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When? by Saganami Dreams [Reviews - 7]  | |
When?
Trapped by the demands of his new body, he was hemmed in by weakness; every great gift demanded a price, and this was regeneration’s. He fought it, desperate to remain awake, desperate to cement everything he could remember; to hold it close, afraid once lost, even to sleep, he’d never get them back. That he’d wake to a stranger who had once been Rose.
But sleep could not be resisted; the body followed its piper’s song down into oblivion, dragging consciousness with it.
He awoke once, not knowing where he was, not knowing who he was, entirely lost. It had lasted only brief seconds, memory fluttering back with Rose’s touch. Her hand smoothed across his hair, her soothing voice whispering to him that it was okay; grounding him, anchoring the chaotic swirl of nine hundred years of memories. Funny how she was never lost in the confusion; was always right there. Even when he didn’t know who he was, he knew Rose.
But of course he did. How could you forget your heart?
Lying in bed, wrapped in ridiculous flannel pyjamas she’d acquired from the wardrobe, he was tending towards the maudlin. Towards the downright sappy, truth be told, domestic somehow seeming far more attractive than once it had. Rose was the only clear thing he could grasp; all else was hazy, but every memory that had her in it was there for him to see.
Replaying them, wallowing in them, they were like silk, like velvet, and he experienced them anew. They were an intrinsic part of who he was; so tangled in his mind the line where he stopped and she began was blurred.
When did this happen?
When did he lose himself in this one little human? A brief flicker in the universe, a bright transitory flame, she held all that he was, did she but know it.
When?
It was a question he couldn’t answer. Logically, not that logic had much to do with it, there must have been some point at which he hadn’t loved her. Oh, obviously, before he met her, but after that...It was as if she’d stepped into a place he’d held awaiting her arrival, as if it had always been hers. That was the moment he’d known he loved her.
She’d raced into his life and they’d bypassed getting to know each other. Went from strangers to love in a heartbeat; had flowed so smoothly into one another that when was meaningless. They simply were.
Love and trust and need, and oh, how he needed her. The desperation frightened him, but she was all he had. It wasn’t romance and it wasn’t passion, though they’d danced around the edges of both. Were so comfortable with each other it never surprised him when people thought them lovers. They moved together like lovers, perfect synchronicity with never a hesitation; never awkward, unsure, or shy. As if they’d mapped every inch of each other’s bodies, traced the planes of the skin, learned the secret heart of the other.
Their love defined him, gave him shape. Endangered him. Endangered everyone he might save because there was nothing he would not sacrifice to protect her. No price beyond paying. Nothing in the entirety of time and space was worth losing her. He’d once thought differently, but having made that choice, he’d known he was wrong. Would have given anything, given everything, to take it back; given that chance, he’d made a silent vow of never again.
She loved him with equal fervour; would sacrifice herself to save him. It was why he’d sent her away — from the fear she would again place herself between him and danger and be lost. He’d thought her lost when she’d raced into the path of the beam, calling for him, saving him. Crouched over the pale dust left in her place, truth had rung through him; carefully erected barriers meaningless in the face of his grief. Sudden hopelessness a black void reflected in his eyes.
Funny really, each trying desperately to save the other, determined to stand in danger’s path. Willing to die together, should it come to that, but neither willing to allow the other to come to harm, not if they could prevent it, whatever the cost.
Examining his memories, sifting them through mental fingers, honesty compelled him to admit he was grateful the strength of his feeling was returned. Something dark rose up inside him at the thought of going on without her, something cold and calculating, something merciless. He was unsure what lengths he might go to to keep her with him, and the possibilities roiled through him like thunder, heralding a distant storm whose like had never been seen before.
It was why he didn’t want domestic. Domestic meant comfortable, could dissolve all the sharp brilliance of their love, and he’d seen for himself how fast she ran from the ordinary, from the staid and familiar. It was part of why she’d run to him. He couldn’t wouldn’t become the comfortable lover, no longer exciting, no longer new, entirely known and she’d leave him. Part of him recognised this was unfair, knew she loved him as he loved her, beyond human reckoning — beyond Time Lord reckoning, if it came to that - but he couldn’t let it go. So he had kept them away from that aspect of love, though it’s lurking potential filtered through, imbuing even simple touches with near unbearable emotion.
He’d yearned for her, even before he’d kissed her to save her life and end his own. Fear had held him back. Fear of what it could mean. Shared bonds of love and trust, rooted so deep in each other’s souls they could last forever, but the flash and fire of passion could consume that, leaving only dust and ash.
That one kiss, surrendering to that need, doomed him. He knew what it would cost, knew it would be the last thing he’d do, but counted it as no cost if it would save her. Both action and consequence would leave them inexorably altered, and he had dared it. He was going to burn away, what they were was going to change, so why not surrender; reach out and take the first tentative step down that path?
She didn’t remember.
Didn’t remember how he’d kissed her, how she’d fallen against him. And maybe that was for the best; it was enough that he remembered. To her, he was the same, they were the same, despite his new shape with its floppy hair. Which he was sure was partly her fault; she always did like the pretty ones and some part of him knew that.
He couldn’t stop thinking of Aristotle, the boozy old bugger. He’d said something about love being one soul inhabiting two bodies; for such a sharp thinker, he really had fallen prey to flights of ludicrous sentimentality. But there’d been an empty place inside him; one he hadn’t known was there until she’d filled it.
So when wasn’t really something he could answer. Before they met, part of him was waiting for her.
When?
What a daft question.
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