To Days To Come

[preserved_ginger]

Title: To Days To Come
Characters: Rose. Mickey (non-speaking part). One other character
Pairing: Ten/Rose
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: Not mine (sadly).
Spoilers: Nary a one, if you’ve seen Doomsday
A/N: An unbeta-ed bit of flangst (fluffy angst, you’ll see what I mean once you’ve read it) I wrote today to cheer myself up. The title’s from a line spoken by the Fifth Doctor in Time Crash.
Summary: And so that’s how she was here standing laughing at Mickey.

She’d been unable to stop herself from spending the first anniversary back on that beach after fantasising that perhaps this time he would manage to do the impossible. Nothing had happened, of course. Not even a whisper of her name, and that had probably been what hurt most. By the time she’d arrived home, depressed and distraught, she'd forced herself to admit that she had to try to move on. Yet even now, months after that anniversary, some days were still better than others.

She’d felt particularly melancholy when she woke that morning, missing him more than usual. She couldn’t help her mood, but it had been a long time since she'd missed him so keenly. Mickey had asked her if she fancied going for a walk; she'd agreed to go just to get him off her back more than anything: all she’d really wanted to do was curl up in bed and cry.

And so that’s how she was here standing laughing at Mickey, who was looking at her with his mouth open in astonishment.

“Don’t want to leave your mouth open like that, Mickey.  You might end up catc—” Just as she registered that Mickey was looking behind her rather than at her, something (no, someone) covered her eyes and she cut herself off mid-sentence.

Those hands were cold. She only knew one person whose hands were anything like that, and she’d seen him for the last time a year and more ago. It couldn’t be him. Whoever it was shuffled closer to her until they were almost on top of her, and lowered their head until their lips – cold again, she could tell, even though it wasn’t him – were so close to her ear that she could feel their breath against her skin.

She was poised to give this stranger a well-deserved elbow in the stomach. Anything, if it meant she could get away. But it was uncanny how similar this person seemed to be to him, and she found herself holding back. Painful, violent hope surged inside her.

Then, at last, she heard it - the voice she’d never expected to hear again, the timbre of it unique to its owner. The tone of it was full of love and pain and longing, and all of it directed at her. How she’d longed for this.

“Oh, my Rose. My precious, precious girl.  Did you miss me?”