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warriorsfireandwater · 5 years

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Chapter Three

“Oakheart is dead!”

Rusty was suddenly awakened by the wail. He blinked, and quickly raised his head. For a moment, he forgot where he was, until everything came flooding back. Thistlestar attacked me, and I ended up here. RiverClan saved me.

Then what he had heard hit him like a stone. Dead? Rusty’s eyes widened with horror. Had Thistlestar murdered Oakheart? These wildcats really are savage!

With a glance, he could see that Mudfur was not in his den. Rusty rose, and blinked as he noticed sticky-white webs stuck to his chest, where he’d been scratched. He sniffed at it, and found it smelled like the herbs in the den. Mudfur must've put there.

Rusty padded from the den, slowly, hoping not to attract attention to himself. It was well past nightfall—moonhigh, perhaps—but many warriors were still awake.

Crookedstar emerged from his den. “What?” he demanded. “Oakheart can't be dead!”

A black-furred tom and pale brown tabby molly were dragging a limp body behind the rest of their small group. Gasps of horror rose from the Clan.

“Who did this?” Crookedstar demanded. “Who?!”

“No one,” Dawnwhisker murmured, head low. “Well, Darkstripe chased him under a rock, and they started fighting… I think they jostled smaller rocks that were supporting it. But Oakheart pushed Darkstripe out, and before he could get out from under it…” She swallowed. “He was crushed by it. That's why it took us so long to get back—we were digging him out.”

A young silver tabby pressed herself to Crookedstar’s side, murmuring quietly in his ear. A sob shook Crookedstar’s body before he ordered, “Bring him to the center of camp. We’ll share tongues and bury him in the morning.”

“Oakheart was Crookedstar’s brother and closest friend.” Mudfur was suddenly at Rusty’s side, and the young tom jumped in surprise. “That molly is Silverstream, Crookedstar’s daughter.”

Rusty felt a wave of sympathy for Crookedstar, and he was surprised to find that he was saddened himself. I never got to thank him for saving my life. He watched as the two cats pulled Oakheart’s body into the center of the clearing and laid him there gently. One by one, cats came forward, pushing their muzzles into Oakheart’s fur and murmuring before turning away. “What are they doing?” he whispered to Mudfur.

“They are mourning,” Mudfur explained, his voice thick with emotion. “It's how we say farewell before Oakheart’s spirit travels to StarClan. After each cat takes their turn, those closest to him will stay the rest of the night beside him, sharing tongues for the last time before he is buried.”

StarClan? Rusty was full of questions, but felt it would be inappropriate to nag Mudfur any more. After a moment, he quietly asked, “Can… can I go up?”

Mudfur glanced at him oddly. “Why ever would you?”

Rusty looked at his paws. Did I say the wrong thing? “I just—I wanted to thank him. If he hadn't stopped Thistlestar, they would've killed me.”

“That's very kind of you,” Mudfur murmured, though he sounded a little surprised. “But I think you should wait until everyone else has gone before you do. They won't take well to it. You're an outsider, and the rest of us have lived with and fought beside him for seasons.”

Rusty nodded. I owe Oakheart thanks, he thought. He died after saving me. He swallowed, stomach twisting. Would he still be alive if I wasn’t there?

He waited patiently as each cat padded forward to say goodbye, and Mudfur left him for a moment to press his muzzle to Oakheart’s side. When he returned, he sat beside Rusty, and did not speak. After each cat had gone, Mudfur nodded to him. “Go on. Don't let them think you are afraid.”

Easier said than done! Rusty gulped and nodded before he stood and padded towards his body. A few cats hissed, but none moved to stop him until he was nearly to Oakheart. The black tom stepped in front of him. “What do you think you're doing?” he hissed.

“I wanted to thank him,” Rusty mumbled, before recalling Mudfur’s words. He raised his head, looking the tom in the eye. “Let me through, please. He saved my life.”

The tom blinked, surprised, but didn't move. “What?”

“Let him pass, Blackclaw,” Crookedstar rasped. He was sitting near Oakheart’s body, Silverstream still at his side.

Blackclaw scowled before stepping away. Rusty padded closer, staring down at the dead tom. Oakheart’s ribcage looked like it had collapsed, and his spine was bent at an odd angle. What a horrible way to die. He crouched low beside Oakheart, as he had seen the others do. After a moment, he realized the camp had fallen silent as each cat stared at him, watching his every move. “Thank you,” he said, softly. “You saved my life. I'm sorry I can't repay that to you.” He touched his nose to Oakheart’s side before quickly backing away.

The accusing glares and angry mutters seemed to fade as Rusty backed away. Maybe I did do the right thing, Rusty thought hopefully. He returned to Mudfur’s side, who gave him an approving nod.

Crookedstar pressed his muzzle to his brother’s pelt for a few long moments. Then, he raised his head, gazing solemnly around his Clan. “Because it is already moonhigh, I must name RiverClan’s deputy immediately.” He paused, and appeared to be thinking. “I say these words before the spirit of Oakheart, and hope that he approves of my choice. Leopardfur will be RiverClan’s next deputy.”

A dappled golden molly blinked and raised her head, before rising and padding forward. Rusty studied her curiously. Deputy? Is that like… the second to the leader? Whatever it was, it sounded important. Leopardfur seemed cool and composed as she padded towards Crookedstar. She then dipped her head. “Thank you,” she said. “I am honored.”

The Clan, despite their grieving, threw back their heads and yowled their congratulations. “Leopardfur! Leopardfur!”

Mudfur raised his head proudly, yowling as loudly as he could. Rusty blinked, but again felt that it may be inappropriate for him to call her name with them. As the cheering died away, Mudfur licked his chest fur, ears red. “That's my daughter,” he purred. “She used to be afraid of water, you know!”

Crookedstar stared down at the body of his brother before looking up again. “There is one more thing I wish to do.” he fixed his gaze upon Rusty, who stiffened. Was Crookedstar going to change his mind and kill him? “Rusty,” he said. “Please come forward.”

Rusty blinked, but rose again and padded towards the tom. “Y-yes?” Oh, please, don't attack me now!

“I would like to invite you to join our clan,” Crookedstar meowed. Instantly, RiverClan was yowling in surprise and protest. He lashed his tail. “Silence! Oakheart saved this kit before he died. Will you disrespect him before he has even been buried?”

Many cats frowned and stared at their paws guiltily. However, even though the Clan fell silent, there were still a few that continued to glare furiously at him.

“Now,” Crookedstar went on. “This kittypet, despite his origins, shows promise. He escaped Thistlestar’s claws and fled through the forest, a great feat for a cat his age that has been raised lazily.” Rusty bristled slightly at the words before he realized there was no malice behind them. Glancing around, he could see a few cats nodding in understanding, though others muttered unhappily. “He then crossed the river with Dawnwhisker—something few outsiders would willingly do.”

Crookedstar looked back to Rusty. “Rusty,” he asked. “Will you accept? You must understand, training will not be easy, especially since you have not had the conditioning our kits have had. You have not swam in the river before today. You've never hunted for your Clanmates or said thanks to StarClan and to the river. If you are a part of RiverClan, you must work to make these all a part of your life. Will you join RiverClan?”

Rusty was silent for a long moment. What do I say? I don't know anything about this life. For a heartbeat, he considered refusing, but he then realized that wasn't what he wanted. If I go home… if I even manage to get home… I'll never be satisfied. He thought of his dreams, the itch in his claws and pull in his paws that led him to the forest in the first place. He didn't want to be fat and lazy like Henry, or foolish like Smudge.

“Though the training will be hard, the rewards are great,” Crookedstar added, when Rusty had not spoken. “You will remain a true tom, unaltered by the Cutter. You will have the loyalty of your Clanmates by your side, should you earn it. You will know true honor and pride as a warrior, if you make it through training.”

“The Cutter?” Rusty echoed.

“You've seen lazy kittypets, no doubt?” Crookedstar asked. “When toms—and mollies, too, I hear—are old enough, humans take them to the Cutter, and they are never the same. The Cutter steals their strength, and they can no longer bear kits, and they lose any drive or motivation. They sit in the sun and care little for anything but eating and sleeping. That is your future if you return to the human’s place. But you are free to do so. Few outsiders would consider this life.”

The vet, Rusty realized. That's when Henry changed! Though he had already made up his mind, he was certain now. I can always go back if it turns out to be terrible, he told himself. “I—”

“This is ridiculous!” a white tom interrupted, growling. “You can't be serious! How do we know his humans won’t come here looking for him? And that stench will alert all the prey of his presence!”

Rusty flinched at the unexpected hostility. The white tom was now standing, sneering at Rusty. “You will just eat twice your share and work half as hard as anyone else! We all know kittypets, Cut or not, they're useless!”

There were murmurs of agreement from a few cats. Rusty looked back at Crookedstar, unsure of himself.

“Others feel this way?” Crookedstar asked, eyes narrowed.

“I do!” Blackclaw spat. “He's been here long enough. Send him off in the morning and let that be the end of it.”

Silverstream touched her tail to her father’s shoulder. “Perhaps we should cast stones,” she suggested.

Before Rusty could ask what that was, Crookedstar shook his head. “There's no use in having everyone find a stone at this time of night. But I suppose a vote is reasonable for a matter like this.” He pushed himself up to sit. “If you think Rusty should be allowed into our Clan, sit by the nursery. If you think he should be escorted from the territory in the morning, sit near the elder’s den.”

Rusty’s nerves only grew as one by one, the cats began to move to opposite sides of camp. Blackclaw and the white tom immediately hurried across the clearing to one of the reed-dens, where they sat, tails twitching irritably. That was clearly the elders’ den. Those cats made their displeasure obvious. Three more cats crossed the clearing together, though much slowly than the others. Rusty’s heart sank as Leopardfur hesitated, then crossed to the elder’s den.

He turned his head to where the other group was gathering. Mudfur and Dawnwhisker were both there, as was Silverstream. A few more cats begin to join them. Rusty looked back and forth between the two—though another cat was joining the dissents, it was clear the nursery side was larger. Finally, the last cat, an elderly molly, sat with the nursery group, and Crookedstar nodded his head slowly.

Rusty puffed out his chest. They actually want me?

“You are welcome to join,” Crookedstar said. “And the majority of the Clan agrees you are fit to be here. Will you take on the life of a warrior apprentice, knowing all I have told you, and knowing the opinion of my Clan?”

Rusty didn't hesitate this time. “I will!” he replied.

“Very well,” Crookedstar meowed. “Then your kittypet life is no more. You are no longer Rusty. From now on, you will be known as Firepaw. Dawnwhisker will be your mentor.”

There were no cheers, not even from among those that had voted for him. But Dawnwhisker gave him a smile and a wink as the cats began to split up, and that was enough for him.

“Tonight you can rest in Mudfur’s den,” Crookedstar went on. “Tomorrow, your training begins.” He spoke to all cats next. “Anyone who wishes to share tongues with Oakheart may stay, but the rest should go to your nests.”

Most cats retreated to the reed-dens. As Firepaw padded back to Mudfur’s den, a few cats who had supported inviting him nodded approvingly.

Firepaw went back into the secluded den, heart racing. If only Smudge could see me now!

#warrior cats #wc #warriors #warrior cats au #warrior cats rewrite #riverclan fireheart #firestar #chapter three

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fuckyeahjamieandclaire · 6 years

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My love for a good love story is well documented around these parts. And there is no more sweeping love story on television than Jamie and Claire’s epic Outlander romance. Every chapter in their story feels cinematic, so I was thrilled when it was announced that their long-awaited reunion episode, “A. Malcolm,” would be almost feature-length (74 minutes, and I could have watched another 74). Their farewell in last season’s finale was one of my favorite TV moments of 2016, so it was safe to say my expectations for their return to one another were high. But even the (probably too many) hours I spent imagining how the show would depict their famous “print shop” reunion could never have prepared me for how wonderful it would be to see Jamie and Claire—and Sam Heughan and Caitriona Balfe—together again.

The chemistry between Heughan and Balfe is something special, and sometimes you have to go without it for a while in order to fully appreciate how much it elevates the already beautiful story they’re telling. “A. Malcolm” asked them to do a lot of heavy lifting—imagine how cheesy some of those lines could have sounded coming from anyone other than Heughan or how long some of those silent beats could have felt without all the emotions we see so clearly in Balfe’s eyes. And one of the hardest things they had to do in this episode was play this reunion as realistic rather than pure wish-fulfillment. Obviously, both the audience and the characters end up quite satisfied with their return to one another, but it’s not all smooth sailing. There were awkward moments, shy glances, secrets told and some still kept, doubts, anxieties, insecurities, bumped heads, and many other complications that needed to be shown beyond pure relief, joy, and passion, and Balfe and Heughan gave us a true sense of the roller coaster of emotions these characters were on. It would have been easy to play this reunion as a one-note explosion of passion and longing, but that wouldn’t have felt real. Instead, by infusing this reunion with an honest sense of hesitation, they made it even more beautiful because it was believable.

“A. Malcolm” was an incredibly intimate episode—perhaps even more intimate than Jamie and Claire’s wedding episode because the emotional stakes were even higher. And intimacy isn’t something that can be forced; it lives in the tiny details. And those details were my favorite parts of “A. Malcolm”—the way Jamie kissed Claire’s nose after she thought she broke it, the playful smacks they gave each other in bed, Jamie tossing food to Claire, the way their fingers always interlaced when they held hands, the way Jamie’s nails dug into Claire’s shoulder as they made love and then gently stroked her shoulder afterward, the forehead kisses, the tears in Claire’s eyes when Jamie told her she was beautiful, the way she kissed his stomach as she talked about him being too fit for a printer…All those small moments added up to a picture of a marriage being brought to life again. And I loved that it was brought to life with so much laughter. This reunion could have easily been tearful and intense, but the genuine laughter between them lit up the screen and served as the perfect reminder that love should make you happy—that you should be able to laugh with the person who’s sharing your bed. What made all that even better was the fact that this is a marriage between two people in their 40s who are still capable of having really great sex with each other, which is something that’s not often shown on television.

Both Balfe and Heughan were at the top of their game in this episode, with Balfe’s gift for vulnerability on full display in nearly every scene. And I found myself completely captivated by the nuances Heughan brought to his performance. From shy hesitation and downright confusion to near-delirious desire and overwhelming love, he played every facet of Jamie’s reactions to Claire’s reappearance perfectly. And if you didn’t melt a little at the awestruck look in his eyes when he saw her naked before him or get a little hot and bothered by his smile as he told Claire he wanted to eat, you weren’t paying attention. Heughan did incredible things with just his eyes and his face in this episode, matching Balfe’s gift for nonverbal nuance beat for beat. It’s what made that scene of them undressing each other so satisfying to watch. In the hands of lesser actors with less chemistry, it would have been horribly boring, but watching the two of them watch each other was a thing of beauty that was enough to leave a viewer breathless.

Ultimately, the best example of what these two actors brought to this episode can be found in its early moments, when they were back in each other’s arms for the first time. Balfe’s tears during their first kiss made me an emotional wreck, but nothing prepared me for how stunning Heughan’s performance in that scene was. The way his small smile against her mouth bloomed into tears of joy and relief as it settled in his soul that she really was there was a truly gorgeous display of raw emotion. And it’s that kind of performance—that kind of emotional intimacy—that allows viewers to get lost in this love story.

#outlander #outlander starz #sam heughan #caitriona balfe #otp: jamie x claire #A. MALCOLM #3x06 #jamie x claire #the frasers #best of 2017 #tv news #people: sam heughan #people: caitriona balfe #review #tv: s3 #tv series #queue

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oldwarriors-fireandwater · 7 years

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Chapter Three

“Oakheart is dead!”

Rusty was suddenly awoken by the wail. He blinked, and quickly raised his head. For a moment, he forgot where he was, until everything came flooding back. Thistlestar attacked me, and I ended up here. RiverClan saved me.

Then what he had heard hit him like a stone. Dead? Rusty’s eyes widened with horror. Had Thistlestar murdered Oakheart? These wildcats really are savage!

Rusty padded from the den, slowly, hoping not to attract attention to himself. It was well past nightfall—moonhigh, perhaps—but many cats were still awake.

Crookedstar emerged from his den. “What?” he demanded. “Oakheart can't be dead!”

A black-furred tom and pale brown tabby molly were dragging a limp body behind the rest of their small group. Gasps of horror rose from the Clan.

“Who did this?” Crookedstar demanded. “Who?!”

“Oakheart was Crookedstar’s brother and closest friend.” Mudfur was suddenly at Rusty’s side, and the young tom jumped in surprise. “That molly is Silverstream, Crookedstar’s daughter.”

StarClan? Rusty was full of questions, but felt it would be inappropriate to nag Mudfur any more. After a moment, he quietly asked, “Can… can I go up?”

Mudfur glanced at him oddly. “Why ever would you?”

Rusty looked at his paws. Did I say the wrong thing? “I just—I wanted to thank him. If he hadn't stopped Thistlestar, they would've killed me.”

Rusty nodded. I owe Oakheart thanks, he thought. He died after saving me. He swallowed, stomach twisting. Would he still be alive if I wasn’t there?

“I wanted to thank him,” Rusty mumbled, before recalling Mudfur’s words. He raised his head, looking the tom in the eye. “Let me through, please. He saved my life.”

The tom blinked, surprised, but didn't move. “What?”

“Let him pass, Blackclaw,” Crookedstar rasped. He was sitting near Oakheart’s body, Silverstream still at his side.

Blackclaw scowled before stepping away. Rusty padded closer, staring down at the dead tom. Oakheart’s rib cage looked like it had collapsed, and his spine was bent at an odd angle. What a horrible way to die. He crouched low beside Oakheart, as he had seen the others do. After a moment, he realized the camp had fallen silent as each cat stared at him, watching his every move. “Thank you,” he said, softly. “You saved my life. I'm sorry I can't repay that to you.” He touched his nose to Oakheart’s side before quickly backing away.

The accusing glares and angry mutters seemed to fade as Rusty backed away. Maybe I did do the right thing, Rusty thought hopefully. He returned to Mudfur’s side, who gave him an approving nod.

The Clan, despite their grieving, threw back their heads and yowled their congratulations. “Leopardfur! Leopardfur!”

Mudfur raised his head proudly, yowling as loudly as he could. Rusty blinked, but again felt that it may be inappropriate for him to call her name with them. As the cheering died away, Mudfur licked his chest fur. “That's my daughter,” he purred. “She used to be afraid of water, you know!”

Rusty blinked, but rose again and padded towards the tom. “Y-yes?” Oh, please, don't attack me now!

Many cats frowned and stared at their paws guiltily. However, even though the Clan fell silent, there were still a few that continued to glare furiously at him.

“The Cutter?” Rusty echoed.

“You've seen lazy kittypets, no doubt?” Crookedstar asked. “When toms—and mollies, too, I hear—are old enough, humans take them to the Cutter, and they are never the same. The Cutter steals their strength, and they can no longer bear kits, and they also lose any drive or motivation. They sit in the sun and care little for anything but eating and sleeping. That is your future if you return to the human’s place. But you are free to do so. Few outsiders would consider this life.”

The vet, Rusty realized. That's when Henry changed! Though he had already made up his mind, he was certain now. I can always go back if it turns out to be terrible, he told himself. “I—”

There were murmurs of agreement from a few cats. Rusty looked back at Crookedstar, unsure of himself.

“Others feel this way?” Crookedstar asked, eyes narrowed.

“I do!” Blackclaw spat. “He's been here long enough. Send him off in the morning and let that be the end of it.”

Silverstream touched her tail to her father’s shoulder. “Perhaps we should cast stones,” she suggested.

Rusty puffed out his chest. They actually want me?

Rusty didn't hesitate this time. “I will!” he replied.

“Very well,” Crookedstar meowed. “Then your kittypet life is no more. You are no longer Rusty. From now on, you will be known as Firepaw. Dawnwhisker will be your mentor.”

There were no cheers, not even from among those that had voted for him. But Dawnwhisker gave him a smile and a wink as the cats began to split up, and that was enough for him.

Most cats retreated to the reed-dens. As Firepaw padded back to Mudfur’s den, a few cats who had supported inviting him nodded approvingly.

Firepaw went back into the secluded den, heart racing. If only Smudge could see me now!

#chapter three #warrior cats au #warriors: fire and water

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chasingthecosmos · 4 years

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By Any Other Name

Fandom: Doctor Who Rating: G Pairing: The Doctor/Rose Tyler, Eleventh Doctor/Rose Tyler (The Doctor/Clara Oswald, Eleventh Doctor/Clara Oswald) Chapters: 2/26 Read on AO3 here.

“Rose Tyler was dying - or, at least, she was relatively certain that that’s what was happening …” A Season 7 AU where Rose returns to her home universe only to find that 100 years have passed and nothing is quite the way that she remembers it. She wakes up with a new body, a new life, and a new Doctor. What has the Bad Wolf gotten her into this time? Rating may go up as the story continues

That Christmas, Rose spent the entire day surrounded by warmth, good food, and her remaining family members. Tony had brought all of the children and grandchildren around, knowing that it might well be their last holiday spent together. Rose spent hours just talking, laughing, and reminiscing about Christmases gone by with her loved ones.

It was only her second Christmas without her husband, and the entire gathering still felt oddly unbalanced without him making a mess in the kitchen and telling outlandish stores to all of the grandkids. Tony did his best to brighten the mood, and for that Rose was grateful - but it just wasn't the same without the Doctor.

By the time they had exchanged gifts, cleaned up for the night, and said their final farewells, Rose was completely and utterly exhausted. In fact, she didn't even make it back to her room before she nodded off in the old wooden rocking chair that her husband had made her for her sixty-third birthday. As she slowly drifted into unconsciousness, the warm glow of the Christmas tree lights blurred in her vision, flared, and then reformed into the shape of a woman.

The Bad Wolf seemed to be vacillating between the woman Rose knew as Oswin, and Rose's own nineteen-year-old face. The creature was an amorphous, shifting mix of the two as she laid her hand on Rose's shoulder and breathed time energy over her skin. Instantly, Rose felt revitalized, and she rose to stand next to the woman, feeling as though she were suddenly seventy years younger.

"He is in pain," the Bad Wolf murmured softly. "He needs you now more than ever."

"Ditto," Rose replied wryly. "Show me."

The golden light around the Bad Wolf flared once more and a whirlwind of cool London snow swirled around her, and suddenly Rose Tyler was another woman again.

--------------------

This time, she was in the past - somehow with the same borrowed face, but now with a new name. She called herself Clara Oswald - an odd woman who shifted between barmaid and governess as easily as the Bad Wolf shifted her face.

Rose slipped easily into Clara's strange life and experienced everything through her eyes - just as she had with Oswin in the dalek asylum. This time, however, Rose was able to retain her own mind as well. The whole experience was disorienting to say the least - she felt like an outsider, somehow able to experience all that Clara was experiencing, but still not quite able to participate.

When Rose saw the man with the chin again, her heart leapt within her chest even as she addressed him as a stranger. However, she felt a lead weight settling into her stomach when he turned to look at her and Rose realized that the Bad Wolf had been right in her assessment of him. There was something horribly, terribly wrong - he was in pain, and Rose instantly felt the overwhelming desire to reach out and soothe him in whatever way she could. The darkness in his strange (yet oddly familiar) green eyes made her ache for him in a way that she hadn't felt since her husband died.

Rose feared that he might be traveling alone once more (which he should never, ever do), but those fears were quickly put to rest as she followed him and got a glimpse into the strange life that he had made for himself in late nineteenth century London. She noticed that he had certainly moved on from human companions, though - Strax and Madame Vastra and Jenny all gave Clara quite the shock, but they simply reminded Rose of the good old days when meeting new species was just a typical Thursday afternoon.

What did shock Rose was that persistent darkness that lingered behind the Doctor's eyes, no matter what sort of strange snow-themed threat they faced down. She wanted so badly to reach out for him, but trapped in Clara's mind as she was, there was nothing that she could do but quietly pine away for him.

However, she suspected that a bit of that pining might have finally broke through when Clara suddenly grabbed the Doctor's neck and forced her lips onto his. Rose felt an odd mix of offense and pleasure at the action - since it was technically not her lips that were currently kissing the Doctor, but she still got to receive all of the sensations that went along with it anyway.

While traveling with the Doctor in her home universe, Rose had had the particular misfortune of having to watch her daft old alien get kissed many times by various different characters and species. Neither of the regenerations that Rose had traveled with had ever particularly enjoyed the physical intrusion, but they usually bore it with a resigned mix of politeness and disgust (depending on said creature doing the kissing).

This new Doctor, however, was quite different - he flailed around as though he wanted to push Clara away but didn't quite know how, and then his cheeks flushed in an expression that Rose had only ever really seen on her husband. He stuttered awkwardly for a moment as soon as Clara released him and then ran off to distract himself with something new, as he was wont to do.

Still, Rose held on to the lingering sensation of that kiss like a lifeline, silently begging the universe for one more chance to be with the love of her life. She supposed that if she really were dying as the Bad Wolf had suggested, then at least she could console herself with the fact that she had gotten one last kiss from the Doctor before she went.

However, the kiss kicked off a whole new bout of flirting while fighting to survive and Rose honestly had no idea how much she had missed this until she was forced to witness it through another woman's eyes. Did the Doctor really have to be like this with every human girl who crossed his path? She wondered idly how long it had been for him since he had said goodbye to her. How long had he mourned before pushing her aside and moving on with some new, pretty companion?

Rose was about to descend into a fit of frustration and bitterness when the Doctor suddenly led Clara through a familiar pair of blue doors, and for once Rose's awe matched Clara's exactly. The desktop had been changed, but that wasn't what caught and held Rose's attention. No, what surprised her the most was the fact that she could hear the TARDIS in her head, singing her a sweet song of welcome and joy. The feel of the ship in her mind was similar to how she perceived the Bad Wolf, and Rose's thoughts glowed gold as something deep inside of her gave an automatic, heartfelt response.

Did you miss me, Old Girl? she asked, near breathless with the sensation of peace and home and rightness.

The TARDIS made a chiming noise of happiness and telepathically beckoned her in, filling Rose with the need to run deep inside of her labyrinthine hallways and never, ever leave.

Clara, though, was still too busy interrogating the Doctor. This time, when she mentioned soufflés, Rose was reminded both of Oswin the dalek and her own adventures with desserts back in the universe she was currently living in.

With her own memories fully intact, Rose remembered that soufflés had been an odd sort of running joke between her and the half-human Doctor back when he had joined her in "Pete's World". Rose had never been very good in the kitchen, after all, but she tried hard anyway. However, adding a half-Time-Lord with a short attention span into the mix hadn't exactly helped the issue. The two of them had destroyed probably three dozen different soufflés before they had finally perfected the recipe. It became a special treat that they had continued to make for one another for special occasions over the years - birthday cakes were something that Rose's family hadn't bothered with for a long time.

She was so lost in her cherished memories of her husband that Rose had lost track of the conversation going on between the Doctor and Clara until suddenly her entire attention was honed in on a single, silver key. The Doctor held it before Clara's face like a promise and Rose felt her heart lurch in her chest as she longed with every fiber of her being to reach out and claim it as her own.

The Doctor's green eyes watched her intently as he slipped the small key into her - Clara's - hand and then gently folded her fingers securely over it. Rose noticed that in addition to the concerning darkness held just behind his gaze, his eyes looked so incredibly tired as well. Perhaps he really had been through more than she had imagined during his time away from her.

"What is this?" Clara asked breathlessly. The outline of the TARDIS key pressing into the soft skin of her palm and the low keening noise of the time ship herself made Rose want to collapse with her sheer desire to be back in that ridiculous blue box where she knew she belonged.

"Me," the Doctor replied cryptically, "giving in."

Rose didn't miss the way that he looked Clara up and down as though he were sneaking a peek at the back of a new book and he was quite excited by what he saw. And oh, how Rose wanted to capture that look and preserve it somehow - just to keep it jealously bottled away for all time where no other woman could see it except for herself.

She felt hot tears running over her eyelids and streaking down her cheeks as her longing for her husband and this man combined and built within her until they overflowed. She hadn't realized that her overwhelming emotions had breached the space between her and Clara until the Doctor's face screwed up into an expression of soft discomfort and worry.

"I don't know why I'm crying," Clara muttered, laughing dismissively in an attempt to fight off the tears that were not her own.

"I do," the Doctor replied with a smile. "Remember this - remember this, right now, all of it. Because this is the day - this is the day! This is the day everything begins!"

And just like that, Rose was nineteen again and she was placing her heart in the hands of this daft old Time Lord and asking him to show her the stars. She would follow him anywhere - do anything - just to remain at his side.

She was about to open her mouth and somehow force that sentiment across the divide and out of Clara's lips when suddenly there was a cool, vice-like grip around her shoulders, and then she was being dragged forcibly out of the one place that she never wanted to leave.

When Clara tripped over the edge of the Doctor's cloud and began to fall the long, long way down towards the frozen ground below, the dream took an odd and unexpected shift. Rose's consciousness wasn't simply limited to the eyes, ears, and sensations of Clara anymore. It was more like she was herself again, only no one else could see or hear her as she followed the Doctor and witnessed his heartbreakingly desperate attempt to save the young girl's life.

On this side of things, Rose got her first good, clear look at the woman who's face she had been taking on during her strange dreams. She could see why the Doctor found it so easy to flirt with her - she was as petite and fine as a porcelain doll, with long brown ringlets and intelligent, dark eyes.

Rose watched in resigned fascination as the Doctor reassured the young girl with one hand in her hair and the other forcing Clara's fingers to close firmly around the TARDIS key once more.

"Will you come away with me?" he asked, the desperation in his eyes so heart-wrenching that it nearly took Rose's breath away.

Clara agreed, just as Rose knew that she would - how could any girl possibly say no to a request and a man like that?

Rose went with the Doctor in Clara's place as he faced off against the Great Intelligence and defeated the killer snowmen once and for all. Even though he had no idea that she was there with him, Rose hoped that her invisible presence might be some sort of strange comfort to him.

Their victory was soured, however, as the Doctor leaned over Clara one last time to say goodbye. Right before she breathed her last, Rose caught a spark of gold on the edge of her vision as Clara quietly murmured her parting words. Rose recognized the girl's command from the dalek asylum, and she could see from the expression on the Doctor's face that he had recognized them, too.

"These are the words of the Wolf," an odd, inhuman voice interrupted. "They are a decree to bring you back to the Doctor."

Rose blinked hard and suddenly the image of nineteenth century London faded from view and was replaced by the glow of the Bad Wolf. She was once again wearing Clara's face - or was it Oswin? Oswald? So many names ...

"Do you see now why you must go back?" the creature asked.

"No," Rose replied, trying and failing to not sound petulant as she did so. "Seems to me that he has everything he needs in this Clara girl. Who is she, anyway? Why do you keep putting me inside of her head?"

"She is a construct," the Bad Wolf explained. "She is a tool - a vessel."

"But ... she's a woman," Rose protested in confusion. "A real, breathing, human woman."

"No," the Wolf replied simply. "She is not."

"Well then what's the point of this exercise?" Rose demanded, still feeling lost and completely out of her depth. "Why are you showing me all of these things?"

"The next time I come for you, it will be the last," the Bad Wolf answered cryptically.

"What do you mean?" Rose asked wearily. "Is that when I'm going to die?"

"No," the creature repeated once more. "It is when you will be transported."

"Transported where?" Rose insisted.

"Home," the Bad Wolf replied simply. And then, in another flash of golden light, she disappeared once more.

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