The Man in the Long Brown Coat [Doctor Who Fanfiction] | [COMPLETED]

Chapter 1 | A Mysterious Blue Box

Disclaimer: I do not own anything except my OC

A/N: If you're reading this, a bit of warning! The story has a major favorite character death, which will change the course of the canon in the Doctor Who episode. I love Doctor Who, so I decided to write a fan fiction of it because it's the first work I want to publish since I went all M.I.A for a while; I decide to write something that I love and I love Doctor Who and I dream one day I want to be the screenwritter of the show. (Like that's going to happen! HA!)

Also! If you haven't watch Doctor Who, it's not a problem either because I'm not following the canon episode, it's sort of tweak a bit so people who haven't watch the show can also read it.

Enjoy!

ooo

Too late.

Seven letters, two words, and it's all adding up to the cruellest truth of his life. So many time he'd just barely there. He had squeaked by and saved the ones who mattered, but not now, because now he was just too late. He hated that word, too late. Not too late to save the entire species from dying out, not too late for saving the crown prince of Cola from being assassinated, and not even too late to save a certain Harkness naked trouble day in Paris, but too late to save the one he loves the most. Too late to save her.

Tears were still burning down her cheeks as he pulled away, the taste of honey, spice, time, and Rose was lingering on his tongue. The sweet amazing golden glow faded from her, and for just a moment, he was staring into the familiar warmth of hazel brown-hued eyes that would look at him with her warm tongue tied smiled.

No.

The warmth was an illusion; he saw what he wanted to see. Her eyes were wide and glassy, no longer bolstered by the Bad Wolf, her knees buckled, and the only thing that kept her from the unrelenting metal floor was his arm about her waist. He lifted her easily, cradling her gently against his chest as he returned to hi lovely time machine, feeling anger and guilt crashed through him.

He placed his burden down gently upon the cool grating of the console room floor, and took a long deep breath, before smoothing his palm over her eyes. It was easier to pretend she was simply asleep, wasting precious time-as the silly little apes tended to do with so much of their lives Something in him, disconnected, and unemotional, laughed at the necessity of the pretence. He moved to the console, slapping at the controls with well-honed instinct and an utter absence of thought, his mind was frozen, unable to grasp anything beyond the moment when he had realized that Rose's soft lips were cold and unmoving between his own.

She had burned, and it was all for him.

Instinct told him to run, and his mind was distant enough not to question. He took his fractured beauty of a time ship and vanished into the vortex, away from the memories and away from the many, varied, and hunting nightmares. He ran from the abomination, whom he would never be able to think of without the faint bile taste in the back of his throat.

He kept the console between him and the motionless girl, while his thoughts whirled through any variety of mundane tasks, anything and everything that he could be concentrate on, other than what would he do next. Thinking of next was too cruel for him, a world without her; a world without her laugh, her smile, her warm hands intertwined with him. A world where he wasn't quite ready to face, maybe he even shouldn't face at all.

Somehow coordinates were set, and the hip was in motion. He had nothing more to do, it was a rough landing but he did nothing to soften it, when he was knocked off his feet, he simply stood up again. Wrapping his knuckles around the rail at the console, thinking of repairs was a nice distraction, but it wouldn't work for long. He wouldn't be able to keep living in denial.