Sketched in 2B and 4B pencils at midnight last night, tinted and touched up in photoshop. Random fits of madness, inspired by and intended for latest contest at the Doctor-x-Rose club: [link]
Lyrics are from The Wallflowers' "Closer to You," which you can find here: [link]
The picture and lyrics also inspired me to write a wee ficlet. It's unbeta'd and has the teeniest spoiler for S3's Utopia
, so scroll past QUICK if you don't want to read it.
He stood in her room in the soft light of early morning.
He didn't feel the warmth of the summer sun, nor smell the perfume of the flowers that had been carefully placed in a crystal vase on the table by her bedside. If he concentrated hard enough, he probably could, but right now his whole being was focused on one thing.
The Doctor let his eyes rest on the curve of her spine, the fall of her hair, the drape of the lavender sheets across her hip. She was on her side in her bed, facing away from him, as he preferred it. He'd only ever once caught her otherwise, and he'd tried to never repeat that mistake.
Seeing her face just proved to be too much.
He crossed over to kneel by her bedside, some part of his consciousness knowing that his feet were moving across gleaming wood floors and plush carpets. The Doctor knew he didn't have to worry about waking her, as she would never sense his presence.
He knew that, even though he told her on that beach in Norway that she would never be able to see him again, should he try hard enough, the Doctor could bend time and space to his will, cross dimensions, and break through to the parallel dimension in which Rose lay prisoner. At least his mind could go where his body could not.
Jack was not the only one to visit Rose from time to time.
Her body shifted slightly and the Doctor stilled, wondering if somehow Rose knew he was there. He tried to quell his disappointment when she merely lifted a hand to brush some hair away from her nose, buried her face into her pillow and fell asleep once more.
The Doctor smiled ruefully; he knew that time would move onward as the day grew brighter, and his Rose would still be snuggled up in bed, as always. He supposed he would never understand her obsession with sleeping in.
And yet, there's nowhere else in the universe he'd rather be than by her side, watching her sleep.
The urge to climb into bed beside her was tempting, but the ties keeping him on this plane were starting to wear with the strain of his tired concentration, and he felt the pull of the TARDIS calling him back to his own universe. With a resigned sigh, he reached out a hand, as if to stroke her hair, and murmured a few soft syllables; his own little ritual every time he visited her.
As he stood, Rose rolled over, not quite facing him, but enough to see her profile. Her lips moved, and he wasn't quite fast enough to avert his eyes before he saw her lips form his name.
With determination and a hint of sadness, he gave one last burst of mental concentration, hoping that somehow Rose could hear or sense his thoughts.
Don't give up. Don't give up on yourself. Don't give up on me.
Rose Tyler smiled in her sleep, and when he came to on the floor of the console room, the Doctor doubted he'd seen anything quite so beautiful.