Rosa Sine Spina

[preserved_ginger]

Title: Rosa Sine Spina
Character(s): Ten. Rose. Cameos by Jack and Donna.
Pairing: The same as always.
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Sadly, not mine.
A/N: Rosa Sine Spina is Latin, translates as “Rose Without A Thorn”, and is a title usually attributed to the Blessed Virgin Mary. Used here because, well, in many ways I think it’s how the Doctor saw – sees – Rose. Thanks to Wikiquote for the dialogue.
Spoilers: Absolutely chock-full of spoilers for 4X12
Summary: How has he ever been this lucky?

“Why don’t you ask her yourself?”

He’d felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up when Donna had said those words. Didn’t dare believe it could be true, not now, after the many times he’d wished for it – ached for it – and been denied it time after time.

But he’d found reason to hope again after Donna had mentioned the Bad Wolf.

If there was anything he believes in, it’s her. Always her.

And then he’d looked. He’d taken himself in hand, forced himself to take a chance, hold his heart in his hands (again), and turn ’round. Only to see the loveliest sight in this or any universe looking right back at him.

How has he ever been this lucky? This sort of thing just doesn’t happen. Not to him.

Parallel universes be damned; there she was, smiling at him – his Rose. Not a hallucination, not this time. Not if Donna could see her too.

He’d run to her.

As if he could have done differently. She’d been everything to him for so long; what could he want more than to be reunited with her?

But even though he’d not quite made it he’d felt her arms around him as he lay on the asphalt and, for the few fleeting seconds it took before the others came rushing around him, it felt oddly as if he’d come home.

If I could only tell you … tell you how I — Oh, how very much I’ve missed you.

“I’ve got you.”

Everything is always, always her. Nothing else matters.

That voice, the one that he’d spent so long thinking that he’d never hear again, was exactly how he’d remembered it. Almost everything about her was the same, except the parts that were different – and right then, what did they matter?

“Rose! Long time, no see.”

The effort to speak almost costs him everything he has; but this isn’t the first time he’s given all of himself, and more, for her. And she is worth it. Oh she’s more than worth it. Every time.

Half-croaking, half-whispering, even through the pain ricocheting through him he did his best to ensure his love for her, the one good thing he’d been left with after she’d gone, shone through. Whether or not he’d ever voiced the thoughts he’d always adored her, his precious girl, and he wasn’t going to let the damn Daleks take yet another person from him he cared about. He didn’t know how he was going to manage it, but he would. On that, he was determined.

He’s trying to keep his eyes locked on hers; needs to drink her in, now she’s so close to him again. But the battle against the darkness – that darkness that sings to him, that calls to him, that’s oh so tempting – is becoming more and more difficult.

“Don’t die! Oh, my God, don’t die! Oh my God, don’t die!”

He could feel her becoming more and more desperate and he tried to respond but he just couldn’t make his body co-operate. The last thing he remembered hearing before the darkness took him was a vaguely familiar voice – Jack? Where’s Jack come from? – saying something about the TARDIS.

“Get him into the TARDIS! Quickly. Move!”

When he woke again it was to that old familiar green-gold glow, and he saw Rose hovering over him. He couldn’t help but let himself drown in her.

I’ve been too long without her. I’m lost, I’m nothing. How can she not know that?

“But he can’t! Not now! I came all this way!”

That pain – her pain, and he’d have done anything at all to spare her this – on top of everything else was almost more than he could take; he was scared, so very scared, that he’d regenerate and her return would all be for nothing because she wouldn’t want to come with him, wouldn’t want to learn to love a new him all over again. He couldn’t lose her, not again, it would break him – and it was that all-encompassing fear, more than anything else, that brought him close to tears.

I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.

He looked at his hand. Could see the familiar shimmering gold flowing through it, and felt sick to his stomach. He knew what this meant. He spoke, his voice full of dread.

“It’s starting!”

Please don’t leave me. I can’t bear it. Whatever happens, we can deal with it together, you and I; the old team. There’s so much I need to tell you, so many things; all those things I could not say. I —

“Will someone please tell me what is going on?!”

Somewhere in the back of his mind, in the ever-decreasing part of him that wasn’t focussed completely on Rose, he could hear Donna becoming increasingly distressed. He thought he’d learned his lesson last time, with Rose; he should have told her about regeneration long since.

Too late now, of course.

And then he heard her speak again, and his mind locked on to her.

In so many ways, now, you’re the only one who matters ...

“When he’s dying, his body, it repairs itself, it changes...but you can’t!”

... my love. I’d have done anything to spare you from this, but there’s nothing I can do about it now.

“I’m sorry, it’s too late! I’m regenerating!”

And as he felt the golden fire begin to course through him, he forced every other thought out of his mind but her. His last coherent thought as the searing, burning pain consumed him was of her, was always going to be of her:

Rosa sine spina.