#Bur bristle grass

[natureisus]

Bur bristle grass

[blackswallowtailbutterfly]

New species I’m getting this year!

Antennaria rosea (Rosy pussytoes)

Arisaema dracontium (Green dragon)

Asplenium scolopendrium (Hart’s tongue)

Calycanthus floridus (Sweetshrub)

Carex aurea (Golden sedge)

Claytonia virginica (Fairy spuds)

Echinacea pallida (Pale purple coneflower)

Equisetum hyemale (Scouring rush)

Iris setosa (Bristle-pointed iris)

Linnaea borealis (Twinflower)

Lonicera canadensis (Canadian fly honeysuckle)

Lonicera involucrata (Twinberry honeysuckle)

Osmunda claytoniana (Interrupted fern)

Passiflora incarnata (Maypop)

Pediomeleum esculentum/Psoralea esculenta (Breadroot)

Polystichum munitum (Western sword fern)

Triglochin maritma (Seaside arrowgrass)

Vaccinium macrocarpon (Large cranberry)

Viburnum acerifolium (Maple-leaved viburnum)

Viola pedata var. bicolor (Crowfoot violet)

Species I’m trying again this year after failed past attempt(s)!

Antennaria neglecta (Field pussytoes) Was planted in late summer and I was kept from watering it adequately.

Argentina anserina (Silverweed) No idea why they didn’t survive where I put them, but try, try again, elsewhere this time.

Artemisia frigida (Fringed sagebrush) First time ended up being white sage brush instead; second time plug was on its last legs on arrival, died soon after.

Chamaenerion angustifolium (Fireweed) Going to try this in yet another spot.

Dennstaedtia punctiloba (Hay-scented fern) Supposed to be aggressive! Mine was not. Maybe the one I get this year.

Dioscorea villosa (Wild yam) Planted the tuber but it never came up.

Glycyrrhiza lepidota (Wild licorice) Squirrels...Dug it up and broke the stem.

Lupinus polyphyllus (Big-leaf lupine) Leafed out nicely for its first and second year and then just didn’t come up again after its second winter.

Maianthemum racemosum (False Solomon’s seal) Squirrels! Dug it up and broke the stem.

Pteridium aquilinum latiusculum (Western bracken fern) I put it in a dry shady spot, as recommended, and it died.

Rudbeckia hirta (Black-eyed Susan) SQUIRRELS!!! Dug it up and while I was visiting home and it dried out. Couldn’t revive it.

Silene acaulis (Moss campion) Sunny, wet, amongst rocks. Check, check, check, but they keep dying on me.

Sisyrinchium montanum (Blue-eyed grass) Two places tried, two place died. I shall try a third place this year.

Viola pubescens (Downy yellow violet) FUCKING. SQUIRRELS. Dug it up while I was at work and left it to scorch and dry out in the sun. Couldn’t revive it.

Species I’m getting again because I’m fairly sure mine didn’t make it

Apocynum cannabinum (Hemp dogbane) It might not have gotten enough sunlight thanks to the white mulberry that grew over. I’ll try it in a different area.

Sagittaria latifolia (Duck potato) It may come up after all but I don’t want to take the chance of planting too late if it doesn’t.

Sparganium americanum (American bur-reed) Not sure why, but we’ll try again this year. And I may yet be surprised.

Symplocarpus foetidus (Skunk cabbage) It’s possible it’s just young and takes longer to come up than it would if it were more mature, but I don’t want to take chances since there’s only one place I can get them at.

[foxclcves]

𝒍𝒂𝒄𝒉𝒓𝒚𝒎𝒐𝒔𝒆 (𝒇𝒓𝒂𝒈𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒕 07)

What was that story, a favorite among mortals, about the little girl in red?

Metallic breezes fell on the tongues of all gathered around the clearing, the pinpoint of a slaughter. Stunningly quick, the horrific downfall of a mighty creature. Its wrath was consumed by another’s, and now it must offer flesh and bone for its pitiful demise. She broke every rib like a wishbone, every crack and splinter making her long for the end of another; most beloved, most despised. Blazing eyes watched her, spilled blood crazing the creatures into restless sprints and pleading rumbles.

But this beast was greater than their fallen companion. They all whimpered, gnashing incisors. They were enraged and terribly, terribly hungry. This beast grinned too wide against mossy green fur; long, extravagant skirts of a regal gown rustling with every movement, shoulder blades too pointy and spine rolling and hunching over her prey. They kept their distance, unwilling to fall as their pack mate did.

Oh, yes… she was consumed by a wolf, which disguised itself as a loved one and was not fazed by suspicion or uncertainty, let alone innocence. She wondered if the beast tore the little girl to shreds, or swallowed her whole. Surely, the former was the more preferable; she was biased, that’s for sure.

But then, the hero came.

“Devoured it entirely, have you?”

With her forearm she smeared blood across her face, a mockingly dainty movement and a flicker in her coal eyes. A cloaked figure stood at the mouth of the brier, hooded as she once was, of course. One would do well not to reveal their face in a forest such as this, but she had lost that privilege. A hearty chuckle bubbled up her throat, her mouth curling in a serene way.

“Not at all,” she said, most conversationally. “I’m still working at it, savoring what that I can. Piece, by piece.”

“What a horrible thing you have done,” the figure said. Their tone was raspy and weak, but held an omnipresence she despised. The other beasts cowered now, and she felt nothing but dark resentment towards them for it. “These creatures are to remain untouched by such things as you.”

“And what of the humans?” she drawled out in a slow purr. Her head tilted back, a bead of blood rolling down her pallid throat. “They sometimes kill one… even two… as signs of bravery and strength, and their resilience, no doubt. And do you punish them? Will you fault me so hypocritically?”

“And how often does that come about? Humans seldom come into these woods anymore, we made certain of that. And we have also made certain to let whatever wanders here, wander.”

Her quietude dissipated as the figure stepped forward, each footfall causing the beasts to slink further away. But it was not just fear they felt toward the new arrival, but reverence. She curled her upper lip in repulsion, but then her mood changed again. Her head rested against the thick neck of the fallen beast, and she stroked her hand through its fur; the softness of grass and moss, the scratchy texture of thorns and burs. “I was so hungry… it’s only one dead creature. One who also challenged me, the greater animal of the two. The stupid thing should have known better.” Her gaze slanted to the trees, its retreating shadows. “The others did.”

She made no effort to stand when the figure paused feet away, expectantly. Humming a tune, she continued to pet the carcass, stained hand stroking methodically through moss again, then pine needles. Such an amusing shift, when it had bristled. So confident, so hungry. And yet, she remained ravenous. Her eyes fell upon the figure, considering them.

“So, is that all you’re here to say?” She purred again, spreading her fingers against grass. Her smirk was wide. “All because I don’t have a hunting permit… as it were?”

A hand closed around her wrist and jerked her hand out of the beast’s pelt of terrain, jerked back her arm, and lifted her clear off the ground. Her face drained of color in her fury, the blood splattered across her face appearing darker.

“You are weak,” intoned the figure, its voice coming to her from all directions. Their grip on her arm could have broken bone. “I’ve been looking for you for some time. You’re the one meaning to take the reaper’s power. Like you meant to all those years ago. Stupid woman, have you learned nothing?”

Despite her anger, she laughed. Deeply, ravishingly. “First, you felt it was necessary to intrude upon my meal, and now you feel so entitled as to make bold, stupid accusations.” Her expression darkened frightfully. “And you dare touch me... your presumptions will be the death of you.”

“An ironic choice of phrasing,” the figure said, letting her arm slip from their grip, “for Death found you once and he will again if you continue to pursue him.”

“I will not be found, and neither will you.” Though her chin was high in the air, her languid demeanor had slipped away into an elongation of limbs and jaws. The warm honey of her voice plummeted into a lilting growl. “You think I am weak, and mean to devour me as I devoured this monster? You miserable creature. You forget how I have thrived for so long…”

A hunter, or perhaps it was a woodsman, she did not recall. How he valiantly broke into the home of the one whom the girl in red held dear, and coming upon a most voracious sight. Surely the wolf starved for more, euphoric and crazed for the consumption of another soul. But the wolf did not conquer the third of its intended victims, as it was slain, and then gutted. A most pitiful, unfair death. Beautiful cunning lost from their world, and what a wonderful shame. And into the bottom of the river it went, its mark on the world and the lives the wolf tragically altered soon to be forgotten, weighed down by rock and water.

Or maybe, perhaps maybe… all that dies is not truly lost. All those who die and find Death most unsuitable, they simply resist.

Deeming this new corpse most unsuitable to her, she gazed boldly into the underbrush where the starving and damned lied, and turned away. Behind her, the most satisfying of sounds—snarls, desperate and remorseful. Teeth, ripping away cloth and skin, bones cracking, limbs tearing from body. With a deep lull of her head she grinned.

Weak, am I? Stupid, am I? Oh, no… oh, no… not at all.

Hands freshly soiled with blood gathered her skirts as she walked, and she paused before the fallen beast, wondering how long it would take for the others to succumb to devouring one of their own. No, not long at all. It is done. It can’t be helped, after all. So she collected her prize, all that the beast held inside, and she dared not keep it to herself even as she held it to her bosom like the bundle of an infant. It would make for a special delivery, a special favor, one she knew wouldn’t be ignored, one she knew would further her advances.

Would she be found?

Well.

Perhaps soon, if all continued on so well… she could be.

And perhaps, a wolf would do well to fill its belly with stones.

Perhaps, a wolf would do well to eat.

Let the blood seep into the earth, and let it bloom nothing, nothing at all. Let it be mine, mine, mine…

[irrfahrer]

Reverse + Exercising with intensity

Ziv was woken up by a noise.

Automatically, half-asleep, she flinched and the paw that had when she had fallen asleep held Poes Hand, grasped into nothing but cool, black nightair.  From one moment to another the young woman sat up straight, her eyes wide open and her pale ears jolted upwards like the ears of a startled animal. A few hours before she had pulled her sleepingmat beside Poes and she had curled up beside him, her small paw around his hand the same way as when they had still been Younglings in the Temple as if to make sure the other would not drift away in the deep black ocean that was sleep. Poe seemed to have drifted away, she realize for when Ziv ran a paw over his sleepingmap and under the blanket, it was cold beneath as if the nightfrost had crawled past the doors and into the bed. He had drifted away for already a longer time, long enough for his bed to cool out.  The noise returned again and Ziv promptly hopped on her hindpaws, muscles tensed as if she was expecting a attack and ready to react to it, block, strike back, move. The attack never came and the noise from outside turned to a rhythmic tact, like a song to dance after. Zivs eyesight was even worse in darkness, so all she was seeing from the small chamber build at the edge of the starport were grey shades, like burred streaks with a brush on a black canvas. It was still enough for her to know where the door was, so she picked up and pulled on her chitondress on the way out, closing the small brooches over her shoulders while her ears turned leerily after every sound leerily.  The planet had two moons circeling it, so the night was not as dark as it might was expected to be- the starport slept under a thick layer of dull, colourless light that dyed the buildings, grass and trees around it deep grey as if drowned in molten silver. The air was cool like a gulp of icy springwater and when Ziv took a deep sniff, she could clearly smell the track Poe had left on his way out.  The knot of worry in her stomach that her guts had turned into when she had woken up alone became tighter, heavier, like a stone in her stomach that made her sick when she smelled something in that scent that she could not yet name, but that made the pelt at the back of her neck bristle in reluctance. Huffing, the young woman followed the track to where the others scent became stronger and stronger, as the silver mantle of moonlight swallowed her like a grey rotten mouth. The starport was a small isle in a ocean of wild forest hat only waited to wash over the small settlement at the edge of the galaxy, so only a few steps away from the hut the forest had already circled Ziv.  Still it needed long moments until Ziv eventually found the small glade where Poes scent was the strongest and the noises that had woken her up eventually turned out to be caused by him going through a Kata with a heavy branch instead of a sword and the old trees standing in a circle around the glade as his opponents. The moonlight hung over the glade like a silver veil that was dyed black where the canopy of treecrowns was blocking the moonlight.  The younger man did not noticed her.  His scent hung so heavy for Zivs keen nose on the glade she might would have been able to grasp it if she would reach out with a paw and again there was this feeling, this hunch, this smell the Tynnan could not name but recognising it made a leery frown appear on her face. 

Are you okay, Poe?,she wanted to ask. “...you in need of a sparring-partner, Poe?”,she asked instead. The other question still lay on her tounge like a heavy stone and the Tynnan huffed in frustration for not spiting it-the question!- out,yet she swallowed it for later. The Tynnan grabbed a near branch, eyeing it automatically with squinted eyes, before turning it around her paw a few times to get a idea of its weight as she walked over to the young man through the grey, trampled down grass. “A little sweating before bed helps in having a good sleep, you now.”, the Tynnan harrumphed, her ears turning after the tact of Poes breathing in worried search for the something that had had kept him awake. Was he sick? The question alone made the clot of worry in her guts turn as heavy as metal. No, she could not smell any sour scent of infection in his sweat, so it must be something else.  Although it did not eased the knot of worry on her guts, knowing that the other was not sick made Ziv breath out a little easier as if she was breathign freely for the first time since she had waken up this night and the young woman smoothly took the stance she had learned so many years ago with the branch as her sword:

 “And I will look out to not bruise you up too much, I promise.”

[ @poewingsdameron ]

[valewright67]

Meliodas comes trudging into Liones, absolutely filthy and exhausted, a baby cradled in either arm. One looks to be a few months old, while the other is quite clearly a newborn, bits of afterbirth still stuck to her skin.

When Bartra adopts Elizabeth, he implies he'd like to take Tristan as well. After all, he's never had a SON before, and he loved his own brother! But Meliodas shrinks away, holding him closer to him.

"No... Elizabeth, I... I didnt really know her mother, she was a woman in Danafor. She held on until her child was safe, and then died. Tristan is mine. He's my son. His mother, she died in my arms. You can't have him."

Bartra was stunned silent for a moment. "I-Im very sorry, I hadn't meant- I assumed you were too young, but-"

"I'm older than I look."

"I see. I apologize, I'd not meant to try and take your child from you."

"It's fine." He mumbled, readjusting Tristans swaddle as the baby slept.

Eventually, the sins were formed, and by now, Tristan was about a year and a half. He was walking, though clumsily, and regularly escaped the nurse maids to find his father. Bartra may not have been permitted to adopt him, but him and Elizabeth were still raised side by side, and palace staff would look after him.

The sins, minus Merlin, had yet to meet the tyke. Today, however, they were outside the kingdom as Meliodas assessed their skills. They'd been working for a few hours when he sensed a familiar presence creeping up behind him, and felt a swell of amusement.

Merlin was the first to spot the toddler, a tiny huff leaving her at her baby brother's antics. He was TRYING to stalk through the grass, but he wasn't very good at it.

Gowther was the second to notice, tilting his head. The Captain however, seemed fully aware of the child, so he dropped.

King and Ban noticed practically in time, and stopped moving as they stared, baffled. That gor Escanors attention, whose gaze all drifted over, and then Diane, wondering why everyone had stopped.

The toddler crept forward, unaware he had the entire team's attention, and then got ready to pounce, wiggling his little butt, and then lunging at his father with a tiny snarl.

Meliosas made a whole show of it, falling as he was "tackled" and exclaiming. "Ah, I've been attacked! Oh, I'm down, it hurts!" Tristan giggled and erupted in laughter when his father twisted and caught him, fingers dancing along his sides. He flailed, pushing at his face when he blew a rasberry against his cheek, before Meliodas finally relented and he went limp, panting and still twitching a little.

"What are you doing so far from the nursery, kid?" He babbled nonsensically in return, arms waving clumsily. Meliodas nodded along, like he understood perfectly. "That's quite am adventure Tristan. You tired?"

"No!"

"No? Ok... hungry?"

"N.... Yea!"

"Oh, you are, huh? Is it because you slipped away when the nurses were busy making lunch."

"Yea!"

Meliodas snorted. "I did the same thing at your age. You wanna go get lunch with me?"

He nodded enthusiastically, back to babbling and clapping his hands. Meliodas nodded and rolled up to his feet, still holding Tristan.

"Uh, Captain- uh-"

He stopped and turned, eyebrow raised, as he looked at the Fairy. "Yes, King?" Tristan looked at his father's face, and mimicked the expression, staring at the poor man.

"I- who- huh??"

"Oh. This is Tristan. Say Hello, Tristan." The toddler waved enthusiastically, a big old smile on his face. "Hiiiii!"

His hair was about the same length as Meliodas’s, though silver in color, and he had those two strands that would simply not lie flat.

"Captain... how do you... know him...?" Ban asked slowly, eyes narrowed as he connected the dots. Meliodas flashed a smile. "Well, he's my son, of course. Sorry, I'd planned on introducing him soon, but he had other plans, apparently, and forgot to tell me."

They erupted with questions and Tristan bristled a little. Being half demon, his hearing was much more sensitive than any of theirs, and he whined, burrowing his head into his father's shoulder.

Meliodas put a hand on his head gently. "Alright, that's enough, you're scaring him!" They silenced quickly and Tristan peaked back out with now teary eyes, the two colors flashing in the light. "I'll go get lunch for us. Any questions can wait for later. If you're brave enough, ask Merlin."

He walked away, and Ban immediately turned to Merlin. "So, the captain has a kid??"

"Obviously."

"How old is he?"

"He'll be two in May."

"Where's his mother??" Diane interjected, jealous.

"Dead."

They paused at that, and Merlin took the opportunity to teleport away.

They found Meliodas later, still holding the toddler, who had long since passed out. He was still rocking him gently, and humming to keep him settled.

"...How'd she die?" Ban asks, straightforward as usual, but more gentle than his typical brash attitude. He hesitated, going still for a moment, before continuing the rocking when Tristan stirred.

"...She..." He choked a little. "There was... a demon. Dark wizards had been experimenting, reviving demons, and setting them loose. This one was stronger than they anticipated, and killed them. He was curious about our baby. Wanted to kill him. She was impaled protecting him. I didn't make it in time to save her, she was already dying by the time I got there. I could still save our little one though." He delicately rubbed his finger over Tristans cheek, looking at him with a near worshipful expression. "I couldn't protect my sunshine. But at least I kept our star."

Ban squeezed his shoulder. "I'm sorry. I-... I can't say I know what it's like to loose the mother of my child. But I do know what it is to loose my lover to a demon. Small world, huh?"

"Ye- hah, yeah, I guess it is."

Several years passed, and he watched with adoration as Tristan and Elizabeth grew up. The sins learned, though only in vague detail, that his sin had been the result of himself and the two children being the sole survivors of Danafor. So his attachment to the two of them was understandable.

Tristan was seven and Elizabeth six, at this point. They were only a few months apart in age, but they'd just celebrated his birthday. The two kids were practically attached at the hip, Tristan going so far as to insist his hair be grown out so the two could match. Elizabeth, despite being the younger, was FIERCELY protective of him, and Meliodas choked up a little every time he thought about it, knowing the hidden truth.

His son didn't know the truth. He planned on telling him when he was a little older, and had better control of his tongue. He deserved to know, after all. The truth of the family he'd been born into.

Then they were framed for Zaratras' murder and he tried to figure out a plan, something to get them off the hook. But then the kids came and Elizabeth was injured, and all his logic flew out the window when he saw the blood trickle down her face. Every rational thought left him when he saw Tristan, his baby, with a gash on his cheek. He bundled them up in his arms, using his body to shield them from the falling rubble.

"Meliodas, we have to go! Now!"

"Why... do they keep making us suffer??" He hissed, barely aware of his eldest speaking. She grabbed his shoulder. "Mama, they'll be fine, I promise, they're going to be fine!"

He whimpered, cradling them closer. His sun, his star, and his moon. They were in danger, they were all in danger!

"Daddy?" He heard Tristan whisper, and pulled back to look at him, fighting to keep his Wrath in check. "Daddy, I'll heal her, see?" He manifested light in his palm and hovered it over her wound, which stitched shut seamlessly. Meliodas’s eyes widened a little. "Now when did you learn to do that?"

"I was working with Sir Hendrickson. I wanted to surprise you."

Meliodas nodded slowly. He'd known his powers had been awakening, and since his demonic abilities were manifesting first, he had been teaching him how to keep them under control. He hadn't known he knew divine magic yet.

"Can you heal yourself, baby?" He nodded and touched his own cheek, letting it heal. Meliodas let out a shuddering breath and scooped the both of them up, Merlin on his tail as he went somewhere safer. Tristan yelped as a boom sounded, the wall next to them being demolished by another attack. Meliodas just kept running. He got them into his chambers, which had been warded to hold up to this kind of barrage, just in case. Booms and crashed continued to echo outside as Merlin closed the door behind them.

He placed them on his bed, in the massive puddle of blankets and pillows he regularly shared with them. Elizabeth was still unconscious, but Tristans healing had done well, and he believed she'd be ok. Had to. He couldn't afford not to.

"Hey, Tristan, Daddy- Daddy has to leave for awhile, ok?"

"But-"

"I know, I know, I'm sorry, Star, I really am. I don't want to. But it's not- it's not SAFE for you two to stay with me."

Tears welled up in his eyes. "I don't want you to go!!" Meliodas felt his heart shatter and he hugged him tightly as another Shockwave swept through them. "I'm so sorry." He whispered, pressing a hard kiss to his forehead. "Hey, hey, look at me, Tristan, look. At. Me." He cupped his cheeks and brought his face up to his as Merlin anxiously kept watch. "You remember how to call for me, if it's an emergency, right?"

"Cast a... cast a flare?"

"Very good, little one, you're so smart. If you ever need me to come find you, shoot your magic into the sky, and I'll be there."

"Ok..."

"Good boy. I love you so so much, don't you EVER forget that, do you understand?"

He sniffed and nodded, rubbing his eyes while Meliodas pressed another kiss to his forehead and stepped back. "Merlin." He murmured sorrowfully. She nodded and snapped her fingers, the two vanishing.

That was the last time Tristan saw his father for nearly a decade.

Here's a thought I doubt anyone's ever considered before.

What if Tristan was born before the Commandments were released?

He'd be the child of a different Ellie of course, probably Liz, and Liz died shortly after giving birth to their son. As a result Meliodas showed up in Liones with two babies!

The Sins still form and all that but with the addition of Tristan being coddled by everyone because he's Meliodas' son... up until Zaratrus is killed. Meliodas doesn't have time to grab Tristan before he's teleported away so Tristan gets left behind and taken jn by Baltra. He grows up alongside his own mother as practically siblings and when Baltra is locked up and the Coup happens Trustan goes with Elizabeth to find the Sins, and also because he wants to find his father.

[megabadbunny]

okay, lovely, buckle up – 03, A, █ – which i hope is intriguing enough for a prompt ❤️

Infirmary/medbay, dreams, banana from @doctorroseprompts ; I chose Rose x Ten, but there’s some Rose x Nine as well, if you’re paying attention. ;)

the version posted here and on fanfiction.net is sfw (teen rating); you can find the nsfw version on ao3 and teaspoon.

***

along the darken’d valley

once upona time, I

           dreamt I was a butterfly

soon Iawoke and there I was

          myselfagain

now I donot know whether I was then a man dreaming I was a butterfly

orwhether I am now a butterfly, dreaming I am a man

– Zhuangzhi

***

She’s often running, in her dreams and her waking life; inthat sense, this moment is no different from many of the others that camebefore.

The maze, though—that’s new. (She thinks.)

Rows upon rows of hedges and hedges greet her in the night,uniform and well-kempt and ending in sharp ninety-degree turns. Jasmine bloomsamongst the greenery, moon-white petals unfurling in the darkness like stars.They scent the air sweetly, leaving her lightheaded in the wake of theirperfume.

She, too, is named for a flower, she thinks; or she was, onceupon a time. But it’s hard to think when the air is so heavy around her.

A shadow flickers in the edge of her periphery, and she whirlsin place, reaching out to the figure, whomever or whatever it may be. Itdoesn’t stop, but she catches sight of her hand, dripping with jewels andglimmering gold in the moonlight. It’s strange, she thinks, looking down; howpeculiar that her raiment should remind her so much of the sun even atnighttime, but she supposes the moon has to get its glow from somewhere. Ithasn’t got a light of its own, after all.

(She wonders, if she found a mirror, if it would show sun-glimmersbeaming from her hair as well, perhaps her skin, maybe her eyes. Oh, but isn’tthat a daft thought? She wonders where it came from.)

“Here,” says a voice, smooth as velvet and curiously burred. Northern, she thinks, though shecouldn’t say why. Intrigued, she follows the sound of it. Footsteps, then,bruising the grass ahead of her, picking up in speed, but no matter how quicklyshe walks, she can’t catch the shadow, can’t even catch sight of it. Shegathers her skirts to better give chase, heedless of the branches that emergefrom the hedges to snag her by the cloak, the thorns that grow and snarl into apretty green trap. She shrugs off her cloak—let the hedge-maze keep it, let itserve as her payment of passage—and sprints after the sound of footsteps, turningcorner after corner after corner.

She stops only when she reaches a dead end. A wall of greenerygreets her, jasmine twinkling cheekily between the leaves, but no shadows areanywhere to be seen—nor, indeed, is anyone who may be casting them. Her browwrinkles in confusion as she turns in place, glancing all about. Did the shadecheat, somehow? It hardly seems sporting.

“Are there rules, then?” asks the voice, amused, fromsomewhere very close behind her, and she startles at the warmth of a hand snakingaround her waist. “I thought this was just a chase. No rules to be broken,there.”

“Everything has rules,” she argues, heart hammering in herthroat, “even if you choose to ignore them.”

The voice laughs, but not unkindly. Still, she bristles; shemay not know her own name, but she does know she doesn’t like being laughed at,doesn’t appreciate the sensation that she’s part of a joke with an untoldending.

“Well,” says the voice, and cool breath on the shell of herear makes her shiver, “that’ll just make things more interesting, won’t it,Rose?”

She turns her head, hoping to catch a glimpse of the shadow,but it’s gone. Vanished like it never was. In its place stands a door in thehedge, a rough-hewn wooden thing with a brass handle. It wouldn’t look out ofplace in a crumbling old chateau. And strangely, it doesn’t look out of placein the garden maze, either.

A door, shethinks, begs to be opened. It wantseven more to be stepped-through. But it probably has little regard for whathappens to its travelers on the other side.

(Rose, the shadowhad said, and she didn’t know why, but she liked the sound of it; liked how itfilled the shadow’s mouth and fit between its teeth. Rose. It’s a nice name. She thinks she’ll keep it.)

Rose takes hold of the handle and pushes the door open.

***

The doorsslid open and Rose stumbled through them, half-supporting, half-dragging theDoctor into the medbay with her.

“Thirdcabinet to the left,” gasped the Doctor through gritted teeth, eyes clenchedwith pain. “Grab one of the syringes—”

“Syringe?”Rose repeated faintly as she helped him onto the exam bed. It didn’t matterthat the needle wouldn’t go anywhere near her own skin; she still felt herselfpale with fear.

“You needto—ah—fill it with a potassium chloride solution.” The Doctor punctured hiswords with a groan. “Got to get the muscle cramps under control—can deal withthe—”

He hissedsharply. “—other stuff, after.”

Dartingover to the cabinets, Rose threw a glance over one shoulder to see the Doctorpanting on the exam bed, face contorted with pain as sweat beaded on hisforehead, swelling into tiny little pearls. She couldn’t even remember the lasttime she saw him sweat properly. Had she ever really seen him sweat?

She couldonly imagine the pain he was in.

***

Stone walls, stone floors, a single bracket-mounted torch; ifRose didn’t know any better, she’d think she were in a castle-tower.

“Where did you go?” she asks. When no one replies, she pullsthe torch from the bracket and holds it aloft, inspecting the tower byfirelight. The light is swallowed by darkness before her and darkness behind.No other faces rise from the shadows to greet her. “Why are you running away fromme?”

“Who says I’m running away?” asks the voice from before.

Frowning, Rose follows the sound of the voice, tentatively,holding the torch in front of her to light her steps. Stone, stone, and morestone greets her vision at every turn, glinting in the torch-light and bouncingthe scuff of her shoes and rustle of her dress back to her in an endless loopof whispering echoes.

“If you’re not running away from me, then what are you doing?”Rose asks. “I thought you said this was a chase.”

“I did. But who’s chasing whom?”

A shudder creeps up between her shoulderblades, unbidden, butRose sets her jaw against it. She tightens her grip on the torch. “I’m chasingyou,” she says. “Of course.”

“Of course,” replies the voice, laughing again. “That’s whatwolves do, isn’t it?”

Rose spins round at the sound of the voice, close to her earonce more, but there’s nothing behind her but air. Air, and a staircase wherethere was nothing but corridor, before. Stone stairs, steep, jagged like teeth,descend into darkness thick as a pool of ink. If she follows the stairs, Rosethinks, she will be swallowed.

“What happens if you find me, I wonder?” asks the voice.

“Not if,” Rose replies stubbornly, gathering her skirts in herfree hand once more. She kicks off her shoes after, for good measure; shetrusts her bare feet far more than these jeweled heels on those treacherousstairs. “When.”

She ignores the laughter that rises around her as shedescends.

***

Rose’shands shook as she pulled a syringe from the cabinet and rifled through theassorted vials on the shelf below. And either the TARDIS was helping her, or itwas her lucky day, because a clear vial with just the right label presenteditself in a matter of seconds. Silently, Rose thanked the TARDIS just in case,grabbing the vial and sprinting to the Doctor’s side. She thrust the vial andsyringe at him without even thinking.

TheDoctor shook his head violently. “I’m sorry, I can’t, I—I need your help, Rose,please.”

“Oh mygod, of course, I’m sorry,” Rose rushed, and she was trembling all over, now,shaking almost as hard as the Doctor was. “Do I wash my hands first, or—?”

“No time.Just listen carefully…”

***

Straining her ears for any sound created by anything thatisn’t her, Rose startles at the sudden sensation of water lapping at her feet,cool and silken and black as pitch. She shines her torch over the water andsees nothing but her own reflection, marred and broken by ripples cascadingover the glassy surface. But she can see well enough to make out that her gownis gold and glimmering, that its jewels capture the torchlight like a cloud offireflies twinkling on a summer night.

For some reason, the thought emboldens her, and she stepsfurther into the water, wading in until she is knee-deep. Soon the water willsoak her gown, weighing her down like a gold-gilt anchor. But she doesn’t stop.Instead, she drops her torch in the water, watching as it sputters and dieswith an angry hiss. The cavern plunges into darkness around her; now invisible,she sheds her gown, stepping out of it, deeper into the black water.

“You won’t wait for the ferryman?” asks the voice, surprised.

“No need,” Rose replies. “I have wings.”

Drinking in a deep lungful of air, she dives beneath the watersurface, and swims.

***

Rosewinced as she pushed in the needle and pressed the plunger, but the bite of theneedle seemed to bother her far more than it did the Doctor; the moment thesolution hit his system, his face started to relax, brow loosening and lipsparting. His shoulders slowly fell, his breaths evening out little-by-little,and Rose realized just how tight-knit he’d been.

“I’malmost surprised you didn’t just ask for a banana,” Rose teased, mentallyslapping herself the second the joke left her lips. Why would she joke at atime like this?

TheDoctor gazed up at her with glassy eyes. “Sorry?”

“Y’know.So you wouldn’t have to get a shot.” God, why was she still talking? “Cos—cosshots are the worst, right? And bananas have got potassium in them, haven’tthey?”

A weaklaugh escaped the Doctor and he winced after. “Quite right, they do.”

Fiddlingwith the supplies in her hands, Rose bit her lip. “I’m sorry I took so long tohelp,” she murmured, flushing with shame.

“Yes, howdare you set foot on my TARDIS without a complete and comprehensive set ofmedical skills. I’m appalled, Rose Tyler. Simply appalled.”

At leasthe was speaking in full sentences again. Rose allowed herself a small smile.“So what’s next? What do you need?”

TheDoctor tried to push himself up from the exam bed, arms trembling with effort,but he quickly slumped back, grunting in frustration.

“Doctor—”

“I’mfine,” he panted, though the pinched look of his face suggested otherwise.“Only got a few moments, got to head off the rest of the symptoms—I haveto—there are steps—”

“Okay, solet me help. Tell me what to do.”

“Rose—”

“Doctor,tell me what to do,” she said firmly.

***

Most times, Rose can’t open her eyes underwater, and shecertainly can’t breathe in it, either. But here, she finds she can do both, andshe watches in fascination as light from some unseen source dances over herskin, dappling it silver-blue and starry-grey; she marvels at how the waterfills her lungs as easily as air, warm and gentle and oxygen-rich.

“And where will you go now?” asks the voice.

“Wherever you are, I think,” Rose says thoughtfully. “Don’tsuppose you can tell me where that is?”

“Don’t suppose I can. I don’t rightly know, myself.”

A sigh. “I think I’m lost.”

Sympathy makes Rose sigh in solidarity; resolution makes herpropel herself forward in the water with a mighty kick. Doors want to beopened, she knows, and lost things want to be found.

“Then I’ll just have to find you,” she replies.

***

This wasnot how she had imagined getting the Doctor into bed. Rather, it was not howshe would have imagined it, had she ever imagined it, which she most definitelyhad not. Ever. Not even a little bit. Nope. Saint Rose, that was her.

Rose drewin a deep breath and steadied herself. The sight of the IV station rigged upright next to the exam bed, cold and clinical and plugged directly into theDoctor’s arm, helpfully reminded her of the situation: this was for strictlymedical purposes, only. It didn’t matter that the Doctor sat on a bed, jacketlessand sans necktie and oxford collar splayed open, or that he would be nearlynaked soon, or that she was expected to join him.

Anysecond now.

(Whycouldn’t she move?)

“Like Isaid, it’s not—” the Doctor started to say, but Rose was already peeling offher jacket, toeing off her shoes after. Had to go through with it before shecompletely lost her nerve. Besides, what was a little almost-nudity betweenbest mates?

“Rose,”the Doctor tried again. His eyes slid shut, for her sake, she imagined; it wasdepressing, sometimes, what a gentleman he was. “You really don’t have to—”

“But youneed your sleep thing, right?” she asked, slipping her belt out of its loops.“And a naked snuggle will help?”

Shewasn’t sure she’d ever seen the Doctor’s face flush so brilliantly before (orat all, for that matter). “It’s a restorative coma,” he said quickly, “as Imentioned earlier, and for a touch-telepath suffering from a cerebra-paraphysiologicvirus or any other foreign element that causes such rapid misfiring in theamygdala, a surge in the brain’s production of serotonin and oxytocin broughton by tactile contact is just the most practical way to induce—”

“Youknow,” Rose interrupted, because otherwise there was no telling when hisbabbling would end, “there are easier ways to get a naked girl to cuddle you.”

“RoseTyler, I assure you, if there was a better pharmacological option onboard theTARDIS, I would pursue it. I only even offered this solution because youpressed for it!”

“Yeah,well.” She stepped out of her trousers, pulled off her jacket next. So manylayers—she might as well be turning into him. “If there’s an easy cure, wemight as well take it. Right? So naked, it is.”

“Have youreally got to say the word nakedso much?”

“Prude,”laughed Rose.

“Me?Never,” said the Doctor, but the twitch at the corner of his mouth let Roseknow his scandalized tone was all for show. “The word’s just starting to soundfunny, is all. Naked. Naked. Naked naked naked nakedy nake-naked-nakedness, St.Naked McNekkid of Nakedity. See?”

Strippeddown to her vest and knickers, Rose stood before the Doctor, and god, this really was not how she had imagined this would go.

“This allright?” she asked.

“As bareas you’re comfortable with, that’s good.”

“Okay,sure, but—is this good enough?”

One ofhis eyes slowly opened, followed by the other, and the Doctor looked her up anddown. Rose told herself that it was all in her head, the idea that he wasblinking just a little more than usual, that his Adam’s apple bobbed sonervously.

“As bareas you’re comfortable with,” he repeated again, his tone carefully neutral.

***

The wet shift isn’t doing her any favors in the cold nightair, so Rose peels it off as she emerges from the water, wincing as the soddenfabric parts reluctantly with her skin. Gooseflesh forms on her arms and chest,a thousand tiny complaints that she needs warmth and she needs it now.

Naked and shivering, Rose climbs up the marble steps leadingout of the pool, arms snug around her waist to trap in what little warmth shecan. The stairs are hard beneath her feet, punishing her with their sharp,uncaring edges and flat freezing planes. But still she climbs, and climbs, andclimbs—what else can she do?

After hours of climbing (and hours, and hours, and more hourson top of that), a dim light reaches her eyes. A step later, and the lightbrightens. Two steps later, and she can just make out the shape of a chamber,walls stretching up into an arched ceiling; ten steps after that, and she hasarrived at a clearing, a giant cavernous king’s-room fully bedecked with afireplace, a food-littered table, a handsome bed, and rich drapery adorning thestrange, rough golden walls. The drapery glitters in the firelight, goldcircular patterns shimmering, and as odd as it sounds, Rose could almost swearshe hears the walls hum.

(So familiar, and yet she can’t quite…)

“Are you here?” she asks, stepping further into the room,hugging herself against the chill. “Did I find you?”

***

Rosedidn’t know why her cheeks or chest blushed so badly as she peeled off hervest. It wasn’t like he had never seen her this bare before—they had aswimming-pool in the TARDIS, didn’t they, and he had seen her in a variety ofscanty two-piece swimsuits before, hadn’t he? So why did this feel sodifferent?

It doesn’t, she toldherself with a scold. Medical purposes,she reminded herself, and she glanced back at the bag attached to the IVstation, swollen and fat with fluids dripping into the Doctor’s arm, for medical purposes. She had to get a grip. The Doctor was sick and he needed her help,and that was far more important than whatever stupid randy human fantasy mightbe pawing beneath the surface of her subconscious.

Besides,the Doctor was better than all of that. So she could be, too.

“Well?”she asked, scooping her clothes off the floor so she could fold them into aneat little pile. “What are you waiting for?”

“Right,”said the Doctor, shaking himself. “Of course. Erm—”

His handslifted toward his chest, fingers nearing his shirt-buttons, and he paused,suddenly uncertain. “Actually, Rose, I’m sure I’ll be fine,” the Doctor said,hands dropping to his thighs. “I can just try a sleep aid of some sort, it’llprobably do the trick. No need to go through with this—this—”

“Situationcontrived out of a cheap harlequin romance novel?” Rose teased gently, hertongue peeking out between her teeth.

“Oh, howdreadful. Now you’ve gone and made me sound like some sort of dirty old man.”

Roseplunked down next to him on the bed. “Nonsense, Doctor. You’re not dirty atall.”

“Ah, butyou think I’m old. Don’t think I didn’t notice your strategic omission there,young lady.”

“You areold.”

“Am not!”the Doctor huffed. “I’m in the very prime of my youth!”

“Only oldfogies say stuff like that,” Rose replied, laughing as she scooted closer onthe bed, “and you did just call me young lady.”

TheDoctor scowled at her, and she grinned back with as much innocence and charm asshe could muster. That was right, that was more like it; teasing and sillinessand jokes, those would cut the tension nicely. They’d waded back intocomfortable territory, familiar, like sitting in the same spot on the sofa overand over again.

“Now,”Rose said, “are you going to undress yourself, or shall I do it for you?”

***

“Of course I’m here,” the voice replies. “Where else would Ibe?”

Ignoring it for the moment, Rose walks the perimeter of thechamber, eyes traveling over the table, the bed, the walls. Approaching onewall, she presses a palm flat against it, shifts her hand downward, wonderingat the sandpaper-rough texture beneath her skin. Something echoes at the backof her mind, sighing softly, a song. Something glowing and sweet.

“I know you,” Rose murmurs.

“Do you remember?”

She doesn’t, not really. But she does remember she’s wet, andcold. Almost as if something heard her silent complaint—and for all she knows,something might have; she’s fairly certain she’s experienced strangerthings—Rose turns to see that a robe has appeared on the bed, where there wereonly smooth-pressed bedclothes before.

“How did you do that?” she asks.

The voice laughs. “Your wish is my command.”

“Yeah, but I should be careful what I wish for.”

Slipping the robe around her shoulders, it takes Rose a fewseconds to realize what just happened.

***

 “I’mstill not completely certain—” the Doctor started to say, but, emboldened byimpatience, Rose cut him off by leaning forward and slipping his topshirt-button free. Funny how quickly that shut him up.

Shelooked up afterward and oh god, that was a mistake, because her face hoveredquite close to his, and she could almost take that look in his eyes to meansomething entirely different (bedroom eyes in a sort-of bed in analmost-bedroom and goodness, it was quite warm in the room now, wasn’t it?).

“Rose,”said the Doctor, his voice quiet. “I…”

For amoment, Rose could almost let herself believe he meant it, the way her nameleft his lips like a prayer, but then his hands gently wrapped around hers,pulling them away from his shirt.

“I thinkit would be best if I tried something else after all,” he said, his eyes unableto meet hers.

***

Images spark behind her eyelids like impressions left bylight; patches of sound filter in and out like the audio on degrading film. Memoriesflicker by, fireflies on a summer night.

“You were there the day my father died,” Rose says, quietly,even though the words don’t make sense; her father died when she was so, soyoung, and he was alone, except for—

“Death,” she whispers, and her breath catches in her throat.Scanning the room for any hint of her shadow, she clutches the robe to herchest, hands shaking. “Is—is that what you are?”

The voice is silent, but Rose doesn’t need to hear it to knowthe reply—I could be.

“Why are you here, Rose Tyler?” the voice asks, instead.

Shrugging, Rose shivers violently, for reasons that have nothingto do with the cold. “I thought—there was something I needed to do. I needed tosave—I had to find—”

“—your destiny?”

“The Doctor,” Rose says, more to herself than the shadow. Shedoesn’t recall much besides the name, or the feeling that accompanies it, warmand golden and bright. But she can feel the importance of it, the weight in herhands, like a set of brass scales. Impossible to quantify, and yet…

Her heart gallops in her chest. Whatever the Doctor is, he’s far more substantial than a shadow.

“Where is he?” she asks quietly.

***

“Ishouldn’t be out for more than two days,” said the Doctor, popping the tabletinto his mouth and downing a cup of water after. “Three, tops.”

“Got it,”replied Rose, eyes fixed to the floor as she shimmied back into her jeans.

“Maybefour. Possibly five.”

“Sure,”Rose laughed weakly.

TheDoctor glanced up at her, his face pinched in worry. “You’ll be all right,won’t you?”

“What areyou worried about me for? I’m not the one who’s sick.”

“True,but…”

Hetrailed off, shaking his head after. “At any rate, the TARDIS is safely parked,the larder is well-stocked, and you’ve got the entirety of the library, garden,and swimming pool at your disposal. Call it a nice bit of R-and-R, yeah? Sortof unintentional and forced R-and-R, but still…”

Alreadyhis eyelids were fluttering, fighting to stay open, and Rose smiled despiteherself. Something in her chest tightened and twisted for reasons she couldn’tquite explain, but she reached out to clasp the Doctor’s hand, and that helpeda little.

“Is thereanything I should keep an eye out for?” she asked.

“Hmm-mm,”the Doctor hummed. “The restorative sleep will…”

Heyawned, blinking heavily after. “…take care of everything. Suppress symptoms.Kill the…fear response. Eliminate contagion. Flush everything out.”

His headlolled back on the bed, eyes shuttering closed. “Defensive mechanism. Potentstuff. Rose Tyler…”

“Yeah,Doctor?”

His handsqueezed hers, his grip far weaker than usual. “Thanks, for…all your help.Everything.”

Rosenodded. “Of course, Doctor. Anytime.”

But hewas already asleep.

***

“Where are you?” Rose demands, louder, when the voice doesn’treply.

***

“Wakeup,” Rose said, loudly but not too loudly. She didn’t want to startle him,after all, even if the Doctor had been asleep for twice as long as he’dpromised, even if he could almost pass for a corpse, as still as he was on themedbay bed. His eyes were trapped, unmoving beneath their lids; his mouth,closed, could have been stitched that way, his hands, perfect plaster casts,and Rose bet they would be cold to the touch, even more so than usual. Only theslow but steady rise and fall of his chest beneath the blanket betrayed anysign of life.

Shiftingher weight uncomfortably from one foot to the other, Rose tried again. “Doctor,wake up,” she said, and her voice only wavered a little.

Again,nothing.

Rosecrossed the medbay and reached out, shaking the Doctor’s shoulder once, twice,three times. “Doctor, please,” she said. “You said five days, tops. It’s beenten days now. Ten whole days, and…”

And I miss you, is whatshe wanted to say, but this wasn’t about her. It had nothing to do with hergoing out of her mind with worry, gnawing her fingernails down to the quick asshe checked on him in the medbay every three hours. It certainly had nothing todo with how she had flipped through half of the medical literature in theTARDIS library, or how she could barely make herself eat, or how she hadn’t hada good night’s sleep since—

“I’mworried,” she said instead, but her cheeks flushed anyway. “Please. I don’tknow what to do.”

Still, hedidn’t respond. Rose bit her lip in concern.

She hadan idea. Honestly, it was sort of stupid. But it was her only idea, so thattechnically made it her best, right?

(Shedidn’t think about how that also made it her worst.)

Her face hotwith shame, Rose sliced a pair of medical scissors through the Doctor’s oxfordand tee shirt. It felt horribly invasive, tearing his clothes open like thiswhen he couldn’t give her permission. But she wasn’t certain how else she wouldmanage the skin-on-skin contact, not without disrupting the IV plugged into hisarm. At least she didn’t have to worry about replenishing that; she saidanother silent word of thanks to the TARDIS for all of her help. The respondingshift in the TARDIS’s background hum did little to settle Rose’s nerves, butshe appreciated the reply, nonetheless, especially after the last ten days of depressinglysolid isolation.

Pulling offher clothes, and slipping under the blanket next to the Doctor, she averted hereyes from the Doctor’s face, just in case he woke up. Just in case.

“Okay,”she said, expelling a deep sigh. “I’m gonna come find you.”

***

“I’m here,” says the voice. “You found me.”

“Then show yourself,” Rose demands.

Hushed footsteps sound behind her, and she whirls round, heartracing. But if anyone or anything was there, it’s gone now.

Lips pursed and brow knit tight, Rose slowly turns to lookabout the room once again, eyes scouring any surface that might serve as ahiding-spot for whomever (or whatever) she’s dealing with. “Enough puzzles,”she snaps. “I haven’t got the brains for it, and I’m sick of them, besides.Just show me the Doctor!”

“I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Remember your precious rules?”

“Sod the rules,” Rose shoots back. “You never concernedyourself with them before.”

A gentle laugh. “Didn’t I? Oh, Rose Tyler. If only you knew.”

Crossing her arms over herself protectively, Rose waits.

“You should leave this place,” the voice says, but notunkindly.

“Not until I get what I came for,” Rose replies stubbornly.

“You did, though. You completed your objective. You found me.”

“Prove it. Show me your face. Show me the Doctor.”

“You should go, Rose Tyler. You really, really should.”

“I really, really won’t.”

The voice sighs in frustration. “I’m trying to help you!”

“Then maybe try giving me what I asked for!”

Silence falls, a quiet but unmistakable refusal, and Rosegrows restless. She’s still cold, she’s still a little damp, she’s hungry,she’s tired, and more importantly, she’s tired of waiting.

“Fine,” she huffs, stalking over to the food-covered table. Rosecannot remember the last time she ate; only that it has been so, so long. And shedoesn’t recognize any of the fruits that lie there, but she can tell by their tantalizingscent, unctuous and sugary-sweet, that any one of them will taste delicious.Her stomach growls in anticipation as she reaches toward one of the fruits, adark round thing split open to reveal hundreds of tiny red jewel-like membranesinside, each of them fat and plump, a handful of perfect red-shining rubies.Mouth watering, she plucks the fruit off the table and brings it toward herlips.

“No! Stop!” the voice rings out.

“Why?”

“You just can’t,” the voice pleads. “Rules. Remember?”

“So, what?” Rose says impatiently. “I’m just supposed to standhere and starve while I’m waiting for the Doctor to show up, or the not-Doctor,or the annoyingly-invisible-and-astonishingly-unhelpful grim visage of Death,or whatever the hell you are?”

“No,” the voice bites back, suddenly impatient, “you’resupposed to leave. And everyone knowsyou can’t leave if you eat. It’s a rule.”

Rose glances at the fruit in her hand, glances back at thestairs she spent so long climbing, earlier. They seem impossibly dark andfar-away, now. Is she really just supposed to go back empty-handed? Is shereally supposed to climb back down those stairs alone?

“You’ll find a way,” she replies, voice quiet. “You alwaysdo.”

She bites into the fruit.

Blood pulsing thunderously in her ears, Rose almost doesn’thear the Doctor crying out for her to stop; sweet-crisp-sugar bursts past herlips and now she’s tearing into the fruit like some kind of wild animal, awolf, razor-sharp teeth rending tender membranes to nothingness as juice fillsher mouth and drips down her throat and flows over her hands. Ichor drips downher arms and stains her robe in crimson blots, bloody raindrops that blossom inthe silk fibers.

“Stop!” shouts the voice, returning to full-stereo sound inher ears, and a hand clamps down on her arm, spinning her round. The Doctorstands before her, wide-eyed and terrified as she’s ever seen him. Funny. Hesounds different now, looks different, too; he’s young, wild-haired, slender,no trace of the close-cropped hair or blue eyes or black leather she’d imaginedearlier. Rose wonders why.

The Doctor rips the fruit out of her grasp and casts it to thefloor. “Spit it out,” he begs, clasping her by the chin so he can franticallywipe away the juices with his thumbs. “Please, get rid of it, maybe it’s nottoo late, Rose, I—”

“That’s not how it works,” Rose says, caught in something of adaze. “Rules. Remember?”

Anger flashes in the Doctor’s eyes and his hands snap awayfrom her face. “And you know them, too—I told you, Rose, I told you what would happen! Why didn’t you just listen?”

“I did. And now if you want me to leave, you’ve got to find away for us to get out. Both of us.”

Stunned, the Doctor doesn’t reply, just searches Rose’s eyeswith his, like he can’t quite believe what he’s hearing.

“Why do you want to stay so badly?” Rose asks. “Aren’t youlonely in here?”

The Doctor doesn’t answer; he doesn’t need to.

“Are you bound here by someone else’s rules—or did you writethem, yourself?”

Again, nothing; he just stares, and almost imperceptibly, hetrembles.

Swallowing hard, Rose steps forward, bridging the distancebetween them, her gaze fixed on his.

“I want you safe,” she says, slowly. “My Doctor.”

Something in him seems to crumble at that.

Wordlessly, the Doctor draws Rose into a tight embrace, armscinched snugly around her as he buries his face in her hair. Their chestspressed together, Rose can feel the frantic hammering of his hearts as ifthey’re beating in her own ribcage, and she winds her arms around him, pressingharder, relishing the solid thump-thumpthump-thump of his double-pulse once again. She doesn’t remember how, orwhy, but she knows it has been a long time since she last felt his heartsbeatagainst hers. Too long.

“I missed you,” she confesses quietly to his chest.

His arms tighten around her a little more, but he stilldoesn’t reply. Instead, he steps back just far enough that he can tilt her chinin one hand and draw her upward for a kiss.

Probably she should be surprised, but far from it; Rose meltsinto the kiss immediately, eyes fluttering shut as her hands fist in hissuit-jacket. Rose’s heart quickens in her throat, so hard she thinks she mightchoke from it, but fortunately the Doctor breaks the kiss quickly, pulling backwith a soft sigh only to press his forehead against hers. His hand still restson her face, thumb idly stroking her jaw. Drunken contentment fizzing happilyin her chest, Rose nuzzles his palm, basking in the warmth that bloomseverywhere his skin touches hers.

Before she knows it he’s pulling her in for another kiss,harder this time, enough that Rose can feel her pulse bleating in her lips, herfingertips. She opens her mouth to deepen the kiss, her tongue darting outtentatively. Adrenaline and something like relief flood her skull as the Doctorresponds in kind, tongue diving in, like perhaps he wants to taste the tracesof fruit still lingering there, or he wants to taste her, and the kiss transmutes from chaste sweetness into pure urgentneed.

“I should…” the Doctor starts to say, but his eyes trace thecurve of her, bathed gold in the firelight, and whatever he should doesn’t follow. “Erm. This would actually probably be agood time to wake up…”

He shakes his head. “Oh, sod it,” he finishes in exasperation,pulling Rose bodily against him for a fierce kiss. There’s nothing calm about theirdemeanor, now; now it’s all hands tangled in hair, mouths slanted together in amess of tongues and teeth, fingers frantically working to rip off his jacketand necktie. They tumble into the bed together, Rose pulling the Doctor overher.

“God,” she manages to gasp out, “please tell me this isn’t adream.”

“What if,” says theDoctor, pressing a kiss to her neck, “inyour dream, you went to Heaven, and there plucked a strange and beautifulflower? And what if, when you awoke,you had that flower in your hand?” he continues, kissing the elegant lineof her collarbone. “Ah, what then?”

Body trembling with desire, Rose drinks in a shudderingbreath. “You gonna take me to Heaven, Doctor?” and she means for it to come outas a tease, she really does, but it sounds much more like a plea.

He seems more than happy to oblige.

**

After, they lie in the bed for a long while, unspeaking,wrapped lazily around each other while their breaths even out and their pulseshammer themselves back to normal. A dull sense of happiness suffuses Rose’sbeing and she presses a kiss to the Doctor’s chest.

“Thank you,” says the Doctor. “For not, erm. Leaving me behind.”

“Never will,” Rose replies firmly, but the Doctor shakes hishead, pulling back to look at her.

“Listen,” he says, his voice plaintive, “I know that—there arethings, and you should know them, and I should tell you—I should say—”

He sighs. “It’s just going to happen someday, Rose. One way orthe other. It’s inevitable. I can’t stop it, and—probably I shouldn’t try. Notforever. Everything has its time, and everything ends. Even friendship, even—”

Swallowing, he averts his eyes. “Good grief, you’d thinkdreaming would make this sort of thing easier.”

Rose’s blood thunders in her veins, leaving her lightheaded. “I,erm,” she starts to say, and hesitates. Then, because this is a dream, andnever was anything else, so nothing here really means anything and the realDoctor will never need to know, Rose gathers the threads of her courage,steeling herself.

“I love you,” she murmurs.

The Doctor’s eyes widen in surprise. But before he can reply,light begins filling the room, slowly crawling up the walls. Rose turns to seeif she can find the source of it, but the Doctor’s hand on her cheek stops her,keeping her gaze focused on his face.

“I won’t let you go without a fight,” he says, desperately nowas the darkness lifts around them, warm black giving way to cold white. “Youknow that, right? You said foreverand I will do everything within my considerable power to hold you to it.Understand?”

Smiling, Rose nods. Dream-Doctor is rather a sweet fellow whenhe wants to be; she wonders if she’ll ever see him again. Perhaps the next timeshe sleeps, if she’s lucky. As the room grows brighter and brighter around themwith the promise of morning sun, she leans down to press another kiss to hislips.

God, he feels so warm next to her. She could almost believethis was all real.

“See you on the other side,” she tells him.

Not if Isee you first is what she expects to hear, probably with a winkin accompaniment. But, strangely, the Doctor just looks sort of sad.

“Quite right, too,” he says flatly.

And then she’s awake.

**

Eyelashes flutter open to reveal white, bright white, nothing butblind-bleaching-white as far as Rose can see. But slowly, her eyes adjust, andher vision fills in like an old patchy TV screen with someone playing at thedials. Blinking the sleepiness away, Rose glances about to see that she isstill on the medical bed, in the TARDIS medbay, and the Doctor is—

No longer in the bed with her.

Startled, Rose jolts into a sitting position, sweeping overthe room, and—ah, there he is. Perched on the counter, freshly clad in a clean,intact oxford, sits the Doctor, a book in one hand and a half-eaten banana inthe other. As if he can sense her watching him, the Doctor looks up; their eyesmeet and his face brightens in a smile.

Already, Rose’s dream has begun to slip through her fingerslike grains of sand, but she knows that nothing in her imagination could everrival the beauty of the real-life Doctor’s stupidly gorgeous smile.

“Finally, she’s awake!” the Doctor says cheerfully. Scarfingdown the rest of the banana, he hops down from the counter, tossing the peelover his shoulder into the wastepaper-bin as he saunters over to Rose. “Did youhave a nice rest?”

Half-forgotten snippets of her dream swim to the surface,gentle lips and bare skin and whispered confessions, and Rose silently begs hercheeks not to blush. “Nice enough, I guess,” she says, nervously plucking atthe blanket in her lap. “What about you, though, are you all sorted now?”

“Yep! Right as rain. Well, as right as rain can be. No reasonrain can’t be left, I suppose, or up or down or sideways, if the wind’s justso.”

With a great yawn, Rose stretches until her shoulders pop—goodgrief, but that feels delicious. “So what exactly happened? Did your healingwhatchacallit just take longer than you thought, or what?”

“Ah, no, not as such,” replies the Doctor, scratching the backof his neck. “To be fair, the restorative coma did help—actually, that was sortof the problem, over-helping. In an effort to avoid the stress-relatedcardiopulmonary complications caused by the virus overloading the amygdala withstress hormones, my immune system isolated my consciousness, hiding it deepwithin the neural network. Fortunately, I managed to neutralize the threatrather quickly—within the first day or so, by my reckoning, and impressive is what that is—but lessfortunately, the enhanced neurotransmission of gamma-aminobutyric acid causedby the sleep aid ended up suppressing communications between synapses, and,well, you know how that goes.”

“Sure I do,” Rose laughs.

“Long story short, my body was unable to recognize that the threathad been dealt with, so the right connections never fired off to wake me up,”the Doctor explains. “At least, not until you…”

Hand pinwheeling, the Doctor gives up. “…you know.”

Rose grins, a cheeky thing that traps her tongue between herteeth. “Jumped in and saved your hide?”

“I was going to say Ruineda perfectly good set of shirts, but that’ll do, too,” the Doctor replieswith a cheeky grin of his own.

“But I did the right thing, right? It wasn’t—I didn’t invadeyour privacy, or make things worse, or anything like that?”

“No, not at all. The skin-on-skin contact provided just theright tactile stimulation to assure my immune system it was safe to wake upagain.”

“So I was just what you needed?”

“As always,” replies the Doctor with a wink.

Scooping Rose’s clothes off the floor, he moves to hand themto her, but she cuts him off midgesture with a hug, pulling him in close.

“Sorry,” Rose mutters, her voice muffled by his shirts. “Ijust—I’m really glad you’re back.”

His arms encircle her, and she loosens at his touch, relaxingfor the first time in days. “Me, too,” the Doctor says, with a little squeeze.

Stepping back, he presents her clothes with a flourish. “Now,if you’d care to get dressed, I think an adventure of the quiet sort is inorder. What do you think—leisure planet, bioluminescent beach, pleasure garden,or mega-cinema?”

Rose tuts thoughtfully as she pulls on her shirt. “I dunno, amega-cinema sounds sort of fun,” she says, wriggling into her trousers, “but Ithink I’m in more of a garden mood, for some reason.”

“Ah, yes,” the Doctor chuckles, returning to the counter so hecan retrieve his book. “You went toHeaven, and there plucked a strange and beautiful flower, eh?”

“And what if, when youawoke, you had that flower in your hand?” Rose finishes automatically.

Rose hears the book slip in the Doctor’s hand. She looks upand he’s gone rigid, the lines of his back turned to stone, as if somethingcaught his breath. As if an electrical current just ran through him; like he’sshocked.

“Fan of Coleridge, are you?” he asks over his shoulder.

Rose frowns. “Who?”

Turning, the Doctor regards her through narrowed eyes, browknit in what looks an awful lot like suspicion.

Confused, Rose shrugs. “What? What’s wrong?”

The Doctor studies her face for a moment, as if he’s lookingfor something; Rose has no clue what it might be. But whatever it is, he mustnot find it, because soon enough, he’s shaking himself.

“Nothing,” he says. “Sorry. It’s nothing.”

***

(the title is taken from a line in william blake’s memory, hither come; the doctor’s recitation on dreams hails from a poem by samuel taylor coleridge)