wishiknewwho | The Fire

Title: The Fire
Author: wishiknewwho
Rating: G
Characters: Ten II / Rose
Dislcaimer: I don't own Doctor Who and it's probably just as well that I don't because it'd be nothing but hugs and hair ruffling for the foreseeable future.
Spoilers: Journey's End
Summary: He's probably right in the middle of it, knowing him. Probably one of his experiments.
Author Notes: So, a while back

hazelwho bid on me in the

help_haiti auction, and as promised she got a drabble. (She also won, so she'll be getting a longer fic very soon.) Anyway, she gave me the prompt fire, and I set down to write 100 words. What came out was a few more than a hundred.

Thanks to the lovely

salimali for the beta.

The fire alarms blare, startling Rose so much that she drops the papers she is holding, scattering them across her desk. The people around her are getting up from their desks, calmly heading toward the stairwells. Another office might panic, but this is Torchwood and they deal with crises on a daily basis.

Rose grabs her mobile from her desk, sliding it into her trouser pocket as she grabs her coat and follows the others to the exits. They’ve never had a fire drill, at least not when she was there, but it was bound to happen eventually. She sends a text to the Doctor on her way down the stairs, telling him to meet her outside by the fountain where they often have lunch. He works in the subbasement in a large lab filled with gadgets, wires, and alien technology, all in an order that only he can understand. She visits him down there sometimes, on days when things are slow, perching herself on one of his many work surfaces to watch him while he works. It reminds them both of old times, but neither of them mentions it.

It isn’t until she gets outside and sees the fire engines lining the street that she realises that it is not a drill at all, but a real fire. Fear works its way in then, slowly taking over as she searches around for his shock of messy dark hair and the deep blue shirt that she remembers him wearing when they left the flat that morning. It’s her favourite shirt.

She checks her mobile, and seeing no new messages, calls him, holding her breath as his phone rings one, two, three, four times and then she hears his voice, but it’s just his voicemail, cheerfully requesting that she leave a message. She mumbles a few words, telling him she’s okay and asking him to call her back as soon as he can. She tries not to worry; he leaves his mobile lying around all the time and often forgets to charge his battery. There are a number of reasons for him not answering, all involving him being safe and sound and daft.

She finds her father, and asks him what happened.

“From what I can tell, it started on one of the lower floors, probably below ground,” he says, his own mobile ringing shrilly. “Sorry, sweetheart, I’ve got to take this.”

She barely notices. Ever since he mentioned the source of the fire, she can only hear the blood rushing in her ears. The lower floors, where he is. He’s probably right in the middle of it, knowing him. Probably one of his experiments.

Without thinking, she runs for the building, knowing only that she has to get to him, that she can save him. She gets a few feet from the door before firemen are holding her back, telling her that she can’t go inside, and then she feels Pete’s arms around her.

“We’ll find him,” he says. She doesn’t believe him.

She lets him lead her away, feeling sick with panic and fear, but she forces herself to focus on the frustration eating away at her. Why won’t they let her do anything?

Her father makes her promise that she will stay put while he takes another call and she numbly tells him that she will. Her foot taps a staccato rhythm on the pavement, and she chews on her thumbnail.

There are firemen everywhere, and it’s only been a few minutes, but they haven’t brought anyone out. She hasn’t seen anyone who works on the same floor as he does.

All she can think about is how unfair this all is. They are only just getting started, the two of them. He can’t be taken away from her, not when she just got him back. He’s still so new, so awkward, and she loves him. He’s the Doctor and he’s hers and she is supposed to protect him. He’s no longer this eternal figure in her mind, but a man who can easily be lost.

She waits for long minutes, wearing out the pavement, ignoring co-workers who ask if she is all right; she can only focus on the door. She thinks about that morning, when he’d pounced on her in the bathroom, hugging her from behind as she brushed her teeth, pressing sloppy kisses to her neck until she’d shrieked with laughter and pushed him away. Tears blur her eyes. Her heart had swelled with love for him then and she should have told him.

Suddenly, he appears. There’s a fireman on either side of him, but other than some black smudges on his skin he seems to be fine.

She runs to him, and no one holds her back as she races across the concrete, heels clicking in time with the thudding of her heart. Her body is flooded with relief and love and she presses herself into his arms.

“Hello,” he says, chuckling, his arms wrapped tightly around her betraying his true feelings, telling her how shaken he is.

“Hi,” she whispers. She pulls back to check him over, making sure that he is okay. His thumbs come up to wipe away the tears running freely down her cheeks and she kisses him. He responds, his hand sliding back to her hair as he deepens the kiss. He tastes like ash and smoke and it almost burns, but she doesn’t care. She grips him tighter.

They don’t let go until he needs air. “Well,” he says, blushing a little and looking at his trainers.

“I love you,” she blurts out. “I know that I don’t say it enough, but I do. I love you. So much.” She promises herself that she’ll tell him more, that she won’t waste a moment with him.

“I love you, too,” he says warmly, brushing her hair back from her face before taking her hand in his. “What do you say we get out of here?”

She nods and lets him lead her home.