preserved_ginger

Title: Like An Image Passing By
Character(s): Ten. Rose.
Pairing: Whaddya reckon?
Rating: PG-13
Setting: That scene in Doomsday, but not necessarily what you’d expect.
Disclaimer: Not mine.
A/N: I was asked for more, and your wish is my command! This is Impossible Is Just A Word redux, but this time from the Doctor’s POV. Title from the song My Love, My Life by ABBA.
Dedication: For

karenor. Get well soon, my friend.
Summary: “I’m still just an image. No touch.”

He’d tried everything he could think of to break through without causing problems that would be impossible to fix, but had drawn a blank every time. It had been agony. And then he had found a tiny, tiny gap between the Universes that would let him send a message through, and even as he had despaired that he could not get through to her his hearts had leapt with joy to have the chance to see her again. Even if it was only to say good-bye.

He didn’t know when the transmission would cut out – he thought he had a good few minutes, but it was ropey enough, all right. Best not to take too many chances.

And here she was.

That was enough for him to stop worrying about the transmission for a while and shift his whole attention to her. Love of his lives, light for his darkness; clichés every one of them but a cliché was only a cliché because it was true, and she was a sight for sore eyes! He babbled on for a few seconds about supernovas, throwing the bit about ‘good-bye’ in as casually as he could, hoping beyond hope that she didn’t pick up on it immediately. Let them have this much, at least.

“You look like a ghost.”

Did he? He’d had had no way of knowing what the projection would look like; had already had to do a fair amount of jiggery-pokery to make it do this much in the first place. He didn’t know how much more fiddling with it would take. But for her …

“Hold on.”

He fumbled with the sonic, changing the setting and aiming it at the console. It seemed to work, because she didn’t mention it again; he was glad that he could at least appear solid even if in reality he was anything but.

And he stood there and drank her in with his eyes as she walked towards him.

Oh, how he’d missed her. Although he was hurting terribly he managed a half-smile for her – the first in so very long, it flickered across his mouth and was gone in almost no time at all – and he didn’t want to take his eyes off her for a second. He’d not seen her in so long now, and he knew this would be his last chance, ever. He had to make the most of it.

His eyes locked with hers, every fibre of his being attuned to her.

“Can I t—?”

Touch. One of the few things he wouldn’t be able to give her. She wanted to touch him, of course she did; the two of them were such a tactile couple that they couldn’t go more than a few minutes without touching each other. It had been months for him and there was little he wanted more than to be able to touch her. He craved it – it had become a physical need by this stage – but he couldn’t, and the knowledge of it was bitter. Knowing that he’d have to tell her as much, too, hurt even more. His next words, in a desperate melancholy timbre, sounded almost as if they’d been dragged out of him, so reluctant was he to tell her what he knew he must.

“I’m still just an image. No touch.”

She blinked at that, and he wondered if she believed him; the fact that she didn’t lower her hand but kept moving it towards his face answered that particular question for him and he braced himself for what he knew would happen. He wasn’t there; her hand would literally go right through him.

Or so he’d thought.

When he first felt the hand cupping his face, the fact it ought to have been impossible didn’t enter into the equation; he’d let his eyes close as he leant into it, the feel of it sending electricity right through him. He loved her so much, his Rose. Instinct took over and he wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her against him in a hug unlike any he’d given before. How had he managed to get this second chance?

And then his brain kicked in.

This was supposed to be impossible. The whole point of this exercise in the first place had been for him to come to say good-bye to Rose, because he could neither bring her back to him nor could she see him again. And he certainly wasn’t supposed to have been able to touch her at all. He was grateful for it, Chaos knew, but still …

And then, just as quickly as he had pulled her into a rough and desperate embrace, his mind provided him with a possible answer and the shock of it made him pull himself back away from her and cautiously look up at her face. And there it was, just as his brilliant mind had suspected; that swirling, shining gold in her eyes that was doing the impossible and quite possibly killing her into the bargain.

“Oh no,” he gasped out, in a hoarse and rough voice. “Oh no, no, no, no, no; I kissed it all out of her, I died for her!”

It was supposed to be gone. Where had it come from? This was worse than he’d ever imagined; was losing her not enough? Was he going to be forced to watch her die, as well? He felt dangerously close to breaking down as he moved his hands to gently caress her face; he wouldn’t be able to remove it by force. His only hope was to get her to release it of her own volition. And how he was going to manage that he had no ide— no, no, wait a minute, he did have an idea. Maybe, just maybe, it would work:

“Rose, my love, listen to me. It’s all right. I’m here. I’m here, and I swear I’ll never leave you. But it’ll kill you; let go of it, Rose, please; let go. For me?”

He was close to losing control; his throat was closing over, choked full of tears, and his eyes hurt. For a moment, he thought it had worked. Only a moment, though.

“My Doctor.”

He stared at her as he heard the voice he’d never thought he’d hear again. The words sounded strange, but oddly familiar; they brought memories of the last time the two of them had been parted, seemingly for ever. The echoes of that time frightened him. Not for his own sake – he would be fine, he could regenerate – but for her. For Rose. He could feel his eyes go wide in terror and there was nothing, nothing at all, he could do about it.

“Rose?”

He fought for and retained control of his voice, which panic had threatened to overcome for a while, and when he spoke he sounded very, very calm. He hoped she didn’t know him well enough to hear the betraying waver in it that would tell her how scared for her he was.

But then she spoke again, speaking still in that otherworldly voice that terrified him so:

“She said to you that she’d never leave you. I am but the means by which she’ll keep her promise.”

He couldn’t bear to hope that that voice spoke the truth. He’d always known the risks involved in loving Rose – he’d outlive her by far, and the idea of letting somebody that close to him and then losing him utterly terrified him – but he’d wilfully ignored them up to this point. And now the Bad Wolf, for he didn’t doubt for a second that that was what he was dealing with, had seemed to imply that he and Rose would truly have “for ever”. He longed for it with every part of him, but he wasn’t going to believe it. He’d been let down too often in the past by people who were supposed to love him to willingly let himself believe in “for ever” quite so easily.

Oh, my Rose. I kept my promise. I didn't leave you behind. As if I ever could.

She was holding her hand out to him, he could see it. His eyes never left hers as he reached out to take it, inter-lacing his fingers with hers – and looking up at her face, he frowned before starting to reach for her with his other hand. That quickly became a lunge for her when she appeared to lose consciousness; he easily caught her as she fell.

He lowered her gently to the ground – ground that looked suspiciously like the grille of the console room. He didn’t need to see the green-gold glow to know where he was. He slid down beside her and pulled her gently back into his arms, and sat there waiting until she woke up. Déjà vu, he thought, but he’d be damned if he would leave her now.

And so the first things the woman he loved was aware of when she woke again were that familiar green-gold glow and his face – with concern and worry and all the love he held for her written all over it – looking down at her.

As she smiled timorously up at him, he grinned down at her and hugged her gently.

“Oh, Rose,” he said. “My brilliant Rose. What have you done?”