#dwfic

[lastbluetardis]

Sacred New Beginnings (19/?)

Summary: James Noble thought he traded away his chance at love and a happy-ever-after when he signed a contract with a record label that turned him into an international celebrity. But a chance meeting in a dive bar may prove him wrong. Ten x Rose AU This Chapter: Explicit, ~5000 words AO3 || Ch1 | Ch2 | Ch3 | Ch4 | Ch5 | Ch6 | Ch7 | Ch8 | Ch9 | Ch10 | Ch11 | Ch12 | Ch13 | Ch14 | Ch15 | Ch16 | Ch17 | Ch18 |

James can hardly hear past the roar of his pulse in his ears as he is the sole focus of Jackie Tyler’s—(Jackie Peters’s? He’ll have to ask Rose what last name her mum has)—ire. Gone is the cheerful grin he’d seen in the photos Rose had sent of herself and her mother on holiday in Barcelona; now that joy is replaced with the sort of rage only a mother is capable of. 

He throws a desperate glance at the other adult in the room, but Tyler Peters is stunned into silence, his eyes locked on James as though he’d never seen a human being before.

Absurdly, this is what unfreezes James, and he throws out a stupid little, “Hello. I’m James Noble. Pleasure.”

“You’ve got a lot of nerve showin’ up here,” Jackie spits, stalking ever-closer. James regrets that he didn’t use the last two seconds to free himself from his position of being backed against the countertop. “Who the hell do you think you are?”

“Mummy! Daddy!”

Jackie whirls around to face the corridor at the sound of a tiny voice and pitter-patter of feet. She automatically crouches, and Tony gallops headlong into his mother’s waiting arms. She scoops him up and peppers kisses across his fair skin.

“Did you have a good night with sissy?” Jacke coos, stroking his hair away from his face. “She didn’t feed you any ice cream, did she?”

“Yeah! An’ made hotdogs and cheesy ‘tatoes, then we played Jus’ Dance, an’ James was there!”

“Oh?” Jackie asks, flashing James a withering glare. “When did he get here?”

“Yeah, he’s so fun!” Tony squeals, pivoting in his mother’s arms to beam at James. “He’s my fav’rite.”

Rose finally emerges from down the hall, her cheeks stained scarlet as she squeaks, “Hi, Mum. I expected you to text when you got here.”

“Oh, so you could hide this one somewhere?” Jackie scowls, gesturing to James.

“I… I wanted… I was gonna tell you…”

“What, that you let ‘im come weaslin’ back into your life? Did he come up with a sob story? Made it real convincin’, did he?”

“Jacks,” Tyler says quietly, inclining his head slightly towards Tony, who is still ensconced in his mother’s arms and watching the exchange curiously. “Let’s save it, eh?

Jackie purses her lips, then presses them to her son’s temple before handing the child to his father. “Take him outside, yeah? Meet you downstairs.”

“Five minutes,” Tyler warns. “This one needs to get to bed.” To his son, he chirps, “Say bye to sissy!”

“Bye-bye sissy! Gimme hugs and kisses!”

Rose tiptoes around her mother, not sparing her a glance as she scoops her little brother into her arms and gives him a couple of big twirls around the room.

“Spinny hug, spinny hug!” Tony screeches, clinging to Rose for dear life.

The sight makes something hollow ache in the pit of James’s gut. The siblings clearly adore each other, and Rose is so good with him.

“Bye-bye James!” Small hands tap his legs, and he realizes Tony is gesturing for a hug. He hesitates for only a fraction, but he can’t say no to those big brown eyes.

“G’night Tony,” he whispers, kneeling for a brief embrace. “Thanks for playing with me tonight.”

“All right, little man, wanna see who can race down the stairs fastest?” Tyler asks his son, ruffling Tony’s fair blond hair.

“Yeah! Onetwothreego!”

Tony bolts out of the flat, giggling madly, leaving his father to leisurely stroll behind him. Before Tyler closes the door behind him, he spins and says, “Good night, Rosie.”

“Night,” she mumbles, looking increasingly uncomfortable at the prospect of being left alone with her mother.

James nearly fumbles out an excuse to leave, but realizes that would be the most cowardly thing he’d ever done, and Rose deserves better than that. So he pulls on his big boy pants and turns to face the music.

Before he can speak, Jackie turns on Rose and throws her arms up into the air. “What are you thinking?! Have you gone mental?!”

“Mum, please just…”

“Whatever happened to “I deserve better than bein’ the latest in a long line”? I thought you were over bein’ a good time for someone who would drop you in a heartbeat for someone younger and smarter and prettier?”

Rose flinches from her mother, and James takes an automatic step towards her, reaching across the space between them.

“It’s not… it’s not like that,” Rose says weakly. “I got it wrong.”

“Oh, did you? ‘Cos from where I’m sittin’, it’s bloody obvious what’s going on here. Mister Handsome Rich Rockstar has swindled you again, tellin’ you whatever it is you want to hear so he can keep you ‘til he’s done with you.”

“Er, I’m not technically a rockstar,” James blurts, and he can hardly believe what has just come out of his mouth. But he can’t stop. It’s like his brain has ceased all higher function and his mouth has taken over. “More folk-pop. Indy, maybe? Soft pop?”

“Oh, shut up,” Jackie snaps, turning to him with fire in her eyes.

He clacks his teeth together and nods, stuffing his hands into his pockets in an attempt to make himself seem as small as possible, which is quite the impossible feat, considering his height.

“You! You need to get the hell away from my daughter if you know what’s good for you. You men, you’re all the same, taking what you want, thinkin’ you’re entitled to get your way, lyin’ through your bleedin’ teeth to get what you want. Well I won’t stand for it! My Rose deserves better. She isn’t a girl you can shag and drop the moment someone else comes along.”

“I… I know,” James stammers, his mouth impossibly dry and his stomach roiling in discomfort.

“Oh, do you?” Jackie remarks, false surprise lifting her face. “You had no problem tellin’ the entire bloody world you were just havin’ a bit of fun. ‘Cos that’s all you really want, isn’t it? Fun and a place to wet your cock…”

“Mum! Enough!” Rose shouts, red-faced and near-tears. “I was wrong. We’d both misunderstood each other. But we’re together now. Properly.”

“That’s what he told you, didn’t he? Bet he sounded real sorry too. Bet he said all the right words, didn’t he?”

James’s heart falls when he sees Rose flinch and drop her gaze to her feet.

“That’s enough,” he says quietly. “Say whatever you want about me, but Rose is smart enough to make her own decisions about her life, no matter what you believe. Yes, when Rose and I first started seeing each other, we each thought it was something casual. And I was an idiot for what I told the reporters. But things are different now. I want what’s best for her.”

Jackie grunts dismissively. “You say that now, but the moment she gives you a bit of bad press, you’re going to spin whatever little tale you need to tell to get the public on your side, and my Rose is gonna be the one who gets smeared through the muck.”

“I wouldn’t…”

“Mum, please,” Rose whispers. “I know I have an awful track record with boyfriends, but those are my mistakes to make. Maybe James will be a mistake, maybe he won’t be, but you have to let me live my life the way I choose to. And right now, I choose him.”

Jackie softens a fraction as she turns to her daughter. It’s as though with him out of sight, the gentle mother returns. She reaches to Rose and cradles her jaw, stroking her cheeks as she says, “My Rose. I will always want the best for you. It killed me to see you in such a state on holiday. I don’t want to see you be taken advantage of. Is it money? Sweetheart, you know me and your dad will help you out, you don’t need to stay with him for that.”

James is slightly offended that Jackie thinks he’s paying Rose to hang out with him or paying her for sex, but before he can think of a response, Rose covers her mother’s hands and leans into the touch.

“It’s not money,” she assures. “He’s not paying for anything of mine.”

“He bloody well should—he’s rich! You better not be payin’ for your dates!”

Rose lets out a sniffly giggle and throws her arms around her mother, who holds her tightly and rocks her from side to side. James wonders if he should sneak out while they’re distracted, but he finds he’s rooted to the spot, trying to wrap his head around the last few minutes.

“Please be safe, sweetheart,” Jackie whispers. “Please.”

“I am safe, Mum. And I wish you’d believe me when I say I’m happy. Really happy.”

“I believe that you believe it,” Jackie says, pulling back just far enough to kiss Rose’s forehead. “Remember that I’m here for you the moment you need me. Don’t you ever think you can’t come home to your old mum.”

Rose nods wordlessly.

The fight seems to have left Jackie, but she turns to him and says, “Don’t you dare hurt her, or mess her over.”

“I–  I won’t,” he vows.

Jackie narrows her eyes, scanning him up and down, but doesn’t say anything else. She turns away from him and back to Rose. “I gotta go. It’s way past Tony’s bedtime. Thanks for watchin’ him.”

“Of course. I love spending time with him,” Rose says, guiding her mother to the door.

“I love you. More than anything.”

“Love you too. Drive safe.”

Jackie kisses both of Rose’s cheeks and doesn’t even look James’s way as she sweeps out of the flat.

oOoOo

Downstairs in the foyer, Tyler Peters is desperately trying to occupy his definitely-tired-but-pretending-he’s-not-tired four-year-old, and it’s going about as well as one could hope. Tony is racing laps around the room, skillfully dodging the amused (and mercifully tolerant) tenants of the building who are simply trying to enter or exit the building.

“Watch it, mate,” he calls when Tony nearly barrels into the little old lady who has lived in this building for decades. She is one of the few residents who already leased a flat here before Tyler became the owner of the building. “So sorry Mrs. Donovan.”

“Oh, my grandsons have just as much energy,” the old woman says cheerfully, smiling down at Tony. “These bones may be old, but they’re sturdier than they look.”

“Hi!” Tony chirps, flashing a toothy smile. “Bye!”

And so the laps continue.

And continue…

And continue…

Tyler sighs and checks his watch. He should’ve known Jackie couldn’t keep it to five minutes. It’s nearing on fifteen, and he’s about to corral his son so they can go fetch her when the lift dings and Jackie steps out, her eyes sparking and her jaw locked.

“Mummy!” Tony sprints over and takes her hand. “Time to go!”

Tyler joins his family and takes his wife’s free hand, rubbing his thumb along the back of hers.

“Chat go all right?” he asks quietly.

“I don’t know what the hell she’s thinking,” Jackie grumbles. “I mean… James bloody Noble?! It was bad enough to hear my daughter was havin’ a lark with that… that… scoundrel in the first place. But now she’s taken him back? Stupid. Irresponsible.”

Tyler bites back a smirk and knocks his elbow into her ribs. “Put yourself in her shoes, eh? When you were her age, you can’t tell me that you wouldn’t have bedded Bono if he’d shown the slightest bit of interest in you?”

“It’s not the same!” she complains. “Bono never would’ve…”

“And Rose likely thought James Noble never would’ve,” he says simply. “You know I love her dearly and that I want the best for her, but Rose seems happy right now. Will it last? Probably not. But let her have this, eh? How many people can say they dated a famous singer in their youth? It’ll be a story for the grandkids and great-grandkids.”

His wife huffs out another impatient breath, but doesn’t argue further. “Yeah. Maybe. But still. James bloody Noble. I just hope Rose knows what she’s doing, datin’ that man…”

Tyler wraps his arm around her waist and gives her a squeeze, but doesn’t say more. Together, they walk out of the foyer of the building, all while being watched by two young women leaning on the wall beside the lifts.

The women exchange stunned, disbelieving looks.

“James Noble? The James Noble?” one of them asks.

“With Rose Tyler?” the other asks. “The girl up in flat 10-2?”

No fucking way…

oOoOo

James stares at the front door for several long seconds after Jackie’s marvelous exit. Rose shifts away from his side to step forward, twisting the lock and fastening the deadbolt chain before she clunks her forehead into the door. She doesn’t move from her position, so he goes to her.

Carefully, he slips his arms around her waist and presses a whisper-soft kiss to the side of her neck. Though she feels limp, she manages to spin in his grasp to instead plonk her head into his chest rather than her front door. She simply stands there, unmoving, as he rubs her back.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers, voice muffled. “I didn’t think… I thought she’d… I’m so sorry.”

He doesn’t know what to say, so he stays quiet, nestling his stubbly cheek into her hair and breathing her in. Never before has a parental introduction gone so poorly. Usually his partners are as famous as him, so the parents are accepting and gracious or simply indifferent. Occasionally they’ll fawn over him.

But the outright hostility and venom that Jackie just spat at him…

“I didn’t realize you’d told your mum about me,” he finally says, matching the volume of his voice with hers.

She groans and says, “During our holiday. I’d been out of sorts, thinkin’ you didn’t care about us at all. Mum caught on to my mood. I didn’t mean to tell her, but I was quite upset, and it all just sorta… came out. And when I saw your red-carpet interview that confirmed I was just a bit of fun for you… I lost it, and she saw my reaction, and it wasn’t good.”

James wishes he could go back in time and wallop his past self across the head for his thoughtless comments. He wishes he’d had the courage to tell the interviewer how he felt about Rose, to tell the world that he was riding the high of falling in love, and that he wanted to keep it private. But he hadn’t. He’d been a prick and a twat, and he’d broken Rose’s heart from five and a half thousand miles away.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. I’ve forgiven you for it all. But I just… I guess I’d forgotten how much I’d told Mum about you. And I’d forgotten how upset she was on my behalf. I was stupid for thinking that telling her on the spot that you and I were properly together would be enough for her to accept you. I shouldn’t have done it this way… I should have talked to her first, then introduced you. I’m so stupid.”

His stomach churns as he squeezes her tightly, as though that could rid them both of the shock they’re in.

“Should I… should I go?” he asks, mentally pleading with her to say no. The thought of spending his night in his empty house makes him ache with loneliness. 

To his relief, she shakes his head. “I don’t want you to, but I don’t feel like I deserve to have you with me tonight. My mum just… verbally eviscerated you. You must be so angry.”

“Not at all,” he insists. “Well… I’m a bit chastened. And a bit embarrassed that I made such a poor first impression, and that you’d been so upset about my behavior that you told your mum how awful I am. But I still want to be here. With you. If that’s all right.”

In response, Rose finally lifts her face from where it had been pressed into his shirt. Her eyes are a little red but completely dry, though he barely registers that fact before she threads her fingers through his hair, presses up onto her toes, and brushes her mouth to his. His eyes flutter shut at the glorious pressure of her kiss. He melts into her, splaying his palm across her back to hold her close.

“Stay,” she murmurs when she breaks away, though she catches his lips in another kiss a moment later. “Please stay with me.”

“For as long as you wish,” he says, because there is nothing on this planet that could make him leave.

Apart from her kiss of greeting at the door, this is the first that James has had Rose’s hands and lips on him in over a week. He tries to keep it chaste and slow, still unsure whether it’s appropriate for him to stay, while hoping to convey comfort and support through his body. He really shouldn’t let them get carried away; Rose is obviously upset, but he just can’t help it. He’s drawing as much strength from her as she hopefully is from him.

He has the presence of mind to keep his hands in safe places, primarily across the expanse of her back. He grabs onto the fabric to anchor himself as he basks in the heady intoxication of her mouth.

They each know exactly where this kiss is headed but pretend not to, and instead they explore each other’s mouths in lazy, indolent strokes of lips and tongue. James quickly becomes far too hot, his skin flushed and tingling with anticipation of things to come. He tentatively dips his fingers beneath her jumper, shuddering to touch her bare skin. She sighs into his mouth and presses her front flush with his.

He’s steadily getting hard in his jeans, each beat of his heart sending his blood rushing down, down, down, helped along by the rocking of Rose’s hips. He drops a hand to her arse, caressing and squeezing and pulling her more tightly into him. With his other hand, he tangles his fingers into her hair and guides her head back a bit to get better access to her neck. She grips his hips with near-bruising force as he plants row after row of searing kisses to the sensitive patch of skin beneath her ear. That familiar whining moan rushes out of her as she shudders in his arms, holding him close to urge him on. Not that he needs the encouragement.

Without breaking the kiss or the press of their bodies, James slowly guides them down the hall and to Rose’s bedroom. It takes ages, as he keeps getting distracted with the taste of her skin and the sound of her quiet gasps. They move even more slowly when Rose remembers that she has hands, then proceeds to use them to cup him and stroke him through his jeans.

“Christ,” he chokes out as a spark of pleasure zips up his spine.

“Rose,” she counters, giving him a playful squeeze that sends a full-body shudder through him.

“Smart-arse. Fuck, do that again.”

A laugh hums up her throat, vibrating against his now-still lips as she grips him tightly and rubs. He’s going to fucking lose it, right here in the doorway of her bedroom, but Christ this feels so good and he never, ever wants her to stop.

The intensity recedes a moment later, and he regains his senses enough to tug her hand away from him to instead guide her all the way into her room. There’s a pile of laundry on her bed that Rose haphazardly shoves to the floor.

“Clothes off,” she orders as she fumbles with the hem of her jumper, tugging until she pulls it over her head.

He doesn’t need telling twice.

Neither of them bothers with trying to sexily disrobe the other. Rather, they go for speed and efficiency, and soon enough, they’re both wonderfully naked. She’s as beautiful as he remembers, even more so, and he drags her down to the mattress with him. They move together until Rose is on her back, her legs open for him, and he’s atop her, his hips cradled in hers. She reaches between them for his cock, and strokes him a few times as she guides him inside of her.

He presses in, slowly, inch by inch, shivering at the sensations rushing through him. He groans through clenched teeth as he’s fully seated, forcing himself to wait, to give Rose a moment to adjust. She’s panting beneath him, chest rising and falling as her nails bite into the fleshy part of his back.

“Okay,” she whispers, arching her hips up and pulling him close for a rough, sloppy kiss that conveys everything she wants and needs from him.

His skin sings, tingling at the sensation of so much of her body pressed to his. His blood turns molten, burning him from within as he begins to move.

“Feels so good,” he chokes out, pulling back and plunging forward in a steady, measured manner. The slick glide of her all around him is as addictive as ever, and he trembles with the pleasure slowly mounting in him.

“Uh huh.” Her agreement dies on a moan as he thrusts in with a little more force this time. “James.”

He catches her bottom lip between his before releasing it to kiss her again. He teases his tongue into her mouth, flicking at the roof of her mouth just behind her front teeth, then going back to simpler kisses. Rose clings to him, kissing him back in equal measure as her nails rake down his spine to cup his arse, guiding his quickening rhythm. The sting of her nails coils a raging, aching heat low in his spine, building higher and higher until he knows it won’t be much longer until he’s lost.

“I missed you,” he grunts as her muscles begin to tighten around him. Thank fuck; she’s as close as he is. He redoubles his effort, wanting to push her over the edge first. “So much.”

“Me too,” she gasps. “Fuck. Please…”

He speeds up his rhythm, giving up on kissing her lips and instead tucking his face into the side of her neck. He breathes her in then plants his mouth to that patch of skin beneath her ear that is always her undoing. He grins to himself as she shudders and curses and moans, and when he dips a hand between them to rub her, she breaks.

She cries out and writhes into the mattress, arching her hips up and up and up, closer to him, closer to the sensations he is wringing out of her. She’s perfect, and fucking hell, he’s right on her heels. The perfect pressure within him pulls tighter, making him lose all sense as he chases his high. He thrusts with abandon, clenching his teeth as the flames fan hotter, drowning him, consuming him…

He lets out a wrenching moan and thrusts deeply into her, releasing helplessly, shaking and cursing and burying his face into her. Sensation sparks through him, channeling relief and pleasure through his entire body, curling his toes and stealing his breath. She’s everywhere, all around him and holding him through this maelstrom that has never felt so fucking good.

Rose… he thinks he gasps her name, but the rushing in his ears deafens him to anything except his erratic heartbeat.

He returns to awareness by Rose lazily stroking his back and kissing the top of his shoulder. His body is too heavy to move, but he manages to pull out and flop indelicately beside her, keeping an arm and leg slung over her. She laughs quietly at his antics, and he grins into the pillow. He cracks open an eye to look at her, and the sight of her smile and sex-mussed hair and flushed cheeks ignites a joy and love so deep that he begins to giggle. His body is thrumming with hormones that make him feel boneless and content, and through it all, he laughs and folds himself closer to Rose.

She’s laughing with him and turns to face him fully. He mirrors her position so they’re both on their sides, their legs tangled lazily together. He reaches out and brushes a few rogue strands of hair away from her face, then leans in to kiss her softly.

“That was great,” he whispers into the sacred silence of her bedroom.

“Mhm. Very great.”

“The most great,” he says, beaming as she rolls her eyes.

“Did you have a nice trip?” she asks.

He hums in wordless assent, and briefly tells her all about the week he’d spent in east Asia, meeting fans and doing photoshoots while promoting Catalysis.

“How was your week? Are you feeling better?” While her voice is still raspy from the illness she’d contracted, she looks and sounds much better than she had during their video chat on his last night in Japan.

“Much better. Teaching classes while feeling like death is always frustrating, but it’s easier than arranging for a substitute,” she says with a shrug.

He frowns, but they already had this discussion about how shittily schools treat their teachers, so he lets it go.

“I’ve got an upcoming holiday concert at the O2, weekend after next,” he murmurs, remembering the monthly schedule Donna had sent him that morning. “I’d… I’d really like you to come. If you want. It’s not just me. I think Ed Sheeran is on the list too. And Astrid Peth. She’s a good mate of mine. You can bring a few friends with you. There’s a private suite for my guests, so you could stay hidden, mostly, as long as cameras aren’t wandering around. And my mum’ll be there too. I think. Well. I should invite her, shouldn’t I…?”

Rose interrupts his nervous rambling with a soft kiss. He melts into her, but she breaks it far too soon for his liking.

“I’d love to,” she says, cupping his cheek before scraping her nails through his hair.

His eyes flutter shut at the echoes of pleasure that ripple through him, and he grins at her acceptance of his invitation. He’s giddy at the thought of being on stage and looking into his private suite to see Rose. His favorite pieces of his life will be in the same place, melding together perfectly.

He leans forward to kiss her again, and she willingly reciprocates.

oOoOo

They sleep, eventually. Between (and during) bouts of sex, they talk about everything and nothing. It’s like nothing bad can happen to them here, not when they’re twined so intimately, not when they’re making each other laugh so freely.

Wrung out in that perfect post-marathon-sex way, James buries himself beneath Rose’s blankets and lets blissful unconsciousness claim him. His dreams are vague and foggy, and he doesn’t remember them when he awakes later that morning to sunlight peeking through Rose’s curtains.

His eyes are gritty and heavy as he leans over to check the time. It’s barely 8am, but he feels refreshed, even though the drowsiness of lingering sleep tugs at him again. His shuffling has disturbed Rose, who curls close to him and mutters something unintelligible. He kisses her forehead and closes his eyes once more.

He drifts in and out for many long minutes before the gurgling of his stomach is too distracting. Even Rose hears it, and she pokes his belly, mumbling, “Shush.”

“Can’t exactly help it. Mind if I order a breakfast and coffee delivery?”

“Go for it,” Rose says through a yawn.

“Then can I borrow your shower?” he asks, sitting up and letting the sheets pool around his naked waist.

“Go for it,” she repeats, tucking an arm beneath her pillow to glance up at him. Her gaze falls to the morning erection that is somehow poking at the blankets despite their multiple rounds of very satisfying sex the night before. “Well, hello.”

She gently prods it, giggling when it bobs a bit. “Bouncy.”

James stifles a snort. “You’re adorable when you’re sleepy.”

“Pfft.”

He lets her mindlessly poke his cock as he scrolls to a food delivery app and orders a selection of bagels and croissants for them, as well as his favorite coffee and her favorite tea. His chest balloons with warmth when he adds Rose’s address to his list of favorites, then places their breakfast order.

“Should be here in half an hour,” he says, resting his phone on the nightstand, ignoring the handful of missed notifications. It’s the bloody weekend, for God’s sake. It can wait. For good measure, he completely silences everything, not wanting his morning with Rose to be disturbed.

“Hmmm, how can we pass the time?” Rose muses, blinking up at him through her lashes and grinning wickedly.

She shows him just how entertaining thirty minutes can be.

He doesn’t have time for a shower before there’s a knock at the door that has them scrambling for clothes. He tugs on his pants and t-shirt while Rose simply dons a robe overtop her knickers, cinching it tight at the waist to keep her modesty. They emerge from the bedroom, with James going to the kitchen for plates while Rose heads to the door.

There’s an odd commotion in the hallway, but James doesn’t really think much of it, not as he absently wonders what he and Rose could do today. Maybe they can sneak out somewhere and visit a museum or something. Maybe he could take her to the studio—it should be fairly empty on a Saturday morning. Maybe they can take an impromptu road trip to somewhere Rose has never been. Pack their bags and drive to the first place they can think of. Book a hotel and order in a bunch of fancy food and rent some films to watch and get drunk on expensive wine and kiss until their lips are bruised. God, that sounds like a perfect weekend, and he hopes Rose will be agreeable.

But all of those plans, those hopes, are dashed the moment Rose opens her front door to reveal a stunned delivery person and over a dozen paparazzi photographers, armed and ready with flashing cameras.

[sadcoms]

when you hold me near

Pairing: Tentoo/Rose Prompt: "parallels" written for @tentoorosemonth2024 Summary: Falling in love, the Doctor thinks, is like learning a new language.

Falling in love, the Doctor thinks, is like learning a new language. It is learning how someone likes their tea and what that one small, specific smile means and, sometimes, how to curl your tongue so that you can hear them gasp just so, and discovering that a six o'clock alarm on a Monday morning means the first word of the week will be a grunted "hmfug" followed by hitting the snooze button three separate times, and finding that behaviour oddly adorable instead of annoying. Rose has always needed more sleep than him, anyway.

Read on AO3

[janeyre]

call me on the way home (2/2)

otp: tentoo x rose

word count: 5k

summary: After a slight mishap at Torchwood, Rose has gone temporarily missing. While Mia is out, she runs into her mum, but not as she last saw her - instead wearing a blue leather jacket with deep circles beneath her eyes. Worried about her mum's state and trying to comfort her, Mia calls the Doctor so Rose can speak to him.

AO3

It had been three weeks since Rose Tyler’s unexpected tumble through a far-away dream, and now she found herself towing the Earth home.

She had done it. 

Her gaze, as it swept over all the many happy faces bobbing in and out of her view, landed not on the pinstriped Doctor, but on the blue Doctor. Catching her gaze, he winked at her and clicked his teeth.

God, it was really him . Her face was going to split open from smiling so hard.

“Thinking about what adventures we’ll have next, Rose Tyler?” He said her name in that way that only he could.

Something once-blurry came suddenly into blinding focus. That picture of her and the Doctor and their daughter. Sharing a life — normal and yet not all at once. The text that said Grandma Jackie. The one adventure he could never have. The one adventure she never let herself fully believe she’d be able to find again.

Her gaze returned to his. Did he know? Did he know what could be waiting for them?

She wanted it so bad she couldn’t breathe . The voice she’d heard on the phone that day…. 

You are my heart. 

Singular.

She grinned at him. 

Do you know what I’m trying to tell you?

She wanted to kiss him, snog the living daylights out of him right here in front of everyone until they all went home and left them to their peace. 

Of course I do. 

The Doctor took a deep breath. “You told me something. Something I don’t take lightly. And I want, need you to know, that… you’re everything to me. You have given me happiness more infinite than I could have ever dreamed of. You are the centre of my universe. You are my heart. I… I care for you more than I can say. Do –” he felt suddenly worried, worried that this opportunity might be lost, that she wouldn’t know, that she was doomed to suffer this next month in the dark, that she had never known until that second time on the beach; not at the Game Station, or Krop Tor, or— “Do you know what I’m trying to say?”

He held his phone tightly in his hand; if he would have looked at his knuckles he would have found them white.

“Yes, Doctor. Of course I do, I do too, I–”

Her voice was suddenly cut off, marked by the sound of a harsh smack . 

“Rose? Rose?!”

Some rustling. His heart thundered. 

Mia’s voice. “She disappeared, Dad.”

His head was full of static. His thoughts were rushing and all he could hear was the crash of a wave just about to take him under. 

Of course I do. I do too, she had said.

He let out a breath, devastated and relieved as realisation struck him like lightning to the head of a pin.

Oh.

Oh. 

She knows. 

He blinked furiously.

“Dad?” 

He cleared his throat. His beautiful, wonderful, brilliant daughter.

“Thank you for thinking to call, you brilliant, clever girl. Do you want to meet back here, at Torchwood, and then we can both go home?”

“Yeah, that would be good.” She swallowed, somewhat shaken. “I’ll see you soon.”

“Not if I see you first.” He missed Rose. “I love you, Mia.”

He wasn’t mistaken if he thought she sounded a little choked up too. 

“I love you, Dad.” The line clicked.

He let the phone fall from his hands and clatter to the table, eyes wet and growing wetter. He scrubbed the palms of his hands into his eyes and then let them rest there, sitting his elbows on the table.

The events of the day flickered behind his eyelids like a thousand different film reels all playing at once. 

Finding out this afternoon that Rose had been teleported somewhere and rushing to Torchwood. Watching in frustration as everyone realised that she couldn’t have gone far and leaving him to figure it out. His wife was missing. Hearing her sob on the other end of the phone. Knowing that even though she would be fine, there was nothing he could do now. No possible way on Earth to be with her at this very moment. No matter how his heart ached. No matter how much he couldn’t fight the panic that grew when she was gone. No matter where she was.  

“What are you doing in ‘ere all alone?”

Her voice. His head snapped up. 

“Rose?”

It really was her. Back from the aether. Beautiful and perfect and not a hair out of place and smiling at him with that fondness she reserved only for him. 

“Rose.”

He was in her arms before he’d even realised he’d pushed away from the table, trying to regulate his breathing but finding himself overwhelmed at the feel of her familiar embrace. It’s only been a few hours , he chided himself.

“Doctor, is everything okay?”

He couldn’t help himself from sniffling a little, burying his head further into her shoulder. 

“Yeah, it’s just been a long day.” 

“Want to tell me about it?”

He nodded into her shoulder and took a deep breath before backing away to meet her gaze. God, but she was beautiful. Her every feature radiated safety, warmth, comfort. 

“Today was the day that you jumped here and met Mia before you really properly found me. Before we ended up here together. I just got off the phone with you.” 

Her eyes were wide. 

“Oh, Doctor, I’m sorry. I… I wish I could have been here, with you.”

He laughed in spite of himself. “Funny, that’s just what I told you.” He couldn’t help it – he gathered her into a hug again, just to feel her so close to him.

“It was so long ago, but that old fear that had followed me around during our time apart that you didn’t know that I – that I loved you, it came crashing back. All I could think was how guilty I felt for leaving you to carry the weight of every universe on your shoulders all alone.” His words were slightly muffled as he spoke them into her jacket.

“But you didn’t leave me,” she reminded him. “You’re right here. And I knew, Doctor. We’ve talked about this. I’ve always known, okay? Always.” She twisted her head so she could kiss just above his ear. “Don’t be so hard on yourself.”

He laughed again. Being hard on himself was one of his oldest strengths. “For you, I’ll try.” He took in a deep breath, then righted himself once more. “Where did you end up today, anyways?”

“You would not believe – Brixton! Brixton, and I didn’t have my wallet or my phone on me or anything.”

“How’d you get back?”

“I walked – I wasn’t that far away from the Estate Mum and I used to live on, so I made a little detour to see if it had changed in all these years. Wasn’t so far anyway, and less hassle than trying to borrow someone’s phone. Although I would have tried, if I would have realised it was going to be such a traumatic day.”

“Mum!” 

Rose whirled around just in time to see Mia rush into the room. In an instant she was in her mother’s arms, properly this time. Her tears flowed freely.

“I’m so glad it’s you, I thought I saw you earlier, and it was you, but you didn’t even know me, and you were so sad, and I didn’t know what to do.” 

Rose shifted a little, just enough that she could look her daughter in the eyes. She brought one hand up to cup her face, wiping away the fat tears that rolled down her cheeks.

“But you did so well, Mia. You were so brave. It takes a lot of courage to power through something like that when everything seems so wrong. But you were incredible. Okay?” Mia nodded softly, offering a tentative smile.

Rose’s voice grew softer, lower. “I thought about your face and the conversation I had with your dad every day until I came back. You gave me a light at the end of the tunnel. And I focused on it and fought for it until I found it. You’re the best daughter I could ever have.”

Mia’s face, previously recovering, broke down into tears again. 

“I missed you, Mum.” 

Rose’s heart broke a little. She brought her daughter close and felt it mend. 

“I missed you too, precious girl.” 

She felt the Doctor’s arms close around the both of them. Her family. The picture they’d taken last week at her birthday. The memory of the phone call she’d had had faded with time, the fear of future knowledge spoiling her present pushing it away until it really did feel like a dream. 

She took a deep breath. She could smell the Doctor’s familiar scent, same as ever. She could feel his singular, human heart beating against his ribs, pressed against her back. She could feel their precious daughter hugging her tight. 

I am so lucky being able to talk to you right now, to tell you that it’s all going to be okay. Because it is. 

She blew out her deep breath and smiled ear to ear. 

Everything was okay.

[loupettes]

V I C T O R I O U S

SUMMARY: A storm's approaching, he had said. When the storm finally reaches them later that evening, Rose realises that the Doctor beside her might not be the Doctor she knows him to be. Ten/Rose

TAGS: angst, hurt/comfort, romance, stargazing, post 2.11 Fear Her, post 2.13 Doomsday, time lord victorious

Read ch.2 on AO3: victorious (ch.1 here)

“I don’t want you to leave,” she said simply. “I don’t want us to be separated, and I don’t want whatever the future holds. I don’t want to go back to my room tonight and for none of this to have happened. I want you to change it, I want you to intervene and stop it all from happening. And I want you!”

He was quiet and… horribly unmoving. For a moment, both stood completely still, neither able to respond to her desperate and pitiful outcry. She winced in anticipation, before she couldn’t take another second of it.

“God, I didn’t mean any of that.”

R E A D   O N   A O 3

[thirdeyeblue]

Out on a snowy hike, the Doctor and Rose get lost and quickly find themselves in danger. With night upon them and temperatures dropping fast, staying warm becomes a matter of survival. 

Pairing: Tenth Doctor x Rose Tyler

Rating: Explicit

Length: 11k (one shot) 

Tags: Huddling For Warmth, First Time, Romance, Smut

[Ao3]

It's nearly twilight on the planet Karoa when the Doctor and Rose find themselves sprinting through a dense forest. 

They're heading back to the TARDIS after a long, snowy hike through the wilderness when the Doctor realizes he'd plotted their course wrong, leaving a deep and narrow river between them and the side of the forest where they initially landed. It wouldn't have been a big deal, but they were still quite far from the ship, and the sky was darkening quickly. 

Searching for the path they originally used to get across, they encounter a couple of adorable wolf pups snacking on some sort of bird-like carcass. Their smiles and awe are quickly wiped away when they find themselves pursued by the mother a moment later, a massive wolf with silvery-blue fur that spotted them from a distance.

 It's not long before the Doctor spots their best option: a log crossing straight over to the other side of the river. It's not very wide, but it looks to be grounded well enough. He looks over his shoulder, catching Rose's eyes with a profoundly sympathetic expression.

"It's the only way," he says quietly.

In the near distance, growls echo through the trees, deep, rumbling and sinister in the encroaching darkness and twisting trees. He takes her hand and clutches it with the purposeful squeeze of a man who isn't sure how to tell his friend just how much danger they're in because there could be more wolves en route… It could be an entire bloody _pack, _for all he knows. 

"We've got to get across," he insists, and this time, there's no mistaking the urgency or the fear in his voice. "Rose, I would carry you if I could. You know I would. You're just going to have to be careful."

Rose shivers, nodding shakily. "O-okay."

The Doctor smiles weakly. "You go first— I'll be right behind you to catch you if you slip."

"Promise?"

"Promise." 

The wolf has almost caught up to them now, her rumbling growls accompanied by the crunching sounds of paws trampling through leaves. He gives Rose a tug. "Come on."

Together, with hands linked, the pair makes a beeline for the log. Once they arrive, the Doctor gives the natural bridge a brief inspection, though they're almost immediately interrupted by a guttural growl from no more than ten meters off. 

Rose looks back at him with terrified eyes, and he wills another smile. His Rose is strong and brilliant. She can do this. He nods towards the log, and very carefully, they begin to make their way across. It's narrow, and the water rushing below is rather intimidating, but it's not too far of a distance. There's no way the wolf can cross it, at least not easily.

The mother snarls and gnashes her teeth as she advances on the pair. At this point, they're more than halfway across, and the Doctor reaches into his coat and removes his sonic screwdriver. Turning his head to point it at the beast, he apologizes under his breath before emitting a frequency that pulls an agonized screech from the animal, debilitating her for a crucial moment.

Rose glances over her shoulder at the sound as she's midway across the log. It's enough of a critical misstep that when she looks forward, she steps on a small patch of frozen moss, knocking her off-balance the same instant the Doctor is busy slipping his screwdriver into his pocket. 

With a scream, her body pitches right, and though her arms flail about in a bid to regain purchase, she loses the battle with gravity and plunges headfirst into the freezing depths below. The Doctor's hearts stop.

"Rose!" 

Thinking fast, he tosses his coat to the other side of the log, where it lands in the snow with a soft, crunching thud. He then dives straight into the water, following Rose without a second thought. 

The river's so cold it feels as though it's boiling against his skin — but he's able to tune the discomfort out completely, sustaining the bulk of his core temperature as he swims. 

Rose has already been pulled quite a ways down the river, head bobbing in and out of the water as she gasps for air and attempts to cry for help. She can't find stability in the rapids, but the Doctor isn't human, so if there's one thing to be grateful for in this moment of terror, it's how quickly he can come to his companion's rescue.

"Rose— Rose, I've got you." He gets an arm around her waist and holds her close, barely keeping them both afloat by kicking his legs. "Hold on!"

Arms cumbrous with soaking, freezing clothing wrap around his neck and cling tightly, quite literally for dear life, as he desperately searches the edge for anything he can use to pull them to safety. He uses almost all of his strength to keep her head above water, feeling his hearts break more and more with each choking cough and gasp she emits in bursts beside his ear. 

Thankfully, it only takes a moment before he spots erosion in the soil ahead, a spot where the tree roots are unearthed and exposed. He swims desperately for them, occasionally pulled beneath the water by Rose's inadvertent tugging and the violent current swirling around them. 

The first root he grasps breaks away from the ground. He doesn't waste much time or energy chastising himself for the risk, instead grabbing a sturdier root, drawing his remaining strength to hang on for all he's worth.

"Come on," he breathes, looking at his companion, who's now sopping wet, white as a sheet and overcome with heavy shivers. "Oh, Rose— you're alright— here, hold on to my neck — there you go. Hang on tight — that's it, now DO. NOT. LET. GO."

Thank the lucky stars she listens, using impressive strength in her weakened state to hold on as he works towards getting them out of the river.

Each time he reaches up and takes hold of a new root, he pulls them up a little higher, slowly drawing their bodies out of the water. He continues to climb with hands nearly numb, threatening to jeopardize his grip, but he powers through — even while he's repeatedly nicked by jagged bits of wood.

With no small effort, he eventually pulls up over the ledge, hoisting them both onto the snowy ground with a pained grunt. Hidden under the cover of dusk, he feels confident they've evaded the wolves. 

Quickly and carefully, he lowers Rose to her feet. Exposed again to the icy air, he can't help but notice how harsh the cold is. For her sake, he's desperate to get back to the log and retrieve his coat.

She's pale with a flushed face, muscles contracting in violent shivers as her body attempts to warm her with the chemical expenditure of rapid movement. It's frivolous, of course— no amount of shivering will counteract the abrupt loss of heat from being submerged in the river — but at least she's _able _to. For now, that's the best sign he could ask for other than a bloody sauna magically materializing in front of them. 

The Doctor swallows thickly, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. She gasps.

"D-D-D— Doc—"

"Shhhh." He gathers her close to his side, surreptitiously stealing glances in each direction to ensure they're no longer being pursued.

He breathes a quiet sigh when he sees that the coast is clear.

Thankfully, there's nothing on this side of the river—only trees, the soft sounds of water, and the distant but warm and familiar hum of his ship. They might be on the right side now, but they're not at all close. Again, he sighs, looking down at Rose's face. 

_Oh, Rose. _She's dazed to the point of appearing drugged, flushed and racked with heavy, shaking shivers as her body continues attempting to heat itself up in any way it can. Though the sight is alarming, and rightfully so, he's still relieved to see that she's maintained the motor skills necessary for her body to have such a response. That means he's still got time. 

His arm tightens around her waist.

"Come on, Rose," he murmurs, tightening his hold on her waist. "We're going to go and get you warm, alright?"

"I-I-I'm s-s-s-s-so c-c-cold," she chatters weakly, nearly keeling over with a shudder the Doctor feels coursing through her body, intense as an electric shock.

His hearts break a little more. All he wants to do is cloak her, hold her, protect her, anything, but they're both absolutely sopping wet. With the temperature's relentless descent, any attempts to reach the TARDIS could result in certain death— even if there weren't wolves awaiting them on the other side. 

His only hope for immediate relief is to get back his coat. They've floated a reasonable distance from where he tossed it, but it's still reasonably close, so he gives Rose another squeeze.

"I know, and I'm sorry— really, I'm_ so_ sorry— but we've got to keep moving."

"I c-c-c-can't, I-I—"

"Non-negotiable, Rose Tyler— you _can, _and you will. Just do as I do. Come on, that's it. One foot in front of the other. We're just a short ways out. There you go."

The Doctor's weakened legs are the only thing propelling them forward, supporting so much of Rose's weight that her movements aren't entirely unlike a marionette controlled by strings. He wants to run at a full sprint to where his coat lies in the snow, but he doesn't trust Rose to keep herself upright, and he's got to keep her moving. 

It takes several excruciating moments, but they finally reach the log, where the wolf has since thankfully abandoned her previous position. The Doctor keeps Rose balanced at his side and carefully uses his foot to lift his coat up from the frozen forest floor, using as much of his periphery as possible to make sure nothing's about to take a running leap at them. 

Once he gets the coat into his hand, he quickly wraps it around her, making sure it's snug before he pulls his sonic from the pocket.

 "I'm going to pick you up," he informs her quietly, and then he does just that, handling her as gently as possible. She's gone hypothermic. Any sudden movements could shock her already jeopardized system, potentially triggering cardiac arrest. 

He's light on his feet as he moves through the forest, keeping an eye out for danger and taking strategic steps to keep from jostling her too much. They appear safe, but he walks with reasonable caution, knowing that a timer and a warning loom over each step. 

Rose is in the throes of a medical emergency. If he can't find a suitable spot quickly, he'll have no choice but to set up a camp right on the forest floor. Even if he can regulate their combined temperatures for the duration of the evening without exhausting the limits of his physiology, they'll still be vulnerable and open to attack. His chances of survival are marginally better due to his species, but Rose is defenseless. 

With that in mind, he walks quickly as he can, keeping his eyes wide and focused as he searches for anything he can use to increase their odds of survival. The entire time he moves, he's talking to Rose, hoping to keep her conscious. She's half-delirious, speaking in a slurred, jumbled cadence. 

He tries not to dwell on the reality of her condition, on the fate that awaits them if he can't get her temperature up in time.

He shuts out the thought he might lose her, because he can't— and he _won't— _and that's that. 

Miraculously, after about ten minutes, he finds a network of caves on the side of a relatively shallow bluff. He realizes they'd passed the ridge during their initial trek and completely overlooked it, having never thought it relevant to take note of any potential shelters in the area.

Lesson learned.

Several of the little caves are high up in the rock, therefore impossible to reach safely. There's one cavern peeking out through a spindly thicket of dead ivy that looks promising.

It might be perfect, though it's not even tall enough for either of them to stand in. It looks secluded, and that's what matters. It's shelter. It's going to have to do.

"Alright, Rose— we're going to go right in here, alright?"

She trembles out a painful acknowledgment that sends a spike of anxiety through his chest.

Get it together, the Doctor thinks to himself. Rose needs you.

Ducking down, he helps Rose to her knees behind him. He does almost all of the work, carefully guiding her through the net-like curtain of dead plant life covering the cave's entrance, tugging it back over to protect them from the elements. Time Lord or not, he's bloody freezing, but he couldn't give a damn. This is the only hope he's got of saving Rose, and there's not a split second to spare. 

When finally they're both on the cave floor, he keeps his eyes riveted to his companion as he gets close to her and fishes around inside his coat pocket. It's dark, but with his stellar eyesight, he can see her paper-white skin, flushed cheeks, and the frozen puffs of air she exhales through the clicks of her chattering teeth.

"You're alright," he murmurs, heart aching at the sight of her. She looks like she's about to keel over, and though he'll most certainly be there to catch her if she does, his hands move like lightning through his pocket anyway. He's got to get her temperature up, and fast. "You're going to be just fine. Alright? We're just going to have a lie-down, and you're going to be absolutely perfect— just you watch, Rose Tyler."

Rose mumbles something he can't pretend to understand, so he nods and acknowledges it politely, yes-anding his friend to keep her aware while he removes a few essential items from his coat. 

"Oh, please, please, please," he whispers shakily to himself as he digs through his pocket, remembering something he'd picked up ages ago but wasn't sure he'd stashed away or not. He searches until, finally, his fingers grasp a small bundle of folded fabric, and he breathes out with such a relieved whoosh that his entire body slackens from it.

"Ha!" He celebrates with a grin, swiftly working to untie and unravel the little bundle before spreading it out on the cold cave floor. Inside the packet is a long, thin rectangle made of special material from Tazmelora, a soft but durable foam pad that rapidly begins to expand before his eyes. "Have a look at that, Rose — a bed! Not a proper one, of course — gonna be a bit tight, I'm afraid —but we'll make do."

It's _much _better than nothing. The pad retains heat exceptionally well, providing a soft buffer between their bodies and the unforgiving ground. He briefly admonishes himself for not searching for it as soon as they'd reached his coat, but having little time to spare standing around exposed to the elements, he cuts himself some slack. Besides, their hidden cave offers better shelter.

The last thing he pulls from his pocket is something he knew was on hand: a bundle of small pouches about the size of a box of sandwich bags. Instant hot compresses. He removes three of the pouches and puts the rest away, grasping all three at once and squeezing them until an almost bubble wrap-like pop snaps across the walls of their enclosed space. Brilliant.

He sets the compress on top of their little 'bed' as they inflate and reaches into his pocket one last time, flashing Rose an apologetic look — but her eyes are almost closed. He doesn’t have to search long before he finds a large bundle of gauze, which he removes and begins to unravel, cutting long strips away with his sonic and wrapping a good, thick layer around each compress before setting them back on the foam pad.

With everything else now out of the way, he begins to pull his clothes off with feverish celerity, starting with his suit jacket.

"Right then, Rose," he breathes, tossing each sodden article of clothing to the side as he removes it, a pile forming as each bit hits the ground with a wet shlop, "I'm terribly sorry to say this, but erm, I'm going to have to remove your clothes."

"O-o-o-o-k-kay," she chatters quietly as the Doctor sets his shoes to the side. 

He unbuttons his trousers and slips them from his freezing legs, then his pants, accomplishing his clothing removal with remarkable haste. Confident she can't see him, he kneels naked in front of Rose and carefully uses the sonic to cut her clothes from her body, not even thinking of stealing a peek outside of what's necessary. 

It's dark regardless, almost entirely black in the cave that houses them. He knows she likely isn't aware of what he's doing, because she doesn't say a word — only shivers unremittingly. 

After brushing the little pile of hot compresses to the side, he gently removes his coat from a weakly-protesting Rose and places his hands on her bare hips. Very carefully, he guides her onto their 'bed'.

"Shhh, just right here... Go on, I've got you… There you go." He smiles wide once he's got her down on the foam mat, and then he's back to business, pulling the coat up to her neck and tucking the heat packs inside.

He crawls behind her underneath the coat and distributes the heat sources around her body, strategically applying them to the best spots to raise her core temperature. He places one beneath her arm, then inserts one between her legs, gently pulling her thighs apart to press the warmth directly against her groin. 

She shudders upon contact, and he whispers an apology. Not certain she registers his words, he moves on, wrapping an arm around her waist and drawing her body to his until every inch of her back, bum, and legs are flush with his front. 

She's so freezing cold that the bite of skin-on-skin causes his jaw to clench, but he doesn't care, picking up and pressing the final compress to her chest and holding it there with the arm he wraps tightly around her. 

With everything else done, he can finally focus his energy on generating warmth to donate through the touch of their skin, holding her body snugly to his and gently whispering into her ear: 'It's alright, you're alright, everything is going to be just fine, I've got you'.

He doesn't concern himself with rubbing her arms or legs, knowing that doing so could encourage blood to flood back into her slowly-warming core and put undue stress on her heart and lungs. He's not interested in any increase to her risk of death.

They've already made it this far. He’s not about to lose her now. 

It's freezing outside, the last vestiges of daylight long bled from the sky, shrouding the cave in an all-encompassing night.

Beneath Janise Joplin's famed coat, however, warmth is beginning to take precedence over chill. Rose's shivers slowly morph from violent, tooth-clattering intensity to gentle, rolling vibrations that ripple beneath her skin. 

Thank you, the Doctor thinks over and over to no deity in particular._ Thank you, thank you, thank you._

He's blessed with the endurance of a Time Lord, but after their unforeseen swim, propelling the pair of them through the forest and situating them in the cave, warming himself and Rose takes a tremendous toll on his system. The sheer amount of energy he's had to expend to generate all that life-giving heat is almost cosmic. 

As such, it doesn't take long for him to grow exhausted behind her, but he staves off sleep long enough to ensure she's safely out of hypothermia, raising her temperature to 36.4 degrees celsius before he's even allowed himself a stable breath. 

She's fast asleep by that point, her heartbeat and breathing picking up until her levels are below average but slowly rising. Rising is good. He can work with that.

Tucking her head beneath his, the Doctor carefully removes the hot compresses from under her arm and between her legs. Confident they'll be adequately warm beneath the coat, he awkwardly shifts one of the compresses down to their feet, keeping the other two lying in front of her just for the extra warmth.

Without thinking, he presses a kiss to her hair, more relieved than he's been since the day he saved them from being sucked into a black hole. He's overwhelmed with gratitude as he holds her, overjoyed that he's managed to beat the odds once more.

He rides that joy into a deep sleep, blissfully wrapped around the woman he loves.

x

Rose hums, low and long, as she's slowly lifted from her slumber, aware of a warm presence around her.

At first, she's too tired to question it, but then she feels a soft, warm breath exhaled against her neck and wakes with a quiet gasp. Her eyes fly open to find herself greeted with a dark wall of stone, as well as a multicolored pile of… Hmm.

She squints, willing her eyes to focus on what she sees.

Jeans.

A pinstriped suit jacket.

A jumper.

Possibly her least attractive pair of knickers.

And that's just the stuff she's able to see. The stuff on top of the pile.

Everything else comes back to her in fuzzy fragments. The wolves, the river, the Doctor pulling them to safety and dragging them through the forest.

Only minutely is she able to recall the buzzing sound of the sonic as he'd cut through her clothes, the feeling of his body pressing against hers.

His… equally naked body.

And that's when she grasps the true nature of what's happening: she's naked on a cave floor being spooned by the Doctor.

Her heart palpitates as breathing suddenly becomes taxing because, oh wow, oh god. Never mind that it's been ages since she's been naked in front of another human— she's never even imagined being naked in front of him.

Err, well, except when she…

Never mind.

Despite her valiant efforts to force her breathing to remain level, she feels the arm around her waist squeezing her, then there's a face nuzzling the back of her neck, and oh, he's not hard, but he's pressing forward with his hips, and she can feel all of him— warm and thick against her backside.

"Mmm," he hums quietly, then squeezes her again. "Rose."

"D-Doctor?" she chirps, her voice a quiet falsetto.

The arm he's secured around her waist goes slack as he moves to press his hand over her belly, fingers splaying before he proceeds to rub slow circles into her skin. 

Though Rose is toasty-warm from head to toe beneath his coat, she shivers. She wonders just how conscious he is of what he's doing because, well... 

Point blank, she couldn't imagine a reality where he'd so willingly caress her this way. She can't just push him off of her, can she? She also isn't really sure what the right move is just yet. 

Would she even be able to?

Logic doesn't tend to factor in when one wakes to find themselves naked and being spooned by the man they adore.

He pushes forward with his hips again, and this time, Rose feels a pulse against her bum. Then another. Yeah, he's definitely getting hard now, and oh god, his hand is moving higher and higher up her torso, dragging a path across eager skin that's quick to respond to his touch.

If he isn't awake, he's probably about to be. With only mild panic, Rose believes he's doomed to jolt into full awareness as soon as he feels the pounding of her heart beneath his palm. With the way it's been thrumming in her ears, she's surprised it doesn't echo against the cave walls.

She can already feel herself trembling, and she wonders if he can feel it, too. Precious centimeters drift away beneath his slow-moving fingers, sparking every raring nerve and synapse until finally, he covers her breast. He hums quietly, almost _appreciatively, _cupping and squeezing the soft weight as goosebumps spread rapidly across her skin. 

Now she knows he's asleep. He's never touched her so intimately, and she's got a bit of a gut feeling that he wouldn't in the first place — particularly without asking. She knows she's going to have to put a stop to whatever's going on, but her brain is at sixes and sevens, and _ooh, _he's very hard now, grinding into her bum and moaning almost achingly into the back of her neck.

As he rocks against her, she bites back a whimper, internal muscles squeezing and clamping down on nothing, desperately seeking a presence that teases her just inches away. Her nails find the foam pad they're lying on and sink achingly into it, letting off some tension as her teeth find her bottom lip.

He does it again— _blimey— _she can feel how he's shaped; can tell exactly how big he is. Can just about taste what it'd be like to have him nestled deep inside her, secured and slipping through her sex, filling and withdrawing before filling her again. He nuzzles closer, bringing his mouth so close to her ear.

"Rose," he murmurs, voice like sweet silk, touching his lips to her neck and kissing her softly. "Needed… this." She feels him throb powerfully against her as he moves his hips. "Mmm..."

Her heart melts at the sound of him, all raw and vulnerable. At the same time, a profound rush of heat roars beneath her skin, something that simmers and settles somewhere low, deep, and increasingly riddled with urgency. Moisture collects in that spot, readying her body, flooding her where she's so very close to him — where he could slip right inside with just the tiniest adjustment.

If he wanted to. 

"Ooh," she moans, eyes squeezing shut, and she freezes again, panicked that she's allowed herself to respond in such a way when what she should be doing is stopping him. It's wrong, allowing this to go on— she knows it is— but she's scared. What if he's mortified? What if he blames_ her?_

"Rose." 

His mouth is at her ear, his voice deep and thick with sleep. He murmurs something soft, something _gorgeous, _but she's got no idea what it is— only that it's far too structured to be sleepy gibberish. There's an almost-Italian-but-also-sort-of-Arabic resonance to it, yet entirely unique; something she can't even pretend to know how to accurately describe. 

He slides his hand back down to her belly and presses her close as he nuzzles her neck, continuing to whisper to her, and that's when she realizes it must be his native tongue. It has to be.

Even in his sleep, it flows from his mouth like poetry. 

She can't understand a word of it, of course. All she knows is that it's so beautiful, so enchanting, so _alien, _and she feels herself get choked up, like she's sharing something remarkably private and intimate with this beautiful being she's grown to know and love so very much.

Grinding into her again, he continues to whisper that magical, extraterrestrial spell. He says her name. He moves his hand over her breast again. His cock pulses firmly with the movement of his hips. He exhales in a shudder right above her ear. 

She wants to have sex with him. She wants that very much. Wants to hear those same words in her ear while he fucks her; wants to feel them painted against her neck while she comes.

But she's got to stop him, because this isn't right. All of his sleepy touches and quiet words have made her very wet, almost uncomfortably so, and if he isn't even aware that he's been working her up like this, what right does she have to let him continue on in ignorance?

Right as she's working out a plan to extricate herself, the Doctor's hand slides up again. After running his fingers lightly over her breasts, he finds and begins to play with her nipples, moaning quietly as he uses his thumb on one and the tip of his middle finger on the other. Fuck. His erection slides against her again, _mmmf god damn it, _and she makes a quiet, strangled sound of need before she's got any hope of stopping herself.

As though he's been dipped in a vat of liquid nitrogen, the Doctor goes completely still and rigid behind her. 

She holds her breath, once again digging her nails into the mat beneath them as she attempts to will the cave to collapse on them before she has to face him.

"Rose…?"

She burrows a little further beneath his coat. She isn't sure what to say, but she knows that he knows she isn't really asleep— knows he can feel how each tattered breath she draws causes her entire body to quiver with anxiety.

She hears him pull a deep breath through his nose, and then he tenses again. His cock jumps against her, and so quietly, he groans.

Can he…

No.

Can he_ sense_ the state she's in?

He exhales a long and heavy shiver, a soft noise drifting from his throat as he does. Rose swallows thickly, feeling a little twitch between her legs because she realizes that he can sense it. He can, and all signs seem to indicate that he doesn't necessarily detest the conclusion he's just drawn…

His hand retreats from her breasts, lingering briefly on the nipples he's teased to stiff and pointed attention. Rose shivers and stifles a moan, and then he places that hand on her shoulder, clearing his throat softly.

"Rose," he says again. This time, his voice is quieter but deeper. There's strain laced through his words, and his hand is almost trembling against where he touches her. “D-... Do you…” She just barely hears him lick his lips. "Do you want…"

Her heart feels like it might rupture in her chest. She's not exactly an expert on the topic, but it doesn't feel that far-fetched to surmise that she's not the only one who's overcome with nerves…

Or arousal. 

There's been no decline in the intensity of his erection, which is still pressed firmly against her backside. If anything, it's gotten even harder, pulsing strongly and with more frequency— and the Doctor's voice and quivery breaths are nothing if not a full-on dead giveaway. 

Rose's nerves are a fizzy mess of effervescence, every bit of_ need_ and yes and _now, now, now taking precedence over modesty. _It suddenly feels very much like a matter of now or never (if not _life or death, _for god's sake), and if she doesn't speak up while they're caught in the web of this pivotal crossroads, she might never have this opportunity ever again. 

She takes one final breath to steel herself, sinking her nails into the pad again.

"You," she says with a sigh. "Always you." She pauses, closing her eyes. "Please."

The last word is added as though it's punctuating a prayer. It's everything she has to keep from crossing her fingers. 

For a moment, there's nothing. Not a word, not even a breath or a breeze. 

The world has gone still.

There are a few excruciating seconds where the Doctor removes his hand from her shoulder and begins to retreat backward, but Rose quickly realizes there's a purpose for his apparent departure. After adding a touch of distance between them, he props himself up on his elbow, pulling his coat back up from where it's been jostled from their shoulders.

Staying on his side, he tugs at Rose's shoulder in an attempt to guide her towards him.

At first, she thinks he's trying to roll her flat onto her back, so she follows suit, turning her upper body slowly. There's still that little bit of space between them.

When her shoulder comes into contact with his chest, she realizes he's only drawing her back until she's lying almost flat but half-supported against his torso. 

Everything happens very quickly then, with the way he positions her. He blindsides her, reaching down between their bodies and slipping his hand between her thighs from behind. Rose jumps with a little gasp, but he's quick, gently wrapping his fingers around her inner thigh and guiding her leg up and over his hip. At the same time, he tucks his lower half closer to her.

Rose's heartbeat stutters. With them positioned this way, she can feel every inch of him where he's slid into the space between the ground and her arse. Thankfully, with the way he's got her propped up, there's no risk of crushing his ever-important appendage— but that's the furthest thing from her mind.

Though she can't remember ever being so nervous, she turns her head towards the Time Lord, and their eyes lock.

Finally. She is_ finally_ looking up at him, gazing into those deep brown eyes as he fixes her with an open and vulnerable gaze. He's never looked at her this way before; this way that makes her chest grow heavy and her mouth go dry. There's darkness there and _need— _but there's also a complicated meshing of emotions running through those depths.

Quite right. Really, can she blame him?

She's just about to say something— offer some reassurance; maybe an out or an apology, she isn't sure— but then his fingers find her cheek, and his eyes find her lips, and it's not two seconds later that he's bending down and sliding his mouth over hers.

Bliss and adrenaline spread through Rose's blood like fire. His lips are cool and soft, and it's been so long, and it's him — her Doctor — and it's exceptional. He's as naked against her as she is against him, and his cock is hard against the back of her thigh, and oh good god, she needs him; needs to feel his body connect with hers in ways that go beyond the realms of silly crushes and fantasy.

As if it was ever just _that _anyway.

She's never loved anything or anyone more, and for the first time, she's never been so confident that he loves her too.

It's not because he's kissing her like she's utterly beloved. It's not because he's presumably getting ready to give in to her, take that leap; share his body with her. 

It's because, once again, he's saved her. Where he could just have easily given up on her, yet another comparably flimsy human succumbing to the fragility of her own biology, he risked everything to ensure her safety— even though it meant crossing lines he'd never dared to tread across before.

So many times, they've faced danger together and come dangerously close to losing. A number of those times, it was her fault, but he never even came close to telling her she had to go. That she couldn't stay; couldn't continue to travel with him.

In the end, all of their trials only served to bring them closer together. To make him care for her deeper, hold her closer.

The Doctor opens his mouth tentatively against hers and she follows, encouraging him; welcoming the slow, sweet slide of his tongue as it slicks past her lips. They both hum with affection at this newer, more profound form of intimacy, this lovely evolution of something so many have done before— but never them. 

Never together. 

His hand leaves her cheek and skims down her neck and chest with trailing fingers, briefly pausing to give each breast a light squeeze before venturing further. 

Rose feels another twitching pulse between her thighs, driving her to tug at his hip with her calf. Blimey, her body knows as well as she does that he's_ right there,_ hard and ready and just inches away. It would take nothing for him to bury his cock good and deep inside of her and fuck her like nobody had ever fucked her before. She wants it so badly that sweat begins to bead up on her forehead as an itty bitty little frustrated growl rolls from her throat.

The Doctor hums a chuckle into her mouth and smiles around their kiss, then his hand is even closer, drifting past her navel, then skimming through the soft thatch of hair she never imagined he'd see— let alone touch.

Her chest is nearly aching from the battering drum of her heartbeat. She holds her breath. He's right there, he's just… he's…

Oh, fuck. The Doctor dips through her folds to find her soaking wet, and mmm, his touch is electric against her soft flesh. He moans and she arches and a shrill little sound empties from her mouth into his, and then he's got her clit beneath his fingertips, slip-slip-stroking, and oh _fuck, _oh god— oh god.

Now that he's got her thoroughly enraptured, he rubs her with smooth, lazy circles while his tongue dances around in her mouth. It feels fantastic, but straightaway, it's clear that he's more interested in the act of touching her than he is in the goal [for now]. 

So often— as in, almost always— sex has been something of a fast affair for Rose. That's not to say she's never enjoyed it, but it was never treated like _this— _slow and steady, yet deeply passionate. And he's barely even done anything! 

Any bloke could get his tongue in her mouth and his hand between her legs, but this… This is so much more than that.

It's the period at the end of all of those tender smiles. It's the words he's never brought himself to say. It's the night they were almost pulled into a black hole, when she was almost positive he might join her in her bed, even just to comfort her, and didn't. 

It's everything they are. Everything they could be. It spills into her mouth like a vow, a sacred covenant, but she doesn't need him to say anything. She expects nothing of him. She only knows that she'll share every part of herself with him that he seeks, and she'll do so not only because she seeks the same but because she loves him. God, she does— and that is the _only _thing that matters.

Rose's soft sounds grow increasingly urgent as long fingers maintain a gentle pressure between her lower lips, working her clit attentively as it slips and swells beneath his touch. With heavy, labored breaths, she rocks into his hand as they move in perfect sync; as though they've practiced this before — or perhaps as though it was always meant to happen. 

When their mouths break apart, their lips are warm and wet, and it's superb, seeing the evidence of what they've been getting up to written all over the striking features of his face. It's an image that immediately fastens itself to Rose's memory as he partially bares his teeth, moving his hand lower so he can slip his fingers inside her.

"Doctor," she whines, dropping her head back as her eyes pinch shut. "Oh god, oh god..."

The Time Lord half-hums, half-moans as he pumps into her nice and slow, feeling his way through her sex with a careful sedulousness that makes Rose feel he adores the very ground she lays on. He's still fully hard against her backside, but to her surprise, he's practically shivering with nerves. 

She knows he's _danced, _but the longer they lie beneath his coat, she finds she can't imagine how long it's been for him. Though his movements demonstrate the skill of well-practiced hands, he somehow seems even more nervous than she is. 

Eyes opening slowly, her breath hitches at the way he's looking at her, gazing down as though he's looking upon the bright and cosmic resplendence of a supernova. His brown eyes are dark and shining, but they're gentle— like there's nowhere else he'd rather be than naked on that cave floor with her, taking his loving fill of her expressions while he fucks her with his fingers. 

It's been deliberate, she realizes; the way he's holding her back from getting too close to the edge. He's been so engrossed in the experience, the unhurriedness of it, the intimacy. Like her, he is so beside himself with awe that this is even happening that he doesn't care about any finish lines or nonexistent time constraints. This is about them, nothing else, and they'll take as much time as they need.

Still, his eyes. She can't look away. Neither can he. It seems impossible; like they've been put under a spell or challenged to the universe's most sexy staring contest — one in which blinking somehow doesn't go against the rules. 

Rose lifts her arm from where it's been lying across her torso, reaching up and sliding her fingers through his hair. It's gone a bit flat since the river washed it out, making it easy for her to really feel its thickness against her hand, and god, she wishes she'd done this ages ago. He makes a soft, needy little sound when, upon reaching the back of his head, she grips and tugs at the tresses.

Suddenly, he's pulling his fingers out to tease his way back up the seam of her, dropping a kiss to her forehead and gliding over her clit with full, white-hot determination.

There's no question of his intentions this time.

On the TARDIS, when she's alone in her bedroom and touching herself, she's always quiet, having grown a bit paranoid of what sounds might travel through the old timeship. 

Even when she's returned home for short visits, her mum is usually always home, so of course, she holds back. 

On top of all of that, she hadn't shagged anybody in eons; since before she met the Doctor. 

For over two years, she's been enjoying her pleasure alone and in semi-silence. 

Now, however… _so many _sounds fall from her lips, and they're sounds she's not used to making. 

She sounds older now. Breathier, needier, sexier — and the Doctor seems rather taken with it. All the little tells flitter across his face as he so freely gives her pleasure, and it's mystifying how smoldering hot it is, seeing his sexual side after all this time. Having the privilege of being the one he's choosing to indulge in this sort of thing with, to let go with.

Rose wouldn't miss it for the universe.

Now that he's no longer holding back, he brings her to the edge with exceptional finesse, massaging her swollen clit until her little pleading sounds cannot possibly further increase in pitch. She's rigid all over, and he whispers for her to breathe, that's it, then he kisses her, slowing his caresses. God. He's a master, he's extraordinary, he's perfect. 

Once his lips withdraw from hers, he goes right back to work on her, not missing a single beat.

Ribbons of tension string and tangle together all around the junction of her thighs until she's a hair's breadth away from much-needed release, slowly going quiet until her only sounds are tiny, shuddery little whimpers. Her eyes fall shut. 

It's clenching inside her, all throughout her lower body, preparing her for what's about to happen. It almost tickles maddeningly, like something big and intimidating clawing around and trying to get out, and fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck—

"Yes," the Doctor murmurs, lowering his forehead to hers. "Go on… Come for me, Rose. That's it…"

His words are the spark, and she breaks. It's indescribable how it erupts through her body, beginning with a burst of tingling warmth in her lower back that spreads and nearly overwhelms her. She's almost entirely silent, save for a few sharp little half-whimpers to ride the onset of each wave that crashes and cascades magical, billowing bliss.

As she comes, he continues to pet her, whispering in that same beautiful language she'd heard in his sleep as he kisses the tip of her nose, her cheek, and her lips. He does so until she goes from every muscle in her body tensing to dissolving into a pile of boneless, breathless relief in his arms.

After he's drained her orgasm of every ounce of its incredible power, his hand ceases to move between her legs, resting there as little more than a gentle presence. He smiles and bends his face down to her level, holding her gaze until he's practically nose-to-nose with her, and then he tilts his head to press his lips softly to hers.

His mouth doesn't demand much — merely savoring her; sharing in the beautiful surreality of what's unraveling between them. 

Rose's hand unclenches his hair and slides down to rest on his shoulder, lightly stroking his skin. He's warm and smooth beneath her hand, coated with a light sheen of sweat, causing her fingers to drag with little beats of friction.

For several moments, they share a lovely, languid snog, which Rose spirals into as though she's been put under the influence of an especially delightful drug. He dotes on her with such exquisite tenderness, as though he's imagined and dreamt of this, too. Wanted her the same way she’s wanted him. Not just as a shag but as a proper lover; someone to not only share his body with, but to love and be loved by. Her heart swells until her cup runneth over, because nothing could be better than this.

Except, perhaps, a bed — but Rose is a beggar who won't dare tempt the fate of choosing. This is good. This is perfect.

How could it be that this happened this way? Was it just time? Were they getting ready to break, waiting for that last bit of straw to drift atop the universe's most precarious pile? Because while the circumstances that led to this weren't exactly arousal-inducing, there isn't the slightest indication from the Time Lord that would suggest he doesn't want this every bit as much.

To solidify that point, his hand suddenly leaves its post between her legs, and he breaks their kiss, not bothering to pull very far back from her face before reaching up to taste the slick of her sex on his fingers.

His eyes glaze over before shutting slowly, and Rose can only watch with a baffled expression of both awe and mild embarrassment. She's tasted herself before out of sheer curiosity, and it was nothing to write home about— yet the Doctor definitely isn't putting on an act. She can tell by how his cock twitches and his breath shakes, and little tremors run throughout him, rippling in waves beneath his skin. He's enjoying it.

Dark brown eyes slowly flutter open as he catches her in the molten crossfire of his stare. He pulls his fingers from his mouth, slowly licking his lips clean as his hand moves right back down her body. 

Rose's heartbeat speeds up all over again: thump-thump-thump-thump.

Leaving a damp trail across her belly with the tips of his fingers, the Doctor pulls his hips back just enough to make room to wedge his hand between them. Every movement is fluid and smooth until Rose jumps when she feels his knuckles brush her arse, but she can feel exactly what he's doing; feel the telltale grasp of his length as he frees it from the space beneath her.

He looks away, but only for a second, glancing down her body to look between her still-spread legs. She feels another light brush, this time over the hair of her outer lips, and then he looks back into her eyes, holding her gaze intently. With a slow roll of his hips, he glides right up through her slit, splitting her sex with the firm, wet slide of his shaft. 

A sharp but hushed cry escapes her as he moans something deep and desperate, and it feels and sounds marvelous, and oh shit, this is it. It's not a joke or a drill. They're actually getting ready to do this. They're actually going to fuck.

The slightly awkward addition of his arm between their bodies is quickly remedied when his hand retreats, allowing her leg to comfortably rest back in its spot over his hip. Reaching between her thighs from the front this time, he presses his length snugly back between her soft folds and smiles almost shyly when she whimpers in response.

To keep from slipping off-target, he keeps his hand pressed lightly over them both, maintaining just the right amount of pressure as he slowly begins to rock his hips up towards her body. Up and back, up and back, he pushes his cock against her, slipping against her sex, enveloping smooth skin in slick heat as he lavishes her clit with long, magical strokes.

"Yesss," Rose moves her hips down as he pushes up, distinctly hearing how wet she is as she slides up and down over his length. "God, fuck… Ahhhh." She runs her fingers through his hair to cling to him again. 

"Doctor..."

He slightly increases the speed with which he slips against her, pulling heavy, uneven breaths, and fuck, he sounds so sexy like this that it makes her head spin. She needs him, wants him, and god, if he keeps teasing her…

"Please," she whispers. 

"Tell me," his voice rumbles achingly against the shell of her ear, strained with the way he holds back. "Tell me, Rose."

"Fuck me," she says. 

The Doctor practically purrs his assent, shifting just the tiniest bit. Rose swears she can feel her heart stop as he lines himself up right at her opening, and then he presses a light kiss right beneath her ear. "You're sure?"

His words are suddenly so quiet, so _diffident _that it makes her want to throw her arms around him. Is she sure. Unbelievable. She moves her hand around his head to cup his cheek, making sure he sees the certainty in her eyes.

"Yes."

The breath catches in his throat, and he swallows, giving one shaky nod. He takes a long, deep breath, then the next time he drives his hips up against her body, he finally sinks his cock into her. 

"Oo-ooh…" Rose arches involuntarily, allowing her head to drop to the side, because he's there, he's inside of her, and it's everything she could have possibly hoped for. Jesus. She can't even believe it. She can hardly process the weight of emotion and sensation and 'Oh my god, we're actually doing this'. She thinks she might start to cry. 

The Doctor moans and nuzzles her neck gently, tilting his head to drop his lips at the curve where it meets her shoulder. He brings his hand to her opposite cheek — the one nearly touching the mat — then he turns her face towards his, staring into her eyes.

"You feel amazing," he whispers, then captures her lips again. The kiss is lazy, and just a bit messy, and then they break apart slowly, reinstating eye contact. 

This gaze is something entirely new. It's honest, raw, and gorgeous, and they smile at each other— the first full-on, proper smiles they've shared since before the wolves. 

He kisses her one more time as he slides out, pauses, then thrusts deeply back inside of her.

Smiles give way to loosened jaws and hazy, unfocused eyes punctuated with soft gasps and moans. His hand glides over to her opposite shoulder to hold it for leverage, withdrawing, pausing, then plunging back into her tight heat.

"Oh…" Rose's eyes flutter closed. "God. Doctor…”

The Doctor sighs in what sounds like relief as he lays his forehead back over hers, and he begins to make love to her slowly, pushing up, then back, in, then out, only speeding up for the last couple inches of each thrust. His presence is heavy in her body, but it's lovely, and he feels so good— so _right—_all tucked inside of her like this, all slow plunges and sliding skin. They fit so well together. 

Everything about this, from sensation to position, is new to Rose — even the act of sex outdoors. It's been a while, of course, it has, but they rock together like they were made to do this, and thank god she didn't die in the cold — because she'd never get to experience this. She'd never know how nice the Doctor's cock felt inside her when she was wrapped around and clinging to him. 

Each time he pulls back, she misses his presence, but he quickly fills her again, giving her exactly what she needs, and it's so all-encompassing, so intrinsic. It feels significant, almost critical, as though the all-singing, all-dancing pleasure of the act is merely a by-product of their bodies' inherent, unspoken pleas to join together at last.

"Rose," he breathes as he drives into her with slow, firm thrusts, readjusting the arm he's been propped up on so he can slip it around her shoulders and hold her tightly against him._ "Blimey."_ His eyes close and his brows pinch together, then he moans breathlessly, beautifully, before he reaches down and begins to rub at her clit. "So good… That's it, just like that…"

This time, it's tiny, endless circles that he paints around her clit, stroking wetly over her nub in time with his rolling hips, and Rose's eyes slide back with a long, tortured moan. His coat has slipped enough to bare both of them from the chest up, but neither of them seems to care because their bodies are flushed pink and warm amidst their lovemaking. There's heat in abundance between them, and it's only growing hotter, especially as he tilts his hips just so, stroking even deeper with each push.

"Fuck," Rose gasps, feeling her lashes flutter. Every thrust fills her with everything he has, and she begins to whimper in seemingly endless repetition. "Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck…"

Slowly, the Doctor increases his speed, continuing to work her clit with the tips of his fingers as he slips his cock into her with torturous determination. His hips now meet hers with a dull but audible beat of skin-on-skin, though it's drowned out by Rose's drawn-out, keening cries. She's getting close now, she's on the cusp, and the Doctor knows it. He grits his teeth through a rumbling groan and flicks his fingers over her clit as he whispers to her.

It's that language again,_ his_ language, soft and sweet and laced with sex, and it doesn't matter that Rose can't understand it — she feels it. She feels the meaning of his words, feels his intentions as her mouth drops open silently. She opens her eyes and meets his burning gaze once more.

He stares down at her as he pushes into her, his whispers growing faster and more urgent, words that transcend time and space as she finally comes apart beneath him, bending back with a cry as her climax washes over her in a flood of explosive heat. 

The Doctor's hands and hips reign in the intensity so he can extend her release for her, slowly talking her through it. A litany of soft, pretty words flows freely and quietly from his lips in his mother tongue, which he punctuates with a gentle kiss. 

The movement of his mouth is teeming with emotion as she drifts back from her high, catching her in a moment of such raw affection that she can't fight the tears that well in her eyes and spill over. He swipes them away when he finally pulls back, then he smiles.

"Hello," he chimes sweetly.

"Hi." She bites her lip and returns his smile almost bashfully, though she knows her face is probably an open book for how deliciously overwhelmed he's just made her. Him — the Doctor. Who's just bloody well gone and made love to her.

He hums a tiny chuckle, letting a few more seconds pass before he begins to shift their bodies again.

Rose is made from soft rubber at this point, so she allows herself to remain comfortably limp as he slips from her warmth and carefully lifts her leg from where it's been slung over his hip. His eyes stay fixed on her as he keeps her leg bent up close to her body, then maneuvers himself up over her, climbing in between her legs and propping himself up on one arm as he rearranges his coat back over them. 

He reaches between them and slides against her just once, and then he's lining himself again.

"Okay?" He raises his eyebrows. 

Rose finally releases her lip from between her teeth, winding her arms around his neck and beaming up at him. 

"Yeah."

He draws a deep breath, smiles, and nods.

"Okay."

Clearly remiss to waste another moment that doesn't involve shagging, he thrusts firmly back into her, driving straight to the hilt with a low, ragged moan that she matches. 

"Fuck," she whispers. 

"Yeah," he agrees, then he withdraws and enters her with a harder thrust, hissing through gritted teeth. His eyes flutter shut. "Oh, Rose."

She wraps her legs high around his hips, hoping he understands as she tugs him closer. "Please, Doctor…" 

His eyes open, and his pupils are blown wide as he slides his tongue across his lips. He lowers his face to hers for a kiss, then rests his forehead against hers, sliding a hand down to hold the back of her thigh. He's still for a moment as his thumb swipes back and forth across her skin, breathing heavily, taking a second to keep them suspended in time — one last pocket of serenity.

He kisses her again, just one more time, before he draws back and begins pounding ruthlessly into her. 

This time, his thrusts are all powerful, unrelenting intensity. It's breathtaking. He fucks her hard and fast while she holds onto him with everything she has, wailing so loudly that they might wake every blasted wolf in that forest, and she couldn't care less. She can die happy now, after being shagged like this.

The Doctor lifts himself up to look at her again. Somehow, even with the way he slams into her with reckless abandon, there's still a tenderness bleeding through his gaze that makes her stomach drop and her heartbeat falter. He squeezes her thigh and shifts so he's hooked his hand beneath her knee, holding her up and open to get a better angle, and fuck. Rose's mouth hangs open, a gateway for every primal, piercing sound he draws from her, because the way he fills her is unparalleled. It's intoxicating.

She can tell he's getting close, can see it in the haziness of his eyes, hear it in the grating of his moans. She can feel him growing increasingly taut above her, and she takes a second to memorize how utterly beautiful it is to see him like this, to watch him separate himself from all pretense and control in favor of surrendering to his desire for her. The visual is so spellbinding it feels forbidden to look upon, and along with the full, thick slide of his cock inside her, it's enough to push her right back to the precipice.

"Please," he breathes as his thrusts become increasingly unpolished, releasing her leg so he can reach down and play with her clit._ "Fuck,_ Rose — please..."

Within seconds, her orgasm crashes through her. The Doctor gasps, only having an instant to watch her before he finally starts to come, pulled over that perfect edge when he feels her clamping rhythmically around him. 

They cry out together, shaking and jerking from the force of it, and somewhere in the thicket of their shared release, she hears more of those words as he spills inside of her; those lovely, secretwords. They amplify the sensations tenfold, another marker for why this is so much more than just sex and more than any sex she's had before. It's otherworldly. 

When they come down, panting and spent, the Doctor's face is right over hers as she unclasps her legs from around his body. Still catching his breath, he smiles almost sheepishly.

"On my life, I didn't plan that," he says. "I fell asleep thinking I'd wake up to you screaming in horror."

Bubbling with waves of euphoric bliss, Rose bursts into laughter. "You're having me on. Like you thought I'd have any trouble waking up starkers with you."

"Oi," he protests with the least convincing glare ever, "I only meant to protect you! I never intended for it to lead to… to this."

Rose feels herself growing shy again. "But…" She swallows hard, feeling her pulse quickening. "You don't… Y'know. You don't regret it… Do you?"

His eyes widen, and he lifts himself up to really, properly look at her. "Oh, _blimey, _no. Not at all. I just feel it's imperative I inform you: I went into this with nothing but the utmost of honest, noble intentions." His expression softens, and Rose can feel the weight of his words when he says: "I can't even begin to tell you how scared I was of losing you, Rose Tyler."

Once again, her stomach drops, and her eyes begin to burn. She licks her lips. "I'm sorry I slipped."

He smiles tenderly at her. "I'm the one who got us lost. I'm sorry." His eyes flick to the side, arching a brow at the pile of clothes lying less than a meter away from them. "And I went and ruined your favorite trousers."

Rose turns her head, now adjusted to the light enough to see the pile properly. She smirks, looking back up at him. 

He narrows his eyes. "What?"

She giggles, playing with the now-dampened hair on his nape. "Nothing. S’just…”

"... Just what?"

"Nothing!"

_"Roooose," _he whines, looking exceptionally put out, and she relents.

"Oh, fine." She sighs. "I was just, you know, thinking…" She absentmindedly traces the hairline where it meets his neck. "If it means getting shagged like that," she smirks wickedly, "you could ruin everything I own if you wanted."

His eyes widen again, this time with pure, fiery intrigue. There's a pulse where he's still nestled deep, and she can _feel _him getting hard again inside her.

"Yeah?" he purrs, pressing himself a little deeper.

She nods. "Y-yeah."

A vast, smug grin practically splits his face, and Rose rolls her eyes.

"Shut up." She smacks his back, unable to wipe her own grin off her face. "Like you didn't know."

"Mmm." Now fully hard, he pulls his hips back and thrusts firmly into her, effectively wiping both of their smiles away so they can shiver and moan in laborious tandem. "I'll… erm. I'll certainly keep that in mind."

With a renewed surge of arousal, Rose starts to wrap her legs around him, but he shakes his head, reaching back to extricate himself from her grippy limbs. 

"Sorry," he says guiltily, slipping out of her again, knocking her arms from around his neck as he pushes himself up and back to sit on his haunches. "Not just yet."

With an incredulous gape, Rose pushes herself up on her elbows. _"What? _Why not?" 

"Later… minx. We've got to get back to the TARDIS while it's still safe." He smirks again, taking his coat from where it's fallen behind him and briskly sliding it over her until it's concealed her entire body. He pats her knee through the coat in the most annoyingly platonic move he's made all morning, then reaches over and begins gathering up the pieces of his suit. Slipping the sonic from his coat pocket and changing the setting, he begins the tedious process of drying everything.

Rose is so sexually frustrated that she hardly even allows herself to appreciate the view of the Doctor naked and kneeling in front of her; the way the planet's distant sun shining through the vines creates a corona around his body that makes him look like a bloody god. 

As if he needed any help with that.

"But it's hours before nightfall," she whines, feeling only slightly like a toddler.

"Yes," he concedes, "but I think you'll find, Rose Tyler, that sex is far more enjoyable when had somewhere that isn't a cave floor." His eyes flash to hers with a tinge of mischief, and then he returns to his task. "Somewhere nice and warm and soft… Somewhere like, oh, I don't know — my _bed, _perhaps?"

Images begin flooding Rose's mind in rapid succession. Shagging the Doctor in a bed. In the shower. On a counter. On the couch at her mum's. On the floor of her room. Her cheeks flush a vibrant, almost glowing red. 

They shag now.

"O-okay," she peeps.

The Doctor flashes another smirk, looking entirely too smug. "Okay?"

"Yeah."

"Good."

The next few minutes pass in silence but for the whirring of the sonic. While the Doctor dries up his clothes, Rose lies back and daydreams about the unbelievable possibilities of their future, worrying more than once that she's doomed to wake up and find this was all just a figment of her imagination.

Once he's dressed with everything packed back into his pockets, the Doctor fetches some twine and begins to wrap the coat around Rose, tying the string around her at several points until she's strung up like a Christmas roast. 

As they push the dried vines away from the mouth of the little cave and step out into the open air, he elects to leave her cut clothes behind, declaring that they'll need to come back a little better prepared in the future to commemorate their serendipitous first time.

"Off we go then?" He extends his arm, beaming down at her.

Rose loops her arm through his, returning his smile. 

"Please."

[melodypond-thewomanwhomarriedme]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Doctor Who (2005) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Thirteenth Doctor/River Song, The Doctor/River Song Characters: Thirteenth Doctor, River Song Additional Tags: 13 saves her wife from the Library, river refers to 13 as her husband because that's what she is dammit, Reunions Series: Part 1 of fic commissions Summary:

Enough time had passed, she felt, to be able to do this. Not for her - never for her. But for River. Always River. 

[timeladyelpia]

Chapter 9: A date at last!

Walking down the halls of the Prydonian Academy, ninety six year old Theta Sigma Lungbarrowmas works up the courage to ask his longtime crush Arkytior Oakdown on a date. Most academy cadets are already betrothed at his age, but Theta and Arkytior’s parents want their children to marry for love, rather than for obligation. It’s been a rough week, what with learning what his name means in earth language class(Death God Cemetery Breath) and Ushas teasing him relentlessly for it, while lording over him the fact that her own name means “Goddess of the Dawn”, to his cousins calling him “Snail” and “Worm hole” again and destroying his sketches of Arkytior. But, with some encouragement from Koschei and the Corsair, he’s finally ready to ask her to accompany him to the Otherstide ball. He hopes she’ll say yes!

BBC owns Who, RTD owns Rose, and DollDivine(found here: https://www.dolldivine.com/) owns the Dollmaker I used to make this pic(found here: https://www.dolldivine.com/mega-fantasy-avatar-creator).

Enjoy! 

[lostinfic]

Summary: John, Rose, Harry, Donna and Martha all received an invitation to apply to Heligan University at a turning point in their lives. Two years later, they’re a tight group of friends, but they’re still keeping some things from each other.

When Martha finds a coded map in an ancient book in Wilf’s bookshop, it takes them to a forgotten place where their true desires are revealed. Whether it's the result of old magic or some hallucinogens in the air, once they become honest with themselves and each other, there is no turning back.

Chapter 16 of 16 on Ao3 - Fortunae Favore

[luminousdoodle]

right where you left me

After there is nothing left — no whispers in the dark, no tears in the universe, no hidden clues she left herself when she absorbed the heart of the time vortex, she goes to Mickey’s lab.

After the events of Doomsday, Rose Tyler has to save the universe, but first she needs to save herself.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/36270697/chapters/90418606

[spacewives-in-spacetime]

is it just me, that when it comes to dw fics, it comes in phases?

(in no particular order:)

watch-it fics

modern-human AUs

not-modern AUs

angsty/depressed af doctor

fix-it fics

[ellayuki]

23112022 - Doctor Who

Happy Doctor Who Day!

~

"Tell me, Rose," Donna leans slightly to whisper. When Rose tilts her head to show she's listening (though her eyes never leave the Doctor's figure where he's leaning against a tree and looking over the city scape below them), she asks, just as quietly, "Have you ever seen him looking so… I dunno… far away, maybe?"

Rose hums, tilting her head a little bit more, as if looking at him from a different angle might give her a better perspective, perhaps. "I think…" she starts, and there's something, some fleeting mix of emotions that Donna can't begin to parse, crossing her face for a heartbeat. It's gone between one blink and the next. "I dunno, I think he might be thinking of his home world. He so rarely talks about it, though, that I can't be sure."

"Yeah," Donna says with a nod. For all either of them know, there might be an anniversary only he remembers, and it might be the reason for his melancholy.

When she says as much to Rose, the other woman shrugs. "Might be, yeah. Won't tell us about it, though, not willingly."

"Idiot that he is, always thinking he has to keep everything bottled up." Donna rolls her eyes. "He's gonna blow up one day. And no amount of regeneration energy will heal him."

Rose snorts. "True, that."

Donna laughs right alongside her.

"Oi, you two!" The Doctor turns suddenly to face them, and points an accusing finger in their direction. "What're you two giggling about over there? Mind sharing with the class?" There's something half-terrified in his eyes as he looks at them.

It only makes the two women laugh harder, and Donna thinks to herself that, whatever today might be, it's going to pass and the Doctor will smile again soon enough.

[lastbluetardis]

What Makes a Family (1/?)

Summary: Single parents Rose Tyler and James McCrimmon come together to embark on a whirlwind, passionate romance that seems to be the happy ending neither of them thought they'd get. But when James's past comes back to haunt them and threatens to tear away everything they've built together, they must find a way to weather the storm that will either break them or draw them ever closer, all while answering the question of what it means to be a family.

💜 It's back!! This is the new and improved version!! 💜

Ten x Rose AU

This Chapter: Teen, ~8800 words

AO3

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

“We gather here today to remember the life and love of Jeremiah “Jimmy” David Stone, beloved son, partner, and father.”

The words rang hollowly in Rose’s ears, like they were being spoken from very far away. She barely felt like she was present, like this entire day was happening to someone else. The small body she held in her lap shifted, forcing her to snap back to the present scene. The child’s big blue eyes blinked owlishly as her three-year-old son, Matthew, fixed his gaze on her.

“That’s Daddy,” he said in that whispering way of toddlers that really wasn’t a whisper at all.

“That’s right,” she murmured, smoothing his cornsilk blond hair away from his face. “Hush now. Can you sit nice and quiet for Mummy?”

“Uh huh,” Matthew said, slumping back into her belly.

The priest at the front of the church shot her a sympathetic glance, his pale gaze flitting between Matthew and David, Rose’s nine-year-old son. If anyone in the church was annoyed by Matthew’s interruptions, they didn’t show it—nobody would dare chastise a child who’d just lost a parent.

Rose reached over and silently wrapped her hand around David’s. Her son gave no reaction that he felt her touch, sitting as still and silently as he’d been doing these last four days since the accident that claimed the life of his father. She was so useless, unable to offer anything other than hugs and kisses and words of affirmations to her children, while she raged against the world for forcing this tragedy into their young little lives.

“I’m hungry,” Matthew stated, drawing muffled chuckles from those sitting around them.

Rose had prepared for this. Matthew’s stomach was as unpredictable as a summer storm, and she made sure to always have snacks on hand for him. She reached into her purse and rooted around until she felt the cool plastic bag that contained dry cereal.

“Thank you!” Matthew chirped when she handed it to him.

“Shh, baby boy. We have to be quiet.”

“Indoor voice,” he said, and to his credit, he actually whispered that time.

Rose pressed a kiss to his fair hair and tried to tune in to the priest and ignore the nagging urge to get up and leave. Why should she be allowed to sit here and mourn a person she didn’t actually miss? Any moment now, people would realize she was faking her bereavement and would call her all sorts of nasty truths, would clue in her kids that she wasn’t actually sad that their dad was gone.

Beside her, David rested his head on her upper arm, sniffling softly. Her heart squeezed. She scooped him closer into her side, squeezing him as if that could do anything to help him through this awful day.

On her other side, her mother rested a comforting hand on her thigh. Rose knew there was no love lost between her mum and Jimmy; hell, her mother had been the only person to know Rose was looking for a new flat for herself, ready to leave the relationship that had been slowly crumbling for nearly three years.

Somehow, after the birth of their second child, Rose had begun growing in a different direction than her boyfriend. She didn’t know exactly what had happened, if it had been something silently brewing for years that she never addressed; nothing obvious had catalyzed it. Well, not until six months ago, when she learned her boyfriend was cheating on her with one of his colleagues. Funnily, after the initial jolt of anger and betrayal, Rose felt nothing at all. If anything, a sense of peace settled over her, giving her the confidence and motivation to begin actively searching for a way out of her lackluster and loveless relationship.

Regardless of what she did (or didn’t) feel for her late boyfriend, regardless that he hadn’t been the best partner to her since Matthew had been born, Jimmy had been a damn fine father, and her eldest child was in emotional agony. She’d be damned if she left him alone in his grief.

The funeral passed as painfully as any other. Rose could feel the prickle of pitying stares directed at her and her kids, and she willed time to move faster. Listening to the eulogies was the worst, as Jimmy’s friends and family stood at the front of the church and spoke about how wonderful Jimmy was, how deeply he’d be missed, and the hole he’d left in the lives of everyone who knew him.

But finally, it was over. The only good thing about being a supposedly grieving partner was that she could gather up her kids and escape rather rudely without people actually thinking she was rude.

“Let’s go home,” she murmured to her kids, holding David and Matthew’s hands while she guided them away from the throng of people wanting to give her their last-minute sympathies and sorries.

She threw one last lingering glance to the closed casket that concealed the broken body of her late boyfriend, her gaze flicking to the photograph of the blond man with the crooked smile that’d had her falling head over heels at fifteen.

Goodbye. I hope you’ve found peace, wherever you are.

Rose didn’t know what exactly she believed regarding an afterlife, but she hoped there was something. A realm of tranquility where the best of everyone shone through and there was no hurt or anger or resentment. Yeah, that sounded quite nice.

As she moved to turn fully away from the casket, her eyes landed on a middle-aged couple; the woman was sobbing uncontrollably into the chest of the man: Jimmy’s parents, whom she hadn’t seen or spoken to since that night in the hospital after Jimmy’s accident, when his mother had screamed and raged at her, hurling insults at her that had hit their mark and still stung, even days later.

Rose quickly looked away, not wanting to draw their attention or their ire, and continued ushering her boys out of the church.

oOoOo

The tides of grief ebbed and flowed, more mercurial than a storm at sea. There were moments when Rose was perfectly at peace with what had happened, and then there were days when she raged at the unfairness of it all, certain that all joy had been sapped from the world, never to return again.

David was a husk of the boy he’d been, and Matthew melted down any time she was gone from his sight for more than a few minutes. She wanted to shake David, to jar loose any emotion at all in his little body, to beg him to please pretend. But how unfair was that, to force a child to fake normalcy when his world had been irrevocably changed, just so she would feel a bit better about the whole thing?

Rose prayed to any deity that cared to listen for the patience to guide her kids through these tumultuous times, and spared a prayer for herself to have enough energy to keep herself and her family healthy and whole. It felt like she was doing everything wrong, and in her worst moments, she was sure her boys would’ve been better off if she and Jimmy had traded places. Surely David and Matthew needed their father more than their stupid, useless mother.

Rose was at her wits end, and lost her temper with her kids more often than she would’ve liked. Matthew forgave her outbursts quite readily, while David seemed wholly unaffected by them, which was somehow even worse.

The straw that broke her back was when the boys got into a heated fight, with Matthew pestering Rose and David about when Daddy was coming home. David eventually shoved his little brother with enough force that he stumbled a few steps back before falling to his bum a couple inches from the coffee table in the center of the living room.

Rose watched in horror as the scene unfolded, her mind showing her visions of Matthew’s head cracking open against the solid oak wood of the table.

“David!” she shrieked, rushing to Matthew’s side to make sure he was okay. Apart from loud wailing, he was uninjured. “What were you thinking?!”

“He won’t shut up!” David shouted, and Rose was taken aback by the vitriol in her son’s voice. This was a complete about-face from the shadow David had been in recent weeks. “Dad’s gone and he’s dead and Matthew won’t shut up!”

Rose’s heart ached, and she tried to soothe her crying child while keeping her attention on her eldest.

“He doesn’t know any better,” she said hoarsely, at a loss with how to deal with this sudden and violent emotion raging through her son. “He’s three.”

“He’s stupid and I hate him!” David screamed, his face going bright red as tears welled in his eyes. “I hate him! I hate you! I hate this stupid place! I hate it all!”

He then promptly stormed down the hall to the bedroom he shared with his brother, and slammed the door shut.

Rose was left reeling, completely numb and on the brink of tears herself. Matthew was still screeching, tugging at her arms because she wasn’t consoling him thoroughly enough. At least that was one thing she could do. One thing she could fix. She scooped Matthew into her lap, and within moments, he was happily chatting to her again and asking to play kitchen.

David didn’t come out of his room for the rest of the night, and refused the dinner Rose brought to him. The bedroom door was locked, and though she had a pin that would pop the lock from this side, she wasn’t quite ready to break David’s trust. If he wanted privacy, she could give him that.

It didn’t stop her from sitting outside his door for the rest of the evening, while Matthew watched a film with his grandmother. Jackie, bless her, came over for dinner every evening to help Rose with cooking and getting the kids to bed.

It was almost the boys’ bedtime when David emerged. He paused upon seeing her on the floor. His face and eyes were red and swollen, and Rose wanted to haul him into her lap and squeeze out all of his pain.

“Sorry for what I said,” he muttered, rocking back and forth from his toes to his heels.

“I forgive you,” she said, having forgiven him hours ago. “David, I’m so sorry. I really am trying my best here. But I need some help. How can I help you?”

He merely shrugged and said, “I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not. And I don’t expect you to be fine for quite a while.”

David stayed silent, and when she didn’t elaborate, he stepped around her to use the loo, then went right back into his room.

And that, it seemed, was that.

The following weekend, her mother and best friend conspired to get her out of the house. Rose had been wholly consumed with her kids since Jimmy died, and as a result had become a hermit, distancing herself from everyone and everything she used to enjoy doing. Part of her didn’t think it was fair for her to carry on with a vivacity that had been stolen from Jimmy. Another part of her felt it cruel to partake in anything that could be considered “fun” when only a few short weeks had passed since she’d lost her boyfriend.

“You can’t stay locked up forever,” her friend, Shareen, had said. “It’s not good for you, which means it isn’t good for David or Mattie. You need to be at your best for them, which sometimes means doing something just for you.”

Rose hated that her friend was using her kids as a counter-argument, but she couldn’t exactly fault Shareen’s logic, which was how she ended up in a black dress that clung to all the right places, being hauled out to the lively streets of Friday-night London. Her mum was staying overnight to watch the boys, and Rose kept her phone glued to her hand in case one of her children needed her to come home.

They didn’t.

The hours passed, and by her fourth martini, Rose had forgotten why she’d been so hesitant to go out. The music was loud, reverberating deep into her bones as she danced the night away with her friends. Shareen had recruited their mutual friend Keisha for the night; of the trio, Keisha was the wildest of the bunch and could make any outing memorable. It was Keisha whom Rose had gradually drifted away from as motherhood took priority over clubbing, though Keisha’s friendship was one that could be picked up with ease, no matter how long they’d gone between speaking.

Rose was toeing the line between tipsy and drunk when a brown-skinned man with close-cropped black hair sauntered up to where she stood at the bar, waiting for a new drink.

“Can I get that for ya?” the man asked, his deep voice ringing with that familiar Cockney accent she’d grown up around.

“Sure,” she answered, blinking through the dim lights to make out the man’s features. He was handsome enough, she supposed.

The man introduced himself, but it was impossible to hear over the din of the pub. Richie? Ricky? Dickie? Whatever. She found she honestly didn’t care, and so she replied, “I’m Piper,”, giving the name she and Jimmy had been considering for Matthew if he’d been a girl.

The lie fell off her tongue so easily. The whole night was fake anyway, a brief respite from the hell that had become her life. She had merely stepped out of time and into a new life for these few brief but wondrous hours.

“Pretty name for a pretty girl.”

Rose barely contained the eyeroll, and instead grinned a wide, flirtatious grin she hadn’t flashed in years. Fuck it. If she was going to play pretend for the night, she was going to act her heart out.

“Let’s dance,” she shouted over the thumping bass.

The eager expression on his face told Rose that was what he’d been hoping for. She gulped down her drink, ignoring the burn as it went down, and let herself be pulled onto the dance floor.

Time ceased to exist. There was nothing except the alcohol in her bloodstream and the solid heat of this man’s body against hers. When he bought her a shot after four songs of dancing, she accepted. And when he pressed his mouth to hers, she let him. She threw herself into it, missing the simple pleasure of a kiss, missing the quickening of her pulse and the throbbing heat rushing through her. He palmed her rear, hauling her hips to his, and she could feel his interest growing behind his jeans.

“Wanna get out of here?” she whispered, placing her lips right against the shell of his ear.

“Fuck yeah,” he growled.

Alarm bells should have sounded in her head, but there was utterly nothing as she let this stranger pull her though the city and to a little hotel that charged by the hour.

The sex was… fine. Not the best she’d had, but certainly not the worst. For a glorious moment in time, she let the agony of the last few weeks melt away and she became Piper, this stranger of a woman who let a stranger of a man take her to a hotel for a mindless, carefree fuck. She let herself drown in ecstasy, in the closeness of another body pressed to hers, skin on skin.

Richie/Ricky/Dickie passed out after he’d finished. Whether that was due to the sex or the booze, Rose didn’t know, and she didn’t care to find out. She slipped out from the sheets, used the loo, and started gathering her things. Through it all, this man whose name she still didn’t surely know remained dead to the world. Looking more closely at him, with the yellow glow of the hotel lamp illuminating his features, she thought he looked like a boy who used to live on the estate when she was growing up. But she blinked, and the resemblance was gone.

Rose left some money on the nightstand to cover the hotel fee, then hailed a cab. She’d given the driver the address to her mother’s flat before she even processed what she was saying. It would be empty, what with her mum staying over at Rose’s place, and solitude was something Rose was craving.

The trip took all of ten minutes, then Rose was letting herself into her childhood home. Not much had changed, apart from her old bedroom having been converted into a room for the boys to sleep in when they visited.

She made a beeline straight for the bathroom as the weight of her night crashed down around her. Piper was gone, dead and buried in that motel room with Richie/Ricky/Dickie, and Rose had risen from the ashes, horrified by all her choices. What had she been doing? What had she been thinking?

She shucked off her clothes and scalded herself in the shower, wishing that the water could wash farther than skin level, to cleanse out the pain that had become her daily life, cleanse the rot of emotions that festered deep within her soul.

When the water turned cold, she dragged her weary bones from the shower and dressed in clothes she kept in her old room. She spotted David’s stuffed wolf and Matthew’s stuffed dinosaur sitting on the bed, as if waiting for their little masters to return, and Rose crumpled. She curled up on the mattress and hugged the toys tightly to her chest, tucking her nose into the soft creatures. They smelled like her boys, and she ached for them. Not only them, she ached for Jimmy. She ached for the life he should have, ached for their family that had been torn apart. She just… ached.

The wailing of her phone interrupted her misery, and she cursed when she saw Shareen’s name on the screen. Rose answered, but before she could get a word out, her friend screamed, “Where the fuck have you been?!”

“Sorry, I…” I let a total stranger fuck me in a hotel. “I needed to get some air.”

“Why didn’t you tell us?” Shareen continued, still shouting. “We thought you’d been abducted, you stupid fucking arse!”

“Well, I haven’t been,” Rose snapped.

Both women went silent, and Rose could hear that her friend’s breathing was as heavy as her own. After a beat, Shareen asked quietly, “You all right?”

The lie was right there, on the tip of her tongue, but all Rose managed was a weak, “No.”

“Where are you? I’m coming for you.”

“My mum’s,” she said, rubbing at her stinging nose as tears started welling.

“Be there soon.”

And sure enough, ten minutes later, a series of knocks sounded from the front door. Rose kept hold of the stuffed animals as she went to let her friend in. The moment Shareen saw her, she threw her arms around Rose. The weight of her friend’s embrace, the strength in her arms, was her undoing. Rose’s knees buckled, and Shareen slowly lowered them to the ground, until they were sitting in the same position as when Rose found out she was pregnant at sixteen.

“Shh, I’m here.” Shareen planted a kiss to Rose’s hair. “I’ve got you, babe.”

Thank God someone did, because Rose didn’t have the strength to hold on anymore. Her life wasn’t meant to be like this. She wasn’t meant to be left with two children and no partner to help her. Jimmy was supposed to be there. Even if he had been a shitty partner, he was supposed to be there.

“I can’t do this,” Rose rasped, chest tightening until she could barely breathe.

“Yes you can,” Shareen murmured, squeezing tightly. Then she repeated exactly what she’d said all those years ago, when that damning pregnancy test sat on the floor in front of them. “It’ll be hard, but you can do it, ‘cos you’re Rose motherfuckin’ Tyler.”

oOoOo

That disastrous night out had been good for one thing: it lit up a spark inside Rose that she hadn’t felt since the night a pair of police officers knocked on her door to tell her that her boyfriend had been involved in a serious accident. But she didn’t want to dwell on those memories. The Before Times, she called it in her head.

She refused to let the energy of her home be sullied by all of the hurt, grief, and rage of Jimmy’s passing. Not that she was going to force her boys to move on before they were ready, but she wasn’t going to sit idly by and do nothing to improve their situation.

And so Rose spent weeks poring over her finances, doing more maths than she’d ever done whilst in school to figure out what the new household income would be. While she would be missing out on Jimmy’s half of the income—which wasn’t insubstantial—she no longer had to budget for all his reckless spending. It had often been a point of contention between them, how he wanted instant gratification with anything that caught his eye.

In the early years of their relationship, about a year after David had been born, Jimmy had admitted to her that he really wanted to make his dream of being a professional musician a reality. He’d been in a band for years and they were trying to make it big when Rose got pregnant. Kudos to him, Jimmy had left the band and found a job to help support Rose and their new family.

So when he’d told her of his dream, and knowing he’d shelved it for the last two years for her and their son, Rose agreed. She still loved him enough at that point to want it for him. She picked up extra hours at the retail shop she worked at, and worked hard to climb her way to a team lead position. She’d also begun taking art commissions, designing logos for small businesses or creating various pieces of digital art for random people on the internet who were willing to pay her real money for her drawings.

Despite the extra income, it didn’t make up for the construction job pay Jimmy had been bringing home, and the family found themselves barely staying afloat. Jimmy, to his credit, admitted defeat when, after eighteen months of trying to make a name for himself, he brought home even less money than he had with his teenage boy band.

But that debt had begun to snowball out of control, and horrible as it was, Jimmy’s death was the one thing able to put an end to it. Half of his death benefits were enough to pay off all their old debt, and with the other half, Rose figured she could put down a decent down payment on a house.

In her years as a freelance digital artist, Rose had made a nice little name for herself. As long as she didn’t spend extravagantly, she should be able to make her commissions and Patreon subscribers pull her family through for a little while longer, with their finances being further padded by the survivor benefits Rose would receive until the boys reached legal adulthood.

She was ready to drop it all, though, the moment their finances grew unstable. In a heartbeat, she would find the best-paying work she was qualified for to keep her and her boys out of any more debt. Rose remembered all too well being a child of a parent who struggled financially; it had placed undue stress on her mother, which had caused her mum to have a short temper and an eventual resentment towards anyone who appeared to be even slightly well-off. Rose didn’t want that for herself, or to subject her boys to that sort of behavior.

Rose debated for ages about where she wanted to move. On one hand, London was all she and her kids had ever known, but on the other, it was full of memories and ghosts of Jimmy. Not to mention bloody expensive. While she began her house-hunting search in London, she gradually expanded her search parameters to include cities and towns farther and farther away, because otherwise she would be downgrading to a smaller home with a higher monthly payment.

It was a shock to the system to see how expensive some of these homes were—all she’d ever known was the rent payments of small flats—so she had to constantly remind herself that a monthly mortgage would be right on par with her monthly rent. She could do this. She would do this.

Half the battle was researching everything about each house that caught her eye. She needed to make sure the neighborhoods were safe and the schools were good, but she also wanted quick and easy access to public transportation, since it was often easier than driving. Not to mention that her mother had never learned to drive, so she was utterly reliant on public transportation.

God, her mother. Jackie would lose her mind upon learning Rose was moving away to a new town. Her mum was a creature of habit. She visited all the same shops and restaurants, had the same friends for the last twenty years, and stayed in the same flat that she’d lived in with Rose’s father when he’d still been alive. London was home for her mother, but to Rose, it was just a city.

Rose would have to tell her mother sooner or later. But not right now. Not until Rose found exactly what she was looking for.

oOoOo

“I don’t think we can stay here anymore, Mum.” Rose absently sloshed her wine around her in glass, electing to stare at the swirling liquid rather than her mother’s bright blue gaze.

“Too many memories?” she asked sympathetically. “Can be a blessing or a curse, I’ll tell you. I couldn’t bring myself to leave behind all traces of your dad. But you… well, you weren’t exactly planning to stay forever.”

“It’s just, David is having such a hard time,” Rose whispered, feeling tears prickling at the backs of her eyes as she recalled the phone call she’d received earlier that day from her child’s teacher, informing her that this was the third time this week that David had spent his lunch period sitting quietly by himself, not touching his food, not engaging with his classmates. This behavior was becoming the new norm, apparently, with David isolating himself with every passing week. “He won’t eat. He won’t go outside and play with his friends. His friends don’t come to visit. He won’t talk to me. All he does is sit on this stupid bloody couch and watch the stupid bloody telly. He doesn’t even care that Mattie controls what they watch. He’s just… he’s empty, Mum, and it’s killing me.”

The tears spilled over and Rose set her wine glass on the table to instead grab a handful of tissues to press to her eyes. The sofa cushion dipped beside her, and she was soon ensconced in her mother’s arms, breathing in that familiar scent that somehow made her start to cry harder.

“I need to get him out of this flat,” Rose whimpered, clinging to her mother. “I’m trying to find him someone to talk to, but all child therapists of any worth are full up, and his school counselor is bloody useless, sayin’ he’ll get over it all in a few months and I should carry on as normal. But it’s not normal. His life will never be normal again.”

Her mother stroked her back in long, slow lines, making soothing shushing noises while Rose blubbered into her jumper. The agony that had been eating away at Rose for the past two months was boiling over; she had this primal fear that her baby boy would waste away in front of her very eyes, and that she’d never be able to get him back if she didn’t do something to pull him out of his head.

But what more was she supposed to do? She made him all his favorite foods and had a variety of snacks on hand, but even then, he only picked at it all. He’d visibly lost weight, and not even the supplemental high-calorie protein shakes his pediatrician recommended were helping. She’d broken down one night and tearfully begged David to eat. He had diligently swallowed every piece of the chicken nuggets and broccoli on his plate and, when he was finished, said, “Sorry I made you angry,” which had sent her spiraling further, requiring her to retreat into her bedroom and scream into a pillow. When she’d returned, David was plopped on the couch beside Matthew, who was happily munching on a second plate of nuggets, watching Paw Patrol.

She gathered David up into her arms and he nuzzled into her, saying, “My tummy hurts.”

She stroked his hair and apologized, telling him he should only eat as much as his tummy says he needs.

“I don’t want you to be angry,” he argued.

“I won’t be,” she promised. “I shouldn’t have said what I said. I just want you to be healthy. And we need to eat a balanced diet of meats and fruits and veggies to be healthy, right?”

“And po’sicles,” Matthew chirped, eyes glued to the television.

Rose rolled her eyes but smiled at her youngest. “Only popsicles after we’ve had our healthy dinner.”

After that night, she hadn’t had as much trouble getting David to eat his dinner, but he ate portions similar to Matthew’s, and even then, sometimes food was left on his plate. It killed her every time he asked, “Did I eat enough?”

Presently, Rose sniffled and pulled back to wipe her running nose on a tissue. Her mum sat back too, but didn’t move from Rose’s side.

“We need to get out of here,” Rose repeated. “Somewhere new. New school, new home, new everything.”

“Well, there are loads of schools in the city. I’m sure you can find somethin’ better for the boys. You didn’t think about schools when you and Jimmy settled here. Now you can.”

But Rose merely shook her head, knowing she was about to break her mum’s heart. “No, I mean… we need to get out of the city. Out of London.”

Her mother merely blinked, then furrowed her brow. “What d’you mean? You can’t leave the city, you have nowhere else to go.”

Though she knew her mum didn’t mean it cruelly, Rose’s hackles rose.

“I can go anywhere I’d like,” she snapped.

“But… what’ll you do for work? Your friends are here. I’m here.” Her mother’s voice warbled, and her eyes shone wetly.

Rose’s irritation bled away, leaving her exhausted, which seemed to be her only state of being lately.

“We need a fresh start,” she murmured. “I need a fresh start. And I don’t want to be fightin’ you about it. I really need your support, Mum. Please. I feel like I’m goin’ mad. I’m suffocating.”

Her mother, to her credit, just swallowed thickly and nodded. Rose curled back into her mother’s arms and contented herself to sit quietly while her mum played with her hair like she’d done when Rose was a small child.

“Found anywhere nice?” her mother asked, her voice carrying a forced lightness to it. At least she was trying.

Rose shrugged, but the little neighborhood she’d spotted online was still sticking in her mind. She reached for her phone. “I keep comin’ back to this one.”

She pulled up the house listing for a four-bedroom two-bathroom home in West Sussex, a borough called…

“Crawley?” Her mum wrinkled her nose. “Really, Rose? Sounds all… I dunno… slithery. Snaky.”

Rose giggled. “I know. But isn’t it cute? The boys could have their own room. Their own bathroom too, which’ll be nice when they become teenagers.”

She shuddered at the thought of parenting teenage boys, and forcibly shut those worries down to be dealt with at a later date. “And look. I can make this into a guest room for you.”

Her mother was quiet for a few moments, scrolling through the photographs of the home. Rose knew them all by heart at this point, and had been mentally decorating the space for weeks, as though it was already a done deal that this would be their new home. She hadn’t even seen it in person yet. Hadn’t driven through the neighborhood or its surroundings, and yet, something told her deep down that this was the opportunity she’d been looking for.

“Well,” her mum said after five silent minutes of scrolling through the photos, “my mate Bev has a son who’s in the real estate business. Let me call her up, see if her boy knows someone in this Crawley town. Get us an appointment to see the house.”

Rose melted closer to her mother. “Thank you.”

Her mum’s only response was to kiss the top of her head.

oOoOo

“Here we are!” Rose crowed, ramping up the excitement in an attempt to pass it along to her children.

Matthew was sold, as he had been all morning, nearly vibrating with excitement at moving to a new house. The boy gasped in delight as he took in the semi-detached house they had just pulled into the driveway of. The garage was open, revealing the boxes and pieces of furniture Rose hadn’t yet relocated into the house during the weeks-long preparation for move-in.

The little house Rose had found in Crawley was everything she’d hoped for, and the minute the house tour had ended, Rose had put in an offer. It was a little more money than she’d hoped to spend, but the house was in perfect shape, with no renovations or replacements needed. Plus it was big enough for her little family to grow into for the rest of boys’ childhoods without feeling like too much space.

“Gramma! S’Gramma!” Matthew squealed upon seeing a familiar face step out from the garage. “And Auntie Reenie!”

Rose was forever grateful that her best friend had taken the day off from work to help with move-in day. Her boys adored their auntie, and Shareen told Rose she hoped her presence today would comfort them and assure them that she’d still be a permanent presence in their lives.

David, meanwhile, was stoic and silent, no different than most other days. It squeezed Rose’s heart nevertheless.

“Let’s grab our suitcases and take a look,” Rose said, putting the car in park then exiting to help her youngest out of his car seat.

However, David beat her to it, and had expertly unclipped his brother from his seat before slipping out of the car. Likewise, when Rose opened the boot of the car, David hoisted Matthew’s Jurassic Park suitcase out before grabbing his own Captain America suitcase.

“That was very kind of you,” Rose praised, brushing a hand through her son’s hair. “Thank you for helping your brother.”

David flashed her a small but genuine smile, and knocked his head further into her hand. She took it as an invitation for a hug, which he readily reciprocated.

“Ready?” she whispered into his ear.

“Ready.”

Matthew had left them behind to sprint up to his grandmother and Shareen, so Rose placed a hand on David’s shoulder and kept pace with him until they joined the small group.

“If you’re this excited about the garage, wait ‘til you see inside,” Jackie drawled, ruffling her grandson’s hair.

“Le’s gooooo,” Matthew said, spying the door that led into the house proper.

Rose nodded for her mother to open the door to let her children get their first glimpse into their new home. She half expected Matthew to sprint right in, but instead, her three-year-old galloped to his brother and took his hand.

“David le’s go! Le’s go see! C’mon c’mon c’mon.”

The boys abandoned their suitcases and rushed inside. Rose’s heart hammered with nerves and she picked up her sons’ luggage and followed them in, Shareen right on her heels. While she knew deep in her bones that this fresh start in a new house would be good for her kids—particularly David—it didn’t stop her from fearing they would hate the house and resent her for making them leave behind the life they’d known in the Before Times, when their dad was still alive and life was bright and shining.

Rose followed the sounds of her youngest son’s excited chattering, silently observing her kids take it all in. The garage opened into the kitchen, where Matthew had found the plate of biscuits Shareen must’ve made. Shareen worked part-time at her sister’s bakery, and had picked up quite a few tricks in the baking department. The chocolatey biscuits were melt-in-your-mouth soft and so rich that Rose nearly moaned.

“They’re safe for Mattie, too,” Shareen said when she spotted the three-year-old stuffing almost a whole biscuit into his mouth.

Rose knew that her friend would never bring over any sort of food that would set off Matthew’s lactose intolerance. Shareen was one of the handful of people she trusted to treat her son’s dietary restriction seriously, unlike some of Jimmy’s friends who swore it wasn’t that big of a deal, leaving Rose to deal with the miserable child and his hours-long diarrhea and stomach cramps.

“Thanks, babe,” Rose said, knocking her hip against Shareen’s.

Shareen winked and followed the kids through the new house as they explored.

“Look David, our table! An’ chairs! ‘Dis is where we eat. An’ look, our couch is here too! How’d’it get here?”

Rose stifled a chuckle. How odd it must seem to a child to have all the furniture they were familiar with suddenly in a brand-new location. Like magic.

“Mummy and Grandma moved it here,” Rose said, kneeling behind him and giving him a loose hug. “Remember when we put things in boxes at our old house? Everything you had before is here for you now.”

Matthew gasped. “My dinosaur bed too?”

“Why don’t we see if we can find it,” Rose whispered conspiratorially.

Matthew once again took his brother’s hand before racing off to explore more of the house, hollering, “Where’s my beeeeed?”

The boys streaked right past the living room to the steps that led to the upper floor. The three adults followed dutifully.

“MY DINOSAUR BED!”

Rose was sure the entire damn neighborhood heard her son’s shriek of joy. She poked her head into one of the bedrooms in time to see her three-year-old flop face-first into the duvet with the Jurassic Park logo printed across the front.

“IT’S HERE!” Matthew’s words were muffled into the fabric but the sentiment came across perfectly.

Rose crouched beside her son and rubbed his back. “Are you happy?”

“Oh yeah,” Matthew said, and he turned his head to the side to flash a broad grin at her. It melted her heart almost as much as it broke it, to see her late-boyfriend’s smile on her little boy’s face, and she scooped him up for a hug.

“Hey, wanna see a surprise?” she asked, kissing his chubby cheek.

He nodded vigorously, and watched her like a hawk as she flicked on the inconspicuous black cube that sat perched on his nightstand. It didn’t do anything of note, and Matthew frowned, brow furrowing. 

“Look up,” Rose hinted.

Matthew did, and let out a squeaky “ohmygosh!” as he beheld the blue lit-up pattern of a brachiosaurus on his ceiling.

“A dinosaur light!”

“Mhm. Watch this.” She pressed a button on the side of the lamp, and the long-necked dinosaur changed into a triceratops, also in blue. She pressed the button again, and now a velociraptor projected in blue light on the ceiling.

“My turn, my turn!” Matthew said, peering closely at the button his mother had been using. He pressed it, and gasped in delight to see a stegosaurus projection.

Again and again, Matthew pushed the button until he cycled through all ten dinosaur types the lamp came with.

“I know your favorite color is blue, but let’s see what happens when we touch this button,” Rose said, motioning to the button adjacent to the dino-swapping one.

Matthew dutifully pressed it, and squealed when the tyrannosaurus on his ceiling turned from blue to green. He pressed it again, and it turned from green to red. He cycled through all the colors of the rainbow before returning it to blue.

“‘Dis is the bes’ lamp ever!” He flung himself into her arms and gave her a wet, sloppy kiss to the corner of her mouth.

“What do we say when we get a present?” his grandmother reminded from where she leaned against the door jamb, drinking in the scene before her.

“Thank you thank you thank you!”

“You’re very welcome, baby boy,” Rose said, hugging her child just that much closer, relishing the weight of him in her arms. Before too long, he might not want hugs and kisses from his daft old mum, but for now she cherished the affection her child loved to give and receive. “I’m happy you’re happy.”

Once they’d spent an appropriate amount of time oohing and ahhing over Matthew’s room, the four Tylers and Shareen meandered down the hall towards the second second-floor bedroom. Rose’s heart skipped a beat as she watched David enter the room. 

She’d had such a hard time with decorating her eldest’s bedroom, because lately, he showed no interest in anything at all. With one exception…

“Iron Man! David, s’Iron Man!!”

Just like he’d done in his own room, Matthew flopped onto his brother’s bed, his face buried in the arc reactor in Tony Stark’s chest that was printed upon the duvet.

“Pew pew,” Matthew said, voice muffled.

Rose gnawed on the corner of her thumb, watching David like a hawk.

After Jimmy had died, Rose wasted hardly any time before cleaning out her boyfriend’s things, wanting to get over him as soon as humanly possible. She mostly worked alone, not wanting to upset her kids to see her emptying their flat of anything of their dad’s that she didn’t want or couldn’t use.

Her boyfriend had been an avid comic book reader and collector, ever since she met him when she was fifteen. He must have had hundreds of Marvel comics stashed around their house. Rose piled up the dozen or so boxes of comic books in their living room, intent on reaching out to collectors or other various shops to see if they’d be interested in taking them off her hands. But when she dragged out the last box, she was surprised to see David sitting cross-legged on the floor, an open Captain America comic book in his lap. She silently observed him, barely breathing. For fifteen minutes, Rose stood still as a statue, watching her eldest finish the comic he was on, then move on to a new one.

“Hey,” she’d called quietly.

David jolted, and quickly placed the book back into the box.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, pushing himself to his feet.

“No, wait. Don’t apologize.” She set the final box on the floor and crouched in front of her son. “Did you like that comic?”

He shrugged, a little too casually, and said nothing more.

“They were your dad’s,” she said unnecessarily. “But I think he’d love for you to have them. Do you want them?”

A spark that had been missing from David’s eyes glowed ever-so-slightly, and he shyly nodded. Rose grinned in encouragement, and pressed a kiss to his cheek.

“Your dad didn’t keep them very organized. I think I see a Spider-Man in there with some Captain Americas. Wanna see what we’ve got to work with?”

Again, David nodded, and without further prompting, folded himself back onto the floor. They’d spend the next hour and a half going through all of the volumes Jimmy had collected over the years. Rose had nearly wept to see her son actively engaging in an activity.

Presently, those comics sat on a bookshelf in the corner of the room opposite the bed, hundreds of thin little books stacked in neat piles. Rose had splurged a bit and ordered action figures of all of the main superheroes David had liked best; those figures decorated the shelves, watching over the book piles that belonged to their respective hero.

David noticed them and smiled. He picked up each action figure, inspecting them carefully, then turned to Rose and skipped up to her, arms opening to fling them around her middle. He squeezed as he whispered, “I love my room. Thanks, Mum.”

Rose’s eyes burned, relieved and overjoyed that her child was excited about something. It had been far too long.

“You’re very welcome, baby boy,” she murmured, using the nickname she hadn’t used for him in over five years. “I love you.”

“Love you,” he parroted, still holding her.

She stroked his hair, breathing him in, then said, “Things’ll get better. You’ll see. This house will be good for us.”

“Yeah,” he agreed, “I think so too.”

oOoOo

The first day of school always brought about some nerves, what with Rose having gotten used to having her boys home every day for two months, but this year it was almost unbearable. Rose bit her nails down to the quick as she watched the clock relentlessly.

David had seemed fine when she dropped him off at Arcadia Academy that morning, but he always seemed “fine” nowadays. While he wasn’t as sullen and withdrawn as he’d been in the winter and spring months, he was far from the bright, bubbly child she’d known for the first nine years of his life.

Not even the art commissions Rose really ought to work on could distract her from the panic that David was miserable and wasn’t making any new friends and hated that he left all of his old friends behind at his old school.

She had called his teacher, Miss Clara Oswald, a few days before the term began to explain their situation. Clara had been genuinely sympathetic and supportive, and had given Rose the contact information of the school counselor, Mr. Danny Pink, who was supposedly one of the best in the region.

“You can set up appointments for David for the after-school hour, if you’d like. I’d suggest you do that sooner rather than later to get yourself on the schedule. Or I can work with Danny to find a time when David could go during class time.”

“After school sounds preferable,” Rose admitted. “I don’t think returning to class after a therapy session would be… Well, therapy can be hard, is all.”

“Oh, don’t I know it.”

And so Rose had done exactly that: she’d gotten David an appointment with Mr. Pink for every other Wednesday beginning in the middle of September. Hopefully those sessions would help him more than the ones he’d had with his previous school counselor, who’d suggested David distract himself with things he liked to do, and who’d scolded Rose for not doing more to bring David out of his shell.

Rose also hoped her youngest was faring well in his new nursery class. Matthew had been in tears, clinging to her legs and screaming for her not to go when she’d dropped him off. Bless them, the nursery staff waited patiently for him to calm down, and even let Rose stick around for a few extra minutes to show Matthew around his classroom. His teachers, too, knew that Matthew was getting over the death of his father; while he’d adapted much better than his brother, Matthew was much clingier and quicker to melt down than he’d been in the past. The boys’ pediatrician assured Rose this was normal behavior, and all she had to do was love him through this transitory period of his life. The doctor had also helpfully given Rose a few info pamphlets on childhood grief and trauma, just in case.

In the end, Rose had had to leave her whimpering child at the school or else she never would have let him go. Logically, she knew her toddler would be fine after a while, but it didn’t stop her from imagining Matthew sobbing non-stop, thinking his mummy had abandoned him and would never come back for him.

Those heart wrenching visions were enough for her to collect her youngest from nursery a half hour early. She apologized profusely to his teachers, but they seemed to understand the situation, both her perspective and Matthew’s, and merely smiled before leading her to her child.

“He did so well today,” one of the teachers, Miss Ruby, praised. “He settled down about ten minutes after you left. He made a few new friends and did a wonderful job of telling us when he needed to potty.”

Rose nodded absently. “He’s been trained for almost a year now.”

The teachers seemed rather impressed by that, and Rose couldn’t help the little flash of pride. At least she was doing something right, in this parenting department, even if it was as insignificant as teaching her child the proper location to empty his bladder and bowels.

Matthew was squatting beside three other children when Rose poked her head into the classroom. Thanks to having a big brother, Matthew had learned early how to play with other kids, rather than around them. It seemed like the vast majority of children were parallel playing, with a small handful—Matthew included—actually playing with a doll’s house and acting out various family scenes.

She watched quietly, not wanting to disturb the kids, but Matthew happened to glance up and spotted her immediately. He squealed, dropped the toys, and sprinted to her, shouting her name. He barreled into her open arms and wrapped himself completely around her.

“Did you have a good day?” Rose asked, rocking him slowly from side to side.

“Uh huh, I have new friends! C’mon c’mon!” He wriggled, and when she set him on his feet, Matthew grabbed her hand and tugged her to the group he’d been playing with. “Dat’s Jamie an’ Nancy an’ George!”

Rose said hello to the children, who merely blinked at her.

“Dis’s’my mummy!” Matthew said proudly. “I’m goin’ home now. Bye!”

He didn’t wait for a response before tugging on her hand and leading her out of the classroom, as though he’d been doing it his whole life.

David’s school was a few blocks away, so by the time they made the walk, kids were beginning to trickle outside to find their respective adult that would take them home. Cars idled in a long queue, while other parents, like Rose, were gathered around the school grounds to collect their child. While Rose did have a car that she could use to pick her kids up from their respective schools, it was much easier to catch the bus and avoid the traffic.

A handful of teachers stood guard at the school doors and on the walkway leading to the front drive. Rose did a passing glance over the adults shepherding the children out of the building. She spotted David’s teacher, Miss Clara Oswald, leaning casually against the doorframe, chatting with a tall, lanky, brown-haired bloke Rose didn’t know, and a dark-skinned man Rose recognized as the school’s counselor, Mr. Danny Pink.

Rose had told David she would be standing beneath the school’s giant maple tree at pick-up time, so she made a beeline for it, praying her son hadn’t checked there only to find her missing. She was in luck: she waited for all of thirty seconds before she saw the slightly disheveled mousy brown hair of her child among the sea of little blondes, brunettes, and gingers. His eyes met hers, and he gave her a wave before bounding up to her.

“Hi, baby,” she whispered, folding him into her arms and pressing her nose to his hair. “I missed you. Did you have a good day?”

“Mhm,” he replied, giving her a good squeeze before letting her go.

“Make any new friends?”

David shrugged. “It’s the first day. Everyone’s new.”

Rose sighed, but couldn’t exactly fault his answer. She remembered all too well the awkwardness of the first day of school, and how overwhelming it was to meet a new classful of fellow students. It must be doubly awkward for him, not knowing a single soul at the new school. Rose brushed off the ever-present anxiety that screamed at her that she shouldn’t have taken David away from his old friends.

Matthew began chattering to his big brother about his day at nursery, but dutifully allowed Rose to take his hand and guide the two boys to the bus stop a few blocks away that would take them home.

[sadcoms]

if anyone is interested i have been writing doctor who fanfic because the brainrot is very real

buried alive inside my dreams pairing: ten/rose summary: In which Toby doesn't get possessed and the Doctor and Rose end up getting that mortgage. tags: Krop Tor AU, domestic, episodes: the impossible planet/the satan pit, mild possession Link

think of me when you're out there pairing: ten/rose summary: There is something about a nice, well-fitted t-shirt, isn't there? / Or, what the Doctor should actually have been thinking about during Girl in the Fireplace. tags: GiTF fix-it, humour, angst, ten is horny and angsty and confused Link

the rush in my head pairing: Ten/Rose summary: In which the TARDIS is a bit miffed with the Doctor, Rose wants flying lessons, and they should probably still have a chat about what happened on Satellite Five. tags: GiTF fix-it, bad wolf, attempt at humour, meddling TARDIS Link

[smallblueandloud]

i was going to go back to rewriting 13 meets martha but i kind of can't think about writing dwfic without thinking about rogue.

[loupettes]

As requested by the fabulous @darth-tella 😘 (I nicked your head canon for this one!)

A   T H O U S A N D   T I M E S   B U T   O N L Y   O N C E

SUMMARY: Rose wakes one ordinary Saturday morning to find the Doctor she's been building a life with making her pancakes in the kitchen.

Until he's not the Doctor she's been building a life with. 

Written for the prompt: "Please can this moment last forever?"

TAGS: fluff, romance, domestic mornings at home, everybody gets their happy ending for once!

Read on AO3: a thousand times but only once

“This is the nicest way you’ve said good morning to me in a while,” she grinned, and she heard his quiet chuckles into her shoulder. “I know you’re grateful for us having a chance at a life together, but the charade’s up now, hmm?”

She wasn’t sure he was fully listening to her, he seemed to be completely lost in his own computation. She let him do whatever he needed to do, because they hadn’t done this in a while and it was nice. They hadn’t breathed fully and openly to be near one another, their hearts releasing to know they had the other’s, simply standing still while they let their fingers explore each other for themselves. He was doing it now; he nudged her neck as his hands defined the planes of her back, her cotton t-shirt bunching up beneath his fingers as they swirled and stroked as they went. It was as though he was saying hello but with everything other than his voice, as though he was feeling the space she filled for himself to find her there with him.

No, not quite; it wasn’t as though he was saying ‘hello’, it wasn’t that familiar.

It was as though he was reacquainting himself with her.

Her heart dropped; this had been a long time for him. A lot longer than the forty seconds it had been for her to grab the milk.

“Doctor, tell me what's happened?”

He wasn’t next to her, she realised, when she slowly began to wake, but she felt the spot beside her on the bed warm. He hadn’t been up long, then.

And her lips curled to smell the coffee and hear the sizzle of the frying pan in the kitchen just across from the bedroom. She was sure he was bringing her breakfast, as he often did, but she swung her legs over the side of the bed and pulled on a pair of socks to go and join him, because she was just as often there in the kitchen watching him, savouring the way he looked when he’d just gotten out of bed; dishevelled hair and a spatula in such a grosely domestic fashion.

Pancakes. She could smell them before she even stepped out of the bedroom, and it was different to the normal English breakfast he liked to cook up. To be honest, he was still learning with that one; he hadn’t quite upskilled himself in timing, ironically enough. English breakfasts had become to him a bit more of a nuisance he was getting far too aggravated in his quest to conquer, and more often than not she was alerted to it being an ‘English breakfast’ morning whenever she woke to the smell of bacon burning on the hob and an aggressive ‘come on!’ when the toast was taking its time in the toaster. Other times, he might make bagels, sometimes he might make ‘breakfast lasagne’ — which are just various savoury breakfast items inside three pieces of bread instead of two — and sometimes, he even makes waffles.

“Wow, strawberries,” she grinned in delight, nicking one from the punnet before she gave him a quick kiss. “Morning.”

“Hello,” he smiled his usual smile, and for that she gave him another kiss. “Sleep alright?”

“Yep— although I had a really weird dream,” she frowned, as it only then came back to her. “I was back in my old school— same uniform and everything— and it was just me and Marcus, but there was this massive tree in the middle of the school grounds and, no matter where we went, we always ran back into it.” He was listening to her, but focusing on making sure the pancake wasn’t sticking to the pan, and it gave her the chance to really think about her dream. “It was quite scary, actually. I don’t know why, but that tree was not a nice tree.”

“So not like Treebeard, then?”

“Who?”

“The tree? From Lord of the Rings?”

She groaned. “You can’t talk to me about Lord of the Rings before 10am on a Saturday morning, remember?”

He smirked, which was a relief, because she was quite often met with a scowl when she expressed her indifference to that series. “Do I know Marcus, or is this one of your old school mates?”

“Marcus’s a dog,” she giggled. “Well— was a dog. Beautiful Staffie, my old art teacher used to bring him in when it was the last day before the holidays. Or on Wednesdays, sometimes he brought him in on Wednesdays.”

“Mmm,” he murmured absentmindedly. “Makes sense now, you were thrashing around a bit.”

She smiled a small smile, and wrapped her arms around his waist to press a kiss between his shoulders. “Sorry if I woke you.”

“Na, I was alright,” he dismissed, taking a sip of his tea — which she promptly took from his hands and assigned as her own.

She frowned as the smell caught up to her. “Hold on, why does the room smell of coffee if you’re drinking tea?”

“I had one earlier.”

She watched him while he was unaware, flipping over the pancake in the pan and busying himself around, looking for the various condiments he always liked to put on the table but only ever ended up sticking with sugar and lemon juice anyway. “How long have you been awake?”

“Hmm? Oh— you know me, not much of a sleeper.”

She did know that about him by now, that he only really needed four hours or so a night, but her heart still broke for him to know that, sometimes, he was really exhausted; the unproportionate need for sleep between both his Time Lord and human physiologies made for many tiresome days. “I wish you’d have woken me, we could have, I dunno, watched something together or something.”

He snickered and grabbed the maple syrup from the cupboard. “Last time I did that, you gave me an undignified grunt before you turned back over.”

“I suppose I don’t always take too kindly to being woken up,” she reflected, and he hummed in agreement. She kissed his shoulder in apology, before she turned around to sit at the counter. “I should be making you breakfast.”

“Well, I didn’t want to say.”

She grinned to herself, since his back was still turned to her, and she scoffed at the obscenely large stack of pancakes he’d been building beside him. “Who you got coming round for breakfast with all those pancakes?”

“Oh, just my other girlfriend, once you’re gone.”

“Ah yes— Cassie, was it?”

“Chloe.”

“Well, as long as I get the freshly cooked pancakes, I don’t mind,” she teased, and she still shivered delightfully to be reminded that she was his girlfriend. It seemed strange, like ‘boyfriend’ and ‘girlfriend’ were a bit too… high school for a love that transcended dimensions, but she wasn’t exactly his friend, but she also didn’t expect him to bump her up to his fiancée anytime soon. She wondered whether he’d thought about it, about asking her to marry him, and it was just as before, when it seemed to be one of the only things they weren’t talking about. To be honest, she wouldn’t even be sure she would know what to say; marriage, a ceremony, it all seemed a bit… odd. She wasn’t sure why, because there was not a doubt in her mind that they would spend the rest of their lives together, but she supposed she still thought of him as a bit too detached from humanity for that.

But she did wonder, and she felt regretfully orthodox to be a little hopeful. Really, she had thought about asking him a few times, except she really wasn’t sure at all how he would react. She often imagined he would laugh, ask her what the heck she was on about in a manner not too dissimilar from the time she merely suggested they share a mortgage together on some distant world far from home. But sometimes, like now, when he snatched his tea from her hands with a soft kiss to her forehead, she imagined he might not be too opposed to the idea.

“Shall we make a pot?” she suggested when she heard him put the kettle on.

“You hate tea from the pot.” He pulled out a mug from the cupboard and chucked a tea bag inside. “I resigned myself long ago to becoming your own personal pot of tea.”

“Quite right, I’ve trained you well,” she grinned. “I remember when you used to make the most shocking cups of tea.”

“One scolding from your mother was enough for me to learn quickly the error of my ways.”

She cackled in agreement. “I still laugh at those early days, when you used to pretend you weren’t watching us make tea while making your own mental notes.”

“The Tyler way, or you’re out, it was.”

“And now look at you — mum always comments on how good your cuppas are.”

“Yes,” he mused. “It’s suspicious.”

The switch to the kettle flicked as she pulled the puzzle book of crosswords from across the table and picked up a pen. She scanned over the one’s he’d already done, and looked to the ones he hadn’t. 2-down: ‘the Nickelodeon show starring Nick Cannon and Amanda Bynes’. Easy, she thought, and promptly scribbled in the letters that spelt ‘ALL THAT’ into the right boxes. When she was about to move onto the next, she noticed she hadn’t heard the water being poured, and she glanced up to see the Doctor had stopped turning the pancakes, his shoulders tense.

“You alright?” she asked, and he seemed to snap out of it as soon as she spoke.

“Yeah — just, feel a bit—” he scratched his hair and sniffed “— I dunno. Off. I’m alright, though,” he added, before she could start worrying.

That was another thing she had noticed: she panicked a lot more. He had a human lifespan now, and didn’t have the option to regenerate should he need to. His mortality now was frightening, and sometimes she wanted to cling to him and keep him as safe as possible. She really had no idea how he used to cope, the old Time Lord him, knowing that she could be lost to him for good at any given moment and she always would be. She stood from her stool and tugged on his arm, pulling herself into a hug. He snickered at her neediness, and he knew that this was her way of panicking without actually getting as far as to panic because, well, he would never let her.

She still felt herself weaken to feel his hands touch her the way they did. Nothing had changed, of course; his otherwise meaningless touches had always burned so unbearably loving on her. The way he used to hold her hand, the soft touches to her arm when he would pass her, the distracted way he used to watch her and tuck her hair behind her ear when she would otherwise be distracted by the telly; all of it always told her without telling her that he was beyond any doubt in love with her.

His hands stroking her back now were no different, and she sighed with longing into his t-shirt. That one single heartbeat of his pulsed steadily, and it was something she was only just getting used to even now — although she never dared tell him because she knew just how much he worried that he wasn’t enough for her. She kissed the space just above where his other heart once beat should he ever need reminding that he was wrong.

And it always, always came back down to this: they had gone far too long without each other once, and sometimes they just held each other to make up for lost time. Her heart used to yearn for his closeness, the closeness of a man locked away in another universe, and she sometimes even felt it still now, pathetically; on the days when her missions took her away from him, there was an ache in her chest that she was promised she would never feel again the moment he whispered that he loved her. Being this way with one another was the only way they could at least start to amend such lasting heartache.

It was only after she felt him kiss the top of her hair and pull away did she smell the burning from the hob, and he only snickered once more as he used the spatula to scrape the pancake that had since fused to the pan.

“You and those bloody hugs of yours," he teased. "Won’t be long till I set fire to this flat just for one of your hugs.”

“So mine’re better than Chloe’s, then?”

“Oh, without a doubt,” he agreed with a dismissing wave of his hand. “Not as good as Molly’s, though.”

“God, you’ve got a new one?”

He shrugged. “So many now I’ve lost count of who I’ve told you about and who I haven’t.”

She scoffed as she flicked the kettle back on, and he scoffed at what she knew was his indignation at her needing the kettle to be as recently boiled as possible before she could pour the water into the cup. He once had the audacity to pour the water in before the kettle had finished boiling! 

She heard him wince, again, and this time, she really did start to worry.

“Doctor, please tell me what’s wrong?”

“I’m fine,” he reassured, and to be fair to him, he looked alright. No signs of lasting discomfort, anyway. He saw the concern in her eyes and his head tilted, before he took her hand and pulled for closer. He cradled her face in his hands and kissed the bridge of her nose, and, when she didn’t giggle, kissed her again until she did. “I think it's just a pulled muscle, s’all.”

“Sign of aging, that.”

“I think it’s a sign of sleeping in a bad position.”

“Which reminds me,” she added promptly, withdrawing herself to continue making her cup of tea. “I promised Tony a sleepover next Saturday.”

“Good,” he muttered, and she knew exactly where this was going. “Cos I want a rematch.”

She rolled her eyes, and nicked another strawberry from the counter. “Cannot believe you are holding this much of a grudge over a game of ‘Tumblin’ Monkeys’.”

“That kid cheats and you know it.”

“He’s five.”

“Five-year-olds can be cheaters.”

“Yeah, and nine-hundred-year-olds can be sore losers.”

He muttered something under his breath she didn’t care to hear while she opened the fridge to grab the last of the milk from the fridge.

“We need to do a shop today, we’re running out of milk.”

“It’s Saturday,” he dismissed, as he rolled a pancake with copious amounts of sugar up and stuck it in his mouth in one go before she had the chance to slap his wrist for starting without her. “Milk’ll probably be outside.”

She nodded, and poured what was left of the milk into her tea. “Don’t eat any more bloody pancakes while I’m gone.”

“Can’t make you any promises, there.”

The Doctor busied himself with plates before picking out a single gerbera daisy from the bouquet on the windowsill and slotting it into a small vase. Her heart wilted to see him so effortless, the awkward fumbling man he once was now a natural romantic — or perhaps it was just that he always was, only now he had the freedom to be. She rinsed out the glass bottle and stepped through the corridor and out the front door, where she found there was a fresh glass of milk outside. A bit of a relief, as always, because it would have been a difficult morning with no tea, and she placed the empty glass for collection on the floor before she frowned in confusion.

She turned on her heel and back into the kitchen. “Y’know, I could’ve sworn we’d ordered some orange juice this week—”

“Rose—”

She stopped dead in her tracks to hear him so… distressed. He’d spun around to face her, his hand gripping the counter for support as his eyes, wide and frantic, darted across her face in what looked to be a state of almost terrisome perplexity.

“What?” she cautioned, “What is it?”

His mouth agape, he seemed not to have heard her. His eyes flickered away from hers and next to the space around her, their flat and their home, which he only searched as though he wasn’t sure where he was. Her heart sank momentarily in dread and pity, but a feeling she knew well by now.

She had seen this before.

She carefully put down the glass of milk on the counter and stepped towards him slowly; he hadn’t been displaced in a few months now, not since the start. He used to freeze here and there, usually when he was tired, when he had first lost his heart in exchange for a life and the flashbacks used to completely take over him. Flashbacks to the war and after, they realised; the time that was just as fearsome and painful after they were first separated and what became of him thereafter. It would take him a minute or two to remember where he was, and she always wanted him to find her holding him whenever he eventually would. At first, he resisted, perhaps for too many years he had been left alone to cope with the wounds, but soon he learned to trust she would heal them for him. She would wrap her arms around him and wait for him to come back to her, and, after a while, it began to happen less and less frequently, until it stopped completely.

As she cautioned herself closer to him now, though, he was watching her. He wasn’t lost in his own memories of blood and battle, he was completely here in the room with her. So she held back, her arms cautiously hovering out before her.

“Doctor? What is it?”

As soon as she spoke, the second his name escaped her lips, his entire expression broke. His eyes bounced erratically across her face until the corners of his lips twitched, releasing a breathy exhale of disbelief where her name might have even escaped his lips, before he broke into a full, bright smile, eyes glistening and she thought, for a moment, that he might even be about to cry.

“Doctor—”

“You’re here,” he whispered, and the words seemed to instill a blissfulness within him. “How can you be here?”

She shook her head slowly, confused. “What do you me— we’re home, yeah? You’re here, home, with me.”

With that, she took another slow step towards him to touch his arms gently, and he closed his eyes the moment he felt her. She hadn’t seen him like this before, not at all in fact, so she wasn’t sure whether touching him and holding him tight would help anymore. He seemed to be here, with her, but just not quite, and she herself was still a little stunned in confusion and concern. His brow pinched almost in anguish as he froze under her touch, and soon after, she started to feel his fingers lightly touch her arm in return. It was very precise, very deliberate and gentle, that she didn’t take it as anything other than him needing to feel her; one by one, the pads of his fingers touched her arm, grazing the skin that chilled beneath them. He smiled to feel the small dimple at the top of her right arm from a chicken pox scar back from when she was a child, and she remembered the way he had once brushed his lips to it, many years ago now. His palm found her cheek not long after, and he opened his eyes to meet hers.

And she shuddered deep with how fast they darkened, his pupils expanding and opening until she could feel herself faltering beneath them, the sheer depth and expanse of a world up into which she only wanted to be swept. His world, a world of course they had started to map out together, but still, it never failed to make her vertiginous to remember he was hers now.

“Rose.”

Her name on his lips was a prayer, different somehow to the way he had said it countless times in countless ways. His eyes caught the light and she saw it then, a glimpse at the stars and a universe so familiar, before she lost it, his head dipping to the crook of her shoulder at about the time his arms pulled her into him.

“What’s gotten into you today, hmm?” she cooed with a smile, her hands stroking his back.

“I can’t believe you’re here, I can’t…” his voice was lost to his own disbelief, then, and she was still so tremendously confused but relieved nonetheless to know that he was considerably less distressed than he had been before, if not a little scatterbrained for whatever reason. She lightly brushed her lips to his neck and, again, he released a shaky breath that divulged a concealed smile.

“This is the nicest way you’ve said good morning to me in a while,” she grinned, and she heard his quiet chuckles into her shoulder. “I know you’re grateful for us having a chance at a life together, but the charade’s up now, hmm?”

She wasn’t sure he was fully listening to her, he seemed to be completely lost in his own computation. She let him do whatever he needed to do, because they hadn’t done this in a while and it was nice. They hadn’t breathed fully and openly to be near one another, their hearts releasing to know they had the other’s, simply standing still while they let their fingers explore each other for themselves. He was doing it now; he nudged her neck as his hands defined the planes of her back, her cotton t-shirt bunching up beneath his fingers as they swirled and stroked as they went. It was as though he was saying hello but with everything other than his voice, as though he was feeling the space she filled for himself to find her there with him.

No, not quite; it wasn’t as though he was saying ‘hello’, it wasn’t that familiar.

It was as though he was reacquainting himself with her.

Her heart dropped; this had been a long time for him. A lot longer than the forty seconds it had been for her to grab the milk.

“Doctor, tell me what's happened?”

“I don’t know!” he laughed breathily and in disbelief, pulling himself away. Her hands slipped down his back and to his side when he cupped her face in his hands, those long fingers splaying her cheek, and she gripped his wrists to keep herself steady. “I was— ha! I was regenerating! Rose! Just now! I don’t know how— I mean I have no idea how this is possible, but it is! I was regenerating, and now I’m here! With you.”

His eyes closed again as he said that last bit, as though he were holding himself together for fear that his perceived reality might only be transient. Her eyes flickered across his features, and he was exactly the same as she left him; he hadn’t shaved since they had got back from Cardiff on Thursday, and his hair was the same— no shorter or longer than before, no product or anything other than just a night’s sleep against a pillow. Her eyes lowered then, down to the hollow of his neck where she could see his pulse, beating quicker than she would expect to be normal, and she counted the beats in her head to check.

Regenerating.

She frowned, and her head jolted back as she realised with dread what he must mean.

“You… you can feel him— he’s, is he—”

“Me, Rose!”

“No I know he’s you, I mean the Time Lord you, you can feel him regenerating?”

“No,” he chuckled. “I mean I am him, the Time Lord me! Last thing I remember, not five minutes ago, I was regenerating in the TARDIS. And now…”

He swallowed the breath caught in his throat and his eyes wandered her face— deeper than that, even, as though he not only was taking in her features but taking in her. His gaze was so adoring, as it always was, but renewed somehow; he took her in as he would a new world. His features had suspended in an expression of wonderment while he studied her, and she considered what he was saying, what he was about to imply. She thought hard for a second, really trying to believe that maybe, perhaps, he was the other Doctor, the one she had not chosen back on that beach.

And for a second, just the briefest instance, she saw that he was.

“Oh my god…”

He shook his head in disagreement, as though the thing he was so unsure of was now so sure in his mind, while she now only stumbled several steps behind him. “I have no idea how this could have happened, but you’re here, and I’m here with you.”

“You think— you think maybe, when you regenerated, you, what, came here somehow— how can you have— across worlds—”

“I have no idea, Rose, I really don’t! But one moment I was saying goodbye to you on the Powell Estate, and the next, here I am.”

He looked exactly the same, but different, and she felt similar to the way she had felt at the beginning, when they first started this new life together. She searched for him, her Doctor, and the face before her changed back and forth so often and so quickly in front of her eyes that her head started to spin.

And then she gasped to feel it all so overwhelming. She was looking now at her original Doctor; the one who had to force himself to walk away from her was now standing with her in this kitchen and being given the chance he needed to let go of just for her to have her happy ending. She had let him go that day and spent so many months doubting herself, knowing there was a man in another universe alone for thousands of years when she had chosen to accompany one with a human lifespan. The guilt she had felt at having left him to be alone, the turmoil at loving two men and only being able to choose one and she shuddered now to know that, maybe, perhaps, she could finally have both.

“But, but what about my Doctor?” she whispered, and winced to hear herself say it out loud.

She might have seen his heartbreak had he not been so enraptured himself to be standing here with her, and he barely considered the answer before he shook his head. I'm still here, I’m still me. Promise. Just as before, same memories— oh, just— ah— yes, those memories, waking up now—”

She raised her eyebrow and he jolted backwards, his eyes closed but she could see them both flickering under his eyelids as he was ambushed, it would seem, by memories that weren’t quite his playing right before him until they became his.

“Oh, wow, okay— I definitely cannot play the trombone, then?”

Every now and then he would smile, or he would wince, or shiver as he recalled a particular memory, and by the constant shift in expressions she imagined he was remembering a lot and all at one — she imagined it must be sort of like how the recollection of one memory can inadvertently spark a multitude of other ones. She wondered whether he might be noticing the humanness of it all: the depth of emotions so intense when he was used to them being mostly limited, and the domesticity of his life now in this world. Maybe, she worried, he might even see how limiting it all is: the daily routine, public transport and a life confined to the barriers of Earth. His smile only seemed to grow with each snippet he got, the look of a man so happy with his life and she watched as her Doctor slowly returned to her — or she supposed, watched as both of the Doctors aligned with one another.

“Oh, right— yes—ah— we, oh— we do — we do that—”

She giggled to watch him acquaint himself with perhaps every sexual encounter they’d ever shared over the last seventeen months in the space of a few seconds. He looked flustered, about as flustered as he looked the first time she’d pulled him by the tie at the very well attended Vitex Christmas party last year to partake in an activity very much not intended for such an audience, his cheeks starting to dust a delightful pink.

“Oh— okay we do that a lot— oh my god— on the train— Rose!”

She knew she had her human Doctor here with her by the fact that, of all the memories he might be remembering now, it was so unbelievably human that he should remember those ones so soon.

“Can’t believe that was up in your top ten most scandalous places,” she teased, but she wasn’t sure he was listening. “Would have thought that time we snook one in on your desk during recess—”

“Blimey, yes—” she giggled to see him cut himself off, quite likely as the visual of — what she considered, anyway — one of their most phenomenal yet briefest shags played in front of him, before he shook his head quickly. “I think that’s enough of a trip down memory lane.”

“Mmm,” she murmured, and pressed a kiss to his neck nonetheless, just above his pulse. Oh god, she thought, as she considered how her wanting to feather those kisses all over him so soon after he had shown all the physical stuff to be quite overwhelming to be not the best thing for him right now.

Down girl.

She shook her head, confused, and she was a little surprised to find he must have been watching her when he responded to her disorientation with a quiet hum. “How can this — that happen? How can you just… remember stuff that didn’t actually happen to you?”

He chuckled, and cupped her face in his hands, his thumb brushing gently over the heat under her cheeks. He seemed to lose himself in it, momentarily captured by her and, she could only presume, her humanity. “How many times have I told you, it is me?” When she only looked back at him and didn’t show any signs of understanding, he continued, “This has never happened before — well, that I’m aware, anyway, but I can only imagine it’s something to do with our bond. Signal was a bit weak — well, okay, almost entirely severed — through the impenetrable walls of the universes, but now that I’m somehow here, it’s like it’s tuned in properly.”

“Wait — could you feel each other through the universes?”

“No, not exactly,” he said with a crease in his brow. “Certainly when we were in the same universe, we were on exactly the same wavelength, thinking the same and all that stuff. But once I sealed the other universe off, we sort of lost it. I think— I think I knew—”

“You were regenerating,” she finished quietly, and he nodded.

“I think something like that would surely be felt by the other. Like the death of a twin, I suppose.”

She had to fight back the tears to know that he had so recently gone through the process of regenerating. She remembered, unfairly perfectly, how awful it was to watch him in so much pain, all those years ago, and she was too afraid to ask whether he’d had to regenerate alone this time.

“We’re standing in exactly the same place — occupying the same space — at exactly the same time, and we are exactly the same,” he continued. “Guess it was just a case of… I don’t know. Finding each other and slotting into place.”

“Like bosons,” she mused.

He blinked. “I’m sorry?”

“Remember? When we were in Devon, looking up at those stars, and you were telling me about how only bosons and not fermions can occupy the same place at the same time?"

He continued to look at her confused, and tilted his head. “Wait— you remembered that?”

She shrugged with a nod. “I remember you talking about the big bang. Somethin’ about a particle bumping into some boson and setting it all off, making everything ‘be’. Something comes along and interacts with a boson and BAM. Mass gets added, it exists.”

His smile was sweet, in awe, and he looked at her softly. “While I am in awe that you remembered me babbling on about the Higgs field and that’s where your brilliant little mind went, it’s a bit more like…” he frowned, and she couldn’t help but grin at his own confusion. He seemed to not really know what it was he wanted to say, so, in the meantime, she snatched his glasses from the counter and fixed them on herself.

“‘Bosons can inhabit the same space at the same time’,” she recounted in her best and most exaggerated expression of him.

“I’m going to need you to stop talking to me about quantum mechanics and especially when you’re wearing those glasses,” he warned — even nearly groaned — and she wondered whether the Time Lord might finally be realising why his human counterpart had so many more of those particular memories. He was distracted, definitely, and even more so when his gaze began to travel south, before he scrunched his eyes shut and shook his head. “How did we get onto quantum mechanics, again?”

“You crossin’ universes and being’ here”— she held out one hand — “some other psychicsy thing that makes no sense” —she held out her other hand — “dunno, seems about right to me.”

“Ah, yes! The crossing universes thing,” he nodded. “So I suppose I’d say, think less ‘Higgs boson’ and more ‘huon particle’.”

“What?”

Again, he shook his head. “Nevermind.”

“But I still don’t understand why,” she stressed. “I mean, I still don’t understand the how, to be honest, but — why did this happen?”

“I don’t know,” he sighed, and he really did sound quite lost. “But I think… I think this is my reward.”

She frowned. “Reward for what?”

He didn’t reply at first, he seemed to be watching her for a moment before his own thoughts took over.

“For what I had to do.”

His words were heavy and final, and she realised he didn’t quite want to talk about whatever it was. Nothing much had changed there, then, but she was plagued to see him look a way he hadn’t looked for a while, steeped in regret and remorse and hurt. She had almost forgotten what it felt like, having him feel so broken, and it pained her to realise he never stopped feeling that way. All the time she and her human Doctor had been together, all the chance at healing he had had, the Time Lord hadn’t. It was normal for her now to ask him more, and he had gotten at least somewhat used to talking about his feelings, but she imagined the worst thing she could possibly do right now was make him relive whatever atrocity it was that made him — the Doctor — think he was owed a reward for.

“My regeneration, it wasn’t instant,” he explained, and she again felt a sharp sting in her chest at his having recently needed to regenerate. She pulled herself in closer to him and shivered in anguish, and he kissed the top of her head. “S’okay, I’m alright.” She nodded, and he proceeded a bit more softly. “I had a bit of time in between. Not too long, but enough for me to be a little bit selfish. Retribution, I suppose.”

“You’re the least selfish person I know,” she lamented, her cheek pressed to his chest and she scrunched her eyes shut to only wish he could see it the way she did.

“You would say that,” he said quietly.

“Doctor—” his name caught in her throat, and she had to swallow before she could continue on steadily. “You deserve the future you want. Whatever you had to go through, whatever dreadful thing forced your regeneration, I know you only had to do it because you were saving somebody. That’s what you do, you put everybody else before yourself every single time and ask for nothing in return—“ she had to pause and regain herself, because she could hear the quiver in her voice. She took a deep breath, leaned her head back to his chest and closed her eyes again. “Just ask. That's all you'll need to do to get what you want.”

He seemed to sadden by the way his shoulders slumped on his exhale, and she couldn’t understand why he could never accept happiness. Even the more human Doctor — which she supposed was the man standing in front of her still — took a long time to realise that maybe he might be able to be happy, and she still wasn’t entirely sure whether he believed so truly even to this day. She supposed having the consciousness of the Time Lord Doctor only took him several steps back, and she wasn’t about to let him have a moment’s doubt that he couldn’t have this. So, she stood on her tiptoes, and brought their lips together.

They had shared so many kisses over the last seventeen months that this was nothing extraordinary, but to her it felt different. The moment her lips touched his, it felt just like the first time, and she could almost taste the salt on his lips from that windswept beach. He didn’t kiss her in return with familiarity; he was hesitant, like this was new for him even though it couldn’t have been. While he only seemed guarded, she was ungoverned, sure, and she kissed him with everything she knew to be true; them, the love she had for him and the love they had together, all his flaws and insecurities and she kissed those with just as much love and adoration as his virtues and morals. She knew she could make him learn how to heal and forgive himself by only allowing her to love him as she did: with all that she had. So it was with all that she had that she kissed him now, until all those thousands of times that she had kissed him alike became this time.

Soon, he began to return the kiss. His fingers threaded through her hair cupped the back of her head, and he kissed her in such a way that felt familiar and yet completely new; she couldn’t be sure whether this was muscle memory or the intolerable restraint of a Time Lord in love with a mortal finally shattering. Perhaps, it was both.

She had had this kiss before, one where she felt him crumble beneath her lips, a kiss such as an oncoming wave that drew out back with it his fears. It was overwhelmingly powerful, when he kissed her like this, and when they broke apart, he was breathless, but she wasn’t. She listened to him, almost even heard his heart beating frantically, and placed sweet, gentle kisses across his cheek as he regained control over his breathing. His head bowed to the crook of her neck and she held him close to her, fingers combing through his hair and down the nape of his neck and back up again. He liked that the most, when she would brush her fingers over the very top of his spine, as though it were enough to travel all the way down and set alight every nerve in his body in turn, to feel alive and know that she was there to feel alive with him, too.

“Tell me you love me,” he whispered his plea into her skin.

He had heard it a thousand times but only once. When she whispered her love for him, it wasn’t her response, nor was it her compliance. He had only ever heard it as their parting; now, she meant it as their promise. A promise that was his to keep for as long as he wanted to hold her to it, and when she was sure that he had heard her, when she was certain he knew of his reward, she reached her arms up and around his neck to transcribe her words and promises into kisses upon his skin.

Over and over she kissed him, slowly, deliberately, lulling him into her protection, telling him that this, his future, that swelling of his heart and the warmth beneath his skin that he felt right now was not even the universe’s for the taking.

All he had to do was ask.

“Please can this moment last forever?” he breathed, and even then, she didn’t know for sure who he was talking to.

So, with the smile that came when he had answered her this very question in not so many words seventeen months ago, she whispered,

“Yes.”

[thirdeyeblue]

Exposure

Out on a snowy hike, the Doctor and Rose get lost and quickly find themselves in danger. With night upon them and temperatures dropping fast, staying warm becomes a matter of survival.

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Ten/Rose

Tags: Huddling For Warmth, First Time, Romance

Length: 11k (one-shot)

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