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Description
Prompt: 011. Rooftops
Characters: The Doctor (Ten)
Pairing(s): implied Doctor/Rose
Length: 778 words
Comment(s): ---
Rating: K

The famous cat thief would be nothing against him, the Doctor briefly thought. He had climbed up the house as if it had been nothing and no one had seen him. Nope. Nopedy-nope. The Doctor sighed. It was Rose's roof he was sitting on, Rose's house he had climbed up, but there was no Rose in sight. London was in his view, he could see the Big Ben and the London Eye and it was all completely roseless. In the yard was his TARDIS. She worried about him, the Doctor just knew it. Her everlasting humming was softer, even the way she flew was different, more cautious as if she thought the Doctor, the oncoming storm, Ka Faraq Gatri, would just break. And to be honest – the Doctor himself thought he would.
He still remembered. He remembered all the good times. All the laughter. The adventures. And as he watched over the rooftops of London, all of this seemed to be gone forever, together with his smile.
He remembered the day he met her in his earlier regeneration. Oh, how soon he had noticed what a genius this little human was, how quickly she got situations right. And her humor… This flicker of a smile just before she'd start to laugh, the way she'd not only love every situation the two would find themselves in, but also laugh about them with him.

"Doctor!" she cried out and threw herself around his neck. And they laughed and laughed, finally seeing each other again after she had been captured by a race called the Zythen, running for their little lives… After smashing the TARDIS door, both the Doctor and Rose leaned against it, laughing and in her case crying, laughing and crying.

And a single tear rolled over the Doctor's face. A plane rushed over his head and made noise as if it would crash into him at any second. But in truth it was far, far away. For a moment, the Doctor was distracted by the blinking lights of the plane before he got back to sadness. It had been Rose who had taught him how to like and respect all the little things in life, every little thing that has beauty in itself. Because even a bug, a bottle or a piece of paper has something interesting at some point if you look at it in the right way.
He wondered. Running his hand desperately through his hair he asked himself again and again. Should he have told her that he loved her? But he couldn't. He just couldn't.
Another few lights went out. London went to sleep. The Doctor was sure he never would sleep again.

Blood, fire, screams. Again and again he had shot up in the night, the horrors of the Time War haunting him, together with the memories of his terrible deed. He had locked up his own people in a never ending war. Not that they had been the greatest of people, but it still were his people. And it would have killed his soul, hadn't it been for Rose. Oh, his wonderful Rose. Lips red like roses, eyes brown like the chocolate he so loved, hair soft as silk and blonde like wheat. All the Doctor wanted right now was to hold her in his arms again, to feel her single heart trying beat in unison with his two, to hear her voice telling him to finally make her something to eat.

His eyes filled with more tears. A whimper escaped his lips, a sad and scared little noise that almost didn't dare sounding in the silent night. And when he blinked, the tears were suddenly streaming down his face, covering his cheeks and moistening his suit. He found himself groaning in psychic pain, clutching his knees, pulling them towards him, curling up, whispering her name over and over, wailing over the loss of his friend and secret lover. He was sitting on the roof of her house, but no one was there. No one would ever be there again. At least no one that was meaning even the slightest thing to the Doctor. Slight anger built up in his chest when he thought about the possibility of someone getting in this flat except for him or her or Jackie, someone sleeping in her bed, even.

He could still hear her voice, calling out to him. He remembered it and would remember it forever.
And the Doctor broke into crying, calling out to her, as she was calling out to him in this clear night, never hearing each other, never seeing each other. London was sleeping. But he would never sleep again.

Description
Prompt: 011. Rooftops
Characters: The Doctor (Ten)
Pairing(s): implied Doctor/Rose
Length: 778 words
Comment(s): ---
Rating: K

The famous cat thief would be nothing against him, the Doctor briefly thought. He had climbed up the house as if it had been nothing and no one had seen him. Nope. Nopedy-nope. The Doctor sighed. It was Rose's roof he was sitting on, Rose's house he had climbed up, but there was no Rose in sight. London was in his view, he could see the Big Ben and the London Eye and it was all completely roseless. In the yard was his TARDIS. She worried about him, the Doctor just knew it. Her everlasting humming was softer, even the way she flew was different, more cautious as if she thought the Doctor, the oncoming storm, Ka Faraq Gatri, would just break. And to be honest – the Doctor himself thought he would.
He still remembered. He remembered all the good times. All the laughter. The adventures. And as he watched over the rooftops of London, all of this seemed to be gone forever, together with his smile.
He remembered the day he met her in his earlier regeneration. Oh, how soon he had noticed what a genius this little human was, how quickly she got situations right. And her humor… This flicker of a smile just before she'd start to laugh, the way she'd not only love every situation the two would find themselves in, but also laugh about them with him.

"Doctor!" she cried out and threw herself around his neck. And they laughed and laughed, finally seeing each other again after she had been captured by a race called the Zythen, running for their little lives… After smashing the TARDIS door, both the Doctor and Rose leaned against it, laughing and in her case crying, laughing and crying.

And a single tear rolled over the Doctor's face. A plane rushed over his head and made noise as if it would crash into him at any second. But in truth it was far, far away. For a moment, the Doctor was distracted by the blinking lights of the plane before he got back to sadness. It had been Rose who had taught him how to like and respect all the little things in life, every little thing that has beauty in itself. Because even a bug, a bottle or a piece of paper has something interesting at some point if you look at it in the right way.
He wondered. Running his hand desperately through his hair he asked himself again and again. Should he have told her that he loved her? But he couldn't. He just couldn't.
Another few lights went out. London went to sleep. The Doctor was sure he never would sleep again.

Blood, fire, screams. Again and again he had shot up in the night, the horrors of the Time War haunting him, together with the memories of his terrible deed. He had locked up his own people in a never ending war. Not that they had been the greatest of people, but it still were his people. And it would have killed his soul, hadn't it been for Rose. Oh, his wonderful Rose. Lips red like roses, eyes brown like the chocolate he so loved, hair soft as silk and blonde like wheat. All the Doctor wanted right now was to hold her in his arms again, to feel her single heart trying beat in unison with his two, to hear her voice telling him to finally make her something to eat.

His eyes filled with more tears. A whimper escaped his lips, a sad and scared little noise that almost didn't dare sounding in the silent night. And when he blinked, the tears were suddenly streaming down his face, covering his cheeks and moistening his suit. He found himself groaning in psychic pain, clutching his knees, pulling them towards him, curling up, whispering her name over and over, wailing over the loss of his friend and secret lover. He was sitting on the roof of her house, but no one was there. No one would ever be there again. At least no one that was meaning even the slightest thing to the Doctor. Slight anger built up in his chest when he thought about the possibility of someone getting in this flat except for him or her or Jackie, someone sleeping in her bed, even.

He could still hear her voice, calling out to him. He remembered it and would remember it forever.
And the Doctor broke into crying, calling out to her, as she was calling out to him in this clear night, never hearing each other, never seeing each other. London was sleeping. But he would never sleep again.