#open ending

Paring: Tenth Doctor x Rose Tyler
Rating: G
Word count: 800
Tags: Angst, Angst, Angst

Read on AO3

Written for the nonne prompt found on @doctorroseprompts​ - “Look at me - Just breathe, okay?”

Sorry about the angst. So sorry. I might just write another ficlet for this prompt because this is hard, even for me. Hehe.

His lungs were like balloons squeezed too hard, too fast, that burst to shreds to release the air the wouldn’t fit through the hole. He felt them. Full, swollen, compressed inside a ribcage that as nowhere big enough. His throat, narrow, dry, that could only gulp down small intakes of fresh air that only made his failing organs strain harder against his ribs, grow heavier, bigger, absorb his hearts into a viscous paste of flesh and hinder their wild beating. Soon, his lungs would explode. And his hearts would stop to beat.

His jaw hung low, his tongue darted out to moisturize cracked lip, his stomach heaved, a vain attempt to chase the surplus of air, his abdomen contracted, a futile exertion to force a breath out, but it was no use. Not with that kind of prison. A thick straitjacket, the straps pulled so tight he couldn’t feel his hands any longer, apart from the thousands and thousands of fire ants crawling up his fingers, up his arms, up his shoulders, up his head. A head swarming with a loud buzz, like angry bees droning through the tiniest blood vessel. It might have been the lack of blood circulation, or the lack of oxygen feeding his brain. Both, neither. It meant the same. The only words his last thought had hooked into. She’s gone. Those were the only words he could hold on to.

The pain started, soon. Not much, at first, just a tickle at the back of his neck. But it grew, fast, exponential. A headache that sprouted in the depths of his brain, a sickness that seized his stomach and made it push harder in violent retaliation against the lungs he knew were starting to crack under the pressure. She’s gone. Why were these the words he was thinking of when they only turned the pain to torture, he didn’t know. A thought of she, a fleeting image of blond hair and full smile, and a desperate moan echoed in his throat without getting out. A thought of gone, a tears fell from his eyes, depriving him of the few oxygen he had left in his dying body.

And then, he felt it. The cold hand on his cheek - maybe the hand was warm and his cheek burning. The sound of a murmur - maybe it was a scream and his ears were beating too loud with the blood rushing through his veins. A pressure between his hearts, between his lungs - maybe it was nothing, just the feel of his organs finally giving up.

“Look at me.”

His eyes shot open and were met with the blurry picture of she. Same blond hair, same smile. Deep brown irises that looked at him without the panic he was sure reflected in his, without the pain his cried profusely to wet his cheeks and his dry lips. Her hand, splayed over his chest, drawing circles like spells that stopped his ribcage from collapsing over itself.

“Look at me. Just breathe, okay?”

He blinked, hard, and forced his chest to follow the up and down of her hand. He latched onto her words, those words he desperately needed to replace the truth hammering against his skull. She’s gone. Breathe. She’s gone. Look at me. She’s… Breathe. Just breathe.

The pain faded, little by little, just as his lungs deflated, little by little. A seething breath, scorching, that had boiled for far too long in the confines of his ribs, but that was slowly expelled through his constricted throat. He was able to take in some fresh air, a small shot of oxygen that was just enough to keep certain death away. Just enough to reignite the system that must have shut down in his sleep again. The more he breathed, like she had told him to, the less he saw her face, the less he heard her words, the less he felt her hand.

Soon, he was breathing again. He hurried to untangled his limbs from the sticky web of sheets and covers glued to his body, covered in sweat and tears and drool, kicking them away his his feet in a fit of anger, with a fit of coughs, letting the cold air roll on his skin.

A nightmare, again. Or so the lingering taste of horror on the tip of his tongue and the images flashing before his eyes, the excruciating love soaring between his hearts and the sorrow imbibed in his stomach proved. But just a nightmare.

She’s gone.

No.

Breathe.

He rolled to the side and buried his nose in the pillow next to his. Breathe. He did. He breathed, and breathed, let the sweet smell fill his nose and soothe his aching lungs.