The Calm Before the Storm (Chapter Ten)
Feb. 14th, 2007 10:10 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
kalleahHappy Valentine's Day.
Previous chapters:
( Chapter One )
( Chapter Two )
( Chapter Three )
( Chapter Seven )
( Chapter Eight )
Previous chapters:
( Chapter One )
( Chapter Two )
( Chapter Three )
( Chapter Four )
( Chapter Eight )
( Chapter Nine )
Rose Tyler was in a considerable state of agitation.
She paced back and forth in the main room of her small cottage in her bare feet and tried to decide what she should do. Can I come to you? the Doctor had asked. Later, he had promised. Rose's imagination had been considerably developed by traveling through time and across the reaches of the universe, but her mind had come to a sudden, screeching halt and she now had no idea what to do.
Rose stopped, drawing a deep breath, trying to center herself and steady her mind and body. Surely, she thought, he didn't mean ... that, but what if he did? She remembered the pragmatic advice of an old friend of Jackie's. Plan for the worst, hope for the best. She decided the only reasonable course of action was to make sure she had on clean knickers and shaved her legs. At the worst, she would be clean and prepared in the event of a sudden trip to a hospital. At best, well, she could hope, but she didn't dare think it, even in the quiet of her own mind.
She stepped into the smaller room and and ran water as hot as she could stand it into the white porcelain tub. The running water echoed against all the smooth surfaces in a crash. She gathered up a change of clothes and closed the door firmly behind her. Later, like back soon, for a Time Lord was probably a negotiable length of time. She stripped and settled into the tub, turning the water off and easing her legs straight. It was an unexpected pleasure to have a tub in guest quarters at a monastery that was big enough to stretch out in properly and she let herself enjoy it for a few moments. It then occurred to her that later might be earlier than she might expect, and she worked in a flurry of soap and hands to wash up and shave and attend to all the basic needs of her bath. When she stood and let the tub drain, she was scrubbed pink, glowing, and smooth. She dried off in some haste with a towel. As she pulled on a clean pair of jeans, she had another moment of uncertainty. Should she just change for bed? What on earth should she wear to bed with the Doctor? She had spent the last two nights with him, but neither had been planned or prearranged, and she had simply appeared as she was to him.
Rose sighed, brushed her wet hair, and pulled on a cornflower blue shirt in a shade that set off her hair and eyes. He had seen her dressed up, dressed down, muddy, soaking wet, in her pajamas, and even in tears, with mascara running from her eyes. There was nothing to be done about her vanity, but she would put it aside as best she could. She applied some makeup. I look almost human, she smiled at her reflection.
She returned to the main room and looked around. Nothing, predictably, had changed while she had been in the bath. She sighed, a full bodied breath from the lower abdomen and through her nose, and reached for her book again. She turned up the lamp by the bedside and warmed her feet by the fire while she tried to lose herself in the narrative.
There was a quiet tap at the door and Rose looked up with a start. She was momentarily disoriented and unsure who would knock at her door, then felt a rush of blood to her face as she realized that it must be the Doctor.
She placed her hand on the knob and turned, pulling the door open. Outside, the night was full of the soft noises of the darkness, soft whispers of creatures in the underbrush and the calling of birds. A silhouetted shadow in the shape of a man stood a bit back from her door, not crowding her. Rose extended a hand and he took it, letting himself be drawn into the room with her. She closed the door behind them and looked back at him.
The Doctor's face was a mask, studying the flames in the fireplace, his eyes lowered. Rose's chest was tight and she felt her earlier nerves returning. He could surely sense her tension and uncertainty. When he looked up and met her gaze, she almost flinched. He wore an expression she did not recognize in him, some deep emotion that was so evident in the set of eyes and mouth that she felt she must name it, but could not. The barriers and guards between them were down, and Rose did not know what to make of what was behind them.
"Are you all right?" she said, hesitantly.
The Doctor nodded. "I'm fine." Again, his forefinger and thumb tugged at his earlobe.
"I think that means you're not telling me something," she said, touching his finger. He let go of his earlobe and gave a brief, muted chuckle.
"I suppose you're right. In poker, that would be a 'tell.' I don't have a good poker face." She rather thought he did, but didn't share that assessment. "I'm nervous, Rose."
"Nervous?" He mumbled something about a translator circuit he'd have to check in the TARDIS. "I understood you fine," she said. "I just don't ... understand." His eyes crinkled as he grinned at her. Before he could make a smart remark, she interrupted. "What are you nervous about?"
He made a wide, expansive gesture that took in the whole room around them, and shrugged. "Taking the plunge, so to speak." She waited. He sighed. "It almost makes me sympathetic toward all those poor human men who get caught up in deep conversation with their wives and girlfriends and just want to watch telly or eat chips or play with the dog."
"Do you miss the telly, then?"
"Of course not. But I have to admit it's tempting to reach for the remote and not have to talk about everything." He sighed again. "Rose, I'm old. I'm very, very old. I've seen so much and done -- well, you know. I'm quite good at not talking about any of it and you and Jacob, between the two of you, you've had me talking about things I've kept quite happily buried for years. Oh, don't give me that look. I'm exaggerating. Perhaps not happily, but avoidance and denial has worked quite well all this time, thank you very much. And here you are, shaking the tree and seeing what falls out. It's difficult to cope with. Oh, I'm trying, and maybe it is good for me -- but it's trying too." He ruffled a hand through his hair. "So yes, I am nervous. I'm not used to all this exposure."
Rose regarded him thoughtfully, feeling something flutter in her chest. "Is that all?" she queried in a low voice.
"No." He took a step closer to her and reached out his hand. She took it without hesitation and they looked at one another, hands clasped. He took a second step, reached out, and brushed a soft hand against her hair. Rose leaned into the light touch. "I'm afraid of taking a step," he said. "I'm afraid of changing what we have, Rose."
She nodded and felt a flicker of fear. "I'll tell you something," she offered. He waited. "I'm afraid as well. If you get tired of me --"
His eyes darkened. "Rose, stop it," he grated. "I've told you, you can stay with me for the rest of your life."
"Do you mean it? What if I cross a line? Make a mistake?"
He squeezed her hand tightly, almost painfully, in his. "You can't. You won't. Rose, I won't leave you behind. Don't you believe me?"
She started to say no, then saw the expression on his face. The emotion was plain to read this time: fear. He didn't want her to leave him, and he feared that most of all. She moved forward and pulled him into a tight hug. "I believe you," she said, and tears welled in her eyes to know the truth of it.
His arms came around her, holding her gently but firmly to him. "You can stay as long as you want."
"Forever," she whispered into his shoulder. "I meant it. Do you believe me?"
His body against hers was drawn tight and tense, but he relaxed fractionally for a moment. "I believe you," he said, into her hair. They stayed like that for several heartbeats, wrapped in each other's embrace.
When the Doctor stepped back, his eyes were shining and his lips curved in a smile. He bowed and extended a hand to her. "Dance with me?" he asked. Rose smiled back and took his hand, letting him draw her close again. Their joined hands came up together as they swayed. The Doctor settled his other hand around her waist, and Rose ran her hand along his upper arm. Their feet moved slowly, taking a few half steps around the room together to the music that wasn't there but beat in Rose's blood. When he leaned close and kissed her, she closed her eyes and let her lips move against his, sweet and soft.
He pulled away and studied her closely. "Is that okay?" he asked, a touch of uncertainty in his voice.
Rose said yes with her eyes and tried her best to kiss the uncertainty away. His mouth parted against hers and she deepened the kiss, letting her tongue flick lightly against his bottom lip. He shivered. "That okay?" she asked, low and husky.
The Doctor grinned, let go of her waist, and twirled her around the room. She made a soft squeal of surprise as she spun and then came back against him. He let both hands come to her waist and pulled her close for another, longer kiss. She felt his hands sliding up her torso, over jeans and then onto bare skin under her shirt. Her skin prickled into a thousand goose bumps as his fingers trailed up her ribs, drawing her shirt into folds as they moved. She lost track of what she was doing and stopped kissing him back, or breathing, and she felt his smile against her lips.
"I didn't think you -- danced," she teased.
"I dance," he responded. "I told you, and weren't we just dancing?" His grin became wider.
"Do monks dance?" she asked.
The grin faded and he let go of her, taking a step back. His mouth moved twice before he managed to compose himself. "What are you saying, Rose Tyler?"
"I asked if monks dance." She grinned impishly and rested her tongue between her teeth, teasing.
"I have no idea," he said airily. "Ask Jacob."
"I'm asking you." Another grin.
"I," he said, with all the injured dignity he could muster, "am not a monk." Rose raised an eyebrow at him. "Am not," he squeaked.
"Could've fooled me," she said, humor sparkling in her eyes.
"I don't think," he said, moving close to her, "this is in the job description." He nuzzled her neck and began to press warm, soft-lipped kisses along her throat and jawline, coming back up to her eager mouth. His tongue traced the inside of her lips and the edge of her teeth. She flicked her tongue against his and felt a shock of pleasure as he drew hers into his mouth and suckled lightly on the tip. He released her and kissed the corner of her mouth, her cheek, her closed eye, her temple, then her ear. He carefully, deliberately licked the outside ridge of her ear and whispered, "Forgot what your question was?"
She smiled in response and bit his exposed neck gently. His protest was perfunctory. "I think you answered."
"Good." His face cleared and became momentarily serious. He brushed the veil of hair back from the side of her face and neck and smoothed his palm against it. "Rose, if you want, we can keep things as they are now. We don't have to change."
"I want to change," she breathed. "I want to make love with you," she said.
The Doctor brightened immediately. "With, and to, and under, and over, above, between, any preposition you like. I can think of a few --"
The only way to silence him, she decided, was to kiss him senseless.
She paced back and forth in the main room of her small cottage in her bare feet and tried to decide what she should do. Can I come to you? the Doctor had asked. Later, he had promised. Rose's imagination had been considerably developed by traveling through time and across the reaches of the universe, but her mind had come to a sudden, screeching halt and she now had no idea what to do.
Rose stopped, drawing a deep breath, trying to center herself and steady her mind and body. Surely, she thought, he didn't mean ... that, but what if he did? She remembered the pragmatic advice of an old friend of Jackie's. Plan for the worst, hope for the best. She decided the only reasonable course of action was to make sure she had on clean knickers and shaved her legs. At the worst, she would be clean and prepared in the event of a sudden trip to a hospital. At best, well, she could hope, but she didn't dare think it, even in the quiet of her own mind.
She stepped into the smaller room and and ran water as hot as she could stand it into the white porcelain tub. The running water echoed against all the smooth surfaces in a crash. She gathered up a change of clothes and closed the door firmly behind her. Later, like back soon, for a Time Lord was probably a negotiable length of time. She stripped and settled into the tub, turning the water off and easing her legs straight. It was an unexpected pleasure to have a tub in guest quarters at a monastery that was big enough to stretch out in properly and she let herself enjoy it for a few moments. It then occurred to her that later might be earlier than she might expect, and she worked in a flurry of soap and hands to wash up and shave and attend to all the basic needs of her bath. When she stood and let the tub drain, she was scrubbed pink, glowing, and smooth. She dried off in some haste with a towel. As she pulled on a clean pair of jeans, she had another moment of uncertainty. Should she just change for bed? What on earth should she wear to bed with the Doctor? She had spent the last two nights with him, but neither had been planned or prearranged, and she had simply appeared as she was to him.
Rose sighed, brushed her wet hair, and pulled on a cornflower blue shirt in a shade that set off her hair and eyes. He had seen her dressed up, dressed down, muddy, soaking wet, in her pajamas, and even in tears, with mascara running from her eyes. There was nothing to be done about her vanity, but she would put it aside as best she could. She applied some makeup. I look almost human, she smiled at her reflection.
She returned to the main room and looked around. Nothing, predictably, had changed while she had been in the bath. She sighed, a full bodied breath from the lower abdomen and through her nose, and reached for her book again. She turned up the lamp by the bedside and warmed her feet by the fire while she tried to lose herself in the narrative.
There was a quiet tap at the door and Rose looked up with a start. She was momentarily disoriented and unsure who would knock at her door, then felt a rush of blood to her face as she realized that it must be the Doctor.
She placed her hand on the knob and turned, pulling the door open. Outside, the night was full of the soft noises of the darkness, soft whispers of creatures in the underbrush and the calling of birds. A silhouetted shadow in the shape of a man stood a bit back from her door, not crowding her. Rose extended a hand and he took it, letting himself be drawn into the room with her. She closed the door behind them and looked back at him.
The Doctor's face was a mask, studying the flames in the fireplace, his eyes lowered. Rose's chest was tight and she felt her earlier nerves returning. He could surely sense her tension and uncertainty. When he looked up and met her gaze, she almost flinched. He wore an expression she did not recognize in him, some deep emotion that was so evident in the set of eyes and mouth that she felt she must name it, but could not. The barriers and guards between them were down, and Rose did not know what to make of what was behind them.
"Are you all right?" she said, hesitantly.
The Doctor nodded. "I'm fine." Again, his forefinger and thumb tugged at his earlobe.
"I think that means you're not telling me something," she said, touching his finger. He let go of his earlobe and gave a brief, muted chuckle.
"I suppose you're right. In poker, that would be a 'tell.' I don't have a good poker face." She rather thought he did, but didn't share that assessment. "I'm nervous, Rose."
"Nervous?" He mumbled something about a translator circuit he'd have to check in the TARDIS. "I understood you fine," she said. "I just don't ... understand." His eyes crinkled as he grinned at her. Before he could make a smart remark, she interrupted. "What are you nervous about?"
He made a wide, expansive gesture that took in the whole room around them, and shrugged. "Taking the plunge, so to speak." She waited. He sighed. "It almost makes me sympathetic toward all those poor human men who get caught up in deep conversation with their wives and girlfriends and just want to watch telly or eat chips or play with the dog."
"Do you miss the telly, then?"
"Of course not. But I have to admit it's tempting to reach for the remote and not have to talk about everything." He sighed again. "Rose, I'm old. I'm very, very old. I've seen so much and done -- well, you know. I'm quite good at not talking about any of it and you and Jacob, between the two of you, you've had me talking about things I've kept quite happily buried for years. Oh, don't give me that look. I'm exaggerating. Perhaps not happily, but avoidance and denial has worked quite well all this time, thank you very much. And here you are, shaking the tree and seeing what falls out. It's difficult to cope with. Oh, I'm trying, and maybe it is good for me -- but it's trying too." He ruffled a hand through his hair. "So yes, I am nervous. I'm not used to all this exposure."
Rose regarded him thoughtfully, feeling something flutter in her chest. "Is that all?" she queried in a low voice.
"No." He took a step closer to her and reached out his hand. She took it without hesitation and they looked at one another, hands clasped. He took a second step, reached out, and brushed a soft hand against her hair. Rose leaned into the light touch. "I'm afraid of taking a step," he said. "I'm afraid of changing what we have, Rose."
She nodded and felt a flicker of fear. "I'll tell you something," she offered. He waited. "I'm afraid as well. If you get tired of me --"
His eyes darkened. "Rose, stop it," he grated. "I've told you, you can stay with me for the rest of your life."
"Do you mean it? What if I cross a line? Make a mistake?"
He squeezed her hand tightly, almost painfully, in his. "You can't. You won't. Rose, I won't leave you behind. Don't you believe me?"
She started to say no, then saw the expression on his face. The emotion was plain to read this time: fear. He didn't want her to leave him, and he feared that most of all. She moved forward and pulled him into a tight hug. "I believe you," she said, and tears welled in her eyes to know the truth of it.
His arms came around her, holding her gently but firmly to him. "You can stay as long as you want."
"Forever," she whispered into his shoulder. "I meant it. Do you believe me?"
His body against hers was drawn tight and tense, but he relaxed fractionally for a moment. "I believe you," he said, into her hair. They stayed like that for several heartbeats, wrapped in each other's embrace.
When the Doctor stepped back, his eyes were shining and his lips curved in a smile. He bowed and extended a hand to her. "Dance with me?" he asked. Rose smiled back and took his hand, letting him draw her close again. Their joined hands came up together as they swayed. The Doctor settled his other hand around her waist, and Rose ran her hand along his upper arm. Their feet moved slowly, taking a few half steps around the room together to the music that wasn't there but beat in Rose's blood. When he leaned close and kissed her, she closed her eyes and let her lips move against his, sweet and soft.
He pulled away and studied her closely. "Is that okay?" he asked, a touch of uncertainty in his voice.
Rose said yes with her eyes and tried her best to kiss the uncertainty away. His mouth parted against hers and she deepened the kiss, letting her tongue flick lightly against his bottom lip. He shivered. "That okay?" she asked, low and husky.
The Doctor grinned, let go of her waist, and twirled her around the room. She made a soft squeal of surprise as she spun and then came back against him. He let both hands come to her waist and pulled her close for another, longer kiss. She felt his hands sliding up her torso, over jeans and then onto bare skin under her shirt. Her skin prickled into a thousand goose bumps as his fingers trailed up her ribs, drawing her shirt into folds as they moved. She lost track of what she was doing and stopped kissing him back, or breathing, and she felt his smile against her lips.
"I didn't think you -- danced," she teased.
"I dance," he responded. "I told you, and weren't we just dancing?" His grin became wider.
"Do monks dance?" she asked.
The grin faded and he let go of her, taking a step back. His mouth moved twice before he managed to compose himself. "What are you saying, Rose Tyler?"
"I asked if monks dance." She grinned impishly and rested her tongue between her teeth, teasing.
"I have no idea," he said airily. "Ask Jacob."
"I'm asking you." Another grin.
"I," he said, with all the injured dignity he could muster, "am not a monk." Rose raised an eyebrow at him. "Am not," he squeaked.
"Could've fooled me," she said, humor sparkling in her eyes.
"I don't think," he said, moving close to her, "this is in the job description." He nuzzled her neck and began to press warm, soft-lipped kisses along her throat and jawline, coming back up to her eager mouth. His tongue traced the inside of her lips and the edge of her teeth. She flicked her tongue against his and felt a shock of pleasure as he drew hers into his mouth and suckled lightly on the tip. He released her and kissed the corner of her mouth, her cheek, her closed eye, her temple, then her ear. He carefully, deliberately licked the outside ridge of her ear and whispered, "Forgot what your question was?"
She smiled in response and bit his exposed neck gently. His protest was perfunctory. "I think you answered."
"Good." His face cleared and became momentarily serious. He brushed the veil of hair back from the side of her face and neck and smoothed his palm against it. "Rose, if you want, we can keep things as they are now. We don't have to change."
"I want to change," she breathed. "I want to make love with you," she said.
The Doctor brightened immediately. "With, and to, and under, and over, above, between, any preposition you like. I can think of a few --"
The only way to silence him, she decided, was to kiss him senseless.
