Voyages of Discovery (Chapter Fifteen)
Apr. 8th, 2007 08:17 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
kalleahHappy Easter, to those of you inclined to celebrate. I am working quite frenetically on later chapters and trying to keep ahead of myself!
I can't say thanks enough for all the lovely comments and feedback. For those of you who haven't commented, I'm just glad you're reading, and I hope this story is as satisfying and compelling for you as it has been for me to write.
Previous Chapters
I can't say thanks enough for all the lovely comments and feedback. For those of you who haven't commented, I'm just glad you're reading, and I hope this story is as satisfying and compelling for you as it has been for me to write.
Previous Chapters
"The beginning of love is to let those we love be perfectly themselves, and not to twist them to fit our own image. Otherwise we love only the reflection of ourselves we find in them.”
Thomas Merton
The Doctor fussed, but Rose insisted on a quick bath before she dressed and they headed out into the day. By the time she was ready, he was rocking back and forth from his tiptoes to his heels, hands thrust into his coat pockets, radiating impatience.
"Typical male," she said, laughing at him as she wound an arm through his and let him lead her out into the bright morning. "You whinge about how long it takes me to get ready."
"I am not a typical male," he stated flatly. "You just take entirely too long to take a bath and put on some clothes. And all that figuring out what to wear? Honestly, Rose, there are better ways to use your intellect."
"The only thing you ever change is your tie," she said, enjoying their familiar banter.
"And see how much time I save by cutting down to the essentials, hmm?" He nodded confidently, quite satisfied with his argument.
"You've got that whole wardrobe room and you wear the same thing all the time," she pointed out.
"Thought you liked the suit," he said. "As a matter of fact, I distinctly remember you saying something to that effect."
"I liked you in a tux, too. Just because I like one thing doesn't mean it's the only thing I'd like."
He considered this bit of information. "All right, then, if you want, when we're back at the TARDIS, I'll let you play dress-up with me for a bit. Just remember," he said, waggling a finger at her, "no skirts. I have to preserve some dignity."
Rose giggled. Her imagination was quite running away with her, and from the amused, indulgent look on the Doctor's face, he knew it was.
While they had been talking, Rose hadn't been paying any attention to where he was leading her, and when he stopped, she took a moment to take a good look around. They had gone into the gardens, following the winding curve of a trail within the low, crumbling brick walls and abundant plant life. The spot where they stopped was scenic enough, shaded with a few towering live oaks and focused on a graceful, verdant camellia. The blooms she remembered with such fondness from their first visit were long gone, but the tree was still recognizable in its summer form with its deep green, waxy leaves. She wondered if the Doctor had ever gotten around to testing the sample of camellia leaves he had gathered so long ago.
She shifted her attention to her companion, who was again rocking back and forth on his feet and looking at her nervously. "What?" she asked, puzzled at his reaction.
"You don't know where we are?" he asked, and scratched the back of his neck.
She looked around again. "In the garden?" She knew that wasn't the answer he was looking for.
"Yes, but more specifically than that. Here, sit down, maybe that will help you remember." He sat, his long legs straight out in front of him, looking up at her anxiously. She joined him, sitting cross-legged on the ground, and looked around, still not following his meaning.
"Sorry," she said, wanting more than anything to follow along with him and understand what he was clearly trying to convey to her.
He rustled in a pocket and produced a folded piece of paper, which he handed to her with great care. She took it and turned it over, studying it closely. One side was slightly ragged, having been torn from a spiral-bound notebook. She unfolded it and found herself staring at her own image, drawn in pencil with the Doctor's careful hand. As before, when she had seen the sketch, she wondered at the loveliness of the face that looked back at her. The face beamed, smiled, shone back at the artist.
"Do you know where we are now?" he asked, his words so soft that the soft breeze in the leaves around them could have carried them away if she had not been so attuned to his voice.
She raised her eyes to his and nodded, slowly. They had shared a perfect day in the gardens before while he sketched and made notes. After he had sketched her, she had made a dismissive comment about the image there being too pretty to be her. "It looks like you to me," he had replied, his eyes brimming with emotion. She had fallen headlong into that perfect moment and kissed him, their first proper kiss, right here.
And now, he had intentionally led her back to that very same spot. He never ceased to amaze her.
"That's good," he said, his eyes never leaving hers. "That's very, very good." He leaned over and caught her lips in a tender kiss, light and dancing and soft. "I have something I need to tell you. Something I haven't said and well – have trouble saying. It's not that I don't want to, it's just instinct or long habit or whatever you want to blame it on. You know I'm not good at getting to the point."
"I'd noticed," she said fondly.
He cupped her chin in his hand and turned her face to look up at him. He let out a brief sigh. "I wanted this all to be properly romantic. You deserve that. There's a lot I can't give you but I do know how to set up a scene." He smiled a little self-deferentially. "You're extraordinary and I can't believe you're here with me again. I never imagined – I never let myself hope. I kept looking because I couldn't not look, you understand, but I never thought it would come to anything. I'm sorry for not coming out with it on the beach like I should have. I just talked and talked until we didn't have any time left."
Rose rather thought he was doing quite a lot of talking at the moment, but refrained from comment.
"Rose Tyler. I love you," he said in a tenuous, fragile voice. The words hung in the air between them, and he gave her a slight smile, almost shy, her ever-confident Doctor. His eyes were huge and his laugh lines for the moment had smoothed out and disappeared under the weight of his present anxiety.
"I know." Rose wanted more than anything to hug him, so she did, resting her head against his shoulder and letting the moment pierce her soul and burn into her memory.
"I know you know," he murmured. "I know you love me, too."
"Well, I did tell you, so you'd be pretty thick not to," she observed wryly.
"Thank you for giving me the benefit of the doubt," he told her. "But I knew before, even if we didn't talk about it."
"You've told me before," she said.
He sat back and gave her an exasperated look. "No, no, no, no, no, I don't think so. I know I haven't. I'd remember something like that. I'm old, but the mind is still sharp."
"You've told me a hundred times," she said, touching his cheek. "You just didn't say the words."
He stared and then a triumphant grin spread across his whole face. "I was right. That sneaky little bastard." When Rose frowned in confusion, he said, "Jacob. I said you knew and he said I needed to say the words anyway."
Rose made a mental note to either hug the monk or kick him hard in the shins. She was undecided as to which would be most appropriate. "You did this because Jacob told you to?" she asked disapprovingly.
"Yes. No. Not exactly. I was going to, you see," he backtracked, looking wildly at her. "I mean, I started to, several times, and it just wasn't the right moment. So I kept waiting. And, honestly, it freaks me out a little. A lot. All right?"
Rose couldn't help laughing, and hugged him close again. In the end, they ended up snuggled on top of his coat. The Doctor lay on his back with one hand tucked under his head and an arm around Rose, who curled up against him with her head on his shoulder. Above them, a few wispy clouds drifted in the clear sky.
I am, she thought, perfectly happy.
Thomas Merton
The Doctor fussed, but Rose insisted on a quick bath before she dressed and they headed out into the day. By the time she was ready, he was rocking back and forth from his tiptoes to his heels, hands thrust into his coat pockets, radiating impatience.
"Typical male," she said, laughing at him as she wound an arm through his and let him lead her out into the bright morning. "You whinge about how long it takes me to get ready."
"I am not a typical male," he stated flatly. "You just take entirely too long to take a bath and put on some clothes. And all that figuring out what to wear? Honestly, Rose, there are better ways to use your intellect."
"The only thing you ever change is your tie," she said, enjoying their familiar banter.
"And see how much time I save by cutting down to the essentials, hmm?" He nodded confidently, quite satisfied with his argument.
"You've got that whole wardrobe room and you wear the same thing all the time," she pointed out.
"Thought you liked the suit," he said. "As a matter of fact, I distinctly remember you saying something to that effect."
"I liked you in a tux, too. Just because I like one thing doesn't mean it's the only thing I'd like."
He considered this bit of information. "All right, then, if you want, when we're back at the TARDIS, I'll let you play dress-up with me for a bit. Just remember," he said, waggling a finger at her, "no skirts. I have to preserve some dignity."
Rose giggled. Her imagination was quite running away with her, and from the amused, indulgent look on the Doctor's face, he knew it was.
While they had been talking, Rose hadn't been paying any attention to where he was leading her, and when he stopped, she took a moment to take a good look around. They had gone into the gardens, following the winding curve of a trail within the low, crumbling brick walls and abundant plant life. The spot where they stopped was scenic enough, shaded with a few towering live oaks and focused on a graceful, verdant camellia. The blooms she remembered with such fondness from their first visit were long gone, but the tree was still recognizable in its summer form with its deep green, waxy leaves. She wondered if the Doctor had ever gotten around to testing the sample of camellia leaves he had gathered so long ago.
She shifted her attention to her companion, who was again rocking back and forth on his feet and looking at her nervously. "What?" she asked, puzzled at his reaction.
"You don't know where we are?" he asked, and scratched the back of his neck.
She looked around again. "In the garden?" She knew that wasn't the answer he was looking for.
"Yes, but more specifically than that. Here, sit down, maybe that will help you remember." He sat, his long legs straight out in front of him, looking up at her anxiously. She joined him, sitting cross-legged on the ground, and looked around, still not following his meaning.
"Sorry," she said, wanting more than anything to follow along with him and understand what he was clearly trying to convey to her.
He rustled in a pocket and produced a folded piece of paper, which he handed to her with great care. She took it and turned it over, studying it closely. One side was slightly ragged, having been torn from a spiral-bound notebook. She unfolded it and found herself staring at her own image, drawn in pencil with the Doctor's careful hand. As before, when she had seen the sketch, she wondered at the loveliness of the face that looked back at her. The face beamed, smiled, shone back at the artist.
"Do you know where we are now?" he asked, his words so soft that the soft breeze in the leaves around them could have carried them away if she had not been so attuned to his voice.
She raised her eyes to his and nodded, slowly. They had shared a perfect day in the gardens before while he sketched and made notes. After he had sketched her, she had made a dismissive comment about the image there being too pretty to be her. "It looks like you to me," he had replied, his eyes brimming with emotion. She had fallen headlong into that perfect moment and kissed him, their first proper kiss, right here.
And now, he had intentionally led her back to that very same spot. He never ceased to amaze her.
"That's good," he said, his eyes never leaving hers. "That's very, very good." He leaned over and caught her lips in a tender kiss, light and dancing and soft. "I have something I need to tell you. Something I haven't said and well – have trouble saying. It's not that I don't want to, it's just instinct or long habit or whatever you want to blame it on. You know I'm not good at getting to the point."
"I'd noticed," she said fondly.
He cupped her chin in his hand and turned her face to look up at him. He let out a brief sigh. "I wanted this all to be properly romantic. You deserve that. There's a lot I can't give you but I do know how to set up a scene." He smiled a little self-deferentially. "You're extraordinary and I can't believe you're here with me again. I never imagined – I never let myself hope. I kept looking because I couldn't not look, you understand, but I never thought it would come to anything. I'm sorry for not coming out with it on the beach like I should have. I just talked and talked until we didn't have any time left."
Rose rather thought he was doing quite a lot of talking at the moment, but refrained from comment.
"Rose Tyler. I love you," he said in a tenuous, fragile voice. The words hung in the air between them, and he gave her a slight smile, almost shy, her ever-confident Doctor. His eyes were huge and his laugh lines for the moment had smoothed out and disappeared under the weight of his present anxiety.
"I know." Rose wanted more than anything to hug him, so she did, resting her head against his shoulder and letting the moment pierce her soul and burn into her memory.
"I know you know," he murmured. "I know you love me, too."
"Well, I did tell you, so you'd be pretty thick not to," she observed wryly.
"Thank you for giving me the benefit of the doubt," he told her. "But I knew before, even if we didn't talk about it."
"You've told me before," she said.
He sat back and gave her an exasperated look. "No, no, no, no, no, I don't think so. I know I haven't. I'd remember something like that. I'm old, but the mind is still sharp."
"You've told me a hundred times," she said, touching his cheek. "You just didn't say the words."
He stared and then a triumphant grin spread across his whole face. "I was right. That sneaky little bastard." When Rose frowned in confusion, he said, "Jacob. I said you knew and he said I needed to say the words anyway."
Rose made a mental note to either hug the monk or kick him hard in the shins. She was undecided as to which would be most appropriate. "You did this because Jacob told you to?" she asked disapprovingly.
"Yes. No. Not exactly. I was going to, you see," he backtracked, looking wildly at her. "I mean, I started to, several times, and it just wasn't the right moment. So I kept waiting. And, honestly, it freaks me out a little. A lot. All right?"
Rose couldn't help laughing, and hugged him close again. In the end, they ended up snuggled on top of his coat. The Doctor lay on his back with one hand tucked under his head and an arm around Rose, who curled up against him with her head on his shoulder. Above them, a few wispy clouds drifted in the clear sky.
I am, she thought, perfectly happy.
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no subject
Date: 2007-04-10 12:42 am (UTC)I, too, expect that something -- something! -- will happen to throw an obstacle in their way. But I think I'd almost be disappointed if it didn't. It would be lacking in dramatic tension, and leave so many questions unanswered. It's lovely to see them so happy, but if the conventions of fiction have taught us anything, it's that only hard-won happiness can last.
no subject
Date: 2007-04-10 01:03 am (UTC)What a beautiful sentiment, and exactly right.
There is the dramatic tension inherent, I'd argue, in Rose's mortality and the Doctor's rather acute knowledge that his time with her is too brief.