Fic: Shall We Dance?

Wow. I wrote a fic. I feel so proud of myself! I haven't written anything for well over a month, but this idea just hit me a couple of days ago and just wouldn't leave me alone until I wrote it.

It's in the Doctor Who fandom, Doctor/Rose, and I'll call it PG-13, just to be safe.

Thanks, as always, to notsoliljames for being my combined cheerleader and beta, despite the fact that he's never seen a single episode of Doctor Who. (Although I am trying to remedy that! :P)


Shall We Dance? by Dallyra

They had danced together every day.

Swing dancing, to begin with. The steps had been clumsy, and they had been slightly out of time, but all the moves had been there. Rose had worked on the unfamiliar footwork, running it over and over in her mind until it ran like clockwork.

Kick, twist, twist, kick, lift, spin, kick.

Every step had been hurried, an exciting leap into a strange new world, and Rose had loved it. A new day meant a new rhythm, a new section to muddle over, and although her kicks were often too high and she stumbled when she tried to spin, she never lost her smile.

That hadn’t lasted long. It had shifted and changed into something new, something more careful and elegant, something full of the suppressed sadness and longing that both dancers shared. It had been the Dalek. All it had taken was that one remnant of his past, and the Doctor’s mask had come tumbling down. Rose had seen darkness in him that day, a shadow following him that she had never sensed before, and that one moment had changed everything. Their happy-go-lucky dance had become a melancholy ballet.

Keep that posture held. Stay poised. Don’t let him in. Don’t let him know.

Ballets never have a happy ending.

Every moment of that dance was bittersweet, her partner lifting her, spinning her, letting her reach for the sky… but never for him. He was always so close, and yet just out of reach. Rose longed for those dances, savouring every moment, but always wanting, hoping, dreaming for something more. It never happened.

Then Jack had come, and the dance had morphed again. They had salsa-ed their way through the stars, each move vibrant and frantic and full of the desperation that they all felt. Trouble lay behind and adventures lay ahead, and they moved recklessly forward, hoping that maybe, if they put enough fever and enough energy into the here and now, the stains of the past would disappear. Every step was filled with a tension that sparked in the air, and still they danced. In the daylight, they salsa-ed, alone and with Jack, until one day they had danced a little too close to danger. The Doctor had swept her up in a frenzy, and that night they had tangoed, letting all of their fear and their doubt into that one final act, blundering towards the dance’s final conclusion.

They had caught their breath, taken a bow, and tomorrow it had started again.

That had been then. They didn’t dance any more.

Things had… changed. Her partner had changed. His face, his body, his mind. One day he had been himself, and the next… he had become someone completely different. He had remembered every step of the dance, every act they had ever performed, and Rose had tried to believe that things could continue the way that they always had.

It was never the same. His hand felt foreign against her skin, and his grip on her waist was harsher, unforgiving. They could never stay in time any more. Rose fell over her own feet to try and keep the rhythm, to convince herself that nothing had changed, but the passion of the dance had faded, leaving just steps to remember and repeat.

Kick, twist, twist, kick, lift, spin, kick.

Keep that posture held. Stay poised. Don’t let him in. Don’t let him see.

Rose Tyler had never been a good dancer. She couldn’t perform the kicks, couldn’t keep that posture held, stumbled when she tried to spin. She had tried to pretend, but without the Doctor - her Doctor - she couldn’t maintain it any more. She wasn’t a ballerina, wasn’t an exotic salsa dancer. She was just plain old Rose, and plain old Rose didn’t like to dance. She stepped down from the stage, placing the glittering dance hall at the back of her mind with the other memories that she’d rather forget. She returned to her old, everyday life, the boyfriend who would never learn the tango, and the mother who could never really understand.

Rose never put on her dancing shoes any more.

Some nights, though, when her mind was too tired to censor itself, she dreamed of forbidden times, where she would samba around the TARDIS, her partner holding her close, wearing a face that she would never forget.

Some nights, she still danced with him.

Those were the nights that she lived for.