Storm Warning

[preserved_ginger]

Title: Storm Warning
Rating: PG-13
Setting: late Season Two, but before Army of Ghosts
Character(s): Ten. Rose.
Pairing(s): Ten/Rose
Beta(s): The fantabulous requialexa
Spoilers: Nothing past 2X11
A/N: A sequel, of sorts, to Storm Front Rising. The italicised lyrics are from Slipping Through My Fingers, by ABBA.
Summary: Time is running out.

Slipping through my fingers all the time …

Against his better judgement, he’s letting her convince him that “for ever” means what it says – because he’s known for a while now that, however much time she has left (with him), for him it will never be enough. Her repeated promises that she will stay with him “for ever”, the ones he encourages because he’s desperately trying to make himself believe in them, are little more than a gloss: less an (illusory) promise of eternity than a stark reminder that her time is running out.

I try to capture every minute

And little by little, as the days run into each other and a pernicious little whisper in the back of his mind tells him repeatedly that a storm is coming (however much he tries to ignore it, the unwanted knowledge permeates everything around him; he finds reminders of it everywhere), he clings to her just that little bit more. Not so you’d notice, unless you were looking for it – and he makes sure she doesn’t, as best he can. But he suspects she knows anyway, because he knows she’s no fool. She’s lived this life, known him, long enough by this stage to be able to tell when he’s trying to hide stuff from her. Just because these things are true, it doesn’t mean he has to like it.

The feeling in it

He’s wildly in love with her; the fierceness of that love means all he wants to do is to protect her, keep her with him; the mere idea that he may not be able to do so for much longer makes him feel simultaneously heartsick and queasy with fear.

Slipping through my fingers all the time…

He's terrified of the future – how can he fight what's coming if he doesn't even know what it is? – but there's something on which he's not for turning, something about which he's utterly determined: he cannot – will not – lose her. He knows the rules backwards, of course; knows that he shouldn't even consider changing time. But there is nobody here to stop him and, for her, he'll not be stopped. He knows a few tricks, still; the superstitious call it magic, but he knows better. He decided long ago that there are no lengths to which he will not go, nothing he will not do; there's nothing that can hold a candle to – no-one who means more to him than – Rose. All things are possible for a Time Lord, especially if it means he can hold her to “for ever”.

Sometimes I wish that I could freeze the picture

He remembers hearing someone – himself? – saying that the most dangerous person was the one who had nothing left to lose. He knows now that, for him, this is a lie. He is impossibly dangerous. Primarily because the one thing he stands to lose is the first good thing that's happened to him in a long time. She keeps him honest. Keeps him from letting the Oncoming Storm overcome him. Most importantly, she helps him know where to stop. But the fact he knows he'll never be able to let her go, not ever, makes her declaration of "for ever" even more important than she thinks it is.

And save it

Time is running out. He knows it is – his Time sense has never been wrong. What he doesn't know – he can't bear to look, because he doesn't want to know – is how it'll happen. He's told her over and over again, brushing a hand over her hair as she lies half-asleep in his arms, that the Beast had been lying to her when it said that she would die in battle. He's not sure if she believes it any more than he does.

From the funny tricks of time.

He'd always had trouble keeping his eyes off her, but now it is worse than ever. He drinks her in at every opportunity, trying to burn her image into his memory so he'll have something of her light to remember when the darkness comes. But she is so completely, completely alive that he knows he could capture only a fragment of the real Rose. The glorious, fragile, beautiful flower he loves so very much.

Slipping through my fingers …