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Title: Inertia
Rating: PG
Fandom: Doctor Who
Pairing: Doctor/Donna, one-sided
Summary: He won't fall in love with her, he's smarter than that.
Notes: BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAH. I love my one-sided pairing.
Disclaimer: Doctor Who is not mine. It's Auntie Beebs.
It feels like pressure building in a boiler, or a large stone starting to roll slowly down a hill. Or maybe just a boiler, building pressure and starting to roll down a hill. It doesn't matter, it's just an analogy, and there is no such thing as a perfect analogy.
Inertia, though, that's the important part. Well, how humans use the word, often, anyway - the momentum of an object as it moves. And it's gaining inertia at an alarming rate, this... idea. This feeling. Every day, you think you've logicked it away, somehow, but it comes back when she laughs, or when she gasps, or when she looks at you like you're completely thick and missed the point by a mile. No one's looked at you quite like that since Romana.
She's so smart. Not the same way you are, of course, but no human possibly could be. She's sharp and she's intuitive and she cares about people and places she's never met and never seen, just because they exist. She reminds you of Rose, so much, except that where Rose followed you without question, she stands next to you and holds you accountable for every choice you make. She sees through your usual tricks and distractions, past the sparkle and shine and flash, and just sees you, lonely and broken and needing to be taken care of - just a little.
And it's not that you have any romantic interest in her. You don't. Like you said when you first asked her along, romance complicates things. Hurts the people involved. You just want a mate, someone to laugh with and cry with and not have to worry about them being jealous of you getting snogged by a 17th century French aristocrat. There's nothing romantic about your relationship - she's spunky and smart and compassionate and brave and sometimes even more than Rose, she reminds you so much of yourself that it scares you. Scares you for her, wondering if one day she'll have to push that lever and you won't be there to take half of the blame, wondering if one day she'll calmly walk to certain death because the universe needs saving and she's not going to wait for someone else to do it. Scares you for yourself, and late nights of wondering, restraining yourself from going through all those suitcases and hatboxes in a vain attempt to find a certain kind of broken pocketwatch.
But it's not romance. It's nothing like romance. You're not holding hands and running down the streets of Paris, you're not joking about "dancing" and how you had chips on your first date. You're just mates, proper mates. And if maybe you search out her hand to hold a little more than strictly necessary, it's just because it's habit after so long with Rose; and if maybe you stand a little too close, so close you can smell her shampoo under her perfume, it's just because you don't understand boundaries. You know plenty about love, see, and you know that it's a bad idea when you have the life you lead. People leave, and die, and are torn away from you, and all that's left is a huge hole shaped like them that no one else can quite fill. When it comes down to it, all you're left with is a gaping hole that holds all of them.
It's not romance, because you're smarter than to fall in love with her. She doesn't want that, especially not with you. She admires you, sure, but there's a difference that you're very keenly attuned to. A difference in the eyes, when they look at you, when they love you and when they love you. She loves you. You're her friend, her best friend, and she's yours. That's where it ends.
Sometimes, though, when she's sleeping and you're alone in the stillness of the TARDIS, you wander to a no-longer-used room, and lie down on the bed, pressing your face to the pillow that even now smells like jasmine and almonds, and you wonder if maybe, just maybe, you have an idea now what it's like to love someone so much, and for them to not even see you.
And the boiler keeps rolling downhill.
Rating: PG
Fandom: Doctor Who
Pairing: Doctor/Donna, one-sided
Summary: He won't fall in love with her, he's smarter than that.
Notes: BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAH. I love my one-sided pairing.
Disclaimer: Doctor Who is not mine. It's Auntie Beebs.
It feels like pressure building in a boiler, or a large stone starting to roll slowly down a hill. Or maybe just a boiler, building pressure and starting to roll down a hill. It doesn't matter, it's just an analogy, and there is no such thing as a perfect analogy.
Inertia, though, that's the important part. Well, how humans use the word, often, anyway - the momentum of an object as it moves. And it's gaining inertia at an alarming rate, this... idea. This feeling. Every day, you think you've logicked it away, somehow, but it comes back when she laughs, or when she gasps, or when she looks at you like you're completely thick and missed the point by a mile. No one's looked at you quite like that since Romana.
She's so smart. Not the same way you are, of course, but no human possibly could be. She's sharp and she's intuitive and she cares about people and places she's never met and never seen, just because they exist. She reminds you of Rose, so much, except that where Rose followed you without question, she stands next to you and holds you accountable for every choice you make. She sees through your usual tricks and distractions, past the sparkle and shine and flash, and just sees you, lonely and broken and needing to be taken care of - just a little.
And it's not that you have any romantic interest in her. You don't. Like you said when you first asked her along, romance complicates things. Hurts the people involved. You just want a mate, someone to laugh with and cry with and not have to worry about them being jealous of you getting snogged by a 17th century French aristocrat. There's nothing romantic about your relationship - she's spunky and smart and compassionate and brave and sometimes even more than Rose, she reminds you so much of yourself that it scares you. Scares you for her, wondering if one day she'll have to push that lever and you won't be there to take half of the blame, wondering if one day she'll calmly walk to certain death because the universe needs saving and she's not going to wait for someone else to do it. Scares you for yourself, and late nights of wondering, restraining yourself from going through all those suitcases and hatboxes in a vain attempt to find a certain kind of broken pocketwatch.
But it's not romance. It's nothing like romance. You're not holding hands and running down the streets of Paris, you're not joking about "dancing" and how you had chips on your first date. You're just mates, proper mates. And if maybe you search out her hand to hold a little more than strictly necessary, it's just because it's habit after so long with Rose; and if maybe you stand a little too close, so close you can smell her shampoo under her perfume, it's just because you don't understand boundaries. You know plenty about love, see, and you know that it's a bad idea when you have the life you lead. People leave, and die, and are torn away from you, and all that's left is a huge hole shaped like them that no one else can quite fill. When it comes down to it, all you're left with is a gaping hole that holds all of them.
It's not romance, because you're smarter than to fall in love with her. She doesn't want that, especially not with you. She admires you, sure, but there's a difference that you're very keenly attuned to. A difference in the eyes, when they look at you, when they love you and when they love you. She loves you. You're her friend, her best friend, and she's yours. That's where it ends.
Sometimes, though, when she's sleeping and you're alone in the stillness of the TARDIS, you wander to a no-longer-used room, and lie down on the bed, pressing your face to the pillow that even now smells like jasmine and almonds, and you wonder if maybe, just maybe, you have an idea now what it's like to love someone so much, and for them to not even see you.
And the boiler keeps rolling downhill.
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