Rose Tyler is Bad Wolf (_badwolf_) wrote in valarlogs, @ 2015-03-06 22:09:00 |
|
|||
Entry tags: | !complete, rose tyler, tenth doctor |
Who: John & Rose
What: Rose makes another discovery
When: Saturday night
Where: Their flat
Rating: low
Status: Complete upon posting!
It was nice to be able to relax at home, not worrying about finding time to meet up with her friends, keep time for herself, and be with John. The latter was easy as they lived together and she knew she really shouldn’t complain about the their time apart; her work took her away so often and he was responsible for hundreds of young minds to educate and better. Still, she started to find that they would only see each other in the evenings when he got off work.
Today was different as Rose walked through the door. She heard the shower running as she locked the door behind her and called out. “John? Is that you?” Well, who else would it be? She tossed her keys into the bowl by the door, wandering into his room and looked around. She spent more time in that room than anywhere else. She sighed and bent down to pick up some clothes, smelling them to see if they were clean or dirty. She may as well help out with keeping the room nice.
She started to pull the sheets off the bed when she noticed a ripped envelope, its contents on the bed. She frowned, opening it to see if it was something John needed to keep or if she could throw it away.
My dear Doctor… Rose’s frown deepened as she read the letter, even knowing that she was crossing a line by continuing to read. But she couldn’t stop. Her heart pounded and she sat on the bed, taking in everything in the letter. Hurry though my love. Rose put the letter down and just stared at it. Doctor? Could this have been from his dream? If so, who was this person? It sounded very personal and very…emotional.
And what if the letter came from this time? Hadn’t he told Rose to call him Doctor when they first met? But surely if someone was going to write this personal letter they would have used his name? She stood up, beginning to pace the floor, all manner of thoughts running through her mind. She knew with John’s recent…situation that she could outright ask him and he would tell her the truth. But did she want to know it?
She wrung her hands, imagining the worst scenario. That? Oh yes, that was from one of my pupils at school, really taken a fancy to me. Or Oh um, that. That was a letter Reinette had given me while I was away. She stopped pacing, closing her eyes. That last one was the worst scenario. She would take anything above that.
She sat back down on the bed, her hands gripping the mattress on either side of her, glancing at the door and wondering if she wanted to be there when John came out.
Upon finding an unopened letter when he got home from school, John almost had the presence of mind to throw it away. Almost. A flash of a dream, a voice gentle and inviting had given him pause. He’d sunk down on the edge of the bed to read it, too. Instantly recognizing the penmanship, he’d been practically paralyzed by anxiety the moment he saw the name Doctor as a name rather than his often boasted title.
He’d lost her in a vastly different way than the Doctor.
Head shaking as he’d discarded the letter, John went to take a shower in an attempt to clear his thoughts. He hadn’t calculated the time, only let the warm rivulets of water stream down in the hopes they would purge him of the sadness he’d been rid of since coming to America. Reinette was a piece of his past that could dredge up despair easily, but generally she remained quiet in his memory.
This was its own brand new can of worms.
At least that was what he thought until he came trudging out of the shower in only a towel and saw Rose with the letter. Not good.
Damp hair and a barely dry torso, John swallowed hard as he observed Rose nervously. “Hello,” he greeted, apprehension thick like the steam yet to clear in the bathroom. “Doing some reading…?”
Rose looked up and felt her heart pick up when she saw him standing there, still wet from the shower. She was glad that this truth thing wasn’t effecting her. She swallowed, looking at the letter and back at him. He had caught her and she wasn’t going to try and cover it up. She could at least be truthful with him in that aspect.
“Yeah…” she said slowly, picking up the letter and looking at it again. She tapped it against her leg, wanting to know, but not wanting to know at the same time.
“Who’s it from?” The words came out before she had time to fully commit to wanting to know. She looked up at him, trying to keep her face indifferent when she was feeling the complete opposite inside.
“Reinette,” he answered immediately, a knee-jerk response that left him looking rather surprised in spite of expecting to say the truth. That wasn’t the whole truth, however, and so he felt compelled to add, “Specifically, the Madame de Pompadour, someone I knew in my dreams.”
It wasn’t awkward so much as it was uncomfortable to stand before her clad in only a towel. Not because he was naked, oddly, but because she had something that bridged the dream universe to this one in a rather painful sort of way. The past always found a way to return, didn’t it? Whether Daleks or French courtesans, very little stayed where it belonged.
Stranger still, his fingers itched to have the letter back in his grasp.
It was a strange sensation to feel, hearing him actually say her name without so much as a hesitation. She knew it was in part to his needing to tell the truth, but it still made her heart stop and a thin tone seemed to be clogged in her ears. She closed her eyes and heard him say the rest. In my dreams. She nodded her head, knowing that this couldn’t be easy for John either; she knew what a big deal it was that she even knew who Reinette was.
Funny how that fact didn’t help how she felt.
Letter forgotten, she twisted her hands again, trying to keep her voice level and calm. “Is Reinette the same in your dreams? As here, I mean.” Was she taking advantage of his disability at the moment? Maybe a little. But that little green monster had reared its ugly head and it was hard to get it to stop.
With an uneasy sigh, John forced himself to move. While he was compelled to tell the truth, he also had trouble with words. There were so many ways to say the same thing in the long. Coming to sit beside Rose, not too close because of the nature of their conversation, and he didn’t dare look at her. He hadn’t done anything wrong, but it must have been difficult for her. Seeing the love letter of a former flame would be unsettling for the present one.
“Very much so,” he said lacking any fondness or reverence, only bittersweet nostalgia. “Clever, exceptional, beloved by most. And me… to some degree. That was a complicated feeling. There are differences of course,” John paused to side-eye the letter. “My Reinette’s not--she’s not a member of the French court, and she’s also alive.”
There were so many things he had never wanted to say about his own encounters with Reinette, but having dreamed of the courtesan--he knew her death was something he wanted to keep secret until the end of his days.
She knew he didn’t mean to say the things he did in such a light that made her feel worse, but it did. It was exactly what she was afraid of, that the truthfulness of all this was going to be too much. Almost as soon as he had sat down, she stood up and started walking around the room again. She couldn’t be this close to him, in his state, and talk about Reinette, whether from here or from his dreams. What did that even mean? That he dreamed of her, this ex of his, and that she might have the same charming characteristics that seemed to have caught his attention so long ago?
That’s what she had to keep reminding herself. After all this, John had told her not to worry, that that was the past and she was his future. Or something like that. At least that’s what Rose came away with. Still it was hard to hear those words coming from him.
And the things that were different? Minor setbacks, nothing about any kind of flaw that might be on the already perfect Reinette. Rose tried to picture the girl, thinking how beautiful she was. If he loved her, he wouldn’t be here with you. That small voice of reason was trying to get through, but Rose battled against it. If it was true, why did she feel this way?
“Right. Not royalty. Well, that’s one less thing to be impressed with Reinette.” Her arms were crossed while she walked around and she couldn’t bring herself to look at John. She knew she was being unreasonable, she did, but she just kept going like it didn’t matter at all. “Heaven help her if she might have been a little dull, or a little less exceptional.” The way she pronounced each word held a little bit of bitterness to it, one she couldn’t disguise as easily.
She stopped, looking at him.
“It just...hurts.”
Trouble was, the more John dreamed of the Doctor, the closer to the man he became. His ability to understand people felt more and more skewed, and he hadn’t been exactly adept at it with a completely human mind. He didn’t stay up at night yearning for Reinette. She seldom ever came up as a rule, that was what made the presence of her in any material form so striking. His old something would turn up as the proverbial paper cut, a swift slice through something that should have been better at resisting its edge.
Brow wrinkling in confusion the more she spoke, how green her words should have sounded to his ears, his head gradually tilted to the side.
He didn’t understand why it hurt. He hadn’t asked for the letter, bore no whim to track down Reinette and rekindle a flame that had burnt out before he’d been able to actually cheekily tell people to call him Doctor instead of John.
Even so, not a single ember of contempt ignited in his heart. Rose was young, he knew, though didn’t quite know the specific number. He wasn’t so far from his youth to have forgotten what it was like to let emotions run the show.
“Why?” He asked, the look in his eyes encapsulated by confusion. “Why does it hurt, Rose?”
Rose frowned at the way John tilted his head to look at her. She had thought that he had been acting funny, but she had just thought it had to do with his strange bout with telling the truth. But there seemed to be something else in his eyes, but she shook her head. No, he was right. Why did it hurt? There was no cause for it, yet the feeling was very strong in her gut. She realized she had said it without completely understanding it herself.
“I dunno,” she said, making her way back to the bed and sitting next to him, keeping the distance he had created. She closed her eyes to gather her thoughts, wishing that she had the excuse of only being able to tell the truth to explain her bluntness. “She was just so important in your life. And I know you said that it was a long time ago, but…” Her eyes opened, a split second hesitation before she went on. “I worry that she might come over here or you might want to go back to her.” She winced, realizing how ridiculous it actually sounded out loud. But she glanced over at him to see his reaction. She had been honest with him and now she knew he had no choice but to be honest back as well.
Nervous eyes watched her every move. He hadn’t asked for the letter, so that tiny bit assurance mostly absolved him of guilt. Seeing her almost overwrought over having received it, however, left him doubting himself. With his inability to label anything of great value to him, surely he hadn’t facilitated confidence in what they’d built. He didn’t blame her, never would find the fault in her.
So, John’s mood remained even as the calmest of seas. He knew, though, that the storm lingered on the horizon.
The only saving grace he had to his name was the shock on his face when she suggested ever returning to Reinette. Floored, he slid back despite the way his frame leaned toward her with a slowly emerging incredulous glance. “What would I do that for?” He questioned in disbelief. It didn’t make sense to him. Then, something seemed to dawn on him. “Ah, it’s difficult to trust me,” he stated, then rose from his spot to go to the closet.
Sitting there in just a towel for this conversation hardly appealed to him, especially now that his heart sunk low.
When his fingers grazed the brown suit’s sleeve, he stopped to stare at it. “I wouldn’t do that, not to you,” he said firmly, though failed to say it to her face. “I’m a different man now than I was those years ago. I’ve had a long time to consider going to Reinette and asking to be taken back, but I haven’t.”
Glancing by the suit, he retrieved a simple t-shirt that matched a blue box in his dreams and pulled it over his head. He still refrained from looking at her, wounded from the implications.
“No, it’s not that I don’t trust you.” She instinctively reached out towards him, but watched as he stood and walked towards his closet. What may have turned into a playful moment turned into one of giving him his space and she turned away, listening to what he had to say while giving him privacy to change. She felt a small stirring at his comment, the urge to touch him, hold his hand, growing even stronger.
“That’s what worries me,” she said, looking down at her hands. “That you’ve entertained the idea of going back to her. And then this letter…” She held it up, placing it back on the bed. “It just all happened at once and with the family coming into town it just kind of feels like...well, she’ll be next.” She shook her head, knowing how ridiculous it sounded.
“Sorry, I’m doing it again,” she said, running a hand through her hair. “I read through your stuff and that wasn’t right either.” What really bugged Rose was this wasn’t like her. Sure, she had a jealousy streak, but this felt stronger than jealousy.
She finally turned to look at him. “I’m sorry John. I guess I’m taking it a little...emotionally.” She made a face.
Sighing as she insisted that she didn’t distrust him, he found a pair of sweats to throw on and so shirked the towel. Didn’t seem to bother him that he wore only trousers. This conversation was going to drain him to the point of wanting to lay down and see that the rest of the day ended quickly as possible, or so he suspected. It was difficult enough to talk about Reinette, now he had to talk about her in relation to a dream version of her that he’d lost.
“That letter is from a dream,” he pointed out, then finally turned to regard her. Jaw set and eyes depicting the growing anxiety in his chest, he shook his head. “Speculating on what could happen suspends the present. Rose.”
Going back to her, this time he crouched down before her perch on his bed. Their bed? He worried the union between them had done a backslide into further indefinite territory. He didn’t attempt to touch her, already deeming himself unworthy of as much. Emotional or not, she had come close to crossing a line he hadn’t realized he possessed, and had burned him with the lack of trust. He couldn’t paint that any other way, not logically, and certainly not even with trusting her implicitly.
“You misunderstood me,” he started carefully. “It’s been a long time since I was with Reinette, Rose, and in that time we’ve been apart--I stopped second-guessing the decision a long, long time ago. Must’ve been, blimey… ten years ago now?” He shook his head, clearly unwilling to actually do the math. “The point is that I’ve moved on. Even if she were to come knocking on our door randomly one day, it wouldn’t possess me to run away with her or something absurd.”
With one more uneasy sigh to escape him, John ran his hands through his wet hair. “Honestly, you’ve thought about her much more in the time we’ve been together than I have in years.”
She looked at him and dropped her gaze again, hanging her head. She wasn’t sure if it was out of shame or not wanting to make eye contact with him. “She just keeps popping up lately.” To be fair, the first time she had been brought up, she had asked and he had willingly given that information, something she had appreciated no matter how it made her feel. But then this. To know he had a Reinette, the woman he had been as serious about as he could possibly be about someone and now to know he dreamed of one? And that she obviously cared about him back? It felt too much of a coincidence, one of those romantic stories that crossed boundaries and universes. He still couldn’t fully remember if he had dreamed of her or not. And then there was Daniel…
She stood up, shaking the feeling of guilt now. She paced around for a little bit finally stopping in front of him and giving him a small smile. “I’m sorry. It was just hard to see a letter from her. Even though it says…” she waved at it. “Doctor, it was still enough to make me stop and wonder.” She looked at him, realizing she had admitted her insecurities. “I’m sorry.” It felt unnecessary and useless now that she had said it over and over, on two separate occasions now. If she and John were gonna try for something more, she didn’t want it to be this way. She wanted them to be happy and not have something hanging over their head.
Something still felt off. He stayed where he was crouched until his knees pleaded with him to rise. as she paced, he took the empty space she’d once occupied. No matter how many times she apologized, John didn’t get the impression it made anything better for her. Unconvinced by both her words and smile, he stared at her, hopelessly enamored and hurt. It was a strange concoction of emotions, one he willed away to no avail.
Reaching for the letter quietly, he stared at the formal words scrawled on the old paper. This letter had traveled from dream to reality, so perhaps there was some validation to her worry. Doubting Reinette would turn up unannounced one day to play catch up, or even reignite what he’d given up, it stood to reason she could. What then? Much like Rose, she could be a blind spot for him.
But, so was anyone else he cared about.
Folding the paper gently back together, he wished he had a pocket full of infinite space with which to hide it. Would it have been more comforting to Rose if he’d tossed it? The thought never crossed his mind, too sentimental to consider giving up something of his past.
Even if it was the Doctor’s and not part of his own.
“You never need to apologize to me,” he said quietly. “I am though--sorry, that is. I don’t make things easy, and to further complicate matters--I don’t know how to make this better. I’ve a sense that I can’t.”
Loathing how it felt like they were now on vastly different pages, he attempted to distract himself by finding a place to put the letter. He couldn’t lie to her about what he would do, he realized, and so stopped short of the closet as it also occurred to him that those pockets did exist in a brown and blue pinstripe suit. It was the Doctor in him that wanted to hang on to it, he knew. So, he followed through with the impulse and spared Rose a glance after stuffing it deep into the left side pocket of his suit.
“Where’s that leave us now, then?”
Rose wasn’t fully surprised to see him hold onto the letter and silently watched as he put it in his pocket. She held back a sigh and looked at him when he asked the question. She didn’t think it would leave them any differently than where they were before. It was just a situation. Although was he saying that because he didn’t want to put up with it anymore? Not that she could blame him. He had told her there was nothing to worry about but she still did.
“Do you want to break up?” She said it while her hand lay on the bedside table…her bedside table. At least the one she used whenever she was in his room which was...always. She glanced up at him, then back down at her hand as if it were the most fascinating thing in the room.
It was such a heavy question. He never called her girlfriend, lover, or anything suggesting that they were a couple aloud. John only ever silently accepted the labels people tossed their way of their own accord. They were together, it was as simple as that to him. Being compelled to tell the truth made her question drag him down that much further.
Because he--well, he hadn’t dared to even think the word when it came to Rose. The universe would find a way to take her away from him; he still had a feeling that it would. Would it be better to cut his losses now? Ever the coward, the prospect was as tempting as a gleaming red apple in paradise. John turned to look at her fully, his eyes wide in trepidation.
“No,” he answered simply, though very little about it was cut and dry. Wants and needs were different. He never wanted to leave her, but desire fell to the wayside of what was best for her. John had done nothing that could keep her feeling at ease with him from the start, so what good was he to Rose now?
“But, this isn’t about what I want,” he paused, hands unconsciously clenching and unclenching at his sides from fraying nerves. “It’s all you, Rose. Perhaps… that’s what’s best for you.” Where he would’ve ordinarily inserted doubt to soothe the words over, the need to say only the truth was something of a hindrance.
As though he needed that to make the evening worse.
The last part hurt the most, but seemed the most truthful. While he may have said he wanted to stay together, was it for the wrong reasons? It seemed that he thought it would be better for her if they weren’t together, but what if it was more than that?
She bit her bottom lip, not wanting to start crying and just nodded her head. She hesitated, but moved to sit next to him on the bed, her eyes still downcast at her hands. She stared at them as if they were the answer to make this all better, to make everything she had said disappear and they could start over.
“I don’t want to. I really like you John. I think we’re good together. Well, I mean, other than when we have times like this, but these don’t happen often...yeah?” She glanced up and gave him a hopeful smile, although it dropped fairly quickly. “But it’s not fair to you.” She knew she was being the unreasonable one, that she knew better than to think John would want or think about Reinette. But anytime Rose thought of this other woman in John’s life, she couldn’t help but feel that same twisting in her stomach, the one that made her feel anxious and fear the worst. If by some chance Reinette came back, whether in the dreams or heaven help her, here, she didn’t want to keep going through this. She wanted to understand and be supportive, not give John one more thing to have a headache over.
But reason and emotions weren’t working together in this sense.
“Maybe some time apart would be good,” she said, staring back down at her hands. She didn’t know what that would entail, if she needed to find someone to stay with for a couple days or just stay in her own room. She couldn’t help but think how she would need to clean and air it out before she could start to sleep in there again. She looked up at John and tried to give him a smile. “Just some time to…” She couldn’t even finish the sentence just gave a shrug. She just wanted to give him some space and maybe she would find it would be good for her too.
“Yeah,” he echoed softly, feeling like a spectator of the scene.
That she didn’t ask him any further questions helped as much as it didn’t. John sat quietly beside her, his eyes staring a hole into the closet. Nothing felt altogether right about this, the time apart, the time to come to any sort of decision about what they were and where they were going. John didn’t like it. Every bit of this conversation fell like lead weights on his shoulders.
Looking at her briefly, he wondered if he’d lost her in his dreams, too. Some nights, whenever he caught a glimpse of Rose walking away from him, he knew it as the saddest truth to that lonely name. Wordlessly, he rose and began sifting through drawers for socks and the red trainers Cindy had given him.
“We’ll start now then,” he said, his back to her, then left the room before any other poisonous truths could be said. He needed some air and time to replay the conversation in his head at least once more to better understand what happened.
He couldn’t do that with her in the room. It was only a shame that he couldn’t run off to another time, some other faraway place. It was a shame he couldn’t be the Doctor just for the night.