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There is something about paths, Rose Tyler thinks, which she hates. It’s the deception of them. It’s the invitation that leads you forward to explore and to find new and wondrous things. It’s the expectation that if so many people have been down this path before, it must lead to something fantastic. Rose doesn’t like those paths. They always lie. She adjusts the Dimension Cannon and tries again.
The first time it happens she is so close. It is three days before she loses him and one day after they’ve made private vows to each other. Nothing like “in sickness and in health,” but as binding as any formal ceremony ever could be. She’s in time to see them kissing just past the roses and it hurts, because it’s been so long and she aches to have that with him again. Wrong path, wrong time. Try again.
The second time it happens she’s not sure at first it is even him. He’s short, his hair is curly, and he’s just stepped out of the TARDIS when he’s shot. She stands in shock, knowing he’s had other lives and realizing that this one is ending, again, in front of her. Her heart tells her to run forward, to try to help, to interfere, but her head is cool, calm, calculating. If he doesn’t die here and now, he might not turn into her doctor at the appointed time. Don’t change history, Rose. She hates herself for turning around and walking away, down a path that leads her back into darkness.
She emerges the third time at the place she grew up. It’s New Year’s Eve and the bells are ringing. She sees him lurking in the darkness, sees herself, too young, she’s too young, she hasn’t even met him yet! What is he playing at? She hears the murmur of voices, realizes they’re speaking. She remembers that night, the drunken stranger in the shadows telling her what a great year she’s about to have. And she did, with a man who wore a different face, but was still the being before her, emitting artron energy. He’s about to die and the last face he wanted to see was hers. She’s too late. She turns away. She won’t watch him die again. She adjusts the device.
The fourth time, Torchwood technology has advanced. She’s found a way to scan through time, found a creature who can change someone’s path, arranges for it to find Donna Noble, who is now the most important woman to her future, to Earth’s future, to the Doctor’s future. Turn Left, Turn Right, toss the coin, cheat fate, control the path, control Donna’s outcome, control her own. She almost gets it right. She will next time, if the madness doesn’t take her first.
The fifth attempt is the right one. He’s here. Right time, right place, right in front of her. Her mind cascades into fragments, so many paths branching before her, and before she can even choose the right one, she’s running, he’s running, and they are in each other’s arms and her mind is crystal, back in a solid state. They save the world, of course they do, and she thinks maybe now everything will be all right. They are together, as it should be, and nothing else matters, nothing will ever part them again. This path is illusion.
She doesn’t get to walk the final path with him. He abandons her and yet doesn’t. He tears from her her choice of him, of time, of space, of adventure. Settles her down and rips all the branches away. One path left, one she never wanted to walk, one she’s left to walk with someone who is half stranger and half her heart. There is another version of the cannon. She could go back, rip her way across time and space one more time, walk that path with him, give him a piece of her mind. The other him knows what she is thinking.
“Could you really?” he asks, his r ringing with a soft burr.
She makes up her mind, shakes her head no, and the madness clears. She’s tired. She won’t walk that path. She never could.
“You’ve still got me,” he says echoing words she said to another him a lifetime ago. There is no uncertainty in his voice, but his eyes betray him.
She takes his hand and smiles at him, keeping the tears in her eyes at bay. “Not a bad life,” she says. “Not a bad life at all.”
The first time it happens she is so close. It is three days before she loses him and one day after they’ve made private vows to each other. Nothing like “in sickness and in health,” but as binding as any formal ceremony ever could be. She’s in time to see them kissing just past the roses and it hurts, because it’s been so long and she aches to have that with him again. Wrong path, wrong time. Try again.
The second time it happens she’s not sure at first it is even him. He’s short, his hair is curly, and he’s just stepped out of the TARDIS when he’s shot. She stands in shock, knowing he’s had other lives and realizing that this one is ending, again, in front of her. Her heart tells her to run forward, to try to help, to interfere, but her head is cool, calm, calculating. If he doesn’t die here and now, he might not turn into her doctor at the appointed time. Don’t change history, Rose. She hates herself for turning around and walking away, down a path that leads her back into darkness.
She emerges the third time at the place she grew up. It’s New Year’s Eve and the bells are ringing. She sees him lurking in the darkness, sees herself, too young, she’s too young, she hasn’t even met him yet! What is he playing at? She hears the murmur of voices, realizes they’re speaking. She remembers that night, the drunken stranger in the shadows telling her what a great year she’s about to have. And she did, with a man who wore a different face, but was still the being before her, emitting artron energy. He’s about to die and the last face he wanted to see was hers. She’s too late. She turns away. She won’t watch him die again. She adjusts the device.
The fourth time, Torchwood technology has advanced. She’s found a way to scan through time, found a creature who can change someone’s path, arranges for it to find Donna Noble, who is now the most important woman to her future, to Earth’s future, to the Doctor’s future. Turn Left, Turn Right, toss the coin, cheat fate, control the path, control Donna’s outcome, control her own. She almost gets it right. She will next time, if the madness doesn’t take her first.
The fifth attempt is the right one. He’s here. Right time, right place, right in front of her. Her mind cascades into fragments, so many paths branching before her, and before she can even choose the right one, she’s running, he’s running, and they are in each other’s arms and her mind is crystal, back in a solid state. They save the world, of course they do, and she thinks maybe now everything will be all right. They are together, as it should be, and nothing else matters, nothing will ever part them again. This path is illusion.
She doesn’t get to walk the final path with him. He abandons her and yet doesn’t. He tears from her her choice of him, of time, of space, of adventure. Settles her down and rips all the branches away. One path left, one she never wanted to walk, one she’s left to walk with someone who is half stranger and half her heart. There is another version of the cannon. She could go back, rip her way across time and space one more time, walk that path with him, give him a piece of her mind. The other him knows what she is thinking.
“Could you really?” he asks, his r ringing with a soft burr.
She makes up her mind, shakes her head no, and the madness clears. She’s tired. She won’t walk that path. She never could.
“You’ve still got me,” he says echoing words she said to another him a lifetime ago. There is no uncertainty in his voice, but his eyes betray him.
She takes his hand and smiles at him, keeping the tears in her eyes at bay. “Not a bad life,” she says. “Not a bad life at all.”
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