Just written for my own and other's amusement, BBC. Please not be suing me.
Rating: Mature, a wee bit.
Summary: Wherein the Doctor and Rose face a murder charge, Rose walks with ghosts, the Doctor tries for life and an alliance changes its nature. [Ten/Rose]
Author's Note: Prompt 029 for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
50lyricsfanfic (just give me one more moment, another walk out in the sun; one more day to find some justice with your shadow by my side - As One - Dropkick Murphys). Written for an anon request in my LJ. Thanks to ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
lotus79 for beta-ing and being awesome. Love ya, darling.
Table of Prompts
Part One
Part Two
Part Three
Part Four
Part Five
Part Six
Part Seven
This concludes our tale. Thanks to all who has read and reviewed!
II
A Dirge: Wherein the dead sing
Songs, it is known, need not be for only one purpose, and all the shapes they come in reflect this. There are songs for life, love, joy, melancholy, friendship found and friendship lost, the passing of seasons, the passing of time, the passing of life.
The dead sing a dirge. Sometimes, when the winds are quiet, even the living of Nattdvalve would hear it. The living stay inside on such days. The dead sing on.
No one knows who they sing for, but the living fear it's them.
II
Part Eight: Wherein a price is reduced, possible last words are exchanged, Berho is of use, a price is paid, a breath is returned and what Watson didn't do to Holmes is explored
Rose can feel it the moment the TARDIS lands - like a hum in her mind, the faint memories of all the ghosts she breathed for a moment awakening. They're still there, where the winds die and they don't, clinging on, and their memories hurt and she hurts too.
"Not even ghosts can come through those doors unless I let them," the Doctor says, and she thinks that's meant as a comfort. It just doesn't feel like one.
She still offers him a faint smile, so she can pretend not to be afraid, and he can pretend he believes her pretending.
"How's your ghostly friend dong?"
"Much like I am?"
He shakes his head a little. "Stupid question. Does he hear his ghost friends?"
...calling and screaming and pleading and howling and remembering...
"Yes," she says definitely, nodding too. "I hear them too, like a distant hum."
He sighs, and then he kicks the console with sudden rage. "They had to right to make you do that. He's got no right to your life! And now I have to use that, and they had no right to make me do that. No right!"
"Doctor?"
He exhales slowly, and she feels herself on the sudden end of a crushing hug as he sweeps her up, nearly driving all the breath from her body. She clings a little to him, daring even to kiss the pulse in his neck, and he doesn't seem to mind this time.
"I wish there was another way," he says softly. "But he's in you, and I need him."
"He likes you," she offers, and he sighs again, letting go of her.
"You like me," he corrects. "And I have to use it. Berho, you understand what I'm going to do, and you understand why. The living are never going to come to you. Not enough of them. Not at that price. So I'm going to reduce it."
He hands Rose the sphere, and she feels almost dizzy as she clutches it.
"Open the doors, step back, don't let go of this and call the ghosts. Bring them here. They're desperate. They'll come."
"And you?"
He smiles. "I'll be holding my breath, waiting for the right moment."
"Famous last words," she says weakly, and manages to take one step towards the door before he halts her with a hand on her arm. He looks at her, and she can't read his face at all.
"Oh, hell," he says, and kisses her forehead so quickly she barely has time to even register it. "Possible last words should always be none."
"Yeah," she agrees, and kisses him on the lips. He leans into it for a moment, and then he nudges her towards the door, just the tiniest hint of mischief in her eyes. And it's that, more than anything else, that makes her think things might all turn out okay after all. They'll have to be.
There's some famous last words, she thinks, and steps up to the door. It seems to almost loom, menacing for all the things waiting beyond it. She really, really doesn't want to do this, but the Doctor has asked her to, and that'll have to be good enough.
Perhaps she's still trying to prove herself to him after all.
She opens the door and steps back.
She half expects a flood, but there is just silence, and cold, and then Berho is humming in her mind, singing with her mind. It is strange and disconcerting and beautiful all at once, a dirge for the dead. And they're coming, joining in, and she can feel tears on her cheek, seeming to burn as they fall.
So many dead. So much they have to say.
So much hurt.
She staggers a bit as the TARDIS jolts and powers, powers, singing some ancient song that she still feels familiar, and the song becomes a wind as the Doctor does something. The sphere in her hands is pulsating, almost like a heart, and her heart beats with it. For a moment, her mind feels pulled in two direction, almost torn open, but then she holds her breath and the sensation fades.
...Rose oh Rose...
The wind's everywhere and she has to close her eyes, seconds feeling like eternity while she feels almost as if she's stuck in a maelstrom, or she is the maelstrom, and everything's swirling around her.
The moment everything goes still she falls to her knees, gasping. Her head pounds so much it's all she can be aware of at first, until she feels hands on her head, rubbing her temples gently.
"I'm sorry," the Doctor says, and she nods, still keeping her eyes closed. She can feel the sphere she is still clutching, and it's still pulsating. It feels alive, and when she opens her eyes to look, a light glimmers and fades in sync with the beats.
"They're all in there?" she asks, awed.
"They're all in there," he agrees. "There's just one ghost missing."
She can feel him look at her, and the will of him hurts.
"Don't make me," she whispers, hardly daring to meet his eyes.
"I have to," he says, lifting her head to meet his eyes. "Berho, your time's over. Either go in there, or let go of life. You know I'll take you out myself if I have to, and you don't want to live in my mind. It's old and dark and dusty and there's no hiding from death. You know how Rose feels. You know Rose would do it for me. You're her. Now let go."
She wants to hate him for being so manipulative, but she can't, not when she sees the pain and love in his face too. She can't, and Berho can't.
She breathes...
and she's Berho, exhaling, dying, afraid so afraid, but relieved too, the pain ends, the fear does not, oh Rose, Rose of my breath, is this it...
...and she can't breathe, she's dying, and there's a gaping hole in her mind and this is how death must feel like, this is death...
"Rose?" he asks, a touch of panic in his voice. She can't comfort him, can't comfort herself, feeling her grip on the sphere loosen, and he catches it, setting it aside carefully, and his face is so close, so close.
"This is what you were," he says, and he's kissing her, breathing into her, and she remembers, remembers what her own breath felt like and her own mind was and her own heartbeats sounded like and Rose, she remembers Rose, she is Rose. And he's smiling against her lips, and she can feel him too, just a flicker of him, and she takes it. She takes everything, kissing him and ignoring his surprise, drawing her tongue across his lips, and then his teeth, feeling the warmth of his mouth.
Yes. This is what she is.
"Rose," he murmurs, breathlessly, and she kisses him to silence, because this is her mind made up. The floor is hard against her knees, and his too she imagines, but she doesn't want to move, not when she for once almost feels as he's within her grasp.
"I'm pretty sure Watson never did this to Holmes," he whispers, brushing her hair from her face, looking at her with something like resignation and joy too.
"He should've," she says, placing a hand on his chest.
He laughs, and she laughs, and then she's crying, and he's brushing away her tears, kissing her eyelids and her cheeks. His lips are warm against her skin, and she's cold, and maybe it's just comfort and maybe it's just not.
"He became a part of you, so a part of you died. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," he whispers, drawing his fingers across her temples again, and down, tracing the sides of her neck.
"You had a part of me."
"Yes. To keep safe. My mind's full of space," he jokes, and she wonders if he's given it all back, or if he still keeps a part, just like he'll always keep a part of her even when she leaves or he leaves her.
There'll be a when, she's learned, but that is not today.
Today is this, and she takes his hand and he follows her as she stands up, and tilts his head as she kisses him, and edges the sides of her top up as she unbuttons his jacket, and draws patterns of the base of her neck as she draws her fingers through his hair, and kisses her as she tilts her head.
Somewhere along the way he becomes a little less gentle, and she too, practically dragging him by his tie into the TARDIS until she finds a soft surface, not even caring what it is. He doesn't seem to either, following her down as she falls back on it, remembering to kick her shoes off.
"Good manners," he says, and she wonders not for the first time why he even cares about manners since he disregards them freely in favour of being rude often enough. Maybe he has a sordid past as a gentleman.
Maybe he just has a sordid past, she considers, feeling his tongue on her skin and his hands tracing the lines of her legs all the way to her toes and then back again, making her cheeks feel flushed. Even more so when he helps her wriggle out of her jeans and then repeats the procedure.
She fumbles more with his clothes, so many buttons and so little patience, but finally there is just skin and she can feel the warmth of it against her palm. He looks and feels human enough, especially in some ways as she lets her hand dip low. She giggles a little, and even more so when he hugs her to him.
"Rose," he says, his hair tickling her skin and he rests his head on her stomach and looks up at her. "Don't get a ghost ever again."
"Promise," she says, but she can't help but feel grief, feel not quite whole, and he seems to know, lifting his head to kiss her as he sinks into her and then at least her body doesn't feel alone. She fumbles a bit before she matches his rhythm, but he doesn't stop kissing her, and somehow that feels more intimate than everything else.
He lifts her up a little, and she digs her fingernails into his back, breathing, breathing, so much breath and not enough.
"Hello," he says, and she closes her eyes to everything and then, then it is enough.
II
"Rose?"
"Mmmm?"
"I think we just shagged on Nero Wolfe's office carpet."
II
Part Nine: Wherein a crowd is tough, Nattdvalve is given a challenge, Berho gets a memorial of sorts, a human affinity is reinforced, a relationship remains unnamed and certain things do not change at all
Rose isn't surprised to find a welcoming committee in her room as she exists the TARDIS, mostly because the Doctor told them they were there as soon as the TARDIS materialised. She puts on her best fake-surprise face still, just in case they were hoping for one.
She's feeling generous, after all.
"Hello! Had a feeling I would find you lot here," the Doctor says cheerfully, clearly not bothering with the fake surprise. "Sorry about the blackout. Hope you didn't miss your favourite football match on telly or some such, but matters of planetary well-being were rather pressing. No need to execute us, I assure you."
He pauses, but no one else says anything, and the silence stretches on a bit.
"That's where they usually assure me they weren't really planning on it," he mutters to Rose, who supresses a smile. "Right, you're probably wondering what I nicked all your power for, and you're thinking it's something brilliant, am I right?"
Again, the silence stretches on.
"Seems you're wrong," Rose whispers, and he gives her a wounded look.
"I am not wrong, this is just a tough crowd," he corrects. "No matter. I have solved your ghost problems."
They stare at him, a few muttering some very rude words Rose feels almost insulted at. Granted, she thinks the Doctor has lost his marbles now and then too, but she has a right to think that. She's claimed that right, and the Doctor gives her a grin, as if he knows.
"Very tough crowd. Now, my lovely assistant..." He catches Rose's glance and quickly amends himself. "My lovely Watson will show you how."
She reaches back into the TARDIS, and ever so careful she lifts the sphere out. It is still beating steadily and surely, and when she rests her palm on the surface, she can almost hear the whispers.
"A little of your technology, a little of mine," the Doctor says, beaming. "I've charged it pretty well. You're a clever lot, you'll find some way to keep it alive and communicate with those inside. I could do it for you, but I'm not going to. You need a good challenge."
"How...?" one of the aliens ask, staring so intently Rose thinks it almost looks greedy.
"Brilliance. Now, as nice as it's been being accused of murder here, Rose and I rather have to hop along. Rose, give them their dead, and let's hop."
"Hopping along right behind you, Doctor," she says, and he vanishes inside. She places the sphere carefully in the nearest alien's arms, and he stares at her, eyes so very dark.
"Walker Rose, what....? How did...?"
"Just Rose now," she says softly. "Rose'll do. Take care of them. You owe them that."
And with that, she walks away, feeling just the briefest moment of pride. Berho desired change for his home, she remembers. Maybe now there'll be some.
Maybe he would've thought that the best memorial there is.
II
"Doctor?"
"Mmmm?"
She turns over on her side to look at him bathed in sun - they needed some serious sun after everything, she had insisted, and he had eventually agreed - and he's smiling distantly, eyes closed, lips warm from sun. She's going to kiss him later, but right now, it feels good to have time to wait too.
"Would you really have taken a ghost?"
"What's one more?" he says lightly, but all darkness underneath.
"For me, though?"
He shifts slightly. "Why do humans always ask questions they know the answer to?"
"Maybe because we like to hear them aloud still."
"The human affinity for stating the obvious," he says affectionately, a light breeze ruffling his hair. "Yeah. For you. And don't you start asking me if Holmes would've done that for Watson, or if Poirot had a partner he also occasionally shagged or if Miss Marple ever felt alone."
She smiles, and he cracks one eye open, regarding her.
"You all right?"
"I think I will be," she answers honestly. "Still feels like I've lost something."
"It'll get better."
He would know, she thinks.
He flips over on his side as well, smiling at her. "Not everyone gets their own ghost story, Rose Tyler. Or live to hear it told and retold and changed and written down and finally ripped off by a bad big budget movie. They probably made one. We could go see."
She wrinkles her nose. "I think I've had enough ghosts for a while."
"Yeah, me too," he agrees readily. "Might try for life. Live a little. Mummies though, mummies you never get enough of."
She does kiss him then, and he still hesitates a little before kissing her back, and she does wonder if he is merely giving her what she wants and this is not about what he wants at all, but she can live on the hope that he wants it a little too. She knows there's a million unresolved issues still, and their relationship has changed from one unnamed thing to another, but that's all right. Life is change.
"Doctor?"
"Mmmm?"
"Are you sure parking the TARDIS on the Opera House to catch some tan was such a bright idea after all?"
"Why?"
"Because there are quite a lot of police down there and they're not looking particularly pleased."
He glances over her shoulder. "Oh! That's the Sydney Water Police. Delightful people. I helped them solve this mystery once..."
Life is change, she decides, but certain things remain the same still.
II
Epilogue: Wherein endings depend
A story, it is known, has a beginning and an end. Both may depend upon the teller. A story may have a happy ending if you end it at a certain time, and the same story may have an unhappy one if you end it at another. Everything depends.
Rose and the Doctor travelled on. Some things changed. Some did not. Maybe they were happy. It depends.
Nattdvalve went on. The people were still greedy for knowledge, and the living still died, but now and then someone brave would listen to a ghost, and see what might be better. Maybe they learned a lesson. It depends.
The ghosts whispered on. Important messages sometimes, personal messages sometimes, and often both. But even whispers can die, and ghosts let go.
Maybe that's where it ends. Maybe not.
It depends.
FIN
by Camilla Sandman
Disclaimer: Just written for my own and other's amusement, BBC. Please not be suing me.
Rating: Mature, a wee bit.
Summary: Wherein the Doctor and Rose face a murder charge, Rose walks with ghosts, the Doctor tries for life and an alliance changes its nature. [Ten/Rose]
Author's Note: Prompt 029 for
50lyricsfanfic (just give me one more moment, another walk out in the sun; one more day to find some justice with your shadow by my side - As One - Dropkick Murphys). Written for an anon request in my LJ. Thanks to lotus79 for beta-ing and being awesome. Love ya, darling. Table of Prompts
Part One
Part Two
Part Three
Part Four
Part Five
Part Six
Part Seven
This concludes our tale. Thanks to all who has read and reviewed!
II
A Dirge: Wherein the dead sing
Songs, it is known, need not be for only one purpose, and all the shapes they come in reflect this. There are songs for life, love, joy, melancholy, friendship found and friendship lost, the passing of seasons, the passing of time, the passing of life.
The dead sing a dirge. Sometimes, when the winds are quiet, even the living of Nattdvalve would hear it. The living stay inside on such days. The dead sing on.
No one knows who they sing for, but the living fear it's them.
II
Part Eight: Wherein a price is reduced, possible last words are exchanged, Berho is of use, a price is paid, a breath is returned and what Watson didn't do to Holmes is explored
Rose can feel it the moment the TARDIS lands - like a hum in her mind, the faint memories of all the ghosts she breathed for a moment awakening. They're still there, where the winds die and they don't, clinging on, and their memories hurt and she hurts too.
"Not even ghosts can come through those doors unless I let them," the Doctor says, and she thinks that's meant as a comfort. It just doesn't feel like one.
She still offers him a faint smile, so she can pretend not to be afraid, and he can pretend he believes her pretending.
"How's your ghostly friend dong?"
"Much like I am?"
He shakes his head a little. "Stupid question. Does he hear his ghost friends?"
...calling and screaming and pleading and howling and remembering...
"Yes," she says definitely, nodding too. "I hear them too, like a distant hum."
He sighs, and then he kicks the console with sudden rage. "They had to right to make you do that. He's got no right to your life! And now I have to use that, and they had no right to make me do that. No right!"
"Doctor?"
He exhales slowly, and she feels herself on the sudden end of a crushing hug as he sweeps her up, nearly driving all the breath from her body. She clings a little to him, daring even to kiss the pulse in his neck, and he doesn't seem to mind this time.
"I wish there was another way," he says softly. "But he's in you, and I need him."
"He likes you," she offers, and he sighs again, letting go of her.
"You like me," he corrects. "And I have to use it. Berho, you understand what I'm going to do, and you understand why. The living are never going to come to you. Not enough of them. Not at that price. So I'm going to reduce it."
He hands Rose the sphere, and she feels almost dizzy as she clutches it.
"Open the doors, step back, don't let go of this and call the ghosts. Bring them here. They're desperate. They'll come."
"And you?"
He smiles. "I'll be holding my breath, waiting for the right moment."
"Famous last words," she says weakly, and manages to take one step towards the door before he halts her with a hand on her arm. He looks at her, and she can't read his face at all.
"Oh, hell," he says, and kisses her forehead so quickly she barely has time to even register it. "Possible last words should always be none."
"Yeah," she agrees, and kisses him on the lips. He leans into it for a moment, and then he nudges her towards the door, just the tiniest hint of mischief in her eyes. And it's that, more than anything else, that makes her think things might all turn out okay after all. They'll have to be.
There's some famous last words, she thinks, and steps up to the door. It seems to almost loom, menacing for all the things waiting beyond it. She really, really doesn't want to do this, but the Doctor has asked her to, and that'll have to be good enough.
Perhaps she's still trying to prove herself to him after all.
She opens the door and steps back.
She half expects a flood, but there is just silence, and cold, and then Berho is humming in her mind, singing with her mind. It is strange and disconcerting and beautiful all at once, a dirge for the dead. And they're coming, joining in, and she can feel tears on her cheek, seeming to burn as they fall.
So many dead. So much they have to say.
So much hurt.
She staggers a bit as the TARDIS jolts and powers, powers, singing some ancient song that she still feels familiar, and the song becomes a wind as the Doctor does something. The sphere in her hands is pulsating, almost like a heart, and her heart beats with it. For a moment, her mind feels pulled in two direction, almost torn open, but then she holds her breath and the sensation fades.
...Rose oh Rose...
The wind's everywhere and she has to close her eyes, seconds feeling like eternity while she feels almost as if she's stuck in a maelstrom, or she is the maelstrom, and everything's swirling around her.
The moment everything goes still she falls to her knees, gasping. Her head pounds so much it's all she can be aware of at first, until she feels hands on her head, rubbing her temples gently.
"I'm sorry," the Doctor says, and she nods, still keeping her eyes closed. She can feel the sphere she is still clutching, and it's still pulsating. It feels alive, and when she opens her eyes to look, a light glimmers and fades in sync with the beats.
"They're all in there?" she asks, awed.
"They're all in there," he agrees. "There's just one ghost missing."
She can feel him look at her, and the will of him hurts.
"Don't make me," she whispers, hardly daring to meet his eyes.
"I have to," he says, lifting her head to meet his eyes. "Berho, your time's over. Either go in there, or let go of life. You know I'll take you out myself if I have to, and you don't want to live in my mind. It's old and dark and dusty and there's no hiding from death. You know how Rose feels. You know Rose would do it for me. You're her. Now let go."
She wants to hate him for being so manipulative, but she can't, not when she sees the pain and love in his face too. She can't, and Berho can't.
She breathes...
and she's Berho, exhaling, dying, afraid so afraid, but relieved too, the pain ends, the fear does not, oh Rose, Rose of my breath, is this it...
...and she can't breathe, she's dying, and there's a gaping hole in her mind and this is how death must feel like, this is death...
"Rose?" he asks, a touch of panic in his voice. She can't comfort him, can't comfort herself, feeling her grip on the sphere loosen, and he catches it, setting it aside carefully, and his face is so close, so close.
"This is what you were," he says, and he's kissing her, breathing into her, and she remembers, remembers what her own breath felt like and her own mind was and her own heartbeats sounded like and Rose, she remembers Rose, she is Rose. And he's smiling against her lips, and she can feel him too, just a flicker of him, and she takes it. She takes everything, kissing him and ignoring his surprise, drawing her tongue across his lips, and then his teeth, feeling the warmth of his mouth.
Yes. This is what she is.
"Rose," he murmurs, breathlessly, and she kisses him to silence, because this is her mind made up. The floor is hard against her knees, and his too she imagines, but she doesn't want to move, not when she for once almost feels as he's within her grasp.
"I'm pretty sure Watson never did this to Holmes," he whispers, brushing her hair from her face, looking at her with something like resignation and joy too.
"He should've," she says, placing a hand on his chest.
He laughs, and she laughs, and then she's crying, and he's brushing away her tears, kissing her eyelids and her cheeks. His lips are warm against her skin, and she's cold, and maybe it's just comfort and maybe it's just not.
"He became a part of you, so a part of you died. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," he whispers, drawing his fingers across her temples again, and down, tracing the sides of her neck.
"You had a part of me."
"Yes. To keep safe. My mind's full of space," he jokes, and she wonders if he's given it all back, or if he still keeps a part, just like he'll always keep a part of her even when she leaves or he leaves her.
There'll be a when, she's learned, but that is not today.
Today is this, and she takes his hand and he follows her as she stands up, and tilts his head as she kisses him, and edges the sides of her top up as she unbuttons his jacket, and draws patterns of the base of her neck as she draws her fingers through his hair, and kisses her as she tilts her head.
Somewhere along the way he becomes a little less gentle, and she too, practically dragging him by his tie into the TARDIS until she finds a soft surface, not even caring what it is. He doesn't seem to either, following her down as she falls back on it, remembering to kick her shoes off.
"Good manners," he says, and she wonders not for the first time why he even cares about manners since he disregards them freely in favour of being rude often enough. Maybe he has a sordid past as a gentleman.
Maybe he just has a sordid past, she considers, feeling his tongue on her skin and his hands tracing the lines of her legs all the way to her toes and then back again, making her cheeks feel flushed. Even more so when he helps her wriggle out of her jeans and then repeats the procedure.
She fumbles more with his clothes, so many buttons and so little patience, but finally there is just skin and she can feel the warmth of it against her palm. He looks and feels human enough, especially in some ways as she lets her hand dip low. She giggles a little, and even more so when he hugs her to him.
"Rose," he says, his hair tickling her skin and he rests his head on her stomach and looks up at her. "Don't get a ghost ever again."
"Promise," she says, but she can't help but feel grief, feel not quite whole, and he seems to know, lifting his head to kiss her as he sinks into her and then at least her body doesn't feel alone. She fumbles a bit before she matches his rhythm, but he doesn't stop kissing her, and somehow that feels more intimate than everything else.
He lifts her up a little, and she digs her fingernails into his back, breathing, breathing, so much breath and not enough.
"Hello," he says, and she closes her eyes to everything and then, then it is enough.
II
"Rose?"
"Mmmm?"
"I think we just shagged on Nero Wolfe's office carpet."
II
Part Nine: Wherein a crowd is tough, Nattdvalve is given a challenge, Berho gets a memorial of sorts, a human affinity is reinforced, a relationship remains unnamed and certain things do not change at all
Rose isn't surprised to find a welcoming committee in her room as she exists the TARDIS, mostly because the Doctor told them they were there as soon as the TARDIS materialised. She puts on her best fake-surprise face still, just in case they were hoping for one.
She's feeling generous, after all.
"Hello! Had a feeling I would find you lot here," the Doctor says cheerfully, clearly not bothering with the fake surprise. "Sorry about the blackout. Hope you didn't miss your favourite football match on telly or some such, but matters of planetary well-being were rather pressing. No need to execute us, I assure you."
He pauses, but no one else says anything, and the silence stretches on a bit.
"That's where they usually assure me they weren't really planning on it," he mutters to Rose, who supresses a smile. "Right, you're probably wondering what I nicked all your power for, and you're thinking it's something brilliant, am I right?"
Again, the silence stretches on.
"Seems you're wrong," Rose whispers, and he gives her a wounded look.
"I am not wrong, this is just a tough crowd," he corrects. "No matter. I have solved your ghost problems."
They stare at him, a few muttering some very rude words Rose feels almost insulted at. Granted, she thinks the Doctor has lost his marbles now and then too, but she has a right to think that. She's claimed that right, and the Doctor gives her a grin, as if he knows.
"Very tough crowd. Now, my lovely assistant..." He catches Rose's glance and quickly amends himself. "My lovely Watson will show you how."
She reaches back into the TARDIS, and ever so careful she lifts the sphere out. It is still beating steadily and surely, and when she rests her palm on the surface, she can almost hear the whispers.
"A little of your technology, a little of mine," the Doctor says, beaming. "I've charged it pretty well. You're a clever lot, you'll find some way to keep it alive and communicate with those inside. I could do it for you, but I'm not going to. You need a good challenge."
"How...?" one of the aliens ask, staring so intently Rose thinks it almost looks greedy.
"Brilliance. Now, as nice as it's been being accused of murder here, Rose and I rather have to hop along. Rose, give them their dead, and let's hop."
"Hopping along right behind you, Doctor," she says, and he vanishes inside. She places the sphere carefully in the nearest alien's arms, and he stares at her, eyes so very dark.
"Walker Rose, what....? How did...?"
"Just Rose now," she says softly. "Rose'll do. Take care of them. You owe them that."
And with that, she walks away, feeling just the briefest moment of pride. Berho desired change for his home, she remembers. Maybe now there'll be some.
Maybe he would've thought that the best memorial there is.
II
"Doctor?"
"Mmmm?"
She turns over on her side to look at him bathed in sun - they needed some serious sun after everything, she had insisted, and he had eventually agreed - and he's smiling distantly, eyes closed, lips warm from sun. She's going to kiss him later, but right now, it feels good to have time to wait too.
"Would you really have taken a ghost?"
"What's one more?" he says lightly, but all darkness underneath.
"For me, though?"
He shifts slightly. "Why do humans always ask questions they know the answer to?"
"Maybe because we like to hear them aloud still."
"The human affinity for stating the obvious," he says affectionately, a light breeze ruffling his hair. "Yeah. For you. And don't you start asking me if Holmes would've done that for Watson, or if Poirot had a partner he also occasionally shagged or if Miss Marple ever felt alone."
She smiles, and he cracks one eye open, regarding her.
"You all right?"
"I think I will be," she answers honestly. "Still feels like I've lost something."
"It'll get better."
He would know, she thinks.
He flips over on his side as well, smiling at her. "Not everyone gets their own ghost story, Rose Tyler. Or live to hear it told and retold and changed and written down and finally ripped off by a bad big budget movie. They probably made one. We could go see."
She wrinkles her nose. "I think I've had enough ghosts for a while."
"Yeah, me too," he agrees readily. "Might try for life. Live a little. Mummies though, mummies you never get enough of."
She does kiss him then, and he still hesitates a little before kissing her back, and she does wonder if he is merely giving her what she wants and this is not about what he wants at all, but she can live on the hope that he wants it a little too. She knows there's a million unresolved issues still, and their relationship has changed from one unnamed thing to another, but that's all right. Life is change.
"Doctor?"
"Mmmm?"
"Are you sure parking the TARDIS on the Opera House to catch some tan was such a bright idea after all?"
"Why?"
"Because there are quite a lot of police down there and they're not looking particularly pleased."
He glances over her shoulder. "Oh! That's the Sydney Water Police. Delightful people. I helped them solve this mystery once..."
Life is change, she decides, but certain things remain the same still.
II
Epilogue: Wherein endings depend
A story, it is known, has a beginning and an end. Both may depend upon the teller. A story may have a happy ending if you end it at a certain time, and the same story may have an unhappy one if you end it at another. Everything depends.
Rose and the Doctor travelled on. Some things changed. Some did not. Maybe they were happy. It depends.
Nattdvalve went on. The people were still greedy for knowledge, and the living still died, but now and then someone brave would listen to a ghost, and see what might be better. Maybe they learned a lesson. It depends.
The ghosts whispered on. Important messages sometimes, personal messages sometimes, and often both. But even whispers can die, and ghosts let go.
Maybe that's where it ends. Maybe not.
It depends.
FIN
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Date: 2006-05-30 03:46 pm (UTC)Marvellous. Thanks for sharing!
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Date: 2006-05-30 04:21 pm (UTC)Anyway, I loved it, very much.
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Date: 2006-05-30 04:26 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-05-30 04:39 pm (UTC)The ending was just perfect. Much, much love. *fangirls you like whoa*
Favourite lines:
"Why do humans always ask questions they know the answer to?"
"Maybe because we like to hear them aloud still."
It totally reminded me of the last lines from Serenity the film, though it's probably unitentional. Still, I love it when fandoms collide. :)
I think I spotted a couple typos(dong --> doing and to --> no at the beginning of part eight).
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Date: 2006-05-30 09:04 pm (UTC)I laughed out loud at this line: "Maybe he has a sordid past as a gentleman." And I sniggered muchly at the 'Hello' moment, which was sweet and touching but funny too.
Ah, angst, terror, pathos, humour... This story has everything, and running through it all we have the two of them like a constant, as if adventure and problems are a side-line to their personal story. Truly wonderful. Thank you for writing this. :)
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Date: 2006-05-30 09:35 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-05-31 12:45 am (UTC)*applause*
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Date: 2006-05-31 01:36 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-05-31 02:21 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-05-31 04:14 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-05-31 05:38 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-05-31 10:55 am (UTC)And nice new layout as well. :)
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Date: 2006-05-31 12:23 pm (UTC)Fantastic. Absolutely fantastic!
You've outdone yourself.
A perfect mix of everything possible. Mystery, love, humour and all the rest of it. It all fitted beautifully, and I loved every word.
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Date: 2006-06-09 01:12 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-06-11 02:50 pm (UTC)I got your reply, and thanks so much for the link to the masterlist - I must have missed it the first time around. I've been directed here by assorted recs lists and didn't take the time to poke around, but since every road seems to lead here I just might stay a while. :)
I see you have an open friending policy, so I'd like to take this opportunity to friend you and keep updated on your works. I've enjoyed them all immensely and this one in particular was original and entertaining, and I loved the idea of the ghosts nestling into the mind.
Memming this story and, as mentioned, friending this marvellous journal. I hope to see more from you soon!
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Date: 2007-06-12 09:14 am (UTC)