Contrary Motion

Summary: Once he was alone, the Doctor realized how much Astrid had reminded him of her . Of Rose...

Setting: Post Voyage of the Damned. Pre Partners in Crime

Disclaimer: I do not own Doctor Who. I do not like Green Eggs and Ham.

Inspired by the video History Repeats Itself by Hermione3

It was her hair that first reminded him of Rose.

It wasn't until he was back in the TARDIS again that he consciously noticed it. Once he was alone again, empty again, except for the tears that wouldn't dare leave his eyes, he realized how much Astrid had reminded him of her. How much she had reminded him the whole time that he had known her. Those few brief hours.

He swallowed heavily, as though his Adam's Apple might squash the grief and the guilt.

She had been so much like her, he allowed himself to realize now. That same hair, the colour of straw. Astrid's hadn't smelt like hers, of course. Rose's hair had smelt of her shampoo, strawberries and jojoba, and a little musky when she hadn't washed it for a few days. He liked it best then, when it shaped her face out of habit rather than styling. He never told her that. He never told her anything, really…

He didn't know what Astrid's hair smelt like. He guessed it smelt like hairspray, come to think of it, because it made his nose prickle in that same way that Rose's did when she curled hers and lacquered it with her spray-varnish.

He bit his lip. He should have known what Astrid's hair smelt like. He should have known a lot more than he did.

He knew she had courage, not that such knowledge would do her any good now. She was dead, for him, because of him. It was the same story, over and over again. People all over the edges of the universe, dying for the love of him

Not that she had ever loved him, really. She hadn't had long enough for that.

Their eyes were different, he thought. Astrid's were pale and ghostly, like the top of a snow globe. They were glassy and beautiful and fragile. Rose's were the opposite. No less beautiful, but less ethereal. If Astrid's were glassy and snowy like ice and water, Rose's eyes were of the earth. Brimming with life and unlived potential, brown and rich like the earth beneath her very feet. They were wanderer's eyes. The eyes of a restless traveller. His restless traveller. No more to roam.

At least not with him.

He could feel her hand slap him hard across the face. How dare he compare her to Astrid that way? She was alive, she was well, she was thriving. And Astrid was dead. And here he was comparing the two as though they were one and the same. As though being out of his life was equal to death. As though death was nothing. He was insulting all of them. Rose's future, Astrid's sacrifice and his own sense of decency, and dare he say it, humanity.

He felt ill.

Would it always be like this? Would he compare every human to her from now till the end of time? He had never had to deal with this sort of baggage before. Sure, he had compared companions, but usually it was based on their skill or their respective quirks. He had never wished for one while he had a perfectly perfect other. Was this what human love did? Because he had loved each and every companion as a Time Lord should. And each and every companion still held a very special place in his mind, the only part of him that remained from generation to generation. But this love was different. He felt it in his hearts, in his body and in a place that didn't really exist inside him at all. Maybe it was in the TARDIS. The part they had shared those years ago. The Bad Wolf. Or maybe this was how all humans loved, as though it wasn't really them that felt it but the very breath of air around them.

He owed Astrid Peth better.

God only knew how much more he owed Martha Jones.

But there he was, there he felt he would ever be, mind and hearts and body fused to girl he would never see again.

Still, he had to move and move on. Such was the way of the Time Lords. He picked his hearts out of his Converse and took in a deep breath. His hand ruffled his hair and with an audible sniff, he pulled a lever and pushed a button. He poked and prodded the console and felt his grief subside.

He bit his lip and blinked away the tears for Astrid. He sighed and clenched away the guilt for Martha Jones. And his hearts ticked away the seconds of his love for Rose.

He was moving. He was moving on.

~fin~