FIC: Salt Water

Title: Salt Water
Author: Rhi (rhipowered)
Fandom: Doctor Who (2005)
Rating: PG-13 (language)
Pairing: Tenth Doctor/Rose, perhaps a ridiculously vague Four/Romana
Spoilers: Through 1x13 - 'Parting of the Ways'. Sorry.
Archiving: Ask.
Synopsis: Tensions rise as two people try to get reacquainted. The second part of the 'Lemon and Two Sugar' series, which looks like it's going towards three pieces, perhaps.
Author's Notes: This is about as sappy as I get, and also, probably as painfully optimistic.
I got the impression from 'Boom Town' that Woman Wept and the planet of the ice waves were two entirely different places. This story is written in that sense. If need be, I'll change things.
Commentary on Ronald Reagan and SDI is, of course, the product of a deranged liberal mind. Guest appearance by Eddie Money's 1988 song 'Walk on Water' and a reworked turn of phrase by Peter David. Feedback is always, always welcome, though any American spellings are the fault of Word 2000's automatic spellcheck. 1320 words.



I've built a lot of castles
Built a lot of blazing speed-of-light machines
But it doesn't matter, you know
They all crumble in the winds of change
-Vienna Teng

-----

Change is beyond inevitable. It is, in actuality, essential to the upkeep of the universe. This is the Doctor’s creed and the bane of his existence, and has been for nine hundred years and more. It is a useful one for a Time Lord.

Unfortunately, this axiom looks like it’s the only thing in the universe that will not change. Ever. So the Doctor tries his best to live with it, after regeneration, particularly one so stressful as the one that had just occurred. (Then again, regenerations generally only happen after trauma...unless you’re Romana, but that is something different entirely. Like Romana.)

Coping mechanisms are different in every being. The Doctor is of the belief that one should get on with things. There are always people to save and planets to bewilder, so why spend too much time focusing on one’s self?

Of course, his last incarnation wasn’t quite so gung-ho about saving the universe and getting home in time for tea. But the loss that was the Time War was definitely enough to discourage anyone, even the most spirited of temporal warriors.

The pain still felt like bullets to the chest, even two bodies later, but the Doctor would never admit that. There was no one left in the universe that could comprehend the loss. So he copes with regeneration and he deals with life by breathing and walking and feeling his hearts beat, and that has to be enough.

He had tested most of the functions of this new body, including ones he hadn’t gotten to on the former one. Curiosity seemed to be hardwired into this incarnation, and so he experimented carefully with different reactions. Fortunately, he did have a sense of propriety, and for certain parts, particularly those that involved being naked, he had locked the door. But now he flung it wide open, wearing merely a towel, standing in front of a mirror. His tongue could be turned upside down, last he checked, and so he tries it again, quickly, observing the aesthetic effect.

The only problem is that he has completely forgotten that he has music playing in his room (the TARDIS always seems to know what he likes), and that it is loud. So when Rose knocks on his doorframe, he is completely startled for about half a second.

Nothing is said for a good while; Rose and the Doctor have been communicating primarily in body language for a day or so. Apparently Rose sees no reason to change this mode of interaction, so the Doctor waits, singing along to the music in his room until Rose interrupts.

“Why are you listening to 80s music?”

The tone of her voice implies that ‘80s’ is a bit of a pejorative. Rose should know that cultural stereotypes are not good for a time traveler to have, the Doctor thinks. Then he thinks that she looks particularly nice in dark red, but he doesn’t dare say either comment. Instead he says, “You don’t like it?”

“It’s...cheesy.”

He gives her a look of amazement. “Cheesy. I’ll have you know that I was listening to this on its original American release. Vinyl.”

She looks incredulous. “What were you doing in America?”

“You don’t think that Reagan and the Strategic Defense Initiative put limits on themselves, do you? I spent six years in that decade, about three hundred years back.”

“Oh. All right.” She listens to Eddie Money, who is continuing to wail about walking on water. The Doctor can tell that she is pointedly not looking at him because he is half-naked. After all, he once was too prudish to expose anything more than a wrist in front of her.

But things have changed, haven’t they?

“Doctor,” Rose says finally, and he looks up to see her smiling, just a little bit. “Could we go back to Selske? At some point?”

His brow furrows and he stares at her for a moment. Selske. The planet where they had walked over the frozen sea, where she had stared in pure amazement at a wave hanging solid in the air, high over her head. Frankly...he would give anything to see something as beautiful as Rose, stunned and gasping at the wonder that was the universe, just once more.

“Yes,” he says finally, as the song finishes.

-----

The last time they were on Selske, Jack had been with them, wandering the great sea-moor, scaling the walls of ocean with ice picks and grappling hooks, yelling down to them from above, filling the silence with laughter. This time, there was no Jack, no sound, no pleasure, no salt in the soup. It’s not apparent how much of this tension Rose actually notices, which makes the Doctor definitely uncomfortable. He stares into the distance, the miles upon miles of gray frost sea. They are on top of a wave, perched a good forty metres aboveground, legs dangling over the edge. It’s good I didn’t wear a kilt, he thinks as the cold breeze cuts through his trousers. Between that and...this...well, I’d have a cocktail sausage between my legs.

Rose has indeed been taciturn throughout the entire climb up the side of the wave, and throughout lunch, though now she laughs—apparently he’s spoken aloud again. The Doctor would like to watch her, to observe her and take mental notes, in the vague hope of gaining insight, but every time he tries, she seems to notice. And he remains just that little bit the outsider.

He hadn’t thought Rose would be the one to change.

“Doctor. What happened next? On Satellite Five. Did Earth ever …get better?” Rose is looking at him now in that deep deciding way she has; for some reason she can always catch him off guard, especially now with their relationship so precarious.

“I don’t know,” he says, looking straight at her, and she is, miracle of miracles, looking back with that determined stare he hasn’t seen on her since she was bathed in the light of the TARDIS. He had almost given up on ever seeing that look of hers again.

“What do you mean, you don’t know?” Rose seems as though she wants to slap him silly. This bothers the Doctor, who hasn’t done anything wrong, so he answers with a bit more pique.

“I don’t know. Honestly.”

“How can you not know, you’re the Doctor! Did…regeneration…bloody kill your brain cells?” For some reason she has decided to be not only terribly insistent, but also insulting and infuriating. And so he decides to be insulting and infuriating back. Or at least infuriating, though he’s not nearly so good at it as he used to be.

“Rose, can you understand how badly it bleeding pains me to say this? I. Don’t. Know.” He pauses, taking in a breath of fresh cold air. “Can you take nothing I say at face value? Can you possibly believe me, even when I say something basic? Like ‘the kettle’s on’ or ‘we’re off to the Middle Ages’ or ‘I still love you’?”

Oh, shit.

Rose’s gaze pierces him now, and for some reason she has started crying, which was not his intention at all, damn it. But she throws herself into his arms, and now she’s sobbing, which is not like Rose at all, at least not the Rose he knows.

But then he understands, that she has not grieved, and neither has he. He has not grieved for the lost, those that have been left behind and those who have fallen on the battle lines. For Jack Harkness and all the others who he truly loved as well, for all those who in the past, who he has moved past through time and space for centuries, leaving a wake of unresolved pain behind.

And so they both weep, clinging together, alone above a world of ice, where the wind freezes their tears to the wave, and thusly, to the universe.

FIN