Thank you to shinyopals and magic_at_mungos for the beta and the Britpick. Many thanks also to imaginary_iby and goin_my_way for giving me the prompt and the opportunity to write this fic, because I love it a rather ridiculous amount. *g*
We are such stuff
As dreams are made on; and our little life
Is rounded with a sleep.
William Shakespeare, The Tempest
--
She was in the middle of a laugh when she let out a large yawn, and she smiled ruefully when she finished.
"It's been a really long day," she said apologetically, and he had to agree with that.
"Yeah, I suppose Autons, the end of the world, and Christmas ghosts with Charles Dickens are a bit much for one day," he conceded. "I've got some empty rooms you can bunk down in, if you like."
"That'd be good," she replied, smiling. Then she looked down at her clothes, still the lovely dress that had so stunned him earlier that evening, and looked back at him wryly. "Are there any pyjamas in that wardrobe of yours?"
"There's not much my wardrobe doesn't have," he said proudly. "Here, I'll show you to a room, then you can get some sleep."
After he showed her to a room, plain, with only a brass bed, desk and chair, dresser, and bedside table, plus another door to an en suite, and gave her directions from there to the wardrobe, he left her alone. His last sight of her was her giving him a sleepy smile, one he couldn't help but return.
Afterwards, though, he wasn't quite sure what to do with himself. He'd always been quite good at entertaining himself, but now he was having such a difficult time concentrating. He tried going to the library and reading; he tried doing minor repairs to the TARDIS, including fixing the swimming pool; he even tried working out what was wrong with the chameleon circuit and the navigational systems.
But he couldn't concentrate on one thing for long. It was too quiet.
His footsteps echoed when he walked, and though he knew they'd done that before, now they seemed to emphasize the lack of other noise. Other noise like real conversation between people, and not just him talking to himself or the TARDIS. Other noise like jokes and laughter, the sound of happiness. Other noise like someone else's footsteps, proving he wasn't alone.
He snorted, disgusted with himself. He'd been alone plenty of times before when his companions were asleep, and he'd never had a panic attack about it. And all right, so that was before the Time War, before he was as alone in his head as he was in the console room...but surely that wouldn't make too much of a difference? Rose was still there, after all. He was not the only living person in the TARDIS.
But then he stilled, a deeply disturbing thought occurring to him. What if he was still alone? What if he'd just...dreamed Rose up to counter that aching loneliness left by the absence of his people? What if those last few adventures were just elaborate delusions, created because he so desperately wanted someone else to share his life again, and would resort to making someone up to fulfill that need if there were no other options?
Even as he told himself he was being ridiculous, he knew he couldn't just stay here and tell himself what an idiot he was being. He had to check on her. Just to make sure.
The short walk to her room felt interminably long, as if every second had stretched out to last minutes, even though he knew it was only his anxiety affecting his perception. He stopped outside her door for another brief argument with himself, but even as he was thinking that this wasn't necessary, that he was invading her privacy, that he should just turn around and leave right now, he was slowly opening the door.
He quickly slipped inside and shut the door behind him, not wanting the light from the corridor to disturb Rose, who was indeed asleep in the bed in front of him. He let out a sigh--one that was not of relief; there was nothing to be relieved about; she hadn't actually been in any danger--and was just about to turn and leave when he was struck by the expression on her face.
She was turned on her side facing him, her body curled beneath the covers, one hand beneath her pillow and the other resting by her chin. She breathed evenly and easily, and even from here he could see her eyes moving beneath her lids. But her face was smooth and a smile played on her lips, and one of his hearts unexpectedly clenched at the sight. She looked young, and--dare he say it--beautiful.
And not just for a human.
No, he told himself. Firmly. It was one thing to think she looked appealing all dressed up, since women deliberately tried to make themselves look good when dressing up. It was another thing entirely to think that she looked appealing when asleep, her face naked of make up and relaxed, open. In the two days he'd known her, he'd already noticed she wasn't very practiced at keeping her emotions from showing, but now she was even more transparent. It felt like he could see directly into her mind without even needing to touch her.
He stepped back, disturbed at his own thoughts. She's nineteen, he reminded himself. Barely out of childhood even by human standards. Far too young and inexperienced to handle this sort of life for very long. Inevitably, and probably sooner rather than later, she'd want to go home, to her telly and her boyfriend and her beans on toast. She'd grow up and move on, relegating to the past the time that she had travelled through time and space with an alien in a phone box that was bigger on the inside. He'd become nothing more than a memory, far removed from her everyday life.
He'd never forget her, of course. So many people--they went on with their lives, and he never forgot. He held their memories close inside, and would never--could never--let them fade.
He slipped outside the door and shut it softly, but firmly, behind him, unable to bear her sleeping innocence any longer. She was alive, she was safe, and she was here with him now, for however long that would last. That was enough.
--
The next couple of weeks, whenever the silence got to him, he'd end up at Rose's room. He never stayed very long, just enough to see that she was sleeping peacefully, but it was enough to reassure him that the emptiness was an illusion. Of course he wasn't alone, not when Rose was right there, even if she wasn't awake.
Time passed, and it became a bit of a routine, checking on her. But then came Utah. Then came the Dalek.
He stood there in the darkness of her room, watching her sleep and unable to tell himself that it was enough, that she was alive and he could leave now. She almost wasn't, today. Between one second and the next--gone.
Unable to make himself walk away, instead he stepped closer. He sat down on the floor beside her bed, their heads level, and listened to her breathe. He closed his eyes, just...listening, and thinking.
She'd offered herself to him, again. He remembered being astounded the first time it had happened, standing on a mundane London street after taking her to see the end of her world. He'd stood there and told her about what happened to his planet and how alone he now was, and she'd said There's me and bought him chips.
Now she'd done it again. It was his fault she'd got trapped with a Dalek, and he knew he'd scared her with the gun, but when he'd opened up to her afterwards, she'd responded by offering herself.
When she'd wanted to comfort him with the idea that he might not be the only survivor of the Time Lords, he'd told her, I'd know. In here, gesturing towards his head. The area of his mind reserved for the presences of his people--a vast, empty wasteland now. It was so barren that he'd immediately see any other sign of life, even a hint. But there was nothing there, and no hope there ever would be.
Feels like there's no one, he'd said, and she'd replied, Well then, good thing I'm not going anywhere. And she'd smiled.
And he looked at her now, still filled with the wonder it seemed she constantly inspired. Her face was soft and relaxed in sleep, her body curled so trustingly towards him, though he knew he had nothing to do to it--that he didn't deserve the trust she offered him, not when he was here in her room without her knowledge. He just...couldn't stay away.
She was alive, and still with him. Where others might have asked to go home after the experience she'd just had, her every action was instead focused on reassuring and comforting him, as if he hadn't just put her in danger of certain death.
Well, maybe not her every action. He grimaced, thinking of the boy, who should now be sleeping in a room far, far away from Rose's. The Doctor didn't want him, and didn't want to think about why Rose did, but it wouldn't hurt to indulge Rose with one trip. Then he could take the boy home.
It surprised him, this strange desire to have Rose to himself. It wasn't quite as strong now as it had been during her first visit home, after the mess with the Slitheen. She'd nearly been killed again, and was with a mother and boyfriend who newly appreciated her, after having her so suddenly absent from their lives. He'd been nearly panicked with the idea that she would choose them over him, and had manipulated her back into the TARDIS. He wasn't proud of that, but he was also self-aware enough to know that he'd do it again.
He needed her. He just...he needed her. He needed her tongue-touched smile and bright laughter, her cheerful enthusiasm and incessant curiosity, her compassion and her self-sacrifice. She made him see what was truly important, whether it was just simple friendship, the needs of the many, or even his own conscience and the distinction between right and wrong. Somehow, she made everything so clear.
A hand on his cheek startled him, and he opened his eyes to see Rose looking back at him through the darkness. Caught in the act, his first instinct was to bluster a bit and beat a hasty retreat, but Rose didn't look angry. She looked curious, and gentle.
She just looked at him for a moment, then finally said, "You were scared today, weren't you?"
He thought about denying it, but another look in her eyes told him that she knew, and didn't think less of him for it. "Yeah," he agreed wearily. "Even for my life, that wasn't exactly typical."
He'd thought all the Daleks dead and gone, and he didn't have the words to describe his state of mind upon finding out that wasn't true. Furious and terrified and devastated--they all circled the mark, but didn't quite hit it.
Even in the days before the Time War, in all his encounters with Daleks, it hadn't been unusual for them to target his companions. Rose certainly wasn't the first of his friends to nearly be killed by a Dalek, or even held hostage to make him do something. Inevitably he gave in; he had enough death on his soul without adding the people who looked to him for protection.
But somehow, this one hit closer to home. He'd hated the Daleks since he'd met them, but the Time War had made it personal. And he'd never needed one of his companions the way he instinctively knew he now needed Rose.
Her lips curled into a brief smile, and her hand was still on his cheek, holding him in place. He felt unable to shrug it off, though he knew Rose wouldn't have fought him if he did.
But he felt naked, too, before her, as he had earlier. And you, Doctor? What the hell are you changing into? It was extremely disquieting, how clearly she saw him.
"I'm sorry," he said, preparing to pull away. "I shouldn't be in here."
Swiftly, he stood up and started walking away, trying not to mourn the loss of those warm fingers. But her voice stopped him at the door: "Wait!"
He turned, to see her now sitting up in bed, her back resting against the headboard. She held a hand out to him and said, "Come back."
He couldn't deny her: he went. When he reached her and took her hand, she made space for him beside her, a clear invitation to sit down. He hesitated a moment, then gave in.
"Don't be sorry," she murmured, curling her other hand around the one she still held, so that his hand was cupped between both of hers. "What happened today wasn't your fault. You just wanted to help. I'm the one that woke it up."
He snorted softly. "You just wanted to help," he said, repeating her words. "It wasn't your fault either, Rose. Trust me. And because of you, it stopped. I've..." He paused, just to look at her and take her in. "I've never seen a Dalek do something like that before."
She cocked her head. "Really?" she asked, and he understood then that she really did think all the death that day was her fault, because she'd shown compassion to a creature in pain.
He grasped her hands with his free one, so that both of their hands were held clasped together. "Really," he reassured her, smiling gently, though he knew she couldn't see it; her eyes weren't as good in the dark as his were. Still, she could probably hear the smile in his voice when he said, "Rose Tyler, you persuaded a Dalek not to kill. Your compassion is so much a part of you that when it took your energy to regenerate itself, it couldn't help taking the compassion as well. You taught it that there's more to life than killing, and that's...fantastic."
By the end, he was beaming proudly at her, and he could tell she was blushing. It was unexpectedly charming.
He freed his hands, then put an arm around her shoulder, pulling her closer and pressing a kiss into her hair. "Go back to sleep, Rose," he murmured, then started to stand up.
But she grabbed his hand again. Staring up at him with wide eyes, she asked, "Stay with me?"
He blinked, caught off guard. "Why?" he asked. "You were sleeping fine before."
She just shrugged a bit. "Maybe that's cos I could tell you were here," she suggested. "I'd just...feel better if you stayed." Then she bit her lip, suddenly looking uncertain. "Unless you need to get some sleep..."
"Nah," he said, knowing he'd just agreed to stay the night with her, and no longer caring that it wasn't a good idea. "I don't need as much sleep as you humans do. My brain is much more efficient."
She giggled. "Is it?" She smirked at him, snuggling back down into her pillows as he toed off his boots. Her eyes followed him as he grabbed her desk chair and pulled it over to sit next to her bed.
"Yeah," he said, softly, fondly, as her eyes closed again and her breath started to even out. "It is."
She fell asleep with him beside her, watching over her, but somehow he felt like she was the one watching over him.
--
"Are you going to stand outside her door all night?"
The Doctor tried not to flinch. Or sigh. But he'd been hesitant to check on Rose for the past several nights, and this was exactly why.
"You know," Captain Jack Harkness continued, "I'm sure she wouldn't mind if you went in."
She probably wouldn't, the Doctor agreed, but not for the reasons Jack thought. The night after Utah was the first time she'd caught him watching her sleep, but not the last. At least it didn't happen very often, and she took it well each time, but he didn't like to make a habit of it. It was bad enough he couldn't stay away from her in the first place.
"What are you doing here?" the Doctor asked, ignoring Jack's question. "Your room isn't around here."
There was no way he was putting Jack anywhere near where Rose would sleep. He'd hoped Jack would never even find out where her room was. Obviously a vain hope. He leant against the wall with his arms crossed, fighting the urge to run away.
"Exploring," Jack easily replied. He bounced a bit on the balls of his feet. "I imagine you've heard this before, but you've got one amazing ship here. I'd heard about the technological feats Time Lords could perform, but until now I'd never really believed them."
"Well, now you know better."
Jack nodded. "My ship was modified to travel through time, but it was a lot more limited." He whistled softly. "Yours..." He shook his head. "Colour me amazed."
Almost against his will, the Doctor felt his opinion of Jack Harkness rise once more. It was hard to dislike a man who professed such admiration for the TARDIS, took responsibility for his mistakes and tried to rectify them, and protected Rose. He was a lot better than Rose's last pretty boy, that was for sure. The Doctor wasn't sure how he felt about that.
"But," Jack said, casually, "I notice you didn't answer my question."
"Very observant of you," the Doctor replied, willing him to drop the subject. "Good job."
Of course, Jack didn't get the message. "It's pretty obvious how you feel about her, you know," he said, crossing his arms and leaning against the wall as well, a mirror of the Doctor's pose.
"Is it?"
Now Jack grinned. "The hands-off look you gave me when I came on board was pretty clear."
"Was it?" Good. Less good was how apparently obvious he was, but he could deal with that.
Jack nodded. "So what I don't understand," he began, "is why you're standing out here. I did mean it when I said I didn't think she'd mind if you went in there." He jerked his chin at Rose's closed door. "In fact, I imagine she'd welcome you with open arms." He grinned again, and his eyes went a little distant--he was clearly imagining it. The Doctor didn't know whether to be amused or disgusted, so he rolled his eyes.
"Not everyone thinks with their libido, you know," he replied lightly.
Jack gave a small snort of laughter. "You don't have to think with your libido, just of it," he said. "And of hers, too."
"None of my business," the Doctor said, growing more uncomfortable with the conversation. Time to end it, he decided. Before it got worse. "None of yours, either. And I've got things to do. Good night, Captain."
But before he could do more than turn around, Jack's hand grabbed his arm, though he quickly let go when the Doctor turned again and gave him a look.
"I don't want to pry," he said, more seriously. "But Rose gave me a chance, Doc. Not many people do that, especially once they learn I'm a conman. She gave me a chance, and she trusted me, and I care about her."
The Doctor closed his eyes briefly, then opened them again. He could understand that. Oh, could he understand that. Here was another moth drawn to Rose's light, and again he heard Rose's voice in his mind, saying, He's like you, except with datin' and dancin'. Jack could give Rose what she needed.
His hearts gave a pang at the thought, as they had centuries ago with Jo and her Professor Jones, but the decision here was just as simple. Not easy, but still, simple.
Except Jack was going on, saying, "And she won't look at anyone else." He added quickly, at the Doctor's piercing glance, "Yeah, she was attracted to me when we met. But if you didn't notice what happened when we met up with you, I certainly did. She was just--so aware of you. Sometimes to the exclusion of everything else--I meant it when I said most people notice when they've been teleported. And when I came on board, you were the one she danced with, not me."
The Doctor sighed, leaning against the wall again. He didn't want to hear this, as much as part of him was glad to. He didn't want the burden of knowledge, of action. How could a mayfly human like Jack Harkness, a member of one of the most prolific species in the history of the universe, understand his reasoning for keeping his distance as much as he could?
He needed her too much, and he'd lose her too soon. How much worse would it be if he entwined himself so tightly to her that he couldn't survive when she was gone? And she deserved better than taking on the burden of a grieving, lonely, long-lived Time Lord, with all his myriad issues.
He wanted to see her, right now. He wanted to brush the Captain aside and sit next to her bed, leaning forward to rest his head on the mattress beside her pillow, her face close to his. He wanted to watch her sleep, letting her breath wash over him with all the warmth of living human. He wanted to listen to her heart beating. He wanted to see that here was someone who could sleep peacefully in his presence, who had even found comfort in it.
Awake, Rose was animated and eager, her vivacious presence stoking his renewed zest for life. Asleep, her relaxation and repose were soothing, making him feel calm and relaxed as well.
He couldn't keep doing this to himself. She was neither a life preserver nor a security blanket. He could go for a day without needing to take a few minutes to watch Rose sleep.
He had to. If he couldn't, what was left?
"Drop it, Captain," he said, firmly but gently. "She'd be better off choosing you."
He turned and started walking away, and this time Jack didn't grab him. He did say, in one last protest, "But you're the one she wants."
The Doctor stopped, but continued to face away when he replied, "She shouldn't." Then he started walking once more.
He needed to find his equilibrium again.
--
He considered the door in front of him.
It seemed almost inevitable that he should end up here, he mused. First Sarah Jane, then Reinette--the balance he'd so painstakingly gained had been shaken, and Rose made him feel better.
But had he the right to take that comfort? She would offer it because she was his friend and she loved him, but he didn't want to take advantage of her kind nature. Not more than he had already, at any rate. And definitely not when he'd deliberately hurt her, trying to push her away.
"What are you doing here?"
Mickey's voice, challenging. The Doctor couldn't help it; he flinched, then hoped Mickey hadn't noticed. He turned around to see Mickey, still dressed.
"I could ask you the same."
Mickey crossed his arms. "She showed me where her room was," he replied, the challenging tone still in his voice. "I came by to see how she was. And you?"
He tried not to flinch again, shame flooding him. His purpose was essentially selfish. He needed to see Rose, living, breathing, smiling, laughing, warm Rose. And of course he wanted her to be all right, but it was primarily for his own sake that he came.
What kind of friend was he?
He shook his head, started to turn away. "It doesn't matter," he said dismissively.
But Mickey didn't accept that. "Yeah, it does," he said. "Look at me, would you?"
The Doctor looked, his eyebrow raised, trying to give the impression of not having time for this. Mickey didn't seem to buy it. "She'll never say a word to you about what happened today," he said. "I know her, Doctor, even if she's changed with you. She might have said something before she met Sarah Jane, but now after her and Madame de Pompadour, she thinks she knows what the score is. She's not going to talk about it, not unless you bring it up."
The Doctor stuck his hands in his pockets. "What is there to talk about?" he asked mildly, almost rhetorically. He knew what there was to talk about; he just didn't want to.
Mickey was silent for a moment, just gazing at him evenly, before he finally said, "I'm trying to give you the benefit of the doubt here. You'd think you hung the moon or somethin', the way she defends you. But I've seen her through a broken heart before, and I don't want to have to do it again."
His own hearts gave a pang at that. He didn't want to break her heart. All throughout his adventure in France, he'd been telling himself that Rose didn't feel that deeply for him, that he could discourage her and she would find someone better. Her heart would be bruised, maybe, but not broken.
Of course he'd been lying to himself. He knew how deeply she felt.
I want you safe. My Doctor. Protected from the False God...
How ironic this conversation was. He'd avoided coming to watch Rose sleep ever since that conversation with Jack before he'd regenerated, and on his first return he just had to meet another of her advocates who just had to talk to him about how much she loved him.
Mickey looked at him again, but when it was clear the Doctor wouldn't reply, he said, "I didn't ask to come because I wanted to get with Rose again. Of course," he interrupted himself, smiling a bit, "I wouldn't say no if that's what she wanted, but I'm not stupid, Doctor, no matter what you think. She's not my girl anymore. I just thought, she found her place, travelling with you, and I wanted to find mine too."
The Doctor gave a half-smile, recognizing that he'd once again underestimated Mickey Smith. He really needed to stop doing that.
"But see," Mickey continued, "even if I'm not her boyfriend anymore, I'm still her friend, and I'm still watching out for her. She may not talk to you about it, but I want you to know what you're doing, and I want you to think about it."
"I have thought about it," the Doctor said, finally deciding to answer. "I've thought about it too much. And Mickey, I can't give her what she needs, no matter how much I might want to. It'd be best for both of us if we didn't get in any deeper than we already are."
Mickey appeared to consider that. Then he said, "Isn't that her decision too?"
He rubbed the back of his neck with one hand, trying to think of the best way to answer that. Yes, it was her decision too, but she didn't have the perspective he did. Neither did Mickey. He knew what Rose wanted, and understood what Mickey was saying, but could either of them comprehend what it would be like--for both him and Rose--should he give in?
He couldn't give her stability, and it was unlikely he could give her children. Then she would grow older, and he wouldn't, and resentment was the inevitable result of that, as she resented him for staying young while she grew old and he resented her for growing old while he stayed young. It was unlikely in the extreme that they could overcome such a barrier.
Mickey sighed as the silence stretched. "Just think about it, yeah?" he said, then left without waiting for an answer.
He stared vaguely after Mickey, frustrated anew at humans and the limits of their understanding, when he heard the door behind him open, and he whirled around. Rose stood there in her pyjamas and dressing gown, one hand on the doorknob. The Doctor could tell she'd overheard his conversation with Mickey, and cursed himself for having that sort of discussion where she might hear.
They looked at each other for a moment, then she said, "I don't expect anything from you, you know."
"I know," he replied, because he did.
"And I'm not going to press you for anything you're not willing to give me."
"Thank you," he said softly, truly grateful for that. If she pressed him, he'd give in. He knew that, recognized her power over him when she persuaded him twice to take her back to see her father die, against his better judgment. He wasn't sure if there was anything he'd be able to deny her, and was immeasurably glad every time she refrained from using that power.
Slowly, giving him time to step back if he chose, she walked forward and hugged him, leaning her cheek against his shoulder. He closed his eyes and hugged her back, his cheek pressed against her hair.
Having her in his arms was both torture and solace. He wanted to give her everything, all of him, wanted to take this simple embrace and turn it into something more sensual. He wanted to turn his head and kiss her, to crush her to him and possess her until he was everything she knew. He wanted to taste the sweat on her body, an intoxicating combination of arousal and Rose. He wanted to see her smile at him in sleepy satisfaction as she drifted off, using his body for a pillow and letting him watch her sleep without feeling guilty for his fascination with her. He wanted to let himself feel free to want her.
He could do none of that. But for now, at least, being able to hold her close was enough.
"Thank you," he said again, placing a kiss on the top of her head as he pulled away. She smiled, brushed her fingers against his cheek, then turned away, and he watched her disappear back into her room and shut the door behind her.
--
He couldn't help it this time. He just couldn't.
He moved her chair beside her bed, sitting as close as he dared. He wanted to touch her, to delicately explore the contours of her face, but he didn't want to wake her, and kept his hands clasped together in his lap. Still, she'd seemed pretty exhausted when she'd gone to bed, so he hoped that she would sleep deeply enough that he wouldn't disturb her.
What happened on this trip felt all the worse for its fun beginning. Rose, dressed up and having fun, even knowing the lingo. Rose, pressed against him on the scooter, her arms around his waist and her chest pressed to his back. Rose, teasing him for getting the coordinates wrong again.
The Queen's coronation would have been an acceptable substitute for Elvis, if not for the Wire. He shivered, thinking of the Wire. He hadn't even given it a first chance. From the minute he'd seen Rose in Detective Inspector Bishop's office, things truly had become very simple: nothing got away with hurting Rose. Nothing.
He'd never felt like this before. Of course, he'd always been protective of his companions, even the ones who could take care of themselves quite well and had no qualms about telling him so, but the prospect of losing them didn't feel like it was going to destroy him. Losing them was sad, but it was also inevitable, and he'd always been able to remember that and keep his distance. Now with Rose he kept forgetting and having to remind himself.
In a very long life full of some very stupid things, here was one of the stupidest: he'd let her become a part of him, so deeply he wasn't sure he'd ever be able to extricate her. He'd been so lonely when he met her. So lonely, and she'd offered herself to him, and like the selfish lout he was, he'd taken what she offered. He'd used her to fill the aching emptiness...and then he'd regenerated, for her. He'd been filled with her, her light and her love and her kiss, and then he'd changed with her still so much a part of him. She'd called him her Doctor, and if he hadn't been before, he was from that moment on.
Now here she was, lying safely deep in sleep, and he could tell her things he'd never say when she was awake.
"I need you," he murmured, fighting the urge to take her hand. He didn't want to push his luck and have her wake up right when he needed to get things off his chest.
"I've been trying not to," he continued. His eyes were fixed on her face--her strong, lovely face. It had been almost too much to bear, seeing it missing. "I've been trying to keep my distance. But it's been harder than I anticipated, and it's not working. I can't stay away from you, Rose."
He paused, and rubbed at his forehead. It was hard, saying these things even when he knew she was asleep, but he still felt he had to talk to her.
"I think I'm going to give in soon," he confessed. "You've been so patient with me...I'm still amazed that you haven't left, even with all the opportunities I've given you, and all the cause. I thought you might, after Reinette. I almost wanted you to. Instead, you accepted me. You accepted my past, and you accepted my future, and I don't know how you could do those things when I can barely accept them myself."
He let out a short laugh, but stopped quickly when he noticed her shifting. He waited until she settled down again before he went on.
"I'm terrified of what's going to happen," he said, even quieter now. "I'm going to lose you someday, no matter how much we both want it not to happen. And I meant it when I told you I'm not going to leave you behind. I couldn't. I'd be destroying myself, and you don't have to tell me that I'm being melodramatic, because I know how I sound. And maybe I am being melodramatic, but it still feels like that. Like you'd take part of me with you and I'd just fall to pieces without that part, and without you." He paused to look at her, really look at her, then closed his eyes and tried to fix in his memory the way she was now, sleeping and open and beautiful.
"You're going to leave me," he said next. "Whether you want to or not, you will. It might be in ten months or ten years or ten decades, but in what will seem such a short time to me, you'll be gone, and I'll never have you back. I don't know what that's going to do to me. If the glimpse I got when I saw you without your face was any indication, it's not going to be good. You keep me centred, Rose. It's so much easier to be the man I want to be when I have you beside me. What will happen to me when you're gone?"
Now he couldn't help it; he had to touch her. Had to feel her tangibility, that she was still there with him. He reached out and trailed one finger down her cheek, as softly as he could. She smiled a bit, but did not wake. A smile of his own crossed his lips, but it was bittersweet, and soon gone.
"It feels right, feeling this way," he told her, sitting back in his chair. "As much as I'm afraid to be without you, being with you is wonderful. Sometimes I even manage to forget that my people are gone and the space they occupied in my head is empty. You make me feel happy, and at peace. I don't think I have the words to tell you what that means to me."
He looked at her, struck again by a beauty that was as much strength of mind and character as it was physical. Even asleep, parts of her personality shone through in her wide mouth with the corners tipped up, generous with smiles even in sleep, and the way her hand clutched the pillow as if she were clutching his hand, holding tightly. As tightly as he wanted to hold hers. Oh, Rose.
There was something else he wanted to tell her, three more words he wanted to say. But he hesitated, unwilling to speak them in his mind, let alone out loud. He was vulnerable enough as it was.
Finally he leaned forward and brushed a light kiss over her smooth forehead, savoring the warmth and smell of her. "Good night, Rose," he whispered. Then, after putting her chair back where he'd found it, he shot one last look at her and left the room.
--
He was tired of fighting.
He'd known since the Wire that it was just a matter of time until he gave in, and now it seemed like time was up. He didn't even mind--which was probably the best indication he had that it really was the right time.
He believed in her.
Finding that belief within himself was in a sense an epiphany, and yet no great surprise. He'd believed in her before, as he'd believed in other companions before her: in her resourcefulness, her strength, her friendliness and compassion, her quick wits and intelligence, and more. But in the Pit he'd found he believed in her beyond worry, beyond doubt. He could do his part to quell the Beast, knowing with utter certainty that no matter what was going on miles above him, Rose was doing her part as well. And what he couldn't do, she would do for him.
He would always want to protect her, always want to keep her safe. But he knew--knew-- that she could take care of herself, anyone she was with, and him as well. He could lean on her, and she would support him.
He could have wept out of sheer relief. Instead, he kissed her.
It was not the best kiss he'd ever had, not least because she seemed too surprised to do anything good, like return it. But her lips were warm and she tasted like Rose, and that was enough to be going on, for now.
When he pulled away, she stared at him, clearly confused. He just waited for her to speak, secure now in what he wanted and what he was willing to do.
"Was that just out of enthusiasm for bein' alive and together again?" she finally asked, and bit her lip.
"Well, I am quite enthusiastic about being alive and together," he replied, grinning. "And I wouldn't have done that if we weren't alive and together, of course."
Here it was, an opportunity to brush the kiss off as natural exuberance, rather than a progression of their relationship. He could leave it at that, and it would become nothing but a memory. He could stay safely distant.
It's not the urge to jump; it's deeper than that, he'd told Ida, such a short time ago. It's the urge to fall.
Letting himself fall was the right decision then, and he knew it was the right decision now. He smiled.
"But that's not why I kissed you," he told her, and delighted in the smile that slowly spread across her face. He reached out to tuck her hair behind her ear, letting his knuckles brush her cheek. "The truth is, Rose, I just got tired of fighting what we both want."
He leaned in to kiss her again, but she put a hand to his lips, halting him. He shot a glance at her, suddenly afraid that her feelings had changed--surely not--but the look she gave him in return was reassuring.
"I do want to kiss you, Doctor," she said, removing her hand and dropping it back down to her side. He reached out and took it, twining their fingers together. "But I want you to be sure it's what you really want. No changin' your mind later. Because I could handle our relationship staying the way it is now, but I don't think I could handle us moving forward and you regretting it." She searched his eyes, and he tried to project his earnestness--she couldn't read his mind. "If we do this, it has to be because you honestly want it, not because you're tired of fighting it."
Letting go of her hand, he pulled her into a swift embrace, hugging her tightly. His wondrous, strong, selfless Rose--his hearts felt full to bursting with all the emotion he was just beginning to set free. If her actions on the rocket hadn't been enough indication, here she was again, being strong for him. It was his very great pleasure to set her at ease.
"I want this, Rose," he murmured into her ear. "All the reasons I had before for fighting it just aren't as important as the reasons for giving in. I was afraid of my feelings for you making me weak, but they don't, Rose, they make me strong!"
And in his joy at that realization, he picked her up and swung her around, laughing. She laughed as well, and then they just stood there, pressed close together, the laughter slowly dwindling away--but not the joy. Then she pulled back, just a bit, one of her hands reaching up to cup his cheek and pull his face down to meet hers.
This kiss was much better than the first--Rose's participation made all the difference, he thought giddily. Her lips moved over his, gently at first, then more demanding. He opened his mouth to her, and her tongue met his with a delicious wet curl. His arms tightened around her and he closed his eyes, falling into the kiss and letting the rest of the world slip away.
Long moments later, he pulled back and rested his forehead against hers. "Would you like to take this somewhere else?" he asked, a hopeful quirk to the corner of his mouth. "The console room's not very comfortable for this sort of thing."
"Oh? What sort of thing are you thinking about?" She grinned at him, her tongue poking out between her teeth. He didn't bother resisting the urge this time--he kissed her again, hard, then nibbled gently at her tongue until she opened her mouth with a gasp. Then he pulled away again, smiling impishly.
"The sort of thing," he began, his voice low, one hand creeping downward to rest on her waist and pull her hips into his, "that involves a bedroom." He brushed his lips across her cheek. "And a bed." Now he moved to her ear, pulling her earlobe into his mouth and sucking. "And a distinct lack of clothing." He trailed kisses along her jawline, then glanced up to see her staring at him, her eyes dark and her mouth slightly open. "That is, if you don't object?"
His mouth now on her throat, sucking lightly on her pulse point, he felt her swallow. "No," she breathed, her hands making their way into his hair. "No objections here."
He smiled against her skin, pressed one last kiss to her neck. "Good," he said. Then he pulled away, grabbed her hand, and said: "Run!"
They set off together, her with a shriek of laughter. When he looked at her as they skidded around a corner, he felt gratified to see the wide grin on her face and the sparkle in her eyes. As wonderful as it was to finally have this himself, he was even happier to give it to her. Maybe she deserved better than him, but she wanted him, and he was happy to give her what she wanted.
They slowed as they reached his bedroom door, then came to a stop outside it, still holding hands. He didn't often let companions see his room, but he wanted to bring Rose into his space. She had everything else of him, after all. So he opened the door and tugged her inside, and she followed.
He didn't spend much time in this room, not when he didn't need as much sleep as a human and it was easier to work in the console room or the library. But it was still his, and he followed her gaze as she looked around, taking in the large bed, the filled bookshelves, small dresser, desk covered with papers, and open cupboard. It was even more sparsely furnished than her room--soon after the mess with the Slitheen, after he'd given her the key, the TARDIS (probably sensing how much he liked her and wanted her to stay) had enlarged her room, given her a larger dresser and more tables on which she could put her things. He did have a nice bathroom, though, with a deep bathtub and large separate shower. They'd have to take advantage of it later. He smirked.
"You're smirking," she noted, reaching up to trace it with a finger. He quickly pulled it into his mouth, sucking on it and swirling his tongue around it. He watched with amusement as her mouth fell open again.
"So I do," he agreed. "You like it?"
"Hmmm..." She sat up again, tapping her lips with a finger thoughtfully. "It feels like it's missing something..."
"Oh?" He stopped on the other side of the bed. "It's got pillows, sheets, a mattress, covers. What could it possibly be missing?"
"You," she replied softly, no longer teasing, with such a deep look in her eyes. She pulled her shoes off before scooting further up on the bed and holding out her arms. "Come here."
He undid his jacket buttons, slipping out of it and tossing it aside, not even caring where it landed. Then he eased up onto the bed, moving to where Rose was waiting for him and falling into her embrace, meeting her mouth with his. He could never get tired of this, no matter how often they did it--and he hoped they'd do it very often indeed.
How freeing it was, no longer holding back his feelings and desires! It was completely brilliant, and he was finding that he loved being able to express himself this way.
They kissed leisurely, but not without passion, and he was amazed at how perfect it felt. Then she took one sock-clad foot and ran it down his leg, but when she hit his ankle, she broke the kiss and giggled.
"What's so funny?" he asked, looking back over his shoulder at his ankles. They were...ankles. No different from human ankles, he thought, though maybe a bit bony. Oh, he thought in sudden panic, what if she doesn't like bony?
But then she reassured him, saying, "You're still wearing shoes."
Shoes. She about made him have a panic attack over shoes. "Just hadn't gotten around to taking them off yet," he huffed, pulling himself off her to sit up and start tugging at the laces. Why did he have to use such complicated knots?
A smaller hand covered his fumbling fingers, and she whispered in his ear, "Here, let me." She took over the task, her nimbler fingers picking apart the knots with ease. She drew the shoes off his feet, dropping them by the side of the bed, then pulled his socks off as well. Then she surprised him by pressing kisses to the arch of first one foot, then the other, as her hands rubbed them both. She slid up his body, her weight pressing him back into the mattress, until her face was hovering in front of his. "Does that make up for laughing at your shoes?" she asked sweetly.
He blinked at her, trying to think of something coherent to say--how had he never known his feet were that sensitive? "I suppose," he said. "Just be sure you don't do it again."
"Oh, definitely not," she agreed, and though her tone was serious, he could see the laughter in her eyes. "Note to self: no laughing at the Doctor's shoes."
"Or anything else," he added, though he knew quite well that she was teasing him.
"Or anything else," she repeated, nodding solemnly. Then she snorted and started giggling again, and her laughter was infectious; he couldn't help but join in. They held each other close, giggling, and it was such a release. It'd been so long since the Doctor had had sex that he'd forgotten how much fun it could be, how much a heartsfelt expression of friendship, caring, and--he no longer mentally flinched to think it--love.
Finally their laughter died down, and he said in her ear, "We're still wearing everything but shoes, and in my case, socks and my suit jacket."
She pulled away and smiled, kissing him on the nose. "Easily fixed," she noted. She kissed him again as her hands went to the knot of his tie, slowly undoing it and sliding it out from beneath his collar, then tossing it away. She started on his shirt buttons, breaking away from his mouth to press kisses against each newly-revealed inch of skin. As she finished with the buttons and spread open the shirt, untucking it at the same time, she pressed open-mouthed kisses against the skin above his hearts, and he quivered. It really had been a long time since he'd had sex, to have forgotten how sensitized his body became.
She laid her head against his chest and paused there for a moment, and he wrapped one arm around her back and raised the other to stroke his hand through her hair. "You're warmer than usual," she said, tilting her head up to look at him.
"Physiological reaction to arousal," he replied. "I'm not that different from a human male, Rose. The universe tends to take patterns that work and repeat them with only a few changes. Sex works mostly the same way."
"Mostly?"
He nodded. "Welllll, there's the mental aspect of it, but I think that's the only thing you'd be unfamiliar with."
She shifted position, moving more fully on top of him, and he hissed when her hips settled atop his. She grinned wickedly, squirming a bit, but then she crossed her arms on his chest and rested her chin on top of them, clearly listening. He cleared his throat, resisting the urge to thrust up against her. At least, not until he'd finished his explanation and she knew what she was getting into.
"You know I'm somewhat telepathic," he said, and she gave a short nod. "Sex was as much mental as it was physical with my people--along with the physical merging, there was a mental component. We're just...more open, mentally, than humans are, and it happened naturally. It's difficult to describe."
She tilted her head, gazing at him steadily. "But basically, we'd be in each other's heads, right?"
He nodded again, still stroking her hair. "Basically," he agreed. "Is that all right? I know you weren't exactly happy when you found out the TARDIS was in your head..."
But she smiled and leaned forward to give him a quick kiss on the lips. "The TARDIS didn't ask," she said. "And that was when I barely knew you, or her. I don't mind." She paused, then added, "Actually, I rather like the idea."
His hearts suddenly started pounding faster. "You do?" To have her in his head, and not just tolerating it but really liking it...well, he was still getting ahead of himself. She might change her mind when she actually experienced it.
"Yes," she said firmly, beaming at him. He beamed back, then grabbed her and rolled them over, delighting in the squeak she let out.
"You," he announced, "are still practically fully dressed. That won't do." He unzipped her hoodie, then shifted and sat back enough that she could lift up and shrug out of it. As soon as it had been thrown off the bed, he grabbed the hem of her shirt and drew it up, smiling when she leaned forward and lifted her arms. He pulled it off her, then threw it to join the growing pile of the rest of their clothes.
He looked down at her and groaned at the picture she made, reclining beneath him on his bed in her bra, her hair tousled, her lips parted and slightly swollen, and her eyes dark. His hearts clenched at her sheer beauty, and he had to lean down and kiss her again.
As his tongue explored her mouth, his hands explored her mostly-bare back, delighting in the silky feel of her skin against his roughened palms and the pads of his fingers. When he reached her bra, he tried to undo it smoothly, but the clasp slipped beneath his fingers, and he broke the kiss with a muttered curse as he brought his other hand around to hold the damn thing steady so he could undo it properly.
Rose giggled at him. He thought that was entirely unfair.
The bra fell on top of the pile of clothes, and he immediately brought his mouth to her chest, kissing and nibbling at her skin. She tasted of sweat and arousal, of youth and humanity, of Rose, and she was so wonderfully warm. He took a nipple between his lips and flicked his tongue against the tip, and she gasped, loudly. Lovely, he thought, then switched to the other one and did the same thing, smiling at the moan that followed. He'd always loved talking to Rose, but this was another kind of conversation that he was quite eager to continue.
He kissed and nuzzled his way down her stomach, loving her unreserved sounds of enjoyment--she let out a particularly lovely gasp-and-moan when he dipped his tongue into her navel--until finally he met the barrier of her jeans. He glanced up at her face, and seeing her look of encouragement, he undid the fastenings and tugged the jeans down with fingers that were only slightly trembling, pulling her socks off as well.
Her knickers were magenta, like her bra, top, and hoodie, and he smirked. "Feeling very magenta today?" he commented, but didn't give her a chance to answer before he was kissing and sucking the skin of her thighs. Oh, that was soft. And warm. So soft and warm, and ohhh, perfect.
She twisted closer, but he slung an arm across her hips and held her, giving her a nip on her thigh. "Patience," he said. "Good things come to those who wait." He glanced up at her face and waggled his eyebrows, then grinned when he saw her scowl at him.
Still, the two of them had been waiting for this for a long time, and he was growing rather impatient himself. Without further ceremony he tugged down her knickers and tossed them aside, then moved forward to explore this newly revealed area with lips and fingers and tongue.
He worked her gently, exulting in the heady taste of her core, and the pleading cries, the feel of her hands buried in his hair and keeping him pressed against her. Already he could feel her thoughts twining with his, pulling him deeper into her need, her desire, and underlying those, her happiness and her love. The combination of the physical and the mental was utterly intoxicating, and nearly overwhelming--if he didn't stop himself now, he'd likely come in his pants while pleasuring her, and that was not how he wanted this first time to end.
When he pulled away, licking first his lips and then his fingers, she was looking both dazed and frustrated, yet still incomprehensibly lovely. He felt desperate to be joined with her, truly and fully, and discarded his trousers and pants with a haste he couldn't recall ever having employed before. Then, finally, they were both naked.
He moved up the bed until he was between her thighs, lining himself up properly as he hovered above her. "Ready?" he asked, tucking a few errant strands of hair behind an ear, then cupping her cheek. She nuzzled into his hand briefly, then, without speaking, she nodded. Holding her gaze, he leaned down to kiss her, then slowly slid inside.
Being inside her was bliss; he had to break the kiss and lean his forehead against her shoulder, holding still, trying not to end this too quickly. He could feel himself melting into her mind as well, and he tried to hold that back too, to stop himself from being overwhelmed. She ran her hands up and down his back, occasionally running them into his hair, and the feeling of her fingers combing through the strands intensified the physical sensations even as he gained some sense of control. He started to move again, and stopped holding back mentally as well.
With every thrust, it felt like he was falling deeper into her, yet she was falling with him. He could see the colours of her mind, touch its textures, and she touched him back with a tentative caress that he shuddered to feel, it was so perfect. She caressed him again, more firmly, then pulled him closer to her, and he was happy to go. He wanted nothing so much as to melt into her until nothing could ever separate them.
And he could feel her. Her joy and her desire and her pleasure and her love--they wrapped around him, enhancing his own feelings, his own pleasure. He sent them back to her, everything, his own wonder and awe and joy and love, and he knew that even if he never managed to say those three words, she would always know how he felt. Always.
The last remaining barriers between them slipped, fell away entirely, and then he stood before her as naked in thought as he was in body. But this was more than he'd intended to show her, more than he was sure she could handle, and he scrabbled after that last boundary. Like this, she could see everything he was, all the shadows and darkness as well as the light. She wouldn't want this. He faltered in his rhythm as his focus became more mental than physical, rather than evenly balanced between the two.
But she wouldn't let him turn away. She leaned up to suck on his throat, hard, and through his own pleasure and slight pain, he could feel through her the double fluttering of his hearts beating in his pulse, and her fierce exultation in their closeness. She wanted him this close, he realized. As much as he wanted to be one with her, so she wanted to be with him, and the shadows in his soul did not deter her. She saw him as he was, and she embraced him, still.
She loved him, still.
He gave her everything, then, everything that he was, and she reciprocated. She gave him her love, her joy, her passion; her moans, her groans, her sighs; her hopes, her dreams, her fears. His thrusts slowed, but grew deeper, as he took her in, and one of her hands roamed up and down his back while the other remain buried in his hair. She moved her fingers among the strands and sparks of pleasure flew across his scalp; he loved her hands in his hair.
He was gasping now, the natural act of breathing becoming difficult in his exertion. Part of him wanted to close his eyes, but he kept them open, locked on Rose's own--he had to see her, to see the play of thoughts and emotions in her extraordinarily expressive eyes. Watching her in the midst of them, even as he felt them with her in their open connection, was a greater pleasure than he'd anticipated. He was captivated by the feeling of being inside her, body and mind, so surrounded by her and immersed in her that trying to figure out which bits of them were him and which were her took more effort than he was willing to expend.
Their mental selves entwined even closer than their physical bodies, he could feel it when she began to climax, energy gathering together inside her and pulsing outward, her muscles clenching around him at the same moment. The combined pressure and pleasure triggered his own release, and he dimly heard himself crying out Rose's name as he fell into timelessness, taking her with him.
Slowly, very slowly, he came to true consciousness again, to an awareness of himself separate from her. Part of him mourned the distance, but that was mitigated by the knowledge that this was not the end, that he didn't have to close himself off from her again. They might not be able to reach the pinnacle of mental intimacy without sex, but they could still get closer.
He grinned. They could also have more sex.
Now back completely in his body, he rolled off her, then gathered her towards him. She came readily, wrapping her arms around him as the sweat cooled on their bodies.
"It was supposed to happen like that?" she asked, her head on his shoulder, her fingers idly toying with his sparse chest hair.
"Mostly," he said. Then, feeling a bit abashed, he confessed, "I hadn't quite expected my barriers to drop so completely, though. Maybe it's because you're human and don't have real barriers of your own."
"Your barriers--that would be when I...felt you more completely, in my head?" Against his skin, he could feel her lips curve into a smile.
"Those would be the ones," he confirmed. "I, er--sorry about that. I hadn't wanted to overwhelm you like that."
"I wasn't overwhelmed," she said quickly. "Well, maybe a bit. But if that was stuff you didn't want me to see--"
Now she sounded anxious. That wouldn't do. He squeezed her tightly, and she relaxed a bit. "I don't mind if you don't mind," he assured her. "It's just been so long since anyone has seen me that deeply, and I'm not always, well, the best person in the universe, Rose." He smiled ruefully. "There's a lot in my mind I wouldn't ordinarily show you."
There was a moment of silence, and he could still feel, close as he was to her, the low hum of her thoughts somewhere beyond him. This residual connection would fade as time and physical distance took them away from the entwinement of sex, but until then, he would enjoy it.
Then she said, slowly, "There's a lot I didn't absorb, really. I was a bit distracted, you know." She grinned into his chest, and he had to grin as well. Distracted was understating it just a bit. "But Doctor, I've always wanted to know you better. Maybe parts of you are beyond me, but what I can understand, I want to."
He stared at her with some awe, and she must have felt it, because now her face against his chest felt like it was blushing. But this human girl, barely an adult--how could she accept him so easily? His own people had never been willing to, with rare exceptions. Now a twenty-year-old girl from South London was able to look at him and not flinch from what she saw--how had he gotten this lucky?
"So..." she said next, drawing little circles on his chest. "Even with the parts that were unexpected, was that somethin' you'd like to do again?" She looked up at him through her eyelashes--with a relatively light coat of mascara, for her--and he appreciated the light-hearted tease, after the previous conversation.
"Oh yes." He started grinning again, and didn't know if he'd ever want to stop, extremely pleased even given the unexpected occurrence. "It was...rather brilliant, if I do say so myself."
She giggled softly. "It was," she agreed, making him preen a bit. Then she yawned, and smiled at him sleepily. "Don't let this go to your head, but I think you've tired me out."
He continued to preen, not even stopping when she curled one hand into a fist and thumped him gently with it. "Go to sleep, then," he said, shifting and twisting until he could pull the covers over them with a minimum of actual movement. "I'll stay here."
"You will?" She blinked at him, and he could practically see sleep beckoning to her. "Good. I like it when you stay with me." She settled her head more comfortably on his shoulder and closed her eyes, relaxing her arms around him but not letting go.
"Do you?" he asked, and smiled when she nodded a bit. "I like it too," he confessed, but now she was breathing evenly against him, and he didn't know if she'd even heard. But that was all right, he decided. He could tell her again when she was more awake.
He shifted a bit to make himself more comfortable, being careful not to jostle her. He felt...remarkably content, and knew that wasn't just the aftereffects of some really great sex. He'd finally come to a decision, and he actually felt good about it.
He would lose Rose, someday. It was as inevitable now as it ever had been. But it would hurt more to lose her if he also had to regret words never said and things never done. At least that possible future was banished--loving Rose, for however long he had her, was not something he was capable of regretting. And until the inevitable happened, they would take everything as it came, working out the bad parts and enjoying the good.
Relaxed now, and lulled into somnolence by the sleeping woman curled in his arms, the Doctor sighed, shifted closer to her, and let himself fall asleep.