She's been in the parallel universe for a year or so now (trapped, although she's the only one who still thinks of it that way, her mum and dad and baby Tony perfectly settled and content.) Torchwood keeps her busy enough, a universe without the Doctor exceptionally more quiet than what she's used to. But Rose Tyler is used to bouncing through time and space, so she sets her mind to finding a way to travel through time again.
Of course, it's only to find him.
The device is glitchy and dangerous, and she still has superiors at Torchwood who disapprove. Rose works often in secret, afterhours, swiping a security code to get in unnoticed, and it's one of those evenings she's tinkering away when something strange happens. There's a quick moment where the room is filled with static electricity, her hair standing on end, goosebumps at the back of her neck, everything slowing and then screeching to a halt, and then--
She's in the park, in London, the sun shining on her face, the quiet thrum of people talking and living and being all around her. The device isn't in her hands anymore, not on the table in front of her, but there, there, sprawled across a bench taking up too much room, all limbs and stripes and spikey hair is her Doctor, not five feet away.
"It's you." It sound stupid to her own ears, staring back at him like he's a mirage, an illusion, like she's going to wake from the most perfect dream any moment now.
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2019-07-09 12:58 am (UTC)Of course, it's only to find him.
The device is glitchy and dangerous, and she still has superiors at Torchwood who disapprove. Rose works often in secret, afterhours, swiping a security code to get in unnoticed, and it's one of those evenings she's tinkering away when something strange happens. There's a quick moment where the room is filled with static electricity, her hair standing on end, goosebumps at the back of her neck, everything slowing and then screeching to a halt, and then--
She's in the park, in London, the sun shining on her face, the quiet thrum of people talking and living and being all around her. The device isn't in her hands anymore, not on the table in front of her, but there, there, sprawled across a bench taking up too much room, all limbs and stripes and spikey hair is her Doctor, not five feet away.
"It's you." It sound stupid to her own ears, staring back at him like he's a mirage, an illusion, like she's going to wake from the most perfect dream any moment now.