preserved_ginger

Title: The End of Our Beginning
Character(s): Ten II, mention of Rose and Ten I throughout, also of Donna.
Pairing: Ten I/Rose
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Not mine
A/N: This whole fic was inspired by a comment made by Sir Winston Churchill in November 1942 following the victory at El Alamein. A rather amended version of it can be found within; virtual cookies for those who find it :D
Spoilers: Canon compliant, so spoilers for 4X13
Summary: This is not the end.

I’m not the one she wants. She may have kissed me – and blimey, was that a kiss – but she’d have left with the other one of me had he so much as given her a chance.

Part of me knows that, accepts that; I can deal. But the Time Lord part of me remembers the last time anything remotely like this happened – I know, that time after the Game Station isn’t exactly the same thing, but it’s the closest experience Rose has had that fits at all – and hopes that we don’t have to go through all that again, although I will if I have to. I’m still me – still him – after all. Well I am, but I’m not. And I suppose if I’m having problems figuring out just who and what I am, how much worse must it be for her?

And him.

I’m trying very hard not to think about what he must be going through right now. I’ve the memories of what he was like the first time he lost her to this universe, and it’s not remotely pretty. The idea that I’ve inadvertently contributed to re-creating that walking shadow makes me feel slightly cold inside and a wave of guilt, so strong I almost buckle beneath it, subsumes me if I am stupid enough to think about it. (And, of course, I am stupid enough. One day, I’ll learn.)

He loves her.

And I know just how much he loves her, because it defines me. He said that I was “born in battle – full of blood and anger and revenge”. And he’s right, of course, but like he usually does he only mentioned part of the story. He couldn’t bear to use the word, but I was once part of him so I know. I was born from utter, utter overwhelming love – his, for her. And I know how much it cost him to turn around and walk away.

I know.

Because I am him.

She’ll be wondering why he up and left her without a word of good-bye, without even one last hug. I know she’ll be wondering and I think she probably doesn’t want to ask because she’ll think it will upset me. But if she does ask, I’ll be able to answer her – he did it because the strength of his feelings for her meant that if he spoke to her or hugged her again, had any kind of contact at all, he would never have been able to do what he did. Would never have been able to leave her.

And it wasn’t just about him any more.

I have no illusions, though. If he had had the choice I’m perfectly aware what he would have done with me; I was steeled against being abandoned in that parallel universe while he and Rose picked up where they left off. And I know just how deeply involved with each other those two were.

She thinks he still has Donna; that soothes a little of the guilt for her, I think. And I just don’t know how to tell her that that isn’t – can’t be – true. There’s a reason, after all, why there aren’t more Human-Time Lord metacrises. I’ll tell her if she asks – or, maybe, I won’t. If I can protect her from this one thing, at least – if I can ease the guilt she’s feeling, even just a little – I’ll do it, gladly.

I know she’s thinking of him when she looks at me – I’m half-surprised I’ve not been coerced into brown pinstripes already, although I suspect she might try before either of us are too much older – and I think she feels guilty for appearing to choose me on that beach. So we’re both carrying a fair bit of guilt.

Same old, same old, eh?

It isn’t the best emotional state in which to try to build – resume, in some ways – a relationship, I know that. But this is not the end for us. Far from it. It’s not even the beginning of the end, if I have anything to say about it. But it is, perhaps, the end of our beginning.

And right now?

It’s enough.