Plus Ça Change

[preserved_ginger]

Title: Plus Ça Change
Characters: Ten. Donna.
Setting: Between 4X03 and 4X04
Pairing: Ten/Rose
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: Not mine (sadly).
Spoilers: Dialogue and general spoilers for 3X00, and all Season Four episodes to 4X03.
A/N: This is not a fluffy fic by any stretch of the imagination. The title’s French, and from the expression plus ça change, plus c’est la même chose (which translates as ‘the more things change, the more they stay the same’). Sparked from Questions and Answers, this is another story in the To Days To Come ’verse. The quote at the beginning is from Year of the Flood, by Runrig.
Summary: “I know you’d probably prefer not to, and believe me I understand how that feels.”

I shared your truth today.

“What about Rose?”

She’d been genuinely interested in the answer to the question, particularly since he’d been so utterly broken on account of having lost Rose that first last time she’d met him. She’d seen a flash of something that looked suspiciously like pain cross his expression and then watched him as he’d reluctantly bitten out an answer.

“Still lost.”

And that had been all she’d been able to get out of him at the time, and wisely she’d let the subject drop. She’d get him to talk about her eventually – but it wasn’t the right time just then. One thing she’d learned from her dealings with Nerys – not to mention from living at home with a mother who found fault with everything she said or did – was to pick her battles wisely. But she knew that he’d have to try to come to terms with it at some point (something that, from his reaction to her earlier question, she suspected he still hadn’t done).

The ‘right’ time certainly hadn’t come during her first adventure with him – the light-hearted visit to the ancient world that turned so quickly into a nightmare once they realised when and where they were. That trip had turned out to be such a harrowing experience that neither of them much wanted to talk about it. She’d had nightmares about it afterwards, understandably, and suspected the same to be true about him – although she knew better than to expect him to admit to it even if it were.

And then they’d found the Ood. From his reaction to her request to hear the song they were singing, she felt that the best time to try to get him to talk about Rose was fast approaching. She’d seen him with a melancholy – almost longing – expression on his face when the Ood had told them that there was a place for them there, and she wondered whether he’d been thinking about her.

He seemed to be slightly more relaxed these days, though – certainly much more than he had been when she encountered him on her wedding-day-that-wasn’t, and maybe this different frame of mind would be the key to getting him to open up a little. It was worth a try at least, she figured.

Being who she was, once she’d decided what she wanted to do she waded right on in and, when they were winding down in the TARDIS after they’d bid farewell to the Ood, she asked:

“Do you want to talk about it?”

She asked the question tentatively. She knew how sensitive he was on the subject of Rose, and she hoped he wouldn’t take her question the wrong way. Travelling in time and space with someone like the Doctor was stunningly easy to get addicted to and she wasn’t in the mood to give it up just yet, thanks. But she was worried about him; bottling stuff up, as he seemed to do, wasn’t healthy for anyone – Time Lord or not.

“About what, exactly?”

The tone of his reply was slightly cagey, but she’d become used to that by now – he wasn’t sure what she’d say next at any point so he was a little wary of her. He had a smile on his face when he said it, though – a genuine one, she thought, although she didn’t really have any idea about what a proper smile from him looked like – so she wasn’t particularly worried.

“About her. About Rose.”

The smile slipped, the expression on his face changing to the haunted longing she’d seen before. (She’d been right, earlier, after all.) He seemed about to say something, but she pre-empted him. “I know you’d probably prefer not to, and believe me I understand how that feels, but you have to talk about her sometime, Doctor. It’s just not healthy to keep it walled up like you’re doing.”

She saw him lower his head and she looked away from him, giving him a little privacy. She was quiet for a minute. She’d pushed him a little, but the next move had to come from him.

“I told you, before. I lost her,” he said, in a small voice raw with pain. When Donna looked over at him she saw him turn his head away from her; she suspected that he didn’t like her to see him so vulnerable and it made her heart contract in pity for him.

“I remember you telling me that, yes,” she agreed, her tone gentle. She watched as the Doctor rubbed his hands over his face, trying to retain control of his emotions. The next words out of his mouth, in a choked voice, showed how fragile that control was.

“I promised myself that I wouldn’t weep for her, you know; she’s gone, not dead. She’ll be safe, now, where she is – safer than she’d ever be with me – and I made her promise me that if we were ever separated then she’d go on and have a fantastic li—”

He broke off, unable to continue, and Donna found herself tearing up in sympathy for him. It would do him good in the end, talking about Rose, but in the short term it was going to hurt.

“It’s not weak to cry, you know,” she said, treading very carefully. The last thing she wanted was for all this to blow up in their faces, and it could so easily happen.

A strangled sob is all the reply the Doctor could muster. A few minutes passed, and when he had his emotions reined back again he tried again to speak. His voice wobbled, and the words all fell out in a rush as he tried to articulate properly what he was saying.

“I said to her to ‘have a fantastic life’. And she made me promise to do the same. But how am I supposed to have that without her? It would have happened someday but it wasn’t supposed to happen so soon. Not like this!”

His voice cracked on his last words, and Donna put out a hand towards him in a wordless gesture of comfort. He waved her away, obviously not comfortable with the idea, and she withdrew her hand. She was wondering now whether she’d pushed him too far.

He continued to speak, seemingly determined to finish now no matter how much it cost him to do so.

“I love her, Donna. I love her so deeply that there aren’t words – in your language or mine – to describe how much, and I never told her. I let her stand there and tell me she loved me, tell me something I’d known for almost the entire time she was with me, and because I let myself babble on about nothing until our time was almost over I lost the chance to tell her I loved her too. She said she’d stay with me for ev—”

At that point – unable to complete his sentence – he broke down, and wept inconsolably. Catharsis of a sort at last, but at a heavy price.

Donna had lost the fight with the tears by this stage, also. Unable to stand there watching him in such distress without offering some form of comfort, she moved around the room to where he was standing and put her hands on his shoulders. Her next words were spoken very, very gently.

“She knew. You may not have said it out loud, but she knew. And it’ll get better, Doctor, someday. I can’t – and I wouldn’t dream of trying to – tell you when, but it will get better. One day it’ll stop hurting quite so very much; I can promise you that from personal experience.”

He said nothing, still weeping – healing tears, she hoped – and not caring what it looked like (for it wasn’t as if there was anyone else to see), she pulled him into a hug, held him, and let him cry it out.

She knew she’d only scratched the surface, his grief ran so deep – but he’d been holding back so long that to help him she’d had to break him. The real healing would take longer – but tomorrow was soon enough to begin.

Comments

[principia-coh.livejournal.com]

He broke off, unable to continue, and Donna found herself tearing up in sympathy for him. It would do him good in the end, talking about Rose, but in the short term it was going to hurt.

Like Eustace.

He said nothing, still weeping – healing tears, she hoped – and not caring what it looked like (for it wasn’t as if there was anyone else to see), she pulled him into a hug, held him, and let him cry it out.

Which would explain where he suddenly got the confidence to start teaching her stuff like how to pilot the TARDIS - he knows she's not in this strictly for herself.

[shmobeline.livejournal.com]

Like Eustace.
As in Eustace from Voyage of the Dawn Treader? 'Cause that's a good point.

By the way, lived-in-hope, you're one of my favourite authors. You capture anybody you write so well.

[principia-coh.livejournal.com]

As in Eustace from Voyage of the Dawn Treader? 'Cause that's a good point.

Yep, that's the one. :)

[sej-1986.livejournal.com]

You know, I was actually thinking last night about how the Doctor opened up to Donna and I decided that she must know something about Rose- a conversation such as this could have taken place. Makes sense!!

[lostwolfchats.livejournal.com]

oh - ouch. Sniff.

[karuri.livejournal.com]

*sob* cant speak. heartbroken xD

[firstarrival.livejournal.com]

*sobs* ......*tries to speak*........*realises she can't*

[maniacalshen.livejournal.com]

Oh, beautiful but depressing! Very well-done.

[usaku.livejournal.com]

Ooh, I really do love your introspective writing. It's great because it feels like they are filling very natural (and canonical) blanks in situations and relationships that we know are there but don't get to see in the show. I've been cruising your journal reading several tonight (after your wonderful S04x12 piece) and I'm enjoying them quite thoroughly!