A dream is a wish your heart makes
Aug. 4th, 2010 06:44 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
lone_defenderShe knew it was a dream before she opened her eyes. She could smell that familiar, burnt coconut marshmallow scent. Something else layered underneath that one, but she'd never been able to make it out. And why should she? Her mind, her subconscious tried to come up with something strange to represent a parallel world. It came up with something impossible to reach. There was a time she'd believed the dreams were messages: ways to tell her he was still alright, or even the Bad Wolf giving her hints.
She knew they were only dreams, now.
How long had it been since she'd had one like this?
The room was almost dark enough that she needn't bother opening her eyes, but the door ahead held the promise of light, and the sound of someone hard at work.
But her Doctor wasn't in Pete's World. Her Doctor wasn't anything like this one. The mother she'd glimpsed had a little girl. Her mum had a boy. Her Doctor in the dreams was everything she expected him to be. Because it was a dream.
Maybe because it was a dream and her wits weren't completely about her, or maybe because the promise of the Doctor she dreamed of was still an alluring one, she walked forward, through the cracked door. As anticipated, light flooded her vision a moment, and the hunched over form of the Doctor, her imaginary one, materialized in the room.
Something indistinct played on a radio. Probably a song she'd never heard. He seemed engrossed in whatever miniature device he was tinkering with. She smiled--or she would have, if her dream self had a proper body, and wandered over to where he sat, propping herself on the desk-table.
"It's funny...I missed you. How mad is that?" She laughed, and he twitched, glancing around the room a moment. He didn't outright respond or react to her speech, but then he never did. That would have spoiled the illusion that she were watching in on him, making sure he was alright.
An absurd...nostalgia, if not grief welled up in her throat, and she reached out as if to touch him. She couldn't, but it felt better to try. "I wish I hadn't ever stopped. Things were good when it was just you. When I believed you were real, I knew you were alright, that Mum was alright. I thought I knew you so well, watchin' you so long..." Her laughter lacked any true mirth. "But you're just a dream. Just another figment of madness, yeah? Real life just doesn't cut it."
The Doctor shoved back suddenly from the desk, and ran his hands over his face. He glared down at the half-finished device a few moments, before stalking out of the chair to the boarded window of the attic. She stood, and followed after, studying his features.
Had her experiences tainted even her idealized, imaginary Doctor?
"Hold on." He muttered to himself, and shook his head, running a hand through his hair. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry that it's been so long, but I know you can keep trying." He reached out to place a hand against the board, and ducked his head, sighing.
"Don't start that again." She would have reached out to shake him out of it if she could, but her hand--she had no hands--passed through his image.
He shifted, and dragged his fingers through his hair, messing it even worse than before. "I'm not giving up. Not if you're still out there."
This dream was cruel. Its words dug into her, clawed at her heart. It mocked her, and everything her Doctor never was.
He looked up then, and she could have sworn he was looking directly at her. Straight on, as if he could see her. Even though she knew it was only a figment of her imagination, a dream from the stress and strain of the recent days, it stunned her momentarily. He rarely ever looked at her in the dreams.
"Rose-"
She yelped, as she crashed out of her bed, tangled in sheets. Her throat was painfully dry, and her head pounded. She felt weak, as if she'd been recovering from the injuries she received earlier, instead of having visited the nanogenes.
She groaned, and pressed a hand to her head, wincing at the light of the TARDIS until the room dimmed appropriately. "I hate..." Her voice cracked, demanding water. "Dreams like that."
It was completely untrue. She craved them. Too much.
She knew they were only dreams, now.
How long had it been since she'd had one like this?
The room was almost dark enough that she needn't bother opening her eyes, but the door ahead held the promise of light, and the sound of someone hard at work.
But her Doctor wasn't in Pete's World. Her Doctor wasn't anything like this one. The mother she'd glimpsed had a little girl. Her mum had a boy. Her Doctor in the dreams was everything she expected him to be. Because it was a dream.
Maybe because it was a dream and her wits weren't completely about her, or maybe because the promise of the Doctor she dreamed of was still an alluring one, she walked forward, through the cracked door. As anticipated, light flooded her vision a moment, and the hunched over form of the Doctor, her imaginary one, materialized in the room.
Something indistinct played on a radio. Probably a song she'd never heard. He seemed engrossed in whatever miniature device he was tinkering with. She smiled--or she would have, if her dream self had a proper body, and wandered over to where he sat, propping herself on the desk-table.
"It's funny...I missed you. How mad is that?" She laughed, and he twitched, glancing around the room a moment. He didn't outright respond or react to her speech, but then he never did. That would have spoiled the illusion that she were watching in on him, making sure he was alright.
An absurd...nostalgia, if not grief welled up in her throat, and she reached out as if to touch him. She couldn't, but it felt better to try. "I wish I hadn't ever stopped. Things were good when it was just you. When I believed you were real, I knew you were alright, that Mum was alright. I thought I knew you so well, watchin' you so long..." Her laughter lacked any true mirth. "But you're just a dream. Just another figment of madness, yeah? Real life just doesn't cut it."
The Doctor shoved back suddenly from the desk, and ran his hands over his face. He glared down at the half-finished device a few moments, before stalking out of the chair to the boarded window of the attic. She stood, and followed after, studying his features.
Had her experiences tainted even her idealized, imaginary Doctor?
"Hold on." He muttered to himself, and shook his head, running a hand through his hair. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry that it's been so long, but I know you can keep trying." He reached out to place a hand against the board, and ducked his head, sighing.
"Don't start that again." She would have reached out to shake him out of it if she could, but her hand--she had no hands--passed through his image.
He shifted, and dragged his fingers through his hair, messing it even worse than before. "I'm not giving up. Not if you're still out there."
This dream was cruel. Its words dug into her, clawed at her heart. It mocked her, and everything her Doctor never was.
He looked up then, and she could have sworn he was looking directly at her. Straight on, as if he could see her. Even though she knew it was only a figment of her imagination, a dream from the stress and strain of the recent days, it stunned her momentarily. He rarely ever looked at her in the dreams.
"Rose-"
She yelped, as she crashed out of her bed, tangled in sheets. Her throat was painfully dry, and her head pounded. She felt weak, as if she'd been recovering from the injuries she received earlier, instead of having visited the nanogenes.
She groaned, and pressed a hand to her head, wincing at the light of the TARDIS until the room dimmed appropriately. "I hate..." Her voice cracked, demanding water. "Dreams like that."
It was completely untrue. She craved them. Too much.
