Title: Only Human
Author: Angel Leviathan
Disclaimer: Doctor Who, characters, concept, etc, aren’t mine.
Spoilers: Parting of the Ways
Notes: 10th Doctor.
-
She’s doing it again.
Skulking round the control room, not quite angry, not quite
sulking. Scowl on her face, she looks almost deep in thought. She sits
quietly in one corner, watching him out of the corner of her eyes, always
looking away whenever he catches her and never making eye contact.
She always gets like this. Sometimes worse, sometimes better. Sometimes he can
cajole her out of her mood with a joke or a smile, a trip to some ridiculous
planet he can’t stand but knows she’ll adore. She won’t be drawn out this time.
She won’t say a word.
He wonders if he should do something stupidly male and ask her if its her time of the month or something. If only to get a
reaction, even if its outrage or disgust. The problem is he fears a slap or for
her to take actual offence and really refuse to speak to him for days. She’s
done that before. But she forgets the TARDIS is his home and no matter how hard
she tries to hide, he will always know wherever she lurks. She and the TARDIS
may have shared a bond, but it’s a part of him more than it will ever be a part
of her.
Rose finally stands and brushes imaginary dirt from the knees of her jeans,
stretching. Now she does look at him – an angry glare for the briefest of
seconds – before she does what she does well; storming out.
The Doctor rolls his eyes in near despair, “Rose,” he calls, sighing.
She hesitates for a moment, a mere flinch, then
continues on her way.
“Rose!” he shouts, angrily, in his best ‘I’m the
Doctor and I can do anything - so watch it’ voice.
She whirls round, “What!?” she yells, just as furious.
His anger fades from him almost instantly, knowing there’s no point in matching
fire with fire, “What’s wrong?”
Rose stares at him, incredulous, taking a step forward, “You really don’t get
it, do you?”
“What is there to ‘get’? You’ve been glowering at me for a good two hours,
hovering, silent. Pardon my ignorance, but I believe someone’s supposed to have
done something wrong before you decide to savage them for no good reason.”
Her eyes widen even further, “No. Good. Reason?” she repeats.
This scene has been brewing for a while. This he knows. He thinks he knows just
what gets to her, what she’s so hurt and so furious about, but he hasn’t dared
broach the subject. The times he’s tried to go near it have never turned out
well. For either of them.
“Come on, Rose – its just you, me and the TARDIS – to
coin a phrase. Out with it,” the Doctor goads.
“You are the most ignorant, most self involved man-“
“Technically I’m not a man, in your sense of the word,” he shoots back. That,
he knows, is the problem.
“And you still don’t know when to shut up!” Rose shouts, “You don’t understand!
You don’t understand anything! Poncing about like you
own the universe when you’re just as bad as the rest of ‘em!”
He dares to smile, “The rest of what?” he taunts.
She takes a deep breath, pausing, wondering whether to continue or not. She
knows she’s out of line and she knows the damage this will do. She carries on,
regardless, “Men!”
The Doctor knows what she’s thinking. As he said – its
just him, her, and the TARDIS. Or, more specifically, just
the two of them. Living in such close quarters, each
other’s only companion. Were this any other, any other normal, human,
situation, he knows she thinks they would most likely be a couple by now. Have
kissed or slept together at least. Its what she wants.
Of that he’s all too aware.
He remembers saving her life with a kiss. A kiss to save her
soul, her very being, to keep her with him. Because he
couldn’t bear to be without her, to be alone, not again. Not another one
lost to time and the universe.
A kiss he is glad she does not remember.
“I’m alien,” he says, a lame defence, he knows, even as he utters the words.
“Oh, I know,” Rose responds, “I know that very well.”
He decides its better to ask the question than to have
it hang in the air, “…What do you want?" he asks.
She glares at him for a moment, every muscle tensed, “…I want…what you won’t…or
can’t…give me…” she admits, voice almost failing her, “…and you’re going to
tell me I’m stupid…and that this isn’t the way to do things…” she finds her
voice again, “Well maybe it isn’t, but I’m only me, okay!?”
The Doctor sighs, “Rose…”
She turns from him, “It is stupid, I know, don’t tell me I’m some stupid little
girl with a crush…” she takes several steps away, putting deliberate distance
between them, “…You don’t understand…you don’t get…you don’t…” she struggles to
find the words, “…I’m human…and maybe love is something different to you than
it is to us… I need our kind of love… and you don’t even try to understand…”
He understands. He has seen, and experienced, the love she speaks of up-close.
He has loved and he has lost, again and again and again and it is she who
cannot even begin to understand the damage it has done to him. He cannot, he
must not, let himself love her the way she wants. She’s in love with him. He
can’t let her see he could, and does, love her…the way he has loved all the
others.
So he has to be harsh.
“I can love, Rose Tyler, and if you believe the contrary then I suggest you do
whatever you must.”
“You just can’t…love me…” Rose whispers.
“…You aren’t the first…” he says, voice almost devoid of emotion, “…and you
won’t be the last…”
She stares back at him for one last moment, eyes shining, as one black tainted
tear escapes her and smudges the make-up she insists on wearing. She walks,
doesn’t run, from the control room, slowly, pretending complete command of
herself.
The Doctor leans heavily against the central column.
He has his meaning and she has her understanding.
Fin