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After thousands of years, it’s only natural that he forgets certain details, certain people. It would be one thing if he stayed in one spot, but he doesn’t (can’t; not unless…not after…) so he does. And it’s not so much that he forgets them; his Time Lord brain is far too powerful for that. It’s more like the memories are haphazardly packed away in the attic of his mind, dusty and fading. He can open the boxes if he fancies a long climb and thick clouds of emotions floating in the stagnant air but the traces are weak as he rummages through the unlabelled boxes and it takes him a moment to recognise many of the tattered but beloved memoirs.
Who is he? What kind of man is he in this new body? Why this wrinkled face?
Weary. So tired and weary.
(it’s been so long, without…)
(he’s surprised her fingerprints aren’t tattooed on the skin between his hearts)
On his darker days he wishes he could forget. Death, pain, loss. Personal destructions and ill-advised resurrections. All those feelings cavorting chaotically inside the human mind and how much he wanted, at one time (still, but not without…), how content he would have been to join that species. The flick of her golden hair (and that tongue, when it…)
But he can’t. (won’t. she’s too…)
Companions from so long ago, now: what was their surname? Were their eyes blue or brown? They lived in which decade of the twentieth century? Oh, twenty first. Of course.
(rose marion tyler, brown eyes that lightened in the sun and darkened when he least expected it, powell estates, se15 7go, he first took her hand on the 5th of march, 2005 but the first time she saw him and the last time he saw her was on 1 january, 2005, her favourite food was chips and when she smiled…)
He stares into the fireplace and tries not to think of the fire in her eyes.
The flames reflect in the frosted window to his right and their unending waltz distracts him from the hairs bristling on the back of his neck; the stutter of his hearts; the initiation of his respiratory bypass.
His body knows she’s here, every cell screams out her name (his olfactory centres know her smell and his auditory processing circuitry knows the sound of her breath and his cerebellum knows the rhythm of her steps…), but his eyes refuse to confirm the new reflection in the glass.
(she can’t be, she’s…)
“You’re very still. You haven’t moved a muscle in the three minutes I’ve been standing here.”
“I’m an old man now.”
“You’ve always been an old man. And you’ll never be an old man.”
Perhaps his new neurons have come with a touch of senility. He sighs and strokes the rim of the mug cooling on the table beside him.
“Do you remember me?” He pretends he doesn’t feel the pressure of her hand on his shoulder. “It must have been a very long time.”
He says nothing, only hums and folds his hands into his lap.
“I’ll give you a hint. The walls of the universe are weak. Any idea why?”
“Time Lords.”
Her fingers dig harder into his shoulder for a second before she removes them and kneels in front of his chair, finally in his eyesight. He closes his eyes.
“Doctor.”
“Rose.”
(open your eyes, you fool. she’s…)
“Do you think I’m an impostor?”
“Yes.”
“I’m not.”
“Okay.”
“What if I kiss you?”
His eyes fly open and she grins in response. (the tongue! the tongu—)
“Made you look.”
(he can’t look away. he’ll never blink again if only she’ll…)
“How old are you now?”
“Too old.”
“How long has it been since I last saw you?”
(too long)
“Too long.”
“I don’t know what to say to you. I…I’ve missed you.”
He follows a single tear as it trickles down her cheek. “You’ve gone forward too far. Set your dimension cannon for no later than 2009. That’s all I can tell you.”
“Dimension cannon huh? It’s been centuries since I heard those words.”
His insides turn to ice. “Rose…”
“Doctor.”
(where is he why is she can she why is she)
“How?”
(touch her touch her cheek touch her hand touch her)
“Can I tell you later? I’m…I’m travelling alone right now. For the last few decades, actually. Only slipped back to this universe recently.”
“Yes.”
“Good. I…I’m really happy to see you again, Doctor. I was wondering if I ever would.”
(i love you i love you i)
He watches her, unblinking. The fire sparks and hisses as one of the stewards hurries over to adjust the logs.
“Doctor.”
“Rose. Rose.” He tries to swallow but his throat is too thick. “Rose.”
“A longer lifespan is a funny thing. You think you’ll forget things; you think that emotions will eventually die down like those flames over there. But they don’t always, do they? Some things just grow stronger. They blaze like wildfire.”
He puts his hands over hers. “I could never forget you, Rose Tyler.”
“Good. Because I’ve never stopped loving you.”
“Rose…”
“Doctor.”
“I’m an old man now.”
“You’ll never be an old man. Besides, bodies are just casings.”
“I don’t bounce around anymore.”
“I don’t care.”
“I don’t run as fast.”
She holds her breath for only a moment. “I don’t care.”
“I think I’m Scottish now.”
“I don’t care.” She smiles softly and strokes her thumb along his. “Like it, actually. I suspect it suits all your whinging.”
“I still love you.”
“Good. Are we settled now?” The way she bites her lip and ducks her head belies her apparent calm.
“Yes.”
“Do you have a room here?”
“Yes.” He swallows but doesn’t take his eyes off her.
“Good. Can we go there?”
“Please.” He exhales deeply and all the years and weight and pain and decisions blow away as well. “Please.”
“Allons-y?”
“I…I don’t have a catchphrase in this body yet. It’s still quite new.”
Her eyes darken and the flames stand out in sharp contrast within her widening pupils. There it is. There’s that mysterious black tinge…Oh.
“I’m sure we can come up with something. Maybe my name, spoken around a moan.”
“Maybe ‘more’.”
“What about ‘mine’?”
He blinks and she’s taken him by the hand, leading him down the wood-planked hallways.
“More like ‘yours,” he laughs softly and picks up his pace. “Maybe just a little spot of running? For old times’ sake?”
“I’ll always run with you, Doctor.”
(He'd never let her go)