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i.
Jack bumps his shoulder into Rose,
juts his chin at the Doctor,
currently just a pair of feet sticking out
from under the TARDIS’s console.
In a low, conspiratorial voice he says,
I dare you to kiss him at midnight.
Rose feels her face turn
pink as her name.
I can’t just go snoggin’ him, Jack!
It’s not New Year’s Eve!
She looks up into his face,
curious. Is it?
He laughs.
It’s the TARDIS, Rose.
Time is…
flexible.
That’s one way of puttin’ it,
Rose mutters, biting her lower lip.
Jack laughs again.
Just go for it! I’ll talk the TARDIS
into giving us some champagne,
maybe some confetti, it’ll be a whole thing.
A quick glance shows the time–
however relative–
to be 23:21.
Best be off to the galley then,
Captain, Rose says with a wink.
And don’t forget the glasses.
Aye aye, he says, snapping off
a salute before disappearing
down the corridor.
Cheeky, she says,
but she’s laughing too.
ii.
It’s 23:59.
The Doctor’s on his feet now;
he’s been poking at this and that
on the console for seven minutes.
Not that Rose has been counting.
She can hear her heart
pounding
in her ears.
The Doctor, with his hearing,
must be wondering
if maybe she picked up
some kind of virus or
weird pollen back on…
wherever it was they’d been
the day before.
She can’t even remember,
her brain is
too full
of the Doctor.
There isn’t a click–
she knows there’s no
ticking or
clicking
coming from the console clock–
but she hears it anyway,
a solid click in her ears
when the clock goes from
23:59
to 0:00.
She takes a shaky breath,
lets it out,
and begins to sing.
iii.
Should auld acquaintance be forgot
and never brought to mind?
The Doctor’s eyebrows shoot up,
but she keeps singing.
Should auld acquaintance be forgot
and days of auld lang syne?
Rose’s voice fills the console room,
the haunting and nostalgic melody
twining around them
almost like a living creature.
For auld lang syne, my dear
for auld lang syne
We’ll take a cup of kindness yet
for days of auld lang syne.
She lets the last words
fade away, then smiles up
at her Doctor.
Happy New Year, she whispers.
Is it? The Doctor seems hesitant.
It can be. We can raise a glass
to the days gone by and then…
She feels her cheeks heat again,
but presses on, And then
we can begin something
new.
The Doctor looks into her eyes
for a moment
that lasts
centuries,
then says,
Rose, are you sure?
She doesn’t shy away
from his gaze,
looks back into the depths of
time.
He must understand,
because his eyes soften.
Yes, he says
Yes, Rose repeats.
She’s not sure when they moved,
but they’re standing close,
so close all she has to do
is rise up on her toes
and throw her arms around his neck
and then she’s kissing him,
or he’s kissing her,
or it doesn’t matter,
because it’s perfect,
better than she’d ever
dreamed.
iv.
Somewhere in the distance
there’s the pop
of a champagne cork
and yes, there’s the softness
of confetti on her cheeks,
but these are faraway things.
The Doctor has his fingers
in her hair, his lips on her
throat, and there is joy
in her heart.
Thanks, Jack.
The words are shaky,
weaker than she’d expected,
but they carry far enough–
from his…wherever,
Jack chuckles.
Rose smiles at her Doctor.
Then, lowering her voice,
she whispers again:
Happy New Year.
To beginnings, the Doctor says,
and she can feel his lips
curve in his own smile
against her skin.