![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
kalleahThirteen may be an unlucky number, but this is just a happy chapter. I like happy chapters. Happy chapters are good.
The Morning After. Rose wakes up with the Doctor, and predictably, it's not what she expected.
Previous chapters:
( Chapter One )
( Chapter Two )
( Chapter Three )
( Chapter Seven )
( Chapter Eight )
The Morning After. Rose wakes up with the Doctor, and predictably, it's not what she expected.
Previous chapters:
( Chapter One )
( Chapter Two )
( Chapter Three )
( Chapter Four )
( Chapter Eight )
( Chapter Twelve )
"Rose," said the voice. She drifted in the mist, cool and serene, refreshed and recumbent.
"Rose," said the voice again. She felt lips against her temple. With some reluctance, she let her eyes open, blinked to clear the trailing mist of sleep from her mind, tried to focus. The voice murmured softly into her hair. "I've got something to show you. Wake up."
She came more fully into awareness then, realizing where she was and what -- or more properly, whom -- the cool presence behind her was. The Doctor, naked, curled into her as a lover. She lay on her side, facing into the room, her top knee bent and forward against the mattress to brace her. One of his legs curved just behind hers, settling thigh against thigh and hip against hip. A hand, presumably his, was just in her line of vision, protruding out from under the pillow under her head. His other arm lay across her side, elbow on hip and fingers tracing lightly across her knee. She felt a sudden rush of joy, knowing what had passed between them in the night and that he was still there, spooned against her and kissing her temple.
"Good morning, sleepyhead," he said. She could not see his face, tried to turn her head to pull him into her line of vision, but he hugged her tightly, drawing her close with all of his long limbs. Her breath came quick and she wanted nothing more than to find his mouth with her own, but then he released, stretching, and sat up. She did turn to face him then, and he had the spectacularly mussed bed head she had suspected he might. She suppressed a giggle and he gave her a wounded look. "You look lovely, too," he drawled, and ruffled her hair with one hand.
With a quick, lithe motion, he was up and across her, a pale pink-and-brown-and-dark shadow over her, and pulling on his clothes in the middle of the room. Rose gaped. Leaving? she thought, with a moment of panic. "It's not even light yet," she protested, unsure of herself.
He buttoned up his trousers and gave her a wry grin. "That's the point. Hop to it, there's a good girl." He dangled her jeans at her and waggled an eyebrow. "Come on, I said I had something to show you and it won't wait."
She stared.
"Rose," he said, with a hint of impatience in his voice. "I know you don't do mornings. I get it. Just trust me and come on!" He tossed the jeans at her, where they landed across her shoulders and chest. She gave him a dazed look, one of many from her time with him, and crawled out of bed. After last night, when he had studied her bare form with such intent focus, she couldn't muster much modesty in the light that was still much more night than morning. She struggled into her knickers and then jeans, pivoting gracelessly on one foot for a moment, and turned to find him tying his tie and watching her, eyes sparkling with such amusement and mischief that she wanted to shove him over into the bed. I don't do mornings, indeed.
She grabbed the rest of her clothes, retreated into the bathroom despite his protest, and firmly closed the door in his face. "Rose," he called from behind the barrier. "What on earth do you have to --"
"Clean my teeth," she growled, and did. She took a moment also to splash water on her face and run a comb through her hair before pulling her shirt over her head. She emerged with slightly more good grace than before, finding him fully dressed, hands in pockets, and rocking back from his heels to his toes with barely concealed impatience. She toed on her shoes. He glanced once out the window and hopped to the door in two bursts, throwing it open into the wavering dark of the early morning.
She followed. He reached out and grasped her hand, tugging her along behind him. "The monks aren't even up yet," she complained. "And I didn't get much sleep last night."
His look back at her was dark and full of promise, and she felt her insides clench at the memory of him, of the not-sleep they had shared last night.
He led her down a dizzying number of turns and twists in the dark. Rose held his hand and tried to keep up, but quickly lost all sense of direction and orientation and finally just followed along behind him blindly. At last, with the morning light shimmering gray and green, he made a short, triumphant crow and stopped abruptly. Rose ran into his backside, having not been paying too much attention when he had stopped. He laughed and squeezed her hand, then spun around and kissed her hard. She opened her mouth in surprise, possibly to say something, and felt his tongue slip between her lips, erasing the words. She found she didn't mind much. Her arms came up around his neck and she felt his hands on her waist. He tilted his head and found a different angle, tasting, soft licking, warm and soft and wet and Rose forgot that it was too early, that she hadn't slept more than a couple of hours, that he had dragged her out of a warm bed in the dark.
When he released her, she protested and tried to kiss him again, but he carefully pushed her back and grinned again. "Sorry," he said, "forgot what I was about. It's almost time."
"Time for what?" she asked, hopelessly confused.
His smile was serene, confident, and oh-so-slightly Doctorishly mocking. "Wait and see," he said slyly. His hand found hers again and she threaded her fingers between his.
Rose took a moment to study their surroundings. In the growing light, she could see outlines of trees around her, the familiar tall forms of pines bare at the ground and to a point just over her head, and then the increasing branches and needles and cones. They stood on a little rise, with a vista free of trees before them. In the distance, the landscape faded away, but she guessed they were overlooking the river, as most vantage points around here seemed to focus in that direction. A soft rustling in the underbrush moved and then became a gray, bold bird, cocking its head from one side to another and studying her carefully. It whistled low and sweet and to her surprise, the Doctor whistled back, a few quick notes. The bird puffed up to impress its rival and called a twitter-twitter-tweet, to which the Doctor responded with a swift series of whistles. The bird fluttered its wings once and flapped away, disappearing into the uneven light of dawn.
"What was that?" she asked, curiously.
"Had to tell him you were already taken." His hand tightened in hers and she glanced at him. His eyes were dancing and the laugh lines at the corner of his eyes were furrowed in amusement.
"I dunno," she said, thoughtfully. "He did have an awfully nice voice."
"So do I," responded the Doctor, whistling again. She broke apart into helpless laughter and sagged against his side, their hands firmly joined. She let her head fall onto his shoulder and he turned to kiss her forehead. Nothing has changed, though Rose, except for everything. He's still my daft Doctor.
"What are we looking for?" she asked after a time, her head still against his shoulder.
"That," he said, pointing. She followed his finger and saw the dawn light filtering into the sky, casting a gentle glow across yes, the river, and the grasses beyond. A line of clouds ran parallel to the horizon, low and thick. Above them, vast fingers of mist and fog billowed into the sky, looking like cotton and candy floss and everything delicate and lacy. The light intensified and Rose saw the first of what the Doctor had brought her for, a line of shimmering gold at the lower edge of the clouds. As they stood and watched, the sky above changed from gray to green to blue and pink, with roiling copper light building from the rising sun. The sun (mine? Rose wondered) emerged from the horizon shyly, letting the vast sunrise storm of color and light above it play out. Colors as intense as her imagination flooded the world, copper and hot pink and shining white and gold, and Rose's breath caught at the sudden beauty of it. A few moments ago, the world had been shadowed, gray and dark, and she had not imagined this everyday miracle existing.
They held hands and watched the sunrise evolve from pastel to fluorescent to pale to the almost-normal spectrum of color, just with a kinder, pinker glow than she was used to. Rose couldn't speak, just stroked his hand with her thumb and left her heart open for him. His eyes shone when he turned them to her, and she saw the reflections of what they had both shared in their depths. I love you, she could not say. He leaned forward and let his forehead rest against hers, eyes still open and boring into hers. He knows.
She reached into her jeans pocket and fished out her phone, jarring them apart for a moment. "Hold still," she ordered, and he complied, watching her as she pressed a few buttons and aimed the phone at him. She snapped the photo and studied it in the display screen, pleased with the results. She showed him, and he nodded in approval at his own tiny image. "You're so vain," she chided him.
"'You probably think this song is about you,'" he chirped gleefully.
"What song?"
He gave her a disappointed look. "Carly Simon. 'You're So Vain.'" Rose shook her head. "Before your time, I suppose." He sighed and put an arm around her. "Ready to head back?"
Rose nodded and they began to pace off, she hoped in the direction they had come from, as she had no idea which way that was. The walk back didn't take as long as the walk there had, one of those wonderful tricks of time perspective. In front of the little cottage, the Doctor stopped and regarded her carefully. "Need anything from inside?" he asked.
"I don't think so. Where are we going? What are we doing?"
"Breakfast," said the Doctor, and on cue, the bells tolled in the distance. "I'm famished and you ought to eat soon. You need," he said with a wink, "to keep your strength up."
Rose felt a moment's disappointment that he didn't intend to sweep her into his arms and over the threshold of the cottage, back to bed. "Sure you don't need -- anything?"
One eyebrow shot up at her innuendo and then he smiled, a long, alluring, wicked smile that made her toes curl and her breath catch in her throat. "Later," he said, a promise in his voice.
"Rose," said the voice again. She felt lips against her temple. With some reluctance, she let her eyes open, blinked to clear the trailing mist of sleep from her mind, tried to focus. The voice murmured softly into her hair. "I've got something to show you. Wake up."
She came more fully into awareness then, realizing where she was and what -- or more properly, whom -- the cool presence behind her was. The Doctor, naked, curled into her as a lover. She lay on her side, facing into the room, her top knee bent and forward against the mattress to brace her. One of his legs curved just behind hers, settling thigh against thigh and hip against hip. A hand, presumably his, was just in her line of vision, protruding out from under the pillow under her head. His other arm lay across her side, elbow on hip and fingers tracing lightly across her knee. She felt a sudden rush of joy, knowing what had passed between them in the night and that he was still there, spooned against her and kissing her temple.
"Good morning, sleepyhead," he said. She could not see his face, tried to turn her head to pull him into her line of vision, but he hugged her tightly, drawing her close with all of his long limbs. Her breath came quick and she wanted nothing more than to find his mouth with her own, but then he released, stretching, and sat up. She did turn to face him then, and he had the spectacularly mussed bed head she had suspected he might. She suppressed a giggle and he gave her a wounded look. "You look lovely, too," he drawled, and ruffled her hair with one hand.
With a quick, lithe motion, he was up and across her, a pale pink-and-brown-and-dark shadow over her, and pulling on his clothes in the middle of the room. Rose gaped. Leaving? she thought, with a moment of panic. "It's not even light yet," she protested, unsure of herself.
He buttoned up his trousers and gave her a wry grin. "That's the point. Hop to it, there's a good girl." He dangled her jeans at her and waggled an eyebrow. "Come on, I said I had something to show you and it won't wait."
She stared.
"Rose," he said, with a hint of impatience in his voice. "I know you don't do mornings. I get it. Just trust me and come on!" He tossed the jeans at her, where they landed across her shoulders and chest. She gave him a dazed look, one of many from her time with him, and crawled out of bed. After last night, when he had studied her bare form with such intent focus, she couldn't muster much modesty in the light that was still much more night than morning. She struggled into her knickers and then jeans, pivoting gracelessly on one foot for a moment, and turned to find him tying his tie and watching her, eyes sparkling with such amusement and mischief that she wanted to shove him over into the bed. I don't do mornings, indeed.
She grabbed the rest of her clothes, retreated into the bathroom despite his protest, and firmly closed the door in his face. "Rose," he called from behind the barrier. "What on earth do you have to --"
"Clean my teeth," she growled, and did. She took a moment also to splash water on her face and run a comb through her hair before pulling her shirt over her head. She emerged with slightly more good grace than before, finding him fully dressed, hands in pockets, and rocking back from his heels to his toes with barely concealed impatience. She toed on her shoes. He glanced once out the window and hopped to the door in two bursts, throwing it open into the wavering dark of the early morning.
She followed. He reached out and grasped her hand, tugging her along behind him. "The monks aren't even up yet," she complained. "And I didn't get much sleep last night."
His look back at her was dark and full of promise, and she felt her insides clench at the memory of him, of the not-sleep they had shared last night.
He led her down a dizzying number of turns and twists in the dark. Rose held his hand and tried to keep up, but quickly lost all sense of direction and orientation and finally just followed along behind him blindly. At last, with the morning light shimmering gray and green, he made a short, triumphant crow and stopped abruptly. Rose ran into his backside, having not been paying too much attention when he had stopped. He laughed and squeezed her hand, then spun around and kissed her hard. She opened her mouth in surprise, possibly to say something, and felt his tongue slip between her lips, erasing the words. She found she didn't mind much. Her arms came up around his neck and she felt his hands on her waist. He tilted his head and found a different angle, tasting, soft licking, warm and soft and wet and Rose forgot that it was too early, that she hadn't slept more than a couple of hours, that he had dragged her out of a warm bed in the dark.
When he released her, she protested and tried to kiss him again, but he carefully pushed her back and grinned again. "Sorry," he said, "forgot what I was about. It's almost time."
"Time for what?" she asked, hopelessly confused.
His smile was serene, confident, and oh-so-slightly Doctorishly mocking. "Wait and see," he said slyly. His hand found hers again and she threaded her fingers between his.
Rose took a moment to study their surroundings. In the growing light, she could see outlines of trees around her, the familiar tall forms of pines bare at the ground and to a point just over her head, and then the increasing branches and needles and cones. They stood on a little rise, with a vista free of trees before them. In the distance, the landscape faded away, but she guessed they were overlooking the river, as most vantage points around here seemed to focus in that direction. A soft rustling in the underbrush moved and then became a gray, bold bird, cocking its head from one side to another and studying her carefully. It whistled low and sweet and to her surprise, the Doctor whistled back, a few quick notes. The bird puffed up to impress its rival and called a twitter-twitter-tweet, to which the Doctor responded with a swift series of whistles. The bird fluttered its wings once and flapped away, disappearing into the uneven light of dawn.
"What was that?" she asked, curiously.
"Had to tell him you were already taken." His hand tightened in hers and she glanced at him. His eyes were dancing and the laugh lines at the corner of his eyes were furrowed in amusement.
"I dunno," she said, thoughtfully. "He did have an awfully nice voice."
"So do I," responded the Doctor, whistling again. She broke apart into helpless laughter and sagged against his side, their hands firmly joined. She let her head fall onto his shoulder and he turned to kiss her forehead. Nothing has changed, though Rose, except for everything. He's still my daft Doctor.
"What are we looking for?" she asked after a time, her head still against his shoulder.
"That," he said, pointing. She followed his finger and saw the dawn light filtering into the sky, casting a gentle glow across yes, the river, and the grasses beyond. A line of clouds ran parallel to the horizon, low and thick. Above them, vast fingers of mist and fog billowed into the sky, looking like cotton and candy floss and everything delicate and lacy. The light intensified and Rose saw the first of what the Doctor had brought her for, a line of shimmering gold at the lower edge of the clouds. As they stood and watched, the sky above changed from gray to green to blue and pink, with roiling copper light building from the rising sun. The sun (mine? Rose wondered) emerged from the horizon shyly, letting the vast sunrise storm of color and light above it play out. Colors as intense as her imagination flooded the world, copper and hot pink and shining white and gold, and Rose's breath caught at the sudden beauty of it. A few moments ago, the world had been shadowed, gray and dark, and she had not imagined this everyday miracle existing.
They held hands and watched the sunrise evolve from pastel to fluorescent to pale to the almost-normal spectrum of color, just with a kinder, pinker glow than she was used to. Rose couldn't speak, just stroked his hand with her thumb and left her heart open for him. His eyes shone when he turned them to her, and she saw the reflections of what they had both shared in their depths. I love you, she could not say. He leaned forward and let his forehead rest against hers, eyes still open and boring into hers. He knows.
She reached into her jeans pocket and fished out her phone, jarring them apart for a moment. "Hold still," she ordered, and he complied, watching her as she pressed a few buttons and aimed the phone at him. She snapped the photo and studied it in the display screen, pleased with the results. She showed him, and he nodded in approval at his own tiny image. "You're so vain," she chided him.
"'You probably think this song is about you,'" he chirped gleefully.
"What song?"
He gave her a disappointed look. "Carly Simon. 'You're So Vain.'" Rose shook her head. "Before your time, I suppose." He sighed and put an arm around her. "Ready to head back?"
Rose nodded and they began to pace off, she hoped in the direction they had come from, as she had no idea which way that was. The walk back didn't take as long as the walk there had, one of those wonderful tricks of time perspective. In front of the little cottage, the Doctor stopped and regarded her carefully. "Need anything from inside?" he asked.
"I don't think so. Where are we going? What are we doing?"
"Breakfast," said the Doctor, and on cue, the bells tolled in the distance. "I'm famished and you ought to eat soon. You need," he said with a wink, "to keep your strength up."
Rose felt a moment's disappointment that he didn't intend to sweep her into his arms and over the threshold of the cottage, back to bed. "Sure you don't need -- anything?"
One eyebrow shot up at her innuendo and then he smiled, a long, alluring, wicked smile that made her toes curl and her breath catch in her throat. "Later," he said, a promise in his voice.
