Work Text:
i.
He feels her in the TARDIS–
her hand ghosting down his arm,
her breath against his cheek,
the soft press of her body against his side.
His Rose.
There’s even the hint of her scent,
lurking just through doorways
and down unused corridors.
She’s safe, he tells his ship.
It comes out snappish, defensive;
she chimes back in kind
and he mutters an apology,
running a hand
along the nearest bit of her
he can reach.
She purrs at his touch.
ii.
Rose is still there.
So he reads books
and plays his guitar
and builds a new sonic–
because really, what’s one more–
until even his Time Lord physiology
cannot stay awake another moment.
He sleeps.
iii.
He dreams of her,
of her laugh,
but he cannot see her face.
Still, she is holding him,
so he wishes he could sleep
forever.
iv.
But dreams are only make believe,
and sleeping Doctors have to wake–
though when he blinks his eyes
he’s sure he’s still asleep.
Her smile is bright as ever,
brighter still than any sun.
She chews at her lower lip.
Been callin’ for days,
but the signal was all mixed up.
It’s not easy, callin’ between universes.
There’s a question in her eyes.
v.
Rose is…here.
On the TARDIS.
It’s impossible.
He doesn’t understand how,
but it doesn’t matter.
He wraps his arms around her,
feels her fold herself into his embrace.
The answer is always yes.