She tossed him the book, just a thin paperback, rather worn. He caught it, and it was only then that he realised his mistake. He'd ignored this yellowed book for years, buried it in the very depths of the library next to the textbooks that belonged to a certain young Alzariun he'd travelled with for a while. That was a section of his life he liked to block out — too many ghosts.
"I choose it 'cause it was the first thing I opened that didn't have quantum math or physics or something in it. Where do you keep all of the book books on this ship anyway?"
He didn't answer. She shrugged.
"Nature's first green is gold," she began, and he sucked in a deep breath and tried to keep himself expressionless. It was a failed attempt.
Rose's eyes were screwed up in concentration, oblivious to the effect her stumbling words were having on her audience.
So, so long ago… He had told her that he didn't remember a thing.
"Then leaf subsides to leaf," Rose went on, too cheerfully, getting the rhythm all wrong, and clashing tone with meaning, "So Eden sank to grief, So dawn goes down to day. Nothing gold can stay."
Instead he had badgered her about ruining his scarf. Never a thank you for his life. Only nagging, day after day, until she sat down and knitted him a new scarf, twice as long as the first. He couldn't complain after that.
Rose opened her eyes and looked at him.
"Blimey, I'm not that good," she said.
The Doctor quickly cuffed away a tear. When he spoke his voice rasped in his throat.
"No, proper poet you are, picked just my favourite one."
Rose smiled and hugged him and bounced out of the console room. The Doctor leaned heavily against a support strut. While Rose had been reading his mind had been playing tricks, replacing Rose with another blond, a natural one; a smaller woman with more delicate features and an aristocratic bearing.
The face of a princess. The face of a ghost.
He remembered the feel of her hand in his. The flitting smell of Paris in springtime. The pride in his heart, and the sorrow when she disappeared into E-space, the joy when she came back… He remembered hiding in the back balconies of the Panoptican when she accepted the presidential sash. A petit form bowed down by purple velvet, ideals, and a sparkling smile staring down a million years of stagnation and corruption. She had refused to wear a collar since she was a free agent and a new beginning. Never had he been so proud of her.
His Romana.
He remembered her cracking voice over the TARDIS phone telling him that all was lost and he must be the one to pay. Telling him with brave words that everything withered in the end. That was life. He shouldn't be afraid - she always knew when he was lying.
And then static had overtaken the line and she had gone. Forever.
But still alive in his memories, gold as ever. The present came back into focus slowly. The memories slow to loose their grip. The Doctor raised his eyes to where the phantom had stood. He could hear Rose humming and laughing in the hall, and he swore that he would never let her go without telling her how much he cared.
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momijizukamori
no subject
Date: 2009-11-07 08:57 pm (UTC)She tossed him the book, just a thin paperback, rather worn. He caught it, and it was only then that he realised his mistake. He'd ignored this yellowed book for years, buried it in the very depths of the library next to the textbooks that belonged to a certain young Alzariun he'd travelled with for a while. That was a section of his life he liked to block out — too many ghosts.
"I choose it 'cause it was the first thing I opened that didn't have quantum math or physics or something in it. Where do you keep all of the book books on this ship anyway?"
He didn't answer. She shrugged.
"Nature's first green is gold," she began, and he sucked in a deep breath and tried to keep himself expressionless. It was a failed attempt.
Rose's eyes were screwed up in concentration, oblivious to the effect her stumbling words were having on her audience.
So, so long ago… He had told her that he didn't remember a thing.
"Then leaf subsides to leaf," Rose went on, too cheerfully, getting the rhythm all wrong, and clashing tone with meaning, "So Eden sank to grief, So dawn goes down to day. Nothing gold can stay."
Instead he had badgered her about ruining his scarf. Never a thank you for his life. Only nagging, day after day, until she sat down and knitted him a new scarf, twice as long as the first. He couldn't complain after that.
Rose opened her eyes and looked at him.
"Blimey, I'm not that good," she said.
The Doctor quickly cuffed away a tear. When he spoke his voice rasped in his throat.
"No, proper poet you are, picked just my favourite one."
Rose smiled and hugged him and bounced out of the console room. The Doctor leaned heavily against a support strut. While Rose had been reading his mind had been playing tricks, replacing Rose with another blond, a natural one; a smaller woman with more delicate features and an aristocratic bearing.
The face of a princess. The face of a ghost.
He remembered the feel of her hand in his. The flitting smell of Paris in springtime. The pride in his heart, and the sorrow when she disappeared into E-space, the joy when she came back… He remembered hiding in the back balconies of the Panoptican when she accepted the presidential sash. A petit form bowed down by purple velvet, ideals, and a sparkling smile staring down a million years of stagnation and corruption. She had refused to wear a collar since she was a free agent and a new beginning. Never had he been so proud of her.
His Romana.
He remembered her cracking voice over the TARDIS phone telling him that all was lost and he must be the one to pay. Telling him with brave words that everything withered in the end. That was life. He shouldn't be afraid - she always knew when he was lying.
And then static had overtaken the line and she had gone. Forever.
But still alive in his memories, gold as ever. The present came back into focus slowly. The memories slow to loose their grip. The Doctor raised his eyes to where the phantom had stood. He could hear Rose humming and laughing in the hall, and he swore that he would never let her go without telling her how much he cared.