Title: "Stay"

Author: Wish Wielder

Fandom: Doctor Who

Pairing / Character Focus: (Tenth) Doctor, Rose Tyler; Doctor x Rose

Challenge / Series: N/A

Theme / Prompt: N/A

Word Count: 1,783

Rating: K Plus / PG

Summary: He never wanted to come here again, but now that he has he's determined to see it through differently.

Notes / Spoilers: End of S4; casting/antagonist spoilers and episode speculation based on filming leaks/trailers. Speculation is mostly ambiguous and guessed at (though also extremely biased). Follow up to "Ask", because humansrsuperior is a master of plunny resurrection.

Disclaimer: "Doctor Who" and all respective properties are © the BBC. Megan D. (Wish Wielder) does not, has never, nor will ever own "Doctor Who".

"Stay"

He never thought it would be this windy. Looking up at the bleak sky, he breathes in the salty air and absorbs everything he didn't have the chance to before. He hadn't really been here that time, after all.

His hands fist in his pockets, and he looks back to the girl across from him. Can he even call her a girl anymore? Her gaze is distant, fearful almost, as she looks out over the ocean. Two (three, really) years ago they had said goodbye on this very beach. Now...

"The blue looks bad on you," she says, and at first he doesn't realize she's spoken. He raises a brow at her, and she smiles. "Well, it does. Your brown one's better. More...you."

"It's also very dirty and burned up and such," he says, crinkling his nose. "I'll have it back on once it's clean."

They lapse back into silence; it's uncomfortable, and so very not them. Behind him, Donna stands sentry by the TARDIS. Behind her Pete and Jackie and Mickey wait for...something. Mattie's in Jackie's arms; he doesn't think about the blonde man that should be next to Mickey but wasn't. One more extermination to the Daleks' name. One more death that never should have been.

"How long've you got?" she asks, and he smiles slightly.

"'Bout two minutes," he says, and his smile softens as her eyes widen in a terrified panic. "Or longer, if you like."

"Longer would be nice," she whispers, almost too quietly for him to hear. But he does, and he doesn't think she realizes, and it stabs him in that place every heartache that deals with her dwells. So instead he smiles, because he must. Because the only other choice is to not, and somehow that's just accepting what they both know will happen – always happens – here.

"Rose Marion Tyler, you saved the world," he says instead, and she grins at him. He had called her the 'Defender of the Earth' on this very sand not so and yet so very long ago. He's proud to see she's lived up to the title, but then again, he never really thought she wouldn't. His Rose is a strong one.

"We all did," she says, glancing back to Donna. "You, Jack, Donna, Martha, Mickey, Sarah Jane, Dad, Mum...Jake...we all did."

"I'm sorry about..." he starts, but he doesn't know how to finish. Nine hundred plus years of living, and you'd think he'd have figured out how to say "Sorry for your loss" without making it sound as flip as "Sorry 'bout your dead friend".

"He knew it was a possibility," she says, and it sounds so clinical, coming from her. "He was prepared for it. Probably even glad for it, knowing it helped stop the Daleks."

"Not stop," he says, and even though he knows it's the wrong thing to say he can't stop himself. "Never stop. One survived, remember? Because one always survives, and –"

"All it takes is one? Yeah, you've said," she says, her tone hard. He sighs.

"Sorry," he says, and she nods curtly. "Just...I'm so tired of them, Rose. Every time I think it's safe to stop looking over my shoulder, there they are. And they always take something I love."

"You didn't love Jake," she says, but she stops when he looks at her.

"I loved you," he says, and he knows his hearts must be in his eyes and on his sleeves. Her breath hitches – it's the closest to a confession he's ever come, and they both know it. Only too late does he realize his tense, and he wishes he had changed it from past to present. Love – loved and will love, but love first of all.

"You should get going, before that gap closes," she says, and she hugs herself tighter. No need, he thinks; wind's not that strong. An unconscious twitch at best.

"I never finished, Rose," he says. "The last time. I was so rudely cut off that day. 'Rose Tyler, I love you.' Seems like such a simple thing to say, doesn't it? You'd think the universe would have let me get it out, too. But it didn't, and that was terribly unfair to you. So I'm saying it now, while I have the chance. I love you. I loved you then, and I love you now, and I -"

"Stop," she says, looking down. "Just...stop."

"I want you to come back with me," he continues, as if she hadn't interrupted him. This beach had taken everything from him, last time. He wasn't about to let it do so again. "Please, Rose. I need you to come back with me."

"You don't need me, Doctor," she says, and she looks again to Donna, but he knows her thoughts have traveled to Martha, as well. "You've managed just fine on your own. 'Sides, I've got this lot to look after. Who's gonna take care of 'em if I'm not here?"

It seems so similar, in a twisted sort of way, to the very first time he had asked her. No at first then, too, and all because she had to look after Mickey. It was Mickey and Pete and Jackie and even Mattie now, but still…

"Rose..." he starts, but he's unsure how to continue. "You don't need me, Doctor." Oh, how very wrong she is – but still, in some ways, so very right. Maybe he doesn't need her, not like he used to, but...in other ways, he still does – more so. Even so, he wants her, just as much as he did then, maybe more. And shouldn't that count for something?

"Get going, yeah? That universe over there needs you," she says. She looks up at him, smiling despite the tears swimming in her eyes. She doesn't want this, doesn't want to stay – and they both know it. He can't let her...but it isn't his choice, is it? It never is, even if he always tries to make it so. It's her choice, and...

"I made my choice a long time ago, and I'm never gonna leave you."

What had happened to that Rose?

Almost six years trapped on a parallel world. Daleks nearly destroying everything – again. Him – he had happened to her.

"I can't leave you here," he says, and she smiles.

"You can," she tells him. She steps closer, and before he can think – before she can decide against it, he knows – she hugs him, burrowing under his arms and squeezing him tight. He pretends he doesn't feel the damp leaking through his suit where her cheek's connected, pretends he doesn't feel her shaking in his arms. He just holds her, plants a kiss on her temple, and whispers once more that he loves her.

"Forever," she whispers, and she gives him another squeeze – a final squeeze – before she lets him go. She steps back and smiles, and it's harder to ignore the tears when they're staring him right in the face. "Now get going, yeah? Have...have a good life."

He swallows, his face hard as he watches her. It's cruel, and they both know it, but there's nothing either can do at this point. She won't come, and he can't stay. It's the story of their life, in a way, always coming and going. He wishes it didn't have to be.

He gives a meager wave to the family he considers his, and then he turns. His back on them, on her, and...he walks. Back towards the TARDIS, past Donna and her stunned, steely gaze, through the doors, up the ramp, over to the controls. He hears Donna shout out a farewell, and then the door slams. He isn't prepared for the shouting when it comes, though he thinks he probably should have been.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?!" she screams, and he hardens his stare as he flips a switch. The rotor pulses to life, and he grabs the screen as it flickers on. He can still see her, standing right outside, with tears falling from her eyes but still trying to be so brave. He thinks she knows he's watching. He places a hand to the screen as Donna stops beside him, and he smiles, just a bit. "Doctor?"

"Yes?" he doesn't look at her, waiting while the TARDIS starts to fade. He can sense her glare, even if he doesn't see it.

"What the hell are you doing?" she asks, each syllable carefully pronounced like she's talking to an idiot. He glances at her, his smile quirking into a grin. "What are you...Doctor, how can you be smiling? You're just gonna leave her behind, after all this, and you're...smiling?"

"No," he says, and she frowns. He grins and looks back to the screen, pausing as the TARDIS tells him. It's time.

"...but she still wants you to ask her. Twice, if you must – she said that's how it works sometimes."

"What do you mean, 'no'? You're leaving her!" Donna shouts, even as he flips another switch. There's a turn, and she looks up as the pulsing seems to go in reverse. He waits until they're fully materialized, and he gives her one more grin.

"I'm not leaving her, Donna," he says, his look softening just a moment as he leaves her by the controls. He turns on his heel and darts down the ramp, taking a breath before he pushes the door open. He pokes his head out, grinning as he sees Rose's startled face. He glances back to Jackie, just for a second, to see a grin that matches his own turning her lips.

"By the way, did I mention..." he starts, tilting his head to give her a rather pointed look, "...it also travels in time?"

She stares at him, just a moment, and then it dawns on her. She laughs, shaking her head as she smiles – beams – at him. She turns to Jackie, giving her mother a tight hug and kissing her baby brother, before she gives equal hugs to Pete and Mickey. And then she turns to him, and he matches her grin as she runs towards him, tackling him in the doorway and knocking him back into the railing. They're laughing, smiling, and crying as they hold each other, but he thinks there's no where else he'd rather be. He looks back to Jackie, sharing one more secret smile – one more promise to always protect the woman in his arms – and the doors close.

But, as he takes her hand and walks her back to the console and Donna's cheers and hollers, he thinks that maybe it hasn't, really. Maybe, after all this time, it's just a door – their door – opening.