#particularly those who have liked/reblogged/favorited/given kudos/reviewed/commented/dropped me a note

[lirlovesfic]

The Choice

Summary: After GitF, the TARDIS brings the Doctor, Rose, and Mickey back to the Powell Estate to solve a problem involving the TARDIS herself. But when they see a familiar face, the face of someone who should not exist, they realize the problem is deeper than they thought and could endanger the Doctor’s very existence. Primary characters: Ninth Doctor, Tenth Doctor, Rose Tyler, Mickey Smith, Jackie Tyler. Genres: Romance, mystery, adventure, drama, character study, HN AU, fobbed!Nine, sick TARDIS. Pairings: Nine/Rose, Ten/Rose Rating: Adult

Warning: definitely NSFW

Author’s note: A short epilogue will follow in a few days.

Catch up: on AO3, on TSP, on ffnet

 Chapter Fifty-One—London, 7 October, 2007

Rose stared at him, her heart thrilling to his words while her brain valiantly tried to play catch up. He remembered. He'd said he remembered everything that had happened between them, that it hadn't just been his previous regeneration that had been John, he himself had been as well. And by quoting John's words to her, he was not only acknowledging what had happened between them but claiming John's feelings and experiences as his own.

Feeling a sudden wave of shyness due to the rapid, and completely unexpected, turn in the conversation, she slowly smiled at him, her teeth sinking into her lower lip, and the Doctor grinned back, his smile widening further and further as each second passed. They sat there, beaming at each other like idiots for so long that Rose's face began to ache.

Then his smile faded. His eyes flickered down to her mouth. When he looked up again, his eyes darkened, her breath caught. His face might be different and his eyes brown rather than blue, but she knew that expression, had seen it countless times over the course of the last few months. Her heart pounded—in nervousness and anticipation and desire—and the butterflies that had taken up long-term residence in her stomach from the moment they'd first met in Henrik's began to do cartwheels.

She didn't know who made the first move. One moment they were sitting side by side on the jump seat, the next she was in his arms, his mouth on hers. The kiss completely lacked finesse: it was a hard, awkward press of lips on lips, of noses smushed and teeth clashing. For a moment she wasn't sure what to do with her hands. His arms were wrapped around her, pressing her to himself so tightly she could barely move, so she settled on clutching his lapel with one hand and threading her fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck with the other. Somewhere in the back of her mind she noted that his hair was softer than she remembered (from those brief half-remembered glimpses she had from her time being possessed by Cassandra) and was surprised that it was remarkably free of product. Considering the care he took with his appearance in this body she'd assumed he used wax or whatever the 53rd century equivalent was, but then the thought left as quickly as it had come because the Doctor was kissing her; it was his lips against hers, his arms encircling her and crushing her to his chest.

The Doctor, fully aware of himself, of who he was and who she was, of their entire history and what they had been to each other, and still was kissing her.

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