The Calm Before the Storm by Kalleah
Summary: This is the story of a journey for the Doctor and for Rose, as the Doctor comes to terms with his guilt and her mortality and lets go of guards and walls long built up. This is a story of a yearning for deeper meaning even when the mind rejects its validity.
Rating: Adult
Categories: Tenth Doctor
Characters: Rose Tyler, The Doctor (10th)
Genres: Angst, Het
Warnings: Explicit Sex
Challenges: None
Series: The Process of Becoming
Published: 2007.01.28
Updated: 2007.03.11
Index
Chapter 1: Chapter 1
Chapter 2: Chapter 2
Chapter 3: Chapter 3
Chapter 4: Chapter 4
Chapter 5: Chapter 5
Chapter 6: Chapter 6
Chapter 7: Chapter 7
Chapter 8: Chapter 8
Chapter 9: Chapter 9
Chapter 10: Chapter 10
Chapter 11: Chapter 11
Chapter 12: Chapter 12
Chapter 13: Chapter 13
Chapter 14: Chapter 14
Chapter 15: Chapter 15
Chapter 16: Chapter 16
Chapter 17: Chapter 17
Chapter 18: Chapter 18
Chapter 19: Chapter 19
Chapter 20: Chapter 20
Chapter 21: Epilogue
Chapter 1: Chapter 1
Author's Notes: It might help to read my ficlet To Be Human before this, just to give a little background for the Doctor and Rose's spiritual views before reading this, but it's not necessary. Spoilers through the end of Fear Her.
"I'd like to take you to visit an old friend of mine," said the Doctor to Rose, who was sitting on the grated floor in the console room.
"Yeah," she said. She hugged her knees closer to her chest and tried to back away from the dark thoughts that had been occupying her mind. The Doctor ignored her lack of enthusiasm and began to twirl knobs and press buttons on the controls, letting Rose sink back into her worries. A storm is coming, he had said, and either could not or (as she thought more likely) would not explain further. After his cryptic statement, he had reverted to aggressive optimism, but Rose saw the worry in his eyes when he gave her one of his infrequent, sidelong glances. He was excellent at denying what he did not want to address and treating her like a child at the same time, she thought glumly.
When the TARDIS creaked to a halt, bouncing Rose's bottom unceremoniously on the grating, the Doctor leaped to the door and flung it open, stepping outside with obvious relish. She rose to her feet and followed more slowly, shading her eyes as she stepped from the subdued darkness of the console room to the overcast but bright day outside.
The TARDIS now stood on a slight rise in a grassy open space in the late afternoon, the light casting long shadows. Around her, the ground sloped gently downward to a small river. Their side of the river was covered with huge, tall, dignified oak trees and smaller, flowering trees. A tall, yellowish, dry-looking grass waved gently in the unseen breeze on the opposite side for several meters before giving way to a deep, rich forest. Rose saw some short brick walls in regular geometric shapes down the hill from her, crumbled in places, forming steps in others. The wind was light, but carried a hint of a chill. Autumn or early spring? It was hard to tell.
The Doctor was halfway down the hill already, walking briskly toward a brick building that was more than half hidden in a heavier bit of the woods. Rose followed. When she caught up to him, the door of the building had opened and the Doctor was hugging a frail-looking old man in dark robes.
"Doctor," said the man. "I did not expect to see you again. How good you are here! And who is your companion?" He turned his face toward Rose expectantly. She was caught off guard. While his physical appearance indicated a wizened old man, his voice was strong and musical, and his blue eyes sparkled with intelligence and good humor. His head was shaved bald and he had an enormous, bristling, white beard along the edge of his jaw, but no mustache.
"Rose Tyler, may I present Brother Jacob," said the Doctor, pleasure evident in his own voice.
Rose extended a hand. "Pleased to meet you," she said a little awkwardly.
Jacob smiled broadly and the corners of his eyes crinkled in laugh lines that were so deeply written on his face that they would never entirely disappear. He seized her hand and shook it vigorously. "Delighted to meet you, Rose Tyler. May I offer you both some refreshments? Tea?"
"Yes, please, that would be lovely," said Rose.
The Doctor gave her an approving look and waved a hand. "The garden table, Jacob?" The old man nodded. "C'mon, Rose, I'll show you." Jacob disappeared back into the little building and Rose followed the Doctor down a path that sloped gently down the hill. When the trees cleared again, they were in a clearing with a rectangular area lined off with a low brick wall. In the center stood a slight, almost delicately carved round stone table with two stone benches curved around it. Off to the side, there was a view of the river and the waving grass beyond. Four more of the odd flowering trees (trees blooming in this weather?) stood in the corners of the brick wall. Rose walked to one and studied the bloom carefully. It was a dark pink, almost red, with small yellow stalks surrounding a brown seeded center. The leaves were deep green and slightly waxy.
"Camellia japonica," said the Doctor behind her. "We'll be drinking its cousin." Rose shot him a puzzled look and he smiled. "Tea," he explained. "Camellia sinensis is used for tea. Different plant, but they can look similar. This camellia is more decorative, while the other one tastes much better. Although," he said thoughtfully, giving the tree a contemplative look, "I haven't actually --"
"Are you going to have to lick everything we discuss?"
The Doctor gave her his most wounded expression. "It's for scientific study, Rose, and no, I do not lick everything. Just those items that I can analyze chemically. It's a very useful skill."
It was pointless to debate with him, so Rose seated herself on one of the stone benches and watched the Doctor carefully lick one of the camellia leaves. He smacked his lips several times, wriggled his nose, and then nodded in satisfaction. "Yes, definitely quite different," he said. "It's hard to tell since these leaves haven't been crushed and oxidized, but it could be a matter for later study and comparison." He plucked three or four of the waxy leaves and tucked them away in a jacket pocket, then joined Rose on the bench.
She stared off into the distance, watching the swirls and eddies of the river and the small branches and other detritus being carried in its current. A pair of ducks swam along the farther shore and she heard their quacking calls carried up to her on the wind. The bench underneath her drew the warmth from her body. She wrapped her arms around herself, rubbing her hands briskly up and down her arms to relieve the chill. Without a word, the Doctor shrugged off his coat and put it across her shoulders. She settled back into it, feeling the slight warmth from his body there.
After a few moments, Jacob came down the same path, carrying a tray with a teapot, three cups, and supplies on it. He put it down and sat on the bench across from them, a broad smile crinkling his ancient face. For a few minutes, the three of them were occupied with the usual tea ceremony, pouring water and adding sugar and cream, and no one said anything. When Rose had a warm cup of tea in both hands, the warmth spreading into her palms, she sighed happily and heard Jacob sigh as well.
"It is not often that we have visitors and I have occasion to indulge in such hospitality." He blew on his tea. "Doctor, it has been some time since you were here, five years by my reckoning. Is it well with you?" He gave the Doctor a sharp look and Rose was reminded of a bird for a fleeting moment, watching his head cock to one side and his eyes focus intently on the Doctor. "You have changed again since then."
Rose was startled almost to dropping her cup. This man knew about regeneration?
"Yes," said the Doctor, giving a cautious sidelong look at Rose, whose mouth was open in visible surprise. "It was unavoidable, but I am well now."
Jacob turned his sharp eyes to Rose, who closed her mouth with a force of effort. "Does he still have the nightmares?"
"What?"
His focus returned to the Doctor. "You must find an outlet for your grief," he said, and the words had the ring of a long-standing argument between friends. "You cannot bear it alone, no, Doctor," when the Doctor had opened his mouth to say something in return, "I have said this often and I will say it again until I am out of breath for good. You are many times older than even I am and yet you lack the wisdom to apply what you have learned to your own life. You must understand and address loss directly."
The three of them drank their tea in silence for a few heartbeats, and the Doctor finally broke the silence. "Jacob, you are just as you have always been." He laughed. "I brought Rose to meet you, but I had forgotten about your lectures. Foolish of me."
Jacob raised his cup in a mock toast. "Foolish indeed." He smiled, and the words had no bite. "I will endeavour as always to show you my way, and if you ever follow, I will undoubtedly die immediately of surprise."
The Doctor's left eyebrow quirked and Rose laughed. Jacob laughed with her, a bright, musical sound across the wind. "I am afraid I am terribly rude," he said. "Rose, we do not have visitors often, as I said, and I have forgotten my manners. My brothers and I are isolated and we grow accustomed to our own silences and ways, without considering those who are different. Please forgive me."
"Oh, no," said Rose. "You haven't been rude -- we barged in on you with no notice --"
Jacob shook his head. "I heard the TARDIS," he said. "With him," a nod of the head indicated the Doctor, "that is notice enough. The afternoon prayers are done and it is not yet dark. We have time to enjoy each other's company in God's garden, and the day He has made for us here."
Rose cut her eyes and looked at the Doctor, who was blandly drinking his tea and looking at the river. She knew his feelings well enough on the nature of God, so it was some surprise that he counted this man as a friend when he freely expressed his faith. "Your brothers? What is this place?"
"A monastery," replied Jacob. "There are fifty of us here, spending our lives in prayer, hard work, reflection, and study. My brothers are somewhat shyer than I am, so please do not be offended if they do not seek you out or speak to you when you pass. Some have taken vows of silence in their service. A few of us trade our goods -- eggs, honey, and pottery -- with vendors from the city nearby who come once or twice a week. We also have visitors from time to time who stay with us and spend time in reflection as well, but those usually take a vow of silence during their stay with us."
The Doctor had turned his attention back to Jacob as the man finished his explanation. "Jacob, if it is all right, I ask for both of us to stay for a few days." Rose was again surprised. This place was so quiet, with the peace of it settling into her bones, and so unlike the frenetic life she lived with the Doctor. At times, when she asked, he humored her and they traveled somewhere calm and lovely, but it was uncommon for him to seek it out on his own.
Jacob nodded. "As always, you are welcome here, as is Rose. I assume that you will not take the vow of silence?"
Rose was horrified for a single, shocked moment, but the Doctor's laugh made her relax. "No, not this time."
Jacob's smile was huge. "I do not believe you will ever be silent, my friend. And I think I have startled Rose." He reached across the table and put his hand across hers. "Forgive me again for my rudeness, my dear." The skin on his hand was soft but thin and dry like parchment.
Rose squeezed it gently and grinned at the old man. "He would regenerate again from the strain of being quiet."
"Oi," protested the Doctor, "now, that is rude, Rose."
Rose and Jacob exchanged conspiratorial looks and, she knew, were friends.Back to index
Chapter 2: Chapter 2
Author's Notes: The monks and monastery in this story are based somewhat loosely on the Trappist order, but I've taken substantial license with them.
Rose spent the hour or so before sunset exploring the garden. Jacob and the Doctor stayed at the stone table, talking in low tones and laughing together. The paths wound around, bringing her to separate areas lined off with trees and short brick walls like outdoor rooms, each with a different view of the river or the other parts of the garden. She found one long, narrow room lined with willow trees, pointing down to the river on one end and with a row of white headstones at the other. She shivered for a moment, pulling the Doctor's long coat close around her, realizing she was standing on a grave, but the cemetery was surprisingly cheery. One headstone stood longer than it was tall, with a spreading, ancient-looking oak like the ones around her carved into the top. "In the garden rests our beloved friend and companion," it read, with a name and date below that were more than half eroded by time. Rose wondered for a moment how old this place was, and if this was Earth or somewhere much like it. The Doctor hadn't said. The other headstones were plain but beautiful, with the care and skill of the artisan sculptor evident in the work that remained visible. Above her, a bird flitted and called softly, whistling cheerily in the fading light.
When she came to the end of the garden, she was standing at the edge of a retaining wall that divided the ground from the tall grass and then the river. There was another stone bench under a towering oak that extended one long branch over the river, almost reaching to touch the other side. Rose sat down and listened to the lulling wash of the water, the songs of birds calling as the sun began to set, and the wind stirring gently in the trees. A great weight she did not realize she had been carrying lifted slowly from her shoulders and she felt her whole body relax.
Some time later, the Doctor woke her with a light touch on her shoulder. She stretched, yawned, and stood, enveloping him in a tight hug. He slid his arms around her, underneath his coat, and hugged her back. "Thank you for this," she said against his shoulder.
"You're welcome," he said, still holding her close. "It's almost time for the evening meal. Jacob is at prayers right now and will be back shortly."
"You're friends with a monk," she said, pulling back and studying him. "That's a surprise."
"Shouldn't be," he said. "You've met Jacob now. He's a good man, loyal to his friends, thoughtful, dedicated to work that maintains peace in this part of the universe. He's one of the least judgmental humans I've ever met and a brilliant thinker. We disagree on the existence of the divine but he respects me and I respect him." He shrugged.
She nodded. "Just wasn't what I expected."
He gave her a brilliant grin. "I like to keep you on your toes, Rose Tyler." He turned and began to run back up the hill. Rose ran after him, his coat blowing behind her. When they stopped in front of the little brick building where they had first met Jacob, she was breathless, but the Doctor was composed and simply ran a hand through his hair to tidy up. She took off his coat and handed it back to him. "I'm warmed up now, thanks."
He draped the coat over one arm. "Do you want to get some other clothes from the TARDIS, since we'll be here for a few days?"
She hesitated, looking around her. She didn't want to break the spell she had fallen under by jumping back into real life (such as real life was for her) but she saw the practicality of his suggestion. "Yeah. Want me to get something for you?"
"Already did while you were exploring," he replied. "I would have gotten things for you but I didn't want to presume."
She raised an eyebrow. This, she thought, is new. His not presuming. She let it go, and returned to the TARDIS to pack some clothes and other basic supplies. When she came back, rucksack slung across one shoulder, Jacob was talking to the Doctor again, and smiled broadly at her. "Come, and we will have our meal. I, for one, am hungry." He set off down a path that went uphill, away from the gardens, and Rose and the Doctor followed behind him.
They emerged from the trees in front of several more buildings, one of which must be a church, Rose thought, with the high vaulted roof and the bell tower on top. Jacob led them into a long building with many plain, square windows set into its wall that turned out to hold dining facilities and a kitchen. "We will not speak during meals," murmured the Doctor into Rose's ear, and she nodded, surprised. Jacob gestured at two places at a long, plain wooden table for them to sit. There were other monks here, some young, some old, all shaved and bearded like Jacob, attired in dark robes. Some appeared to be serving food and others were sitting as Rose and the Doctor now did at the table. The communication was nonverbal but obviously extremely efficient, as plates and mugs were passed and everyone moved together in perfect order. Rose's plate appeared before her with an earthenware mug of clear water. She contemplated the food, which was plain but smelled appetizing. There was a serving of some light brown things that looked like lentils, a salad of field greens and cucumbers, and some crusty brown bread and cheese.
One of the monks broke the silence to offer a blessing for the food, and then everyone began eating. One of the brothers read aloud from an ancient, leather-bound book as everyone else ate. Rose ate with gusto and drank the water, which was cold enough to make her teeth ache and tasted almost sweet. The Doctor, by her side, ate his meal and studied the faces around them discreetly. At the end, there was another brief prayer and then plates and mugs were passed down to the end of the table and spirited away with the same efficient order with which they had been distributed. Rose followed the Doctor outside the building and watched the monks. Most of them were heading to another long, narrow building at the other end of the square.
Jacob appeared at her side. "Rose, I will show you to your quarters before I join the others," he said. "Doctor, I assume you will be in the library tonight?"
The Doctor grinned widely. "Wouldn't miss it for the world. Rose, I'll see you in the morning." He turned and headed off, his dark coat and hair disappearing quickly into the dim light.
Jacob laughed. "He has probably already read every book in that library, but he's quite predictable. Does he ever sleep?"
Rose shrugged. "Sometimes, I think." She yawned. "Sorry, just thinking about not sleeping makes me tired." She hoisted her bag over her shoulder.
"Exactly! I'll let you get settled in." He took a small lamp from one of the insets on the outside wall of the dining hall and handed it to her, then took one for himself. Rose hoisted her pack over one shoulder and followed as he led her around the back of the dining hall to another clearing, a few hundred meters away, where five small cottages stood. "We don't have many visitors, as I said, but we keep quarters for those who do join us." He stopped at the steps to the porch of the first cottage and gestured. "If you find that you need anything, just come to the dining hall. There will be brothers there attending to chores for the next hour. After that, we have prayers and then bed. The morning meal will be one hour past sunrise." He paused. "If you wish to join us for our prayers at sunrise, or any other time, please do. We do not require it but will always welcome you."
Rose thanked him and then he disappeared into the night. Around her, she heard the sounds of different birds, calling to one another in the new darkness. She looked up and saw stars bright and numerous across a moonless sky. She climbed up the few stairs and turned the knob of the door, bringing the lamp into the room before her. The room was spare but neatly furnished, with a cushioned chair next to a hearth, where a low fire was already burning. Across the room was a single bed with a down blanket folded at its foot and two pillows at the head. A side table with a few books in a lower shelf stood next to the bed. Rose entered, put the lamp on the table and her bag in the chair, and then closed the door behind her. She looked around the room again and saw a second door, which she discovered led into a small washroom with sink, toilet, and a shallow bathtub. She thanked the Doctor silently for not bringing her to another place without indoor plumbing.
She yawned again and realized how tired she was, despite her nap in the garden earlier. While the day hadn't had the usual run-for-your-life pacing of most of her days of late, she found that the lack of strenuous activity was in itself tiring. Perhaps it would be a good idea to enjoy a good night's sleep while she had the opportunity. She retrieved some items from her pack, performed her nightly ablutions, and found the mattress to be a soft, dense material that cushioned her snugly. She pulled the down blanket up around her and settled in for the night.
At one point during the night, she awoke and felt a momentary disorientation as she adjusted to her surroundings. She blinked several times in the darkness as she realized what had awoken her. In the distance, she heard the tolling of bells and below that, the soft chanting of voices. She looked out the window and saw that it was truly still night, with no sunlight peeking over the horizon. The sounds from outside gently faded, and she settled her head on the pillow again, closing her eyes and letting sleep wash over her again.Back to index
Chapter 3: Chapter 3
Author's Notes: Rose spends the day with Jacob and sees much more of the daily workings of the community.
In the morning, Rose dressed and walked along the same path she and Jacob had taken the night before, seeing and hearing no companions except the ever-present birds in the trees. When she emerged at the central clearing where the dining hall, church, and other buildings stood, she was still alone. She looked from side to side, searching for some sign of life. With what Jacob had told her as they walked to the cottage, she assumed that he and the other brothers were in prayer. The sun had risen as she walked, and the light filtered through the trees, casting a shadowy, surreal glow across the scene. She studied the path where the Doctor had disappeared to but wasn't sure whether to follow it and see if she could find the library -- and hopefully, him -- or stay for the morning meal and the eventual return of Jacob and the brothers. After a moment of indecision, she decided for once, she would take the good Doctor's advice and not wander off. She took a seat on a bench in front of the dining hall and stretched her legs out in front of her.
After a time, the doors of the church opened and a dozen or more dark-clad monks came out, most heading in her direction. She spotted Jacob in their midst and hopped up, smiling with genuine pleasure at seeing his wrinkled face. He beamed back at her. "Good morning, my dear. I trust you slept well?"
"Like a baby," she bobbed her head at him. She wondered if she had dreamed the bells in the night.
The laugh lines around Jacob's eyes furrowed deeper. "I always thought that was an odd saying. Don't babies wake up at all hours? Wouldn't that be a terrible way to sleep?"
"You sound like the Doctor," she laughed.
"So I do," said Jacob, trying to smooth down his smile for a moment and failing utterly. "Come on then."
They walked companionably together into the dining hall and sat together this time, taking plates of brown rolls, cheese, and fruit passed from other hands at the table. After another brother had given benediction, Rose started to ask Jacob a question but then remembered the Doctor's caution at dinner and put a piece of fruit into her open mouth instead. She chewed and contemplated the taste. It was firm like a pear or an apple, but had the citrus bite of an orange. When she finished, she again passed the plate and her mug back to waiting hands, bowed her head respectfully for the closing prayer, and rose to follow Jacob out into the morning. The Doctor was outside, hair standing on end in several places, as if he had slept on it wrong. Rose knew very well that he had probably spent the whole night reading, one hand tangled in his hair, glasses pushed firmly onto the bridge of his nose.
Before she had completely forced that train of thought out of her mind, the Doctor smiled brightly at Rose. "Hello! Good morning. Get some rest?"
"Yes," she said. "Slept like a baby." She winked at Jacob and the Doctor gave her a puzzled look for a moment before his mind jumped elsewhere.
"Brother Tomas has asked me to assist with some cataloging of new material for the library," he announced. "You all right to be on your own for a while?" He directed his question to Rose, who looked briefly behind her to see if he meant someone else. He raised an eyebrow at her.
"Okay," she said. He beamed and bustled off toward the library again.
Rose looked at Jacob. "What do you ... do ... during the day?" she asked, a little hesitantly, not wanting to be rude.
He was more than willing to answer her question. "After our observances in the morning, we will tend our chickens and bees, gather eggs and honey, and do the other chores that need to be done. We have prayers before and after the midday meal, then work and study or attend classes in the afternoon. In the evening, we have prayers before and after the evening meal, as you saw last night. Then, we sleep, and rise early for prayers in the wee hours, and the day begins again."
"Every day?" she asked, a little taken aback.
Jacob's laugh lines furrowed as he gave her a beneficent smile. "Yes, my dear. It is the life of a brother here. We give our lives to God, prayer, study, and hark work. It molds us and makes us who we are."
"How long have you been here?"
"Sixty-four years," he said. "Every day a blessing."
Rose spent that day with Jacob and several of the other brothers. In the morning, she collected eggs, helped to sort them, and fed the chickens. She helped prepare the midday meal and with the washing-up afterward. In the afternoon, she tended the camellias under Jacob's careful tutelage. By the time dusk began to gather and Jacob set off for prayers in the church, she sat down on the bench outside the dining hall with a tired sigh.
The Doctor sat down next to her and nudged her over on the bench. "Have a good day?" he asked cheerily.
"Yes, actually," she said, and felt some surprise. "How was the library?"
He rubbed his shoulder playfully against hers. "Brilliant. You look like you went and played in the dirt."
"I did," she said, laughing. "I fed chickens."
"Chickens! Dame Rose of the Powell Estate, feeding chickens?"
"You're being rude again," she poked at him.
He sighed. "I do try, you know."
"Mmm. Easy to say when you've been reading books all day."
"Libraries can be terribly dusty," he protested. "And damp. Not very good for the books, either." As if to make his point for him, Rose began plucking bits of debris off his jacket. "Are you grooming me?"
"Someone has to," she said. In retaliation, he stuck a thumb in his mouth and swiped at her cheek. She squealed and leaped up, taking several steps back. He stayed seated on the bench, smiling rakishly up at her as she mock shivered and wiped at her face. "You didn't just do that," she gasped.
"Someone has to," he mocked.
They stopped when the bells tolled gently and the monks began to file out of the church, with Rose at least somewhat chagrined by their antics so near a place of worship. The Doctor rose and came to her side, walking with her into the dining hall with the others. The meal progressed with the efficiency and order Rose had observed previously, and she found that she was hungry enough to wish she had the nerve to ask for seconds. She didn't. When she looked wistfully at the Doctor's remaining roll, he gave her an affronted look and put far too much of it for comfort or dignity into his mouth. Rose rolled her eyes at him expressively as he chewed vigorously and made short work of the rest of the roll.
After the meal concluded, the Doctor and Rose talked briefly with Jacob outside before he headed off to the final prayers of the day. Despite the fact that it was early evening, Rose found herself yawning and thinking hopefully of the little bed with its down blanket. The Doctor talked at her (not to her, she thought, but at her) about one of the manuscripts that he had cataloged. " ... written in Caroline miniscule, which is fascinating considering the time period. Quite progressive. I would have expected to see more of an insular script."
Rose gave him a pleading look and he stopped talking. "I'm going to bed," she said, unable to restrain another yawn. "I'm sure it is fascinating but I can't think about scripts and manuscripts right now."
The Doctor shook his head with some resignation. "You sleep too much. Miss out on all the fun that way."
"You ought to sleep more," she countered without enthusiasm. "Good night." She turned and left him standing in front of the dining hall. When she entered the little cottage, she found the fire burning low, as it had been the night before. She turned back the bed, looked longingly at it, and considered her current state of cleanliness. A brief bath washed away the dirt and debris of the day (she tried hard not to think about chickens) and left her feeling squeaky clean and virtuous. She was asleep as soon as she had settled comfortably under the blanket.
In the night, she awoke again to the sound of low tolling bells from the distance, but without the sense of confusion from the night before. The bells had been her constant companion over the course of her day, tolling to tell the brothers when to work, pray, or eat. What woke her fully was the sound of someone in the room with her. She felt a moment's genuine fear as she sat up, pulling the blanket protectively against her. The figure was seated in the chair opposite her bed, facing the fire. With a start, she recognized the profile and let out a long sigh. "You scared me."
"I didn't mean to," the Doctor said, sounding a little hurt. "You sleep for such a long time, you humans."
She scooted back into the bed and patted the mattress beside her. "Come here." He rose and slid into bed with her, toeing off his trainers and tossing his jacket and tie onto the chair before laying down on his side to face her. She folded the blanket around them both. "Are you so terribly bored that you had to wake me up?"
"I didn't wake you up. The bells did," he pointed out. "I was very quiet."
Rose conceded the point. "Yeah, okay. Wouldn't a bunch of monks object to you being in my room, anyway?"
"Probably. I, however, do not plan to tell them, and I assume you won't either." She nodded and burrowed closer against him, wiggling her toes against the side of his foot. He huffed slightly (she was sure he was ticklish) and rolled onto his back, rearranging her so he could slide one arm under her pillow and pull her close against his side. "Stop squirming," he growled playfully.
Rose stilled and drew in a cautious breath, inhaling his scent. Beneath the surface smell of dust and old parchment, presumably from his hours in the library, he smelled like wool and more faintly, a hint of sweat. His fingers stroked her shoulder and she felt a warm, suffuse joy spread within her. These moments of unguarded intimacy between them were precious to her in ways she could not put into words. Despite her desire to savor the moment, sleep nudged at her mind insistently. "Sorry. Stupid ape needs sleep," she yawned, and felt the vibrations begin deep within his chest before the laugh burst out of him.
"It's okay," he murmured into her hair. "Get some rest."
"You okay if I -" she yawned again "- sleep like this?"
"Yes."
Rose relaxed against him and, wordlessly happy, drifted back into sleep. The Doctor, lying on his back with his arms around her, stared into the dim firelight and did not close his eyes.Back to index
Chapter 4: Chapter 4
Author's Notes: There are some fairly minor spoilers for the Tenth Doctor novel The Stone Rose in this chapter.
In the morning, predictably, the Doctor was gone as if his visit in the night had been a dream. Rose lolled in bed for a few moments after she woke, finding herself scooted to one side of the bed and still half-folded around empty space on the other side. How he had gracefully extricated himself from her without waking her, she would never know. She supposed it was for the best; sneaking him out of her cottage in the light of morning did not appeal to her. She wasn't sure how Jacob would react to finding the Doctor had spent the night with her, and she was glad not to have to face any judgment. A thought jumped to the front of her mind, that she wouldn't mind as much if she actually had something to feel guilty about. Rose firmly grasped it and shoved it back into her subconscious.
She took a few, luxurious moments to stretch in the bed and then dressed leisurely, feeling well rested and serene. When she arrived in front of the dining hall, the Doctor was waiting for her. "Good morning," he said brightly.
Rose, for all her fantastic mood, naturally resisted the chipper demeanor of a morning person. She batted at his arm and told him to shut it.
"I see someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed," he said, a merry twinkle in his eye.
"Bed's up against the wall. I had no choice." Rose smiled back at him.
"I know," he said in a low tone, and her stomach lurched with the unexpected innuendo. "I'm going to go sketch the gardens today," he announced, his change of subject abrupt and startling. Rose gaped. "You know, sketch, with a pencil -- and a sketch pad --" He mimed drawing into his upturned palm and looked at her quizzically.
"I heard you. Since when do you draw?"
"Since always. Well," he considered, cocking his head to one side. "Since I felt like it."
"Are you any good?"
He puffed up his chest and crowed at her. "Am. I. Any. Good." He shook his head, wondering that she should doubt him. "Did I not learn how to sculpt from Michelangelo? Do you think I spent all that time with him and learned nothing?"
"Learned how to leave me in the woods," she muttered darkly, under her breath.
"Don't start with that again, Rose Tyler. It was no time at all for you and you know it. I was back in a flash, relatively speaking. Time machine, you know."
"Yeah, I heard."
He rolled his eyes at her, staring for a three-count at the brightening morning sky and then back to her. "Do you want to come with me or not?"
She mentally reviewed her options. Chores again with Jacob, or a day spent admiring the gardens and watching the Doctor work. "Yeah, okay." He immediately brightened and she laughed. He was moody in the extreme, not as much as his previous self, but as playful and eager to please as a puppy one moment and then all dark looks and flashing eyes. He made her dizzy.
After the tolling of the bells and a breakfast in now-familiar silence, she, the Doctor, and Jacob stood in front of the dining hall. Rose felt a moment of deja vu, but realized that yes, she had actually been right here before, with these same two men, rather often in the last few days. Jacob wished them a fine day, and they headed off in the direction of the garden.
They walked, and walked, and walked. The Doctor sketched several picturesque settings over the course of their wanderings. A camellia draped gracefully with a wispy, stringy gray looking plant caught his attention in the afternoon, and he folded down all at once into a cross-legged seated position, all knees, elbows, and pointy angles. He produced a sketch pad from somewhere in his coat, slid his glasses onto his nose, and stuck the end of a pencil in his mouth. When Rose didn't immediately react, he looked up at her with a perfectly symmetrical pair of raised eyebrows. "Care to join me?" he drawled.
Rose sat down with considerably more care and pointed at the strangely lovely wisps on the trees. "What is that?"
He glanced up and followed the angle of her gesture. "Spanish moss, Tillandsia usneoides."
"Is it hurting the trees?"
"Nope," he said, drawing out the word and finishing it with a pop. "It absorbs its nutrients directly from the air. Just hanging around, you could say."
She smiled indulgently at his joke. He thoughtfully licked the end of the pencil and began to make quick, sure strokes on his sketch pad. Rose watched for a while and listened to the scratch of the graphite on paper, the wind in the trees and the grass, the calling of birds around her. Her eyes drifted closed and she breathed in deeply, in through her nose, out in a long, easy stream from her mouth. She wasn't sleepy again, just relaxed and peaceful, letting her spine lengthen as she inhaled, back and shoulders soften as she exhaled.
The Doctor's steady drawing stopped, and Rose opened her eyes to find him watching her intently, like a beaker in one of his science experiments, waiting attentively for a reaction that he could study and catalog. An involuntary, quick smile flashed across her face, and he beamed back at her in response. "Just like that," he said, returning to his sketch. "Don't move a muscle."
Rose's eyes flicked down to his pad and saw with some astonishment that he had flipped to another page and begun to sketch her. A face emerged in lines on the page, then the hair almost seeming to blow in the breeze around it. He worked confidently, easily. Eyes crinkled in laughter, then the mouth, smiling. A lovely face, caught in a moment of delight. Her face, but stronger and brighter and sharper and more beautiful.
"You're good," she said admiringly, a blush spreading across her cheeks. "But it's too pretty to be me."
He looked up, his dark eyes veiled beneath his lashes. "It looks like you to me," he said softly.
Rose's breath caught in her chest. Here it was, another intimate moment, certainly to be foiled by an interruption, or a shift in his mood, or a daft statement from her that would send him off behind the walls he carefully tended between them. She decided to simply be sincere. "Thank you," she said, and smiled again. He lowered his head and worked some finishing touches on the sketch, filling in shadows and background. She watched, transfixed, as he used his thumb to softly smudge a bit, the tenderness of his gesture working magic on her.
He paused, contemplating the image, and then nodded, pleased with his results. He folded the sketch pad closed, placed it and the pencil back in his pocket, and put an arm around her. She leaned into his side and fit her head against his shoulder. His hand squeezed her arm lightly. "Rose Tyler," he said, in a stronger voice than he had used earlier, "what would you like to do for the rest of the day?"
She murmured something softly and he leaned around, lifting her chin with his other hand. "Sorry, didn't hear you."
"This," she said again, looking straight at him. She leaned forward and touched her lips to his, the softest of touches, the lightest of kisses, then withdrew and smiled broadly at him. He had closed his eyes and opened them only after a moment, regarding her with an expression of such gentleness that she felt she must be made of mist. When she had thought about kissing the Doctor, she had expected him to retreat afterwards, but he didn't. His eyes focused on her mouth again and she felt her lips part as he leaned into her, the kiss infinitely tender. His arm, still around her, tightened almost imperceptibly. She felt his lashes brush against her skin and shivered closer, his mouth lingering on hers.
When he withdrew, she was trembling. He pulled her against him and cradled her head against his shoulder, resting his cheek on the top of her head. He stroked her back and whispered into her hair, the wind blowing the words away from her. He stopped, and said, audibly this time, "Thank you."
Rose shifted and looked up at him, astonished. He smiled and stood up, unfolding all his angles, one hand extended to her. She took it and rose, still looking at him in confusion. "Yes, thank you," he said simply, and didn't let go of her hand. She opened her mouth but he shushed her before she could speak. "Let's go down to the river," he said brightly. "I want to do some more sketches before the light goes."Back to index
Chapter 5: Chapter 5
Author's Notes: This chapter is quite a bit more angsty than the last. The quotation Rose references is from my fictional existential author Thomas Vaughn Voight, discussed in my ficlet To Be Human. Knowledge of that story is not essential to following this one, but you're welcome to read it in any case.
Jacob did not appear for the evening meal, which troubled Rose. The unfailing rhythm of the days at the monastery seemed altered in a way that she could not explain. The Doctor did not comment, although Rose saw his eyes search the dining hall for their friend, and afterward, the clearing before the buildings. She caught at the arm of a passing monk and apologized in a rush. "I'm so sorry, I don't mean to interrupt, but I wanted to see Brother Jacob this evening." The monk regarded her with patience and made a gesture toward his mouth. Rose understood. "You have taken a vow of silence?" He nodded, and indicated that she and the Doctor should wait. He disappeared into the night for a moment and returned with another man, who like Jacob was old and wrinkled but with the energy of youth radiating from him.
The Doctor greeted him warmly, giving Rose a quick look. She took the hint and waited impatiently for the two of them to get to what she considered to be the point. "Brother Tomas," said the Doctor. "We are looking for Brother Jacob. Have you seen him?"
"Yes," Tomas responded, and Rose felt a momentary surge of hope. Jacob was tending the garden. Or working in the library. Or at prayers. "He has taken ill, I am afraid, and is in his quarters."
She saw a dark look flicker across the Doctor's face, gone in a moment. "Can we see him?" she asked, hesitantly.
Tomas considered. "Yes, but briefly, we do not wish to tire him."
"Of course." The Doctor and Rose followed Tomas to the dormitories at the back of the clearing, opposite the path to Rose's cottage. The large door in its center was unadorned and swung silently on its hinges. The hallway led past several smaller doors, all seeming identical to Rose. A few oil lamps attached to the walls burned low, giving the hallway a flickering, eerie light. Tomas tapped lightly on a door like all the others, listened for a sound that Rose never heard, and nodded to them. "He is awake. Please stay no more than a few moments. He needs his rest." The Doctor thanked him quietly and Rose opened the door.
The room was lit from a single lamp on a table next to a bed, with the furnishings being much like the ones in Rose's cottage. Jacob was propped up against a pillow, reading from a book in his lap. Rose wondered how much he could read in the dim light.
"Doctor! Rose!" he greeted warmly. His voice had a waver in it that Rose did not like to hear.
"How are you?" she said, sitting down in the room's one chair. The Doctor gave her a warning look.
Jacob laughed. "No, Doctor, she can ask. I'm old, Rose, and not as hearty as I once was. My lungs and my heart give me trouble from time to time."
"I could bring some supplies -" began the Doctor, but Jacob raised a hand to stop him.
"No, you will not," he said with his usual strength. "I am old, not sick. Everything has its season, and mine is autumn." Rose reached out and Jacob clasped her hand. "And you, my dear, are spring. It is the way of the world and I would not have it any other way." He let go and eased back onto the pillow. "I have lived my life as I wanted and served God every day. When I die, I will join him in eternity and be at peace."
"You're dying?" asked Rose.
"We all are dying," said Jacob, and coughed. The Doctor made a sound behind her but she didn't turn around to see him. "Even you, my old friend. We must live so we have no regrets, no guilt, just joy in our days and in God."
Rose studied his lined face. There was more of the existential in him than she would ever have imagined. She thought of the words from the book by another of the Doctor's friends: May you always find meaning in your actions and love in their power. The atheist and the believer, the philosopher and the monk.
The door closed quietly behind her and she whirled to find that the Doctor had left the room. She turned back to Jacob, who was slowly shaking his head. "He carries so much pain, so much guilt and grief," he said quietly. "You ease that in him, and for that, Rose, I thank you."
She glanced back at the door and shook her head. "He doesn't let me in," she said softly, almost a whisper.
"More than you know," Jacob told her kindly. "As old as he is, he fears being broken."
I fear that too, thought Rose.
Jacob continued. "I told you before that I would not tell you his stories, and I will not. But let me tell you this much, Rose. I have known the Doctor -- in many forms -- since I was a child. When I saw him last, he was a shattered man. This, you know." She nodded. "He is not the same man that I knew years before, and not just because his face and form have changed. He is altered, carrying a weight that is beyond me to ease. I see it still with him, but I also see a lightness in his step that has not been there for many years." He coughed again and sighed, letting his head fall back. "You brought him that, Rose, and for that, I bless you." Tears prickled in her eyes and she reached again for his hand, which felt of worn, thin leather. He squeezed hers and closed his eyes. "Let me rest now. I will see you in the morning, yes, I will."
Rose stood, releasing his hand tenderly, and bent to kiss his wrinkled forehead. "Sleep well."
Once outside, she looked for the Doctor, but found only the shadowy shapes of other monks around her. She walked with a heavy heart back to the clearing, and then to her cottage, not knowing where he had gone or when he would return. She did not have the energy to seek him out and see the walls up around him again that had slipped down in their time in the garden earlier that day.
In her cottage, she tried to read, but found her mind wandering, forcing her to reread the same lines over and over again without comprehension. She dropped the book on the table with a thunk and put her head in her hands. It was not just Jacob's illness that troubled her, but the Doctor's reaction. He had fled rather than face Jacob in his sick bed. His friend had thought only of him when he had gone. So did I, thought Rose guiltily. She faced a man in the twilight of his life and thought of the Doctor instead.
She scrubbed her face and stood up, meaning to try and sleep, but became instantly alert when there was a slight sound outside her door. She crept to the door and opened it, looking out into the night. The wind had picked up and there were now large drops of rain falling. Rose wished she knew where the Doctor was, tried to imagine that he was safe and dry tucked in the library with his nose in a book. She closed the door and changed into her nightclothes, falling heavily into bed. The rain thrummed on the roof. She blew out the lamp and forced her eyes closed. Sleep would be a long time coming, she knew.
Some time later, when the door creaked open and he stepped into the room, allowing a gust of humid air to billow inside, Rose was not asleep. She sat up and watched him as he divested himself of coat, jacket, and tie and ran a hand through his wet hair. His eyes reflected the dancing flames from the fireplace and Rose felt a shiver go through her. His gaze flicked over to her and they stared at one another for a few heartbeats. He was a stranger, dramatic and dark, melancholy and unapproachable, but she wanted him to be her Doctor again. She made the same gesture she had made the night before, patting the bed next to her. For a moment, he did not move, and her heart stopped. Then, with a sigh, he folded down beside her in the little bed, enough distance between them that their bodies did not touch.
"Do you want to talk about it?" Rose asked, after a long silence.
He didn't respond. In the flickering firelight, she could see only the outline of his face and the light reflected in his dark eyes. She reached a hand out tentatively and stroked his cheek. His eyes drifted shut and she continued the gentle touches, knowing that he would speak of what troubled him only if he wanted to. Trying to force him was like trying to change the path of a flowing river.
They remained still for some time, with the crackling of the fire and the rhythmic patter of the rain the only sounds. Rose's hand stilled after a time and wound back into his wet hair. She felt his body drawn tight with tension, needing a nameless comfort that she wasn't sure how to offer.
After the silence had stretched on, the Doctor spoke.
"I came here after the War," he whispered, the words so soft in the air Rose might not have heard them if the room were not so still. She met his eyes and shivered. He was staring at a point just past her, eyes wide and bottomless, with the raw pain rippling across their surface. She had seen him -- the old him -- near despair, but seeing this familiar expression on his new face made her eyes well up in sympathy. She stroked his ear with her thumb and waited for him to continue, if he would.
He drew in a deep, shuddering breath and the words came out one after another, so long suppressed. "So much death. And because of me. I needed ... absolution. I came to Jacob, and I meant to tell him everything, all of it, Rose. But then I couldn't. I couldn't look in his eyes and face up to what I had done. So I didn't say anything, not for weeks. Jacob knew, though. He watched me and he knew even when I didn't say a word that something horrible had happened, that I blamed myself." His eyes snapped from their distant point and focused on hers. He laughed, a brittle sound. "He said it didn't matter. That God loved me and knew my heart, and that all would be forgiven." He spoke quietly, intensely, watching Rose and challenging her as well. "That's the rub, isn't it?" The laugh echoed without humor in the little room. "There is no one to give absolution but me."
"Why did we come here?" asked Rose gently. He looked away from her and she turned his face back to hers. "Not to catalog books or bring me to meet an old friend. Tell me the truth."
"A storm is coming," he said, an echo of his earlier words, the ones that had made her stomach lurch. "I am ... afraid."
"Of what?" she pressed, with compassion in her voice.
His dark eyes flickered in the firelight. "I am afraid of losing you," he said finally. "I'll lose Jacob. And then you. There's no doubt of that."
Rose's heart ached for the sadness and resignation she heard in his words. She shifted and settled closer to him, and felt his arm come up and around her waist. "Is it selfish of me to stay with you, when it hurts you?" She swallowed the rising lump in her throat.
"No, no, Rose," he breathed. "It is selfish of me to want to keep you with me, when I know I can't keep you safe."
"No one is ever safe."
"Some are safer than others." His voice was brittle. "I bring death and chaos with me. I could ... to you."
"You fight death and chaos," she corrected. "I believe in you." His eyes met hers and she saw doubt there, the one emotion she had not expected. "What is it?"
"You don't know what I am," he said. "I killed them all, Rose." He flinched. "I pressed a button and they all died, everyone, men, women, children, because of me."
"Who?" she asked, hesitantly.
"My people. In the War."
Rose understood, like a light bulb had gone on over her head. She had known of his survivor's guilt. being the only one to live through the Time War that had killed his people and, he had thought, the Daleks. She had not known its genesis. His reaction to the Dalek in Utah -- the utter despair and anger -- his inability to use the Delta Wave at Satellite Five -- she understood now.
"You had a terrible choice," she said. His look said that she could not know the smallest part of that choice. "I can't imagine. But I know you, I do, and you would never have made such a choice without having no alternative, and knowing the worst that could happen. You did it to save everyone, didn't you?"
"Not me." His voice was husky with unshed tears. "I didn't do it to save me."
"You deserve to live," she told him, firmly. "You deserve to live and be happy and have a life. You can't go on punishing yourself forever."
But I can, his look told her.
Rose buried her face against his neck and pulled him to her. "I'm not leaving you," she stated baldly. "You can't make me leave you and I won't. For as long as I have, I'm with you. You can't force me away again, Doctor."
He didn't respond, but he breathed into her hair, less shakily than before.
"Now I know what kind of man you are," she said, drawing back from him slightly, enough to look him straight in the face. "The kind of man who sacrificed everything to save the universe and has not let himself forget." She studied him carefully. "Have you ever let yourself cry over them?" He stared back, and after a pause, shook his head. "I didn't think so. You can, you know. It's not a sign of weakness."
"I don't care about weakness," he said gruffly.
"Then let go," she replied simply. "Be here with me and let it go."
He burrowed against her in response and she felt the tightness in him relent, at least a little. She stroked his back and murmured soothingly. After a time, she realized his breathing was even and steady, and he had relaxed into her completely. "Doctor?" she whispered. He did not respond.
Rose smiled. She might have intended for him to have a good cry on her shoulder, but a good night's sleep for a man who never slept could mean more. She held him tenderly, easing his head back onto the pillow. His eyes flickered back and forth under his lids and his lips were curved in the faintest of smiles. Her chest tightened and she brushed the still-damp hair out of his eyes, then settled her own head on the pillow opposite his. She watched him for as long as she could, her own eyes becoming heavy with sleep, not sure when she would see him this vulnerable and at peace again.Back to index
Chapter 6: Chapter 6
Author's Notes: This came out in a rush, and isn't as long as other chapters, but it was a logical point for a pause. I'll likely come back to this later in the week. May take a moment to write something silly for the Happy!Who challenge to clear my head from Deep Thoughts.
For those of you who have commented, I am humbled by your praise. Thank you, thank you, thank you. For those who have read without commenting, I thank you for coming along with me, and hope this has been as rewarding to read as it has been for me to write.
The quotation is from the Bible, 1 John 4:16 (but if you haven't started reading, don't let that scare you away.)
Rose had imagined, despite her frequent and guilty efforts to stop imagining, waking up with the Doctor. Her mind had drifted through several scenarios, some of which involved him waking her gently with a kiss and most of which involved a scandalous lack of nightclothes. When she did wake to find the Doctor still in bed beside her, she found it to be a more intimate moment than she had envisioned.
She drifted awake to find herself on her side, facing the Doctor. In the night, their arms and legs had tangled together, one of her calves on one of his knobby knees and one of his legs thrown up and over her thigh. Rose immediately felt self-conscious and aware of every place where their bodies touched.
The Doctor, in contrast, still slept soundly. Rose studied his face, as relaxed and unguarded as she had ever seen him. After his regeneration, she had tucked him into her bed and watched him tirelessly as he recovered, but his face then had been clammy with fevered sweat and tense with illness. The lines around his eyes now were soft and straight, not crinkled as they were when he smiled wickedly or laughed, or when he worried. His hair had dried as they slept, now sticking up and she smiled to think of the terrible bed head he would have when he sat up. She wanted to touch his face, to stroke the hair at his temples, to brush his forehead, but didn't dare make a move that would jolt him out of such a deep and peaceful sleep. It was selfish to want him to look at her and want to touch her in return. Her heart was light and she could not sustain a selfish thought at his expense.
After some time, however, one leg began to go to sleep on its own. She eased back slightly, just a fraction, and curled her leg away. The Doctor sighed softly in his sleep and rolled onto his back. Rose was now pressed between him and the wall, which, while a snug fit, allowed her to stretch her cramped leg out and make a relieved O with her mouth as it prickled back to normal awareness. Once she had stretched, she pressed into the Doctor's side and rested her head on the pillow, breathing in again the smell of him, wool and man, a slight sharpness from the cotton shirt that had dried in the night. She felt a lethargic, effusive joy in her soul and tears welled in her eyes momentarily.
She thought for some time about his revelations of the night before. He obviously wanted forgiveness for his actions in the Time War, but she knew enough about his philosophy to know that he wouldn't view anyone's forgiveness as enough. Perhaps the souls of his dead people could forgive him, but none of those among the living could give him what he sought. Only he could forgive himself, and that might be less probable than returning his lost planet from beyond time. The gentle Jacob could not offer him solace, and --
Rose started as her mind leaped back to Jacob, on what could be his deathbed, and her promise that she would see him again in the morning. She had not heard the bells toll to signal the end of the morning's service, and the light filtering in through the window was still indistinct as a watercolor, but she did not have long before her conscience would force her away from the Doctor and to Jacob's side. She let her eyes fall closed and let herself enjoy, for a few more moments, the warmth of him next to her, his undisturbed, rhythmic breathing, the sense of being so close to him in the little twin bed. When the bells sound, she thought, I will go to Jacob.
The bells tolled, extending their gentle reminder to her, before she fell back asleep, and she put all of her gymnastics training to good use as she clambered cautiously around and over the Doctor to get out of bed. He made a snuffling snort at one point, which made her slap her hand over her mouth to avoid a full-fledged shout of laughter, and furrowed his brow, but after a moment, his face slackened back into sleep. She dressed quietly and stood over him, wondering what to do next. She couldn't just leave him. She hastily searched the room and found a notebook and pen in her bag. She flipped it open, scrawled a note, and angled the notepad prominently on the bedside table to face him.
Doctor - Gone to visit Jacob, didn't want to wake you. Please don't go far. I'll be back soon. - Rose
Feeling somewhat comforted by her message for him, she tiptoed out of the room and had a terrible moment when the hinges stuck and threatened to squeak horribly, but didn't. She made a face at the door once it was closed and headed off down the path to the main clearing.
She skipped the dining hall, where presumably the majority of the monastery was occupied, and went straight to the dormitory. She let herself through the big door and had a moment of panic when faced with the hallway of identical doors. Fortunately, all but one were open, and the rooms behind them empty. She tapped lightly on the door and heard an indistinct sound in reply. She hoped it was "come in," but couldn't be sure. She went in.
Jacob appeared much as he had the night before, sitting up in his bed with a book in his lap. He brightened when he saw her.
"Rose, I am glad you came," he said with enthusiasm, although his voice was unsteady.
"Yes," she said, "I wouldn't miss it. Can I go get you some breakfast?"
"Oh, thank you, dear, but I ate a little this morning already. You are kind to offer. Please, sit down, sit down." She did. He studied her, the sharpness in his eyes undiminished by his failing health. "Did you speak to the Doctor last night?"
"Yes. He's -- sleeping." Rose was suddenly unsure of what and how much to share with Jacob -- a monk, after all, and she wasn't sure how much he would approve of the Doctor in her bed, however chastely.
"Nightmares?" said Jacob, and gave her a look that told her not to hold back.
"No, I -- I don't think so."
He nodded, looking relieved, and took a long breath. "I worry," he said, and Rose smiled involuntarily. "I am not in a position to offer comfort to him now, when he's faced with my mortality in addition to everything else. I wish that it would be otherwise," again, a sigh, "but he is as he is."
"I think he will come," Rose said hesitantly, not sure if what she said was true. You humans, you decay, you wither and die, came the Doctor's words back to her, and she heard again the pain in his voice, and understood some of it. She had known Jacob only a little while, and she could see the enormous energy and potential in him. What must the Doctor see, with his friend, so full of life, fading away, and the prospect of the same happening to everyone he met? Could she ask him to watch it happen to her in time? "Jacob, are we selfish to ask it of him?"
"Of course we are," the monk responded in a quiet voice. "We want to be with the ones we care about, who bring meaning and purpose to our lives. But is it selfish also to send them away, to hold them at arms' length when they want to be close to us, to keep them safe from hurt? Yes, that is selfish too. We are flawed beings, Rose. Only God has selfless love for all beings, and we can only reflect some of that love to each other."
"Is it worth it?"
"Oh," said Jacob, his eyes shining intensely, "oh yes. Every day. Every moment. Seize it and love it and each other and be in God's creation with your whole heart. As John said, 'And so we know and rely on the love God has for us. God is love. Whoever lives in love lives in God, and God in him.'"
This time, it was Jacob who offered her his hand, and Rose took it gladly, tears sparkling in her own eyes. They sat companionably together, hands clasped, the traveler and the man who was home, the uncertain and the devoted. When Jacob's eyes drifted shut and he was breathing evenly, Rose gently placed his hand across his chest and quietly left the room.
Back to index
Chapter 7: Chapter 7
Author's Notes: I spent a lot of time this week reading and researching, and, to give credit where credit is due, I found a great deal of information (and the words for the service that Rose attends) at Universalis.com. As before, I've taken literary license with the service but wanted to have it grounded at least somewhat in fact.
Putting this chapter out there for the world is a little like standing naked in front of an audience. Constructive criticism and feedback is always welcomed, read, and occasionally reread. I continued to be amazed at the response to this story and hope you're getting half the enjoyment out of reading this than I am from writing it. The little creative part of my brain is all aflutter. :)
Rose's steps were heavy as she walked away from the dormitory and back toward her cottage. As she walked among the buildings, she saw monks headed in different directions, off to their daily chores and labours. She hesitated briefly at the dining hall, and allowing her empty stomach to make a decision for her, entered cautiously. Two brothers were efficiently cleaning the long tables and bustling back and forth from the kitchen area in the back of the hall. Rose paused, not wanting to interrupt, but one of the monks returned from a foray into the kitchen with a wrapped bundle, which he tucked into her hands with a smile and a quick nod of his head. The bundle was soft and warm in Rose's hands and she smiled back at him gratefully.
She reached her cottage more quickly than she would have liked and hesitated before opening the door. Would the Doctor be there? Would he pretend that the last night's conversation had not happened? Rose was full of worry for him and Jacob. Her hand touched the doorknob, lingered, and then, with an indrawn breath and a tightness in her stomach, she turned the knob and pressed the door open as silently as she could manage.
Her bed was empty.
Rose's shoulders sagged and she came into the room. A quick scan of the cottage revealed no one in the chair by the fireplace, no one in the loo, no one hiding improbably behind the door. She flopped down in the chair and let her head fall backwards, sighing deeply. After a moment of feeling deeply and utterly sorry for herself, she sniffed the air curiously. A yeasty smell, rather an appealing smell at that. Her stomach rumbled and she remembered the little bundle, still clutched firmly in her hand. She unfolded the brown paper and removed three of the crusty rolls she had become so fond of, still slightly warm, one of the odd citrus fruits, and a waxy round of cheese. As she ate, she began to feel more like herself, and noticed something about the room that she had missed in her initial survey.
The bed was made. She looked from the plumped pillows at the head to the precisely tucked corners at the foot. Surely the Doctor - no, it had to be one of the monks who previously lit the fire in her fireplace and provided fresh towels. But, her mind noted distantly, they were all at prayers while I was visiting Jacob. She tried to visualize the frequently disheveled Doctor making perfect hospital corners and failed utterly. Once she noticed the bed, she also noticed that her notepad, carefully positioned so her message would be immediately visible, had moved. She stood up and walked to the table, chewing a roll, and picked it up. Her page had been folded over and another message written.
Back soon.
She huffed in annoyance. Two words, no details, no explanation, no signature (not that she could have mistaken the identity of the writer in any case). At least, she thought with a grain of optimism, he wrote a note. She thought of times when he had simply wandered off and expected her to figure it out, trying not to think of times when she had done exactly the same to him.
Rose returned to her chair, finished her breakfast, and folded the peel of her fruit and the wax from the cheese into the brown paper as neatly as she could, creasing the paper again and again until the edges slid smoothly against her fingertips. I am not waiting for him, she thought, I am being neat. She flipped the folded wad over her shoulder and heard it land with a crinkling thud. Or not.
"Don't wander off," she said aloud, sticking her tongue out. Her words echoed strangely in the empty room. She had not spent a great deal of time here in the day, and the furnishings which had seemed elegant in their stark simplicity in the kind glow of firelight or early morning seemed now just to be plain. She stood, retrieved the wad of paper from the floor with a guilty thought, and placed it neatly on the bedside table next to her notepad. As she did, she noticed again the small row of books on the bottom shelf, and bent down to study the spines. At least she could read a little, and pass the time until the Doctor decided to return, when she would have to determine which of his mercurial moods he had assumed. She found with pleasure that one of the books was The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe, which she remembered with fondness from childhood. She scooped it off the shelf and returned to her chair, folding one foot underneath her as she sat down.
Rose quickly realized that she had a different perspective on the book than she had as a child. As she read about the Pevensie children fleeing the Blitz, she recalled the faces of frightened children and the air raid sirens. You may have traveled through a wardrobe, she thought with amusement, but I have traveled through time in a police box, and flown over London hanging from a barrage balloon! She laughed, and lost herself in the story.
When she next looked up, the light from outside was stronger and the shadows shorter. She checked her watch and saw that it was almost noon, and frowned in annoyance at the absent Doctor. Soon was a relative term for an alien who traveled through time, after all. She stood, marked her place, and set the book on the bedside table for later. The urge to roam was overpowering, and she felt very little hesitation as she left the little cottage and headed back to the main clearing.
The bells tolled sonorously as Rose arrived, all of the monks walking purposefully toward the church. It was time for the midday prayers. She thought of Jacob's invitation to join them, and felt a momentary pang that he would be in his bed, hearing the bells and unable to attend. Her decision was easy, and she followed the line of men into the church.
The church, on the inside, was arranged much differently than Rose had assumed. The room was rectangular, with the door where she had entered occupying the short side. There were several rows of pews facing into the center of the church, and then beyond a tiled open space, more rows of pews stood, but at right angles to the ones nearest the door. Windows allowed light to stream in at the top of the high, vaulted ceiling. One of the monks touched Rose's shoulder lightly and motioned for her to sit in one of the pews near the door. She did, and saw the men file past her and into the pews further down, facing the side wall. The procession was, as everything else seemed to be here, orderly and silent. Rose heard the the soft shuffle of shoes on the floor, the squeak of wood as men were seated, and her own breathing. When everyone was seated, one of the monks stood at the front of their rows of pews and spoke in a clear, carrying voice.
"O God, come to my aid."
"O Lord, make haste to help me," responded the brothers in perfect unison, the echoes reverberating in the enclosed space.
"Glory be to the Father and to the Son and to the Holy Spirit, as it was in the beginning, is now, and ever shall be, world without end."
"Amen. Alleluia," came the response.
They stood as one and sang, the words lost to Rose, but the voices buoyant. She let the sound wash over her, at once joyful and dignified, the voices harmonizing together with familiarity. She thought of Jacob's musical voice and wondered if its absence diminished the whole, or if, in his room, he joined in the song and communed with his brothers. She felt an unspeakable desire to join in the song, but her throat was tight, and she did not know the words. After a time, they quieted, and the silence hung for a few moments in the church. The sounds of the shuffling feet, the shifting pews, even Rose's own breathing, faded to nothing in the aftermath of the song.
"Lord, keep your family always in your care. Our only hope is in your divine grace: keep us always under your protection," intoned the first monk, breaking the silence.
"Through our Lord Jesus Christ, your Son, who lives and reigns with you in the unity of the Holy Spirit, God for ever and ever. Amen," responded the others, in a single voice.
They filed out, as orderly as they had come in, and while no one spoke to Rose, she felt their camaraderie extended to her in smiles and nods. When they were gone, Rose sat, her hand running idly along the back of the seat in front of her. After some moments, she stood, opened the door, and let herself out into the brilliant light of noon.
The Doctor was waiting for her in front of the church, standing perfectly still. Rose felt a jolt and knew he had seen her well before she had seen him. For a heartbeat, their eyes met and neither moved. Rose took the first step toward him, but he extended his hand and she felt her breath rush out in relief. She took his hand in hers and they walked in companionable silence toward the dining hall.
"Are you hungry?" he asked. Rose shook her head. "No, I'm not either. Want to walk for a while?"
"Yeah," she said, feeling almost shy with him today. They headed past the other buildings down the path to the gardens, taking their time, lingering along their walk. "Did you sleep well?" Rose asked, wanting to fill the space between them with words.
"I did." He studied the low brush along the path as they walked.
"I haven't seen you sleep since Christmas," she said, and flushed.
"Quite a bit different, I'd imagine," he said. She did smile then. "I don't need it often, really, just enough to keep me glued together. But that was," he hesitated slightly, "nice."
She stole a look over at him. He was looking back at her this time. "Yeah."
He considered that response for some time, and they found themselves at the garden table where they had taken tea with Jacob after arriving here. They sat on one of the curving benches together, knees almost touching. "Did you enjoy the service?" he asked, changing the subject.
She thought about that. "Sort of. Yeah. I guess I did. They sang, and it was --" she struggled for the right word for a moment before finishing, "like they were part of the same person."
"They have been doing this together for a very long time. After a while, it is like a well-oiled machine."
"How did you come to be here?" she asked, curious, and wondering if this crossed a line to ask.
"I met Jacob when he was a boy," said the Doctor. "Several times, actually. Our paths kept crossing. When he became a brother here, I came to visit." Rose was quiet, hoping that he would share more than the barest outline of a story, but he put his elbows on the table and his chin in his hands, and studied her carefully. "Do you believe them?" he asked.
"Believe?"
"The prayers. The service. Do you believe in it?"
"Not like they do. But it was --" again, words failed her. She shook her head, frustrated. "Important, somehow. You don't, though." He didn't respond, but looked at her levelly. "You are here, and you don't believe one word of what they do."
His eyes flicked past her into the trees, and Rose resisted the urge to turn around and look at what he was looking at, knowing he would distract her with something. "That's true," he said finally, chin still in his hands. "I don't. But I still find the idea of faith attractive. These men live their lives with such comfort, such peace, sure in the knowledge of their God. It would be easier if I felt that way."
She nodded, seeing his point. "Would you forgive yourself then?"
He sighed. "I hope that I would, yes. That's the allure too. Abdication of responsibility to an Other, for forgiveness and acceptance and peace. It would be nice."
"If you're responsible for your actions," Rose said in a low tone, "then you can forgive yourself for them."
He straightened and leaned back in the chair. "I can't."
"Won't."
"Maybe won't," he agreed. He drummed his fingers on the table.
Rose reached across and covered his hands with hers, stilling his movements. "Then I do," she said.
"You do what, Rose?"
"I forgive you."
The Doctor stared at her in shock, then wonder came over his face. "You forgive me for the deaths of millions of innocent people?" he asked. "They weren't your people. All those decisions I made, you weren't even there -- weren't even born."
"Doesn't matter. I forgive you."
He looked at her in consternation, then broke into a laugh. "Rose, you can't do that."
"I just did." She squeezed his hands under hers.
He squeezed back and lifted her hand to his lips for a brief kiss. "You astonish me," he said. "Humans, always barging in." He kissed her hand again, quickly, and released her.
"Don't you understand?" Rose said. "I know now. You thought it was all this horrible thing that would make me hate you -- would make Jacob hate you -- and it's not. You're still who I thought you were."
"And who was that?" he asked, his voice low.
"My Doctor," she said simply.
Back to index
Chapter 8: Chapter 8
Author's Notes: This chapter is from Jacob's POV, which is challenging for many reasons.
Quotations used:
Jacob's reading is, of course, from the Bible, specifically the 23rd Psalm.
"How unhappy is he who cannot forgive himself." -Publilius Syrus
"Je suis condamné à être libre." Translation: I am condemned to be free. -Jean-Paul Sartre
"I desired mercy, and not sacrifice; and the knowledge of God more than burnt offerings." (Hos. 6:6)
"Kill me, I pray thee, out of hand, if I have found favour in Thy sight; and let me not see my wretchedness." (Num. 11:15)
Jacob turned the page of the familiar, worn volume and focused his eyes on the printed words on the aged paper. His lips moved silently, the words so familiar to him that he did not need to read them.
The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not be in want. He makes me lie down in green pastures, He leads me beside quiet waters, He restores my soul. He guides me in paths of righteousness for His name's sake. Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for You are with me; Your rod and your staff, they comfort me.
He drew a shaking finger along the page and smiled a serene smile. Yes, he thought, I am never alone. He let his eyes drift closed and his head fall back onto his pillow. He sat propped upright in his bed, blanket pulled around his waist, pillows behind his back and shoulders. On his bedside table, the untouched meal and mug of water brought earlier for him still sat. The light of midday shone brightly through his open window, letting a breeze from outside whisper into the room. It was halfway between the hours of None and Vespers, when Jacob would normally have been tending the camellias and other plants in the garden, meditating as he worked. His life had been a dedication to prayer and hard work, and with his growing frailty, the work came less and less easily to him. I can still pray, he thought. I will work with my mind.
The knock, the barest of sounds, interrupted his thoughts and he cleared his throat with difficulty, calling "Come in." The door opened, and to Jacob's surprise and pleasure, the Doctor entered. His face was guarded, hands thrust into pockets, shoulders hunched inward. "I did not expect you," said Jacob.
"I could -- come back," the Doctor offered, looking back at the door. He rolled forward onto his toes uneasily.
"No, my friend, I am pleased to see you. Please, sit." Jacob closed his book and placed it beside the uneaten meal on the table.
The Doctor closed the door behind him and came further into the little room, running one hand through his hair and giving Jacob a sharp look before sinking down into the room's one chair. He studied the plate and mug on the table and frowned, the lines at the corner of his eyes deepening. "You should eat. Do you want me to get you --"
Jacob put up a hand. "I will eat when it is time. I would talk with you now, Doctor. I am surprised to see you here -- no, not displeased, do not look at me like that -- only surprised."
"I am," said the Doctor, with a small smile, "somewhat surprised myself."
Jacob smiled warmly in return. "I would imagine that Rose had something to do with this. Yes? I thought so. I am glad."
The Doctor's eyes shifted to the open window and for a moment, the two men were silent. Jacob, accustomed to silence in his years here, let the quiet wash over him and studied his friend. The Doctor was ill at ease, but not in the same way that he had been the night before, when he had fled rather than face Jacob in his weakness. He looked rather like there was something he wanted to say, and could not find the words.
"I would like to tell you something," said the Doctor finally, resignation in his voice.
Jacob waited.
"When I came here last," he continued, "you know there had been a War." Jacob nodded. "I couldn't talk about it then and I still ... find it difficult." He swallowed. "Something happened." He stopped, tilted his head to one side, and then fixed Jacob with a dark, almost wild look. "No, that's not true. I did something. We were -- losing. If we had lost," he drew in a breath, "well, it would have been the end, of all things. I couldn't let that happen."
"You faced a great evil," said Jacob. This much, he knew already.
"Yes. The greatest. And it had us by the throat. We had one chance to destroy it and it fell to me. The choice was mine, to destroy the evil, to face down the nightmare, but also to become the nightmare." He stopped again and Jacob waited, knowing he would continue in his own time, and not before. "I destroyed it, Jacob. But when I did, I knew I was destroying my own world. All my people. I did the same thing that the evil would have done if it had won."
"Did you?" asked Jacob, his voice level.
"Yes."
"Did you?" Jacob repeated, his gaze steady and solid. They stared at one another for the space of one, two, three heartbeats.
The Doctor dropped his eyes to his lap and said, in a small voice, "No."
"What did you do that was different?"
"I stopped."
Jacob folded the blanket down, swung his legs over, and gingerly stood. The Doctor leaped to his feet and reached to steady his friend. Jacob gratefully took his arm. "Walk with me a little, outside," he said.
With hesitant steps, he walked with the Doctor out down the hallway and into the day's warmth. Jacob gestured with his free hand to a nearby bench and the two men sat side by side. Jacob reached over and closed his hand around the Doctor's forearm. "What would have happened if you had not acted?"
The Doctor considered. "The universe overrun, time and space collapsing in on themselves."
"How many lives?"
"All of them."
Jacob nodded. "'How unhappy is he who cannot forgive himself,'" he quoted.
"'Je suis condamné à être libre,'" the Doctor responded.
"Sartre. Yes, you are free," said Jacob, "but not condemned, except in your own heart. I have told you God will forgive, but I know that gives you no solace."
"No," said the Doctor quietly.
"'I desired mercy, and not sacrifice; and the knowledge of God more than burnt offerings.'"
The Doctor smiled without mirth and responded "'Kill me, I pray thee, out of hand, if I have found favour in Thy sight; and let me not see my wretchedness.' I can quote your Book as well, Jacob. It does not give me peace."
"Does it not give you hope that those who love you know your goodness?" The hesitation told Jacob that he was close to the truth. "Yes, I thought so. Do you trust me, Doctor?"
"Yes."
Jacob smiled, looking for all the world like the elder teacher consulting a favored pupil, not a being who was nearly ten times as old with the length and breadth of the universe as his playground. "I trust you as well, my friend. I know you would not act without regard for consequences. The fact that this act torments you even now tells me that your heart is pure. If you were not, you would rationalize, explain, deny." His hand squeezed the Doctor's arm. "Let go," he whispered, an unwitting echo of Rose's admonition.
The Doctor's other hand closed over Jacob's. For a time, they sat together in companionable silence. The clearing before them stirred with life: other monks bustling off to chores or study, the chatter of a squirrel high in a tree, the soft dance of the grass in the wind. The two men on the bench, in the center, were apart from it all. Back to index
Chapter 9: Chapter 9
Author's Notes: After his conversation with Jacob, the Doctor astonishes Rose with a question.
The late afternoon sun filtered through the trees onto the garden table, where Rose sat and read. She had returned earlier to the cottage to fetch her book, hoping that the adventures would distract her for an afternoon while the Doctor, she fervently hoped, talked to Jacob. After their talk at midday, he had headed off in the direction of the dormitory with her encouragement. His expression had been both grim and hopeful, like a schoolboy on his way to the headmaster's office after some misbehaviour. She had half wanted to follow him and make sure he actually went to see his old friend, but she focused all her willpower into remaining seated at the table and waiting for him to disappear down the path. Once he had gone, she continue to sit, feeling tension down her spine and into her backside, and finally allowed herself to creep back to her cottage for some entertainment.
She found her attention wandering away from the Pevensie children several times during the day, and eventually folded the book closed and let her head bang against the top of the table. She was well and truly in suspense, and on top of it all, hungry. Skipping lunch to wander and talk to the Doctor had been necessary, but the consequences were catching up with her. She thought somewhat longingly of chips, turned her mind away from temptation, and picked up her book again.
The bells tolled in the distance, calling the brothers to their prayers, and Rose wondered where the Doctor was. That's it, she thought with frustration, and stood up. She carried the book back to the cottage, checking for any signs of the Doctor's return, and then headed off toward the main clearing. At least there would be the evening meal shortly.
When she arrived, the Doctor was sitting alone on a bench in front of the dormitory, legs spread, arms crossed in front of his chest, lost in thought. He looked up as she approached warily.
"Hello," he said, his normal enthusiasm somewhat muted.
Rose studied his face as she sat down next to him. "Hello yourself," she offered. She did not ask if he had seen Jacob. She did not want to think that he had been sitting in front of the dormitory all afternoon.
"Jacob went to the evening prayers," said the Doctor, responding to her unasked question. "He felt a bit stronger."
"That's good." She suppressed the other questions. Did you tell him? What did he say?
"You want to know if we talked," said the Doctor with a trace of weariness in his voice. Rose nodded guardedly. "Yes, we did. He said much the same things that you did."
I told you so, she did not respond. "I thought he would."
The barest hint of a smile crossed the Doctor's face. "Don't sound so smug. It's not flattering."
"Don't be so stubborn, then." At that, he did laugh, genuinely, and Rose felt relief wash over her. He reached over and took her hand, twining his fingers through hers. Rose rubbed his thumb with hers in response. They sat in silence for some time, hearing the faint voices blown on the wind to them from the church, where the monks gathered for their evening prayers. Rose thought fleetingly of the peace she had felt, had almost shared, in the earlier service. She was glad Jacob was once again with his brothers in this ritual.
When the dark figures filed out of the church and moved toward the dining hall, Rose searched their number for Jacob's slight form. She stood and tugged the Doctor along with her, finding Jacob easily. Two brothers flanked him, offering support with their arms. Jacob's face was serene, the lines etched in his face relaxed and softened. When he saw them, he smiled broadly and gestured. The Doctor and Rose easily took the place of the two monks. Jacob walked unevenly but determinedly alongside them toward the dining hall.
"How are you feeling?" asked Rose.
"Much better," said Jacob, his musical voice stronger than when she had spoken with him earlier. "I think I would like to eat, then rest again. Perhaps tomorrow I will be stronger."
They ate in silence, as Rose had become accustomed to. She studied Jacob covertly throughout the meal, watching him tuck into his food with seemingly good appetite. His color was stronger and he seemed more animated. Perhaps the worst is past, she thought with some relief.
After the meal, they walked again with Jacob across the clearing. He leaned on the Doctor more than Rose, but his conversation was directed primarily at her, asking what she had done during the day. When she mentioned her reading, he beamed with delight. "A lovely story," he said with approval. "Children with adventures that led them to know God in all his forms." He gave a sidelong look at the Doctor. "Magical transportation into a world beyond belief."
"Sounds far-fetched," chuckled the Doctor.
When they reached the dormitory, Jacob paused and turned back into the clearing, the wind ruffling his beard. The sun had set while they ate, and the stars shone, bathing the world with a cool, blue light. He touched Rose's face, then took her hands in his and gave her a searching look. She looked back, not sure what he sought in her, but he seemed to be pleased with what he found.
He nodded twice to himself and turned to the Doctor, still holding Rose's hands in his weathered grip. "You will listen to her, my old friend, yes?" The Doctor's eyes flicked across to Rose and she saw a seriousness there that she wasn't sure she understood either.
"I will," said the Doctor quietly, his words carrying the weight of a vow.
Jacob released her hands and leaned on the Doctor. "Rose, if you excuse me, I should get some rest. Doctor, will you see me inside?"
Rose wandered back and forth, watching the other monks move around the clearing. She knew by now that there was one more set of prayers for the day, and then they would retire for the evening, only to wake in the earliest morning and begin the cycle again. There was a beautiful symmetry to their schedule, the sameness of the days blending one into another into another even for her, an outsider, a bystander. She felt the profound disconnection from the world here even in her limited participation in the community.
The Doctor emerged from the dormitory after perhaps a quarter of an hour and stood by her side. The bells began to toll gently behind them to call the monks to their final prayers of the day.
"Is he better?" she asked.
"Yes," said the Doctor to her immense relief. "He is coughing less, and his breathing is not strained."
"His color is better," offered Rose. "That means his circulation is better?"
The Doctor nodded in approval at her understanding. "He's too stubborn to let me examine him properly but yes, I would say so." Rose suppressed a smile at his calling someone else stubborn, and if he realized he'd used the same word to describe Jacob that she had used to describe him earlier, he made no sign. "You'd better get back to the cottage," he said.
Rose tried not to feel disappointed. "Library again?" she asked, trying to put some lightness in her voice.
"For a while," he responded, studiously not looking at her and tugging on one earlobe, the way he did when he was distracted. He started to say something further, then hesitated.
"What?" she asked softly, catching him by the arm and turning him to face her.
He met her eyes and she saw only the barest hint of his irises, the pupils wide and fathomless. They stared at each other for several heartbeats. When the Doctor finally broke the silence, his voice was the barest murmur above the wind and the rustle of leaves in the trees above them. "Can I," he began, and hesitated. She willed him to continue. "Can I come to you tonight?" His eyes searched hers.
"You've never asked before," she responded, a nervous laugh in her voice. "What's different?"
He reached out and touched her cheek, sliding his palm along her soft skin with exquisite care. "I am," he said with a gentle intensity.
Rose shuddered in response and then felt him withdraw. Her hand flew up and caught his. "Wait," she said, not wanting him to misunderstand her reaction. "That's not what I -- Yes, you can." She turned and pressed a quick kiss to his palm. His eyes flickered closed for a moment and when they reopened, Rose saw them dilate and flare with reflected light from the stars. She released his hand and he let it drop to his side.
"Later," he said. "I'll be there later."
Rose's heart was in her throat and she wanted to throw her arms around him, but resisted the urge. She stepped back, turning to walk down the path to her cottage. After a few steps, she half turned to face him. He was standing in the same position, watching her go with an intense expression.
"Hurry," she said, and fled into the night.Back to index
Chapter 10: Chapter 10
Author's Notes: Thanks to sensiblecat for the new summary, and happy Valentine's day to all of you.
Rose Tyler was in a considerable state of agitation.
She paced back and forth in the main room of her small cottage in her bare feet and tried to decide what she should do. Can I come to you? the Doctor had asked. Later, he had promised. Rose's imagination had been considerably developed by traveling through time and across the reaches of the universe, but her mind had come to a sudden, screeching halt and she now had no idea what to do.
Rose stopped, drawing a deep breath, trying to center herself and steady her mind and body. Surely, she thought, he didn't mean ... that, but what if he did? She remembered the pragmatic advice of an old friend of Jackie's. Plan for the worst, hope for the best. She decided the only reasonable course of action was to make sure she had on clean knickers and shaved her legs. At the worst, she would be clean and prepared in the event of a sudden trip to a hospital. At best, well, she could hope, but she didn't dare think it, even in the quiet of her own mind.
She stepped into the smaller room and and ran water as hot as she could stand it into the white porcelain tub. The running water echoed against all the smooth surfaces in a crash. She gathered up a change of clothes and closed the door firmly behind her. Later, like back soon, for a Time Lord was probably a negotiable length of time. She stripped and settled into the tub, turning the water off and easing her legs straight. It was an unexpected pleasure to have a tub in guest quarters at a monastery that was big enough to stretch out in properly and she let herself enjoy it for a few moments. It then occurred to her that later might be earlier than she might expect, and she worked in a flurry of soap and hands to wash up and shave and attend to all the basic needs of her bath. When she stood and let the tub drain, she was scrubbed pink, glowing, and smooth. She dried off in some haste with a towel. As she pulled on a clean pair of jeans, she had another moment of uncertainty. Should she just change for bed? What on earth should she wear to bed with the Doctor? She had spent the last two nights with him, but neither had been planned or prearranged, and she had simply appeared as she was to him.
Rose sighed, brushed her wet hair, and pulled on a cornflower blue shirt in a shade that set off her hair and eyes. He had seen her dressed up, dressed down, muddy, soaking wet, in her pajamas, and even in tears, with mascara running from her eyes. There was nothing to be done about her vanity, but she would put it aside as best she could. She applied some makeup. I look almost human, she smiled at her reflection.
She returned to the main room and looked around. Nothing, predictably, had changed while she had been in the bath. She sighed, a full bodied breath from the lower abdomen and through her nose, and reached for her book again. She turned up the lamp by the bedside and warmed her feet by the fire while she tried to lose herself in the narrative.
There was a quiet tap at the door and Rose looked up with a start. She was momentarily disoriented and unsure who would knock at her door, then felt a rush of blood to her face as she realized that it must be the Doctor.
She placed her hand on the knob and turned, pulling the door open. Outside, the night was full of the soft noises of the darkness, soft whispers of creatures in the underbrush and the calling of birds. A silhouetted shadow in the shape of a man stood a bit back from her door, not crowding her. Rose extended a hand and he took it, letting himself be drawn into the room with her. She closed the door behind them and looked back at him.
The Doctor's face was a mask, studying the flames in the fireplace, his eyes lowered. Rose's chest was tight and she felt her earlier nerves returning. He could surely sense her tension and uncertainty. When he looked up and met her gaze, she almost flinched. He wore an expression she did not recognize in him, some deep emotion that was so evident in the set of eyes and mouth that she felt she must name it, but could not. The barriers and guards between them were down, and Rose did not know what to make of what was behind them.
"Are you all right?" she said, hesitantly.
The Doctor nodded. "I'm fine." Again, his forefinger and thumb tugged at his earlobe.
"I think that means you're not telling me something," she said, touching his finger. He let go of his earlobe and gave a brief, muted chuckle.
"I suppose you're right. In poker, that would be a 'tell.' I don't have a good poker face." She rather thought he did, but didn't share that assessment. "I'm nervous, Rose."
"Nervous?" He mumbled something about a translator circuit he'd have to check in the TARDIS. "I understood you fine," she said. "I just don't ... understand." His eyes crinkled as he grinned at her. Before he could make a smart remark, she interrupted. "What are you nervous about?"
He made a wide, expansive gesture that took in the whole room around them, and shrugged. "Taking the plunge, so to speak." She waited. He sighed. "It almost makes me sympathetic toward all those poor human men who get caught up in deep conversation with their wives and girlfriends and just want to watch telly or eat chips or play with the dog."
"Do you miss the telly, then?"
"Of course not. But I have to admit it's tempting to reach for the remote and not have to talk about everything." He sighed again. "Rose, I'm old. I'm very, very old. I've seen so much and done -- well, you know. I'm quite good at not talking about any of it and you and Jacob, between the two of you, you've had me talking about things I've kept quite happily buried for years. Oh, don't give me that look. I'm exaggerating. Perhaps not happily, but avoidance and denial has worked quite well all this time, thank you very much. And here you are, shaking the tree and seeing what falls out. It's difficult to cope with. Oh, I'm trying, and maybe it is good for me -- but it's trying too." He ruffled a hand through his hair. "So yes, I am nervous. I'm not used to all this exposure."
Rose regarded him thoughtfully, feeling something flutter in her chest. "Is that all?" she queried in a low voice.
"No." He took a step closer to her and reached out his hand. She took it without hesitation and they looked at one another, hands clasped. He took a second step, reached out, and brushed a soft hand against her hair. Rose leaned into the light touch. "I'm afraid of taking a step," he said. "I'm afraid of changing what we have, Rose."
She nodded and felt a flicker of fear. "I'll tell you something," she offered. He waited. "I'm afraid as well. If you get tired of me --"
His eyes darkened. "Rose, stop it," he grated. "I've told you, you can stay with me for the rest of your life."
"Do you mean it? What if I cross a line? Make a mistake?"
He squeezed her hand tightly, almost painfully, in his. "You can't. You won't. Rose, I won't leave you behind. Don't you believe me?"
She started to say no, then saw the expression on his face. The emotion was plain to read this time: fear. He didn't want her to leave him, and he feared that most of all. She moved forward and pulled him into a tight hug. "I believe you," she said, and tears welled in her eyes to know the truth of it.
His arms came around her, holding her gently but firmly to him. "You can stay as long as you want."
"Forever," she whispered into his shoulder. "I meant it. Do you believe me?"
His body against hers was drawn tight and tense, but he relaxed fractionally for a moment. "I believe you," he said, into her hair. They stayed like that for several heartbeats, wrapped in each other's embrace.
When the Doctor stepped back, his eyes were shining and his lips curved in a smile. He bowed and extended a hand to her. "Dance with me?" he asked. Rose smiled back and took his hand, letting him draw her close again. Their joined hands came up together as they swayed. The Doctor settled his other hand around her waist, and Rose ran her hand along his upper arm. Their feet moved slowly, taking a few half steps around the room together to the music that wasn't there but beat in Rose's blood. When he leaned close and kissed her, she closed her eyes and let her lips move against his, sweet and soft.
He pulled away and studied her closely. "Is that okay?" he asked, a touch of uncertainty in his voice.
Rose said yes with her eyes and tried her best to kiss the uncertainty away. His mouth parted against hers and she deepened the kiss, letting her tongue flick lightly against his bottom lip. He shivered. "That okay?" she asked, low and husky.
The Doctor grinned, let go of her waist, and twirled her around the room. She made a soft squeal of surprise as she spun and then came back against him. He let both hands come to her waist and pulled her close for another, longer kiss. She felt his hands sliding up her torso, over jeans and then onto bare skin under her shirt. Her skin prickled into a thousand goose bumps as his fingers trailed up her ribs, drawing her shirt into folds as they moved. She lost track of what she was doing and stopped kissing him back, or breathing, and she felt his smile against her lips.
"I didn't think you -- danced," she teased.
"I dance," he responded. "I told you, and weren't we just dancing?" His grin became wider.
"Do monks dance?" she asked.
The grin faded and he let go of her, taking a step back. His mouth moved twice before he managed to compose himself. "What are you saying, Rose Tyler?"
"I asked if monks dance." She grinned impishly and rested her tongue between her teeth, teasing.
"I have no idea," he said airily. "Ask Jacob."
"I'm asking you." Another grin.
"I," he said, with all the injured dignity he could muster, "am not a monk." Rose raised an eyebrow at him. "Am not," he squeaked.
"Could've fooled me," she said, humor sparkling in her eyes.
"I don't think," he said, moving close to her, "this is in the job description." He nuzzled her neck and began to press warm, soft-lipped kisses along her throat and jawline, coming back up to her eager mouth. His tongue traced the inside of her lips and the edge of her teeth. She flicked her tongue against his and felt a shock of pleasure as he drew hers into his mouth and suckled lightly on the tip. He released her and kissed the corner of her mouth, her cheek, her closed eye, her temple, then her ear. He carefully, deliberately licked the outside ridge of her ear and whispered, "Forgot what your question was?"
She smiled in response and bit his exposed neck gently. His protest was perfunctory. "I think you answered."
"Good." His face cleared and became momentarily serious. He brushed the veil of hair back from the side of her face and neck and smoothed his palm against it. "Rose, if you want, we can keep things as they are now. We don't have to change."
"I want to change," she breathed. "I want to make love with you," she said.
The Doctor brightened immediately. "With, and to, and under, and over, above, between, any preposition you like. I can think of a few --"
The only way to silence him, she decided, was to kiss him senseless.Back to index
Chapter 11: Chapter 11
Author's Notes: After protests of "this is not smut!" from reviewers here, on LJ, and even email responses, I'm changing my caution for this chapter and the overall rating for the story (which is now an R and labeled Adult).
I don't want anyone to go into this chapter and not know that there is a sex scene, but it's not gratuitous. This is the consummation of the whole story, not just the physical relationship between the Doctor and Rose.
Rose later reflected that she would have needed more than one mouth to adequately silence the Doctor. Her travels with him across time and space -- at least since his regeneration -- had been accompanied by a series of monologues, lectures, and diatribes, interrupted only infrequently by running for their lives. He had seemed more content over the past days to indulge in silence, but those pauses were always weighted with expectation. When he wasn't speaking, she could almost hear him thinking.
At the moment, his mouth was occupied with her neck, which Rose found very satisfactory. His lips moved against the sensitive skin below her ear, with his tongue gently swirling incomprehensible patterns. His hands had come back to her waist, slowly tugging her shirt up. Rose leaned away from him for a moment, reached down, and pulled her shirt over her head. He watched with dark, sparkling eyes, then moved forward to kiss her deeply. Hands again moved up, stroking lightly over her breasts, tracing behind her and unfastening her bra. Rose shrugged her shoulders and let it fall. The Doctor let his hands rove down her belly and unbuttoned her jeans, sliding his hands underneath and pulling them down her body. She watched him squat in front of her and tug her knickers off, letting her step out of them as they fell to the floor.
Rose stood naked in front of him. The firelight in the room danced on her pale skin and she felt grateful for the flattering, muted light. The Doctor straightened back up and studied her feet, then her legs, belly, breasts, shoulders, and finally her face. She flushed from both the concentration in his gaze and the extreme self-consciousness of being naked in front of someone who is, in fact, not also naked. She reached to help him take his coat off, then his jacket, but he gently took her hands in his when she tried to loosen his tie.
"Not yet," he said, his voice quiet and steady. His lips quirked up at the edges in a barely suppressed smile. "I think I know how you feel, though." He pulled her against him and rubbed her forearms, up and down, warming her. "Exposed?" She nodded. "Yes, I think I do know." He allowed his smile to broaden. "I think your exposure is slightly more ... comfortable ... than mine has been."
He cupped one of her hands in his, facing her palm upward, his fingers brushing her wrist. The index finger of his other hand lightly rested on her pulse point, trailing along her lifeline to her little finger. He stroked all the way to the fingertip. Rose stood immobile, transfixed. His finger traced carefully back to her palm, then up and out along her next finger, then back to her palm again. When he reached her index finger, he bent his head and pressed a kiss in the center of her palm, then kissed the each fingertip in turn, finally drawing her index finger into his mouth and running his tongue against the tip. Rose's mouth was open and her breath short.
His dark eyes came up to meet hers, finger still in his mouth. He released it after a long, moist pull and regarded her again from head to toe.
"Beautiful," he said after some thought.
"For a human," she said, and shifted under his relentless gaze.
"No," he corrected gently. His fingers trailed tenderly over her skin, like she was fragile. Rose felt she might shatter anywhere he did not touch her. "Beautiful for a supernova, for a newborn star, for a sea at sunset. My Rose."
She came into his arms and felt him encircle her. Her bare skin pressed against starched cotton and scratchy wool. His hands ran down her back and bottom. Their mouths sought and found each other, tongues tasting, lips moving. When she was able to breathe, she said, low and urgent, "Doctor, take me to bed."
His answer was to cradle her close to him, kiss her frantically, and turn them both around to step in tandem toward the little bed they had shared in sleep and for comfort these past two nights. When the back of her legs pressed against the mattress, Rose sat down and tried to draw the Doctor down with her. He released her and stepped back a moment, his eyes dark and wild and mouth parted, lips shining from her kisses. He loosened his tie, cast it aside, and unbuttoned his shirt. Rose watched from the bed below him. He shrugged off the shirt and started to unbutton his trousers, hesitating only a moment before continuing. Rose studied his body as he had hers earlier. His skin was pale and freckled, with a soft smattering of hair on his chest. His body was thin, lanky, but wiry strong, as she had known it would be. He stood bare before her, breathtaking and unashamed and aroused male and her love, and she could not bear not to touch him.
She half sat forward and took his hands, drawing him down to her as she had tried to earlier. This time, he allowed her to lead him onto the bed with her, over her. One knee parted her legs and he kissed her, long and thoroughly. She suckled his tongue and felt him press against her, his erection firm against her leg.
"Wanted this for so long." Her words were whispered against his cheek.
"I know. I did too. I wasn't ready."
"Now?" she asked, feeling brave and wanton. She arched against him, feeling legs and hips and bellies and arms touching. In answer, he growled low in his throat and cupped a breast in one hand, stroking the nipple lightly with his thumb. His head lowered and he pressed more wet, soft kisses along her collarbone and to her breast, circling the nipple with his tongue before closing his lips around it. Rose hissed. His hand left her breast and mapped her belly and thighs with gentle strokes of exploring fingers. She bent her knee and spread her legs, encouraging, lifting her head to nuzzle his hair with her nose and kiss his scalp.
The Doctor's long fingers traced up her thigh as he moved to lick the other nipple, applying the lightest contact of his teeth. His eyes rose to meet hers and she saw almost no brown in their familiar depth, only black pupils dilated with need and desire. She wondered how she looked to him, then stopped wondering anything at all as his fingers touched her so lightly between her legs, twirling in the soft hair. Her mouth was open, her eyes wide, breath catching.
"Now," he said, grinning madly at her. "I'm ready."
A finger ran a long circle around her clit, not quite touching, and Rose mewed. His lips closed again on her nipple and she felt the wet pressure of his tongue on the tip as his finger stroked her lightly, too lightly. The finger drew a line down through her warm wetness to her opening, dipped slightly inside, then retraced the same path back to her clit. Rose's hips moved urgently against him. He released her nipple long enough to shush her soothingly and returned his attention to both tasks, tongue circling and stroking her nipple as his finger did the same to her clit. Once in a while he moved and pressed the finger carefully inside her, moving once or twice, then returned to his deliberate attentions.
Rose was awash in pleasure and desire for him. Her body flared with nervous energy, her arousal sending sparks up her spine and down into her feet. "Oh," she said once, desperately, and felt him again smile against her nipple. He kissed his way up her chest to her shoulders and neck and sucked on her earlobe before finding her mouth again with his. Rose kissed him back fervently as he kept up his relentless rhythm. She was close, and moving helplessly against him. She could feel his unsteady breath as his chest rubbed against her breasts. Her hands clenched against his shoulder blades, feeling the muscles of his back tense and relax.
When she came, she felt the surge within her between her legs, her belly, her breasts where he touched her, her hands against his back. She muffled her moans into his neck, the spasms almost too intense as he continued to stroke her. She panted against him, letting her head fall back and her hands relax, her knee fall wide. The Doctor, still above her, one knee between her legs, slid two fingers inside her and she tightened around him with the last waves of pleasure.
"Like a supernova," he said, kissing her chin. She murmured something indistinct and felt him sliding his fingers leisurely in and out of her, still enjoying the aftermath of her orgasm. Both of us, she thought. He's enjoying it, too. She looked at his face and saw his intense concentration, focused on her exclusively.
She raised up and took his lower lip between her teeth, tracing the soft flesh between with her tongue. His fingers moved a little faster and her breath caught. "Ready?" she said, impishly.
He withdrew his fingers, nudged her legs further apart with his other knee sliding between them, and kissed her again. She felt the head of his cock bump against her thigh and then closer, right at her opening. She was exquisitely sensitive after her orgasm and made a few encouraging sounds against his mouth as he positioned himself above her. She raised her other knee and slid her feet up, raising her hips against him. He pushed his hips back against her, letting the head slide just inside her. He said something she did not understand and pressed his face down, chin against her shoulder, nipping the soft, exposed skin. She cupped his buttocks with her hands and pulled, wanting more.
He looked directly into her eyes and spoke softly. "Rose. I believe you." Then he moved and she felt him slide inside her, hard and deep and friction, and she arched against him. She was alight with him, desire and fulfillment sparking along every nerve. Suddenly it was like she had just come fully awake, all her senses sharpened. She saw his brow furrowed, the wave of his hair as he moved, the shadows cast in his eyes by the firelight. She smelled the wool and sweat of him, felt the skin and contact between them and the crisp sheets against her back. She heard the creak of the bed back and forth, up and down, as they moved urgently together, the wet sounds of him moving inside her, the crackle of the fire. Her fingers traced down his back, skin moist and warm with exertion, muscles under skin clenching and releasing with movement.
She felt the pleasure mounting within her, unsought, unexpected, and moaned low against him, then came again with a crash and a wave breaking on his surface. She felt the ripples moving around him and him still moving within her.
He cried out her name, once, thrust deeper, harder, again, and she felt the tremor run through him. He pressed deep inside and Rose's legs came up, folding around him, pulling him deeper. He gasped and continued to rock within her, more slowly, coming down with her.
After a few moments, Rose relaxed her legs, let them slide bonelessly alongside his. She encircled him with her arms and rubbed her cheek against his. He was breathing deeply, all the muscles that had been moving and flowing now relaxed. He started to press up, to lighten his weight on her, but Rose shook her head. "Stay," she said. "You feel wonderful." He relaxed again and for a time, she felt the weight of him pressing against her, skin to skin, him still inside her.
When the cold began to prickle at Rose's exposed skin, the Doctor shifted his hips and withdrew. Rose felt him slip from her and then a gentle wetness. He rolled onto his side and pulled her close against him. She burrowed against him and felt him gather the blanket around them both, warm and soft against her skin. She sighed softly and he kissed the top of her head.
"I feel a little guilty," she confessed.
"Hmm?"
"We're at a monastery."
"Yes, rather, but I think there are certain exceptions made."
"For what?"
"'"Come let us take our fill of love until the morning: let us solace ourselves with loves,'" quoted the Doctor, stroking her hair. "It's from Proverbs. And what about the Song of Solomon? Very racy, that. 'A bundle of myrrh is my wellbeloved unto me; he shall lie all night betwixt my breasts.'" He ran a finger idly between Rose's breasts and punctuated his point with a soft poke. "'Have not saints lips, and holy palmers too?'"
"That's Shakespeare," said Rose, proud of herself for recognizing the words.
"Yes, indeed, my lady. Romeo and Juliet. 'Then move not, while my prayer's effect I take. Thus from my lips, by yours, my sin is purged.'" He kissed her and smiled indulgently. "So, we're off the hook."
Rose chuckled. "I doubt that, but you seem to make your own rules."
"And break them," said the Doctor cheerfully. "Don't forget that."
"I don't think I can," said Rose. She snuggled down into his arms and felt his hand gently stroking her hair. I am, she thought, perfectly happy.Back to index
Chapter 12: Chapter 12
Author's Notes: I felt that there was too much left unspoken between the Doctor and Rose for there not to be at least one more really serious conversation between them. There is sex in this chapter as well. (What, didn't think I was going to have them still in bed, talking about serious stuff, and just roll over and sleep?). Anyway, as with chapter eleven, this isn't smut, but it's clearly adult material, so be forewarned.
I know I keep saying "one more chapter," so I'll quit saying it. You'll know it's the last chapter when they get in the TARDIS and leave. After that, the epilogue.
They talked quietly that night of everything they had danced around and avoided with one another. He told her, at first hesitantly and then with greater ease, of his children and his travels, his companions and his losses, his people, his angry fear at seeing her returned to Satellite Five, the sustaining faith in her that he had found at the bottom of the pit. Rose spoke of her guilt at causing his regeneration, her joy at rediscovering him in his new form, her shock and jealousy of Sarah Jane, her sense of betrayal when he had left her for Reinette, and the Doctor let the words fall from her lips and spill into the firelit room. He rested on his side, one elbow bent under him, head propped up in his hand, the other arm draped possessively over Rose's waist. She faced him, her blond hair spread out across the pillow, eyes open and wide into his.
"You," he said after she had finished, "are not diminished by anyone I have known or cared about. Ever." She watched him, his eyes reflecting the flames, his face half-hidden in shadow but completely open to her.
"Felt that way," she said.
"I know, and I -- I am sorry it caused you pain. That was never my intention." He forced a smile. "It can be unsettling to lay everything out, can't it?" She nodded. "Rose, you are --" He shrugged, bringing his hand off her bare waist to gesture into the room. "You are you. You make me see everything for the first time again and that is a gift that I cannot thank you enough for. You believe in me. I don't know why, but you do, and you make me feel ... awe." He touched her face and ran a finger along her lower lip, then leaned forward and kissed her, letting his mouth linger against hers.
She pulled back, just a fraction, and looked him directly in the eyes, a challenge. He answered. "It's a very human trait to want commitment," he said heavily. "I get that." Rose started to speak but he shook his head at her and continued. "There hasn't been anyone else since I have known you, Rose. Not for a long time before that as well. I won't ask if the same is true for you." Rose flinched slightly as she realized how she had judged him without looking at herself. "It's all right. I understand. It doesn't change how you feel about me now, does it?"
"But --" she said, watching him closely. "You've been jealous. Mickey, Adam, Jack." He looked at the ceiling and mumbled something low that Rose didn't understand. She poked him in the shoulder. "A human trait, yeah?"
A ghost of a smile crossed his lips. "I've been picking up some of the local customs." She laughed then and let her head fall onto the pillow. He turned his eyes back to her and the expression on his face sobered her again. "I've never told anyone they could stay forever," he said after a few moments. "And I mean it. Rose, I will outlive you." He drew in a long breath. "And that hurts me more than you know, even now, perhaps especially now."
"Is it worth it?" she asked quietly, studying his face.
His eyes held hers and he smiled again. "Yes. And the regeneration too. Rose, I did it to save you, and I'd do it again in a second. I have regenerations to spare, and even if I didn't --" He shrugged again.
"Nine lives, like a cat?" Rose tried to smile through the lump in her throat.
"Thirteen, actually," he corrected. "The idea is the same, yes."
"How many," she asked tentatively.
"This is my tenth body," he said, answering her unfinished question.
"Ten of you?" Rose gaped. She struggled to assimilate the new information. "And you can have thirteen?"
He nodded and reached up to stroke her cheek. "It happens when one wears out, or I do something stupid and get killed, or something magnificent like saving you. Actually," he frowned, "I seem not to be wearing them out so much as just going through them." He thought about that for a few moments.
"Jeopardy friendly," Rose laughed. She thought of the American cartoon with the roadrunner and the coyote that Mickey had loved so much as a child. "And you worry about outliving me." Her smile faded as she realized the true import of those words. "When I am gone," she said, and saw his eyes narrow. She strengthened her resolve. "When I am gone, please tell me you'll be all right. Don't close down, be like you were." He regarded her in silence. "Tell the next companion about me. See everything and laugh and have a fantastic life. You deserve it."
The Doctor's eyes shone and he drew her close to him, tucking her head under his chin and running a hand down her back. "I will try."
"'Do or do not,'" said Rose, "'there is no try.'"
"That's Star Wars," said the Doctor, half suppressing a laugh.
"Yoda was very wise," smiled Rose against his neck. "Better than The Lion King anyway."
"Oi," said the Doctor, without much genuine protest. "I liked that movie."
Rose nipped his exposed throat lightly. "Tell me you'll be okay," she commanded.
He released a long breath and spoke, his voice a rumble with her ear so close to his larynx. "Rose, I will be all right. Never as all right as I am now, but I will be all right."
"That's good," she said approvingly. His fingers traced lines up and down her bare back, following the curve of her spine, and she settled in comfortably against him. "When we leave, will things ... be different?"
"Between us?" he asked, surprised.
"You won't stop talking to me, will you?"
"Like this, I assume. I can't imagine I'd stop talking period. Rose," he said, with a sigh and a kiss to the top of her head. "You have me in a unique position. You've heard more about me than frankly anyone ever has. There are things I may not want to talk about again, maybe ever. It would be nice to let some of my more serious wounds close back up, if that's all right with you."
""But you won't shut me out?" she persisted.
"Promise," he said seriously. He rolled onto his back and pulled her close to him. She let one leg slide over his knee and settled her head into the crook of his shoulder, his arms circling around her. He kissed her temple and spoke quietly into her ear. "Rose, you can stay with me for the rest of your life. If that's not enough commitment --" He cleared his throat, then spoke again in a stronger tone. "There's no one else, Rose. For as long as we have, there will be no one else."
The words she wanted to say to him in return caught in her throat. She lifted up instead and kissed him deeply, letting her unspoken reply flow through her lips and through her body. His hands trailed down to the curve of her lower back and her hips.
"No one else," he repeated. She shook her head, her hair billowing out around her face, and straddled him. Rose leaned forward to kiss him again, and he cupped the back of her head to deepen the contact. His tongue teased the underside of hers, drawing her out. She rolled forward to press her breasts against his chest and felt him start to harden again beneath her. His other hand shifted from her hips to her belly, tracing a circle around her navel before repeating the gesture on her nipple. She straightened to allow him better access and saw his head dip forward to allow him to replace hand with mouth, drawing lightly on one nipple, then the other, cupping the breast with his hand underneath.
Rose's skin flushed and beads of perspiration gathered on her back and shoulders. The room, small and fire-lit, was suddenly overwhelmingly warm. His eyes cut up to hers, lips still suckling her nipple, and she felt a rush of desire for him. She didn't want the same slow build-up they had enjoyed earlier -- she had waited too long for this man to be in her bed. She shifted her hips, reached underneath her for his erection, and sank back to let him fill her. He sighed once, long and deliberate, and the warm, moving air on her breasts made her tingle. Her hips rose, and fell, letting him slide within her just slowly enough for them both to want more. His hands came again to her hips and she felt his thumbs dig into her flesh slightly, pressing her forward, encouraging. She moved faster, feeling the friction between her legs intensify.
"Rose," he moaned, moving his own hips against hers. The firelight cast long shadows on his face, his eyes fathomless, his mouth falling open. Rose's hands came forward, one to brace her at his side, one to press her palm into his chest, where his two hearts thudded in two uncoordinated, galloping rhythms. His hands at her side gripped her harder as she rode him, more urgently, more frantic.
Rose saw his expression shift, the studied control she had seen fall away returning. He let one hand fall away and find her clit, touching her lightly as they moved together. That was enough and she cried out as she climaxed, feeling the strong ripples around him tighten and ease. She kept moving astride him, wanting him to follow her. He gritted his teeth together and looked desperate, then his face contorted as he came.
When she stopped moving, she let her head fall forward to rest her sweaty forehead against his, their breath mingling in gasps. His arms folded around her back.
I love you, she didn't say. Neither did he. But she knew, as if he had told her outright. Her Doctor, in surrender, to her.Back to index
Chapter 13: Chapter 13
Author's Notes: Thirteen may be an unlucky number, but this is just a happy chapter. I like happy chapters. Happy chapters are good.
The Morning After. Rose wakes up with the Doctor, and predictably, it isn't what she expects.
"Rose," said the voice. She drifted in the mist, cool and serene, refreshed and recumbent.
"Rose," said the voice again. She felt lips against her temple. With some reluctance, she let her eyes open, blinked to clear the trailing mist of sleep from her mind, tried to focus. The voice murmured softly into her hair. "I've got something to show you. Wake up."
She came more fully into awareness then, realizing where she was and what -- or more properly, whom -- the cool presence behind her was. The Doctor, naked, curled into her as a lover. She lay on her side, facing into the room, her top knee bent and forward against the mattress to brace her. One of his legs curved just behind hers, settling thigh against thigh and hip against hip. A hand, presumably his, was just in her line of vision, protruding out from under the pillow under her head. His other arm lay across her side, elbow on hip and fingers tracing lightly across her knee. She felt a sudden rush of joy, knowing what had passed between them in the night and that he was still there, spooned against her and kissing her temple.
"Good morning, sleepyhead," he said. She could not see his face, tried to turn her head to pull him into her line of vision, but he hugged her tightly, drawing her close with all of his long limbs. Her breath came quick and she wanted nothing more than to find his mouth with her own, but then he released, stretching, and sat up. She did turn to face him then, and he had the spectacularly mussed bed head she had suspected he might. She suppressed a giggle and he gave her a wounded look. "You look lovely, too," he drawled, and ruffled her hair with one hand.
With a quick, lithe motion, he was up and across her, a pale pink-and-brown-and-dark shadow over her, and pulling on his clothes in the middle of the room. Rose gaped. Leaving? she thought, with a moment of panic. "It's not even light yet," she protested, unsure of herself.
He buttoned up his trousers and gave her a wry grin. "That's the point. Hop to it, there's a good girl." He dangled her jeans at her and waggled an eyebrow. "Come on, I said I had something to show you and it won't wait."
She stared.
"Rose," he said, with a hint of impatience in his voice. "I know you don't do mornings. I get it. Just trust me and come on!" He tossed the jeans at her, where they landed across her shoulders and chest. She gave him a dazed look, one of many from her time with him, and crawled out of bed. After last night, when he had studied her bare form with such intent focus, she couldn't muster much modesty in the light that was still much more night than morning. She struggled into her knickers and then jeans, pivoting gracelessly on one foot for a moment, and turned to find him tying his tie and watching her, eyes sparkling with such amusement and mischief that she wanted to shove him over into the bed. I don't do mornings, indeed.
She grabbed the rest of her clothes, retreated into the bathroom despite his protest, and firmly closed the door in his face. "Rose," he called from behind the barrier. "What on earth do you have to --"
"Clean my teeth," she growled, and did. She took a moment also to splash water on her face and run a comb through her hair before pulling her shirt over her head. She emerged with slightly more good grace than before, finding him fully dressed, hands in pockets, and rocking back from his heels to his toes with barely concealed impatience. She toed on her shoes. He glanced once out the window and hopped to the door in two bursts, throwing it open into the wavering dark of the early morning.
She followed. He reached out and grasped her hand, tugging her along behind him. "The monks aren't even up yet," she complained. "And I didn't get much sleep last night."
His look back at her was dark and full of promise, and she felt her insides clench at the memory of him, of the not-sleep they had shared last night.
He led her down a dizzying number of turns and twists in the dark. Rose held his hand and tried to keep up, but quickly lost all sense of direction and orientation and finally just followed along behind him blindly. At last, with the morning light shimmering gray and green, he made a short, triumphant crow and stopped abruptly. Rose ran into his backside, having not been paying too much attention when he had stopped. He laughed and squeezed her hand, then spun around and kissed her hard. She opened her mouth in surprise, possibly to say something, and felt his tongue slip between her lips, erasing the words. She found she didn't mind much. Her arms came up around his neck and she felt his hands on her waist. He tilted his head and found a different angle, tasting, soft licking, warm and soft and wet and Rose forgot that it was too early, that she hadn't slept more than a couple of hours, that he had dragged her out of a warm bed in the dark.
When he released her, she protested and tried to kiss him again, but he carefully pushed her back and grinned again. "Sorry," he said, "forgot what I was about. It's almost time."
"Time for what?" she asked, hopelessly confused.
His smile was serene, confident, and oh-so-slightly Doctorishly mocking. "Wait and see," he said slyly. His hand found hers again and she threaded her fingers between his.
Rose took a moment to study their surroundings. In the growing light, she could see outlines of trees around her, the familiar tall forms of pines bare at the ground and to a point just over her head, and then the increasing branches and needles and cones. They stood on a little rise, with a vista free of trees before them. In the distance, the landscape faded away, but she guessed they were overlooking the river, as most vantage points around here seemed to focus in that direction. A soft rustling in the underbrush moved and then became a gray, bold bird, cocking its head from one side to another and studying her carefully. It whistled low and sweet and to her surprise, the Doctor whistled back, a few quick notes. The bird puffed up to impress its rival and called a twitter-twitter-tweet, to which the Doctor responded with a swift series of whistles. The bird fluttered its wings once and flapped away, disappearing into the uneven light of dawn.
"What was that?" she asked, curiously.
"Had to tell him you were already taken." His hand tightened in hers and she glanced at him. His eyes were dancing and the laugh lines at the corner of his eyes were furrowed in amusement.
"I dunno," she said, thoughtfully. "He did have an awfully nice voice."
"So do I," responded the Doctor, whistling again. She broke apart into helpless laughter and sagged against his side, their hands firmly joined. She let her head fall onto his shoulder and he turned to kiss her forehead. Nothing has changed, though Rose, except for everything. He's still my daft Doctor.
"What are we looking for?" she asked after a time, her head still against his shoulder.
"That," he said, pointing. She followed his finger and saw the dawn light filtering into the sky, casting a gentle glow across yes, the river, and the grasses beyond. A line of clouds ran parallel to the horizon, low and thick. Above them, vast fingers of mist and fog billowed into the sky, looking like cotton and candy floss and everything delicate and lacy. The light intensified and Rose saw the first of what the Doctor had brought her for, a line of shimmering gold at the lower edge of the clouds. As they stood and watched, the sky above changed from gray to green to blue and pink, with roiling copper light building from the rising sun. The sun (mine? Rose wondered) emerged from the horizon shyly, letting the vast sunrise storm of color and light above it play out. Colors as intense as her imagination flooded the world, copper and hot pink and shining white and gold, and Rose's breath caught at the sudden beauty of it. A few moments ago, the world had been shadowed, gray and dark, and she had not imagined this everyday miracle existing.
They held hands and watched the sunrise evolve from pastel to fluorescent to pale to the almost-normal spectrum of color, just with a kinder, pinker glow than she was used to. Rose couldn't speak, just stroked his hand with her thumb and left her heart open for him. His eyes shone when he turned them to her, and she saw the reflections of what they had both shared in their depths. I love you, she could not say. He leaned forward and let his forehead rest against hers, eyes still open and boring into hers. He knows.
She reached into her jeans pocket and fished out her phone, jarring them apart for a moment. "Hold still," she ordered, and he complied, watching her as she pressed a few buttons and aimed the phone at him. She snapped the photo and studied it in the display screen, pleased with the results. She showed him, and he nodded in approval at his own tiny image. "You're so vain," she chided him.
"'You probably think this song is about you,'" he chirped gleefully.
"What song?"
He gave her a disappointed look. "Carly Simon. 'You're So Vain.'" Rose shook her head. "Before your time, I suppose." He sighed and put an arm around her. "Ready to head back?"
Rose nodded and they began to pace off, she hoped in the direction they had come from, as she had no idea which way that was. The walk back didn't take as long as the walk there had, one of those wonderful tricks of time perspective. In front of the little cottage, the Doctor stopped and regarded her carefully. "Need anything from inside?" he asked.
"I don't think so. Where are we going? What are we doing?"
"Breakfast," said the Doctor, and on cue, the bells tolled in the distance. "I'm famished and you ought to eat soon. You need," he said with a wink, "to keep your strength up."
Rose felt a moment's disappointment that he didn't intend to sweep her into his arms and over the threshold of the cottage, back to bed. "Sure you don't need -- anything?"
One eyebrow shot up at her innuendo and then he smiled, a long, alluring, wicked smile that made her toes curl and her breath catch in her throat. "Later," he said, a promise in his voice.Back to index
Chapter 14: Chapter 14
Author's Notes: A short chapter - Rose and Jacob have a talk. The quote in the chapter is from Thomas Merton, reknown Trappist monk.
"I could do with a good nosh up," said the Doctor enthusiastically as they walked, arm in arm, down the path toward the dining hall. They were back, for the moment, to being best mates in search of adventure, and Rose was content to let him natter on about whatever he wanted just to hear him talk, to hear him sound fantastically happy. He kept up a constant commentary about the woods around them, pointing and gesturing at some bright flower emerging shyly from the leafy underbrush or a particularly intriguing (for him) rock formation. He chattered on about igneous versus sedimentary rock formation and Rose grinned indulgently at him, trying to follow his whirlwind scientific exposition where she could.
They reached the central clearing with predictably immaculate timing ("Time Lord," said the Doctor, with a wink), sweeping into the dining hall along with the monks just out of morning prayers. Rose took an earthenware bowl full of warm, nutty porridge gratefully and dug in with unfeigned enthusiasm. The Doctor eyed his bowl a little wistfully and followed her example.
Back outside, Rose was relieved to see Jacob standing on his own, waiting for them. The Doctor sauntered over, hands in pockets, and gave Jacob a broad grin. "Top of the morning to you," he said exaggeratedly, his eyes wide.
Jacob's smile was slight and wry. "And to you, Doctor. Rose?" He offered her a cheek which she kissed affectionately. "The very best of mornings," he said, with an expansive gesture out into the world.
"You're feeling better, yeah?"
"Absolutely," Jacob responded. "A day of rest does the body good from time to time."
"Back to the chickens," said the Doctor with a laugh.
"Yes," chuckled Jacob. "Back to the chickens. And the two of you?"
Rose felt heat in her cheeks and neck and looked questioningly at the Doctor. "Rambling about," he said amiably. "I thought I'd take Rose down to see the old ruin today."
Jacob nodded in approval. "A good day for it." He glanced up, seeing the bright morning sky through the trees overheard. "Take something with you," he instructed the Doctor. "It's a good distance and you'll want some lunch." The Doctor agreed and slipped back inside the hall, leaving Rose, suddenly self-conscious, alone with Jacob. "You both look well this morning," he observed.
Rose flushed and looked away, not wanting Jacob to see her embarrassment. "We've been talking," she mumbled, not meeting his eyes.
Jacob reached out and took one of her hands in both of his. "Rose, dear," he said, with tenderness, "You have nothing to be ashamed of. I said before that there is a lightness in his step that I have not seen in many years. You bring that to him. And he brings joy to you as well." His leathery, well-worn hands caressed hers.
"He does," she whispered.
"I know it. And I see the progression of that joy each day." He paused, studying her face intently, his open blue gaze gentle yet probing. "Rose. I am a monk. I have withdrawn from many aspects of life and am an observer of the world, not a participant. A very wise man once said that 'Love is our true destiny. We do not find the meaning of life by ourselves alone -- we find it with another.' I have found my meaning with God. You, I think, have come to that same meaning through the Doctor." She looked away, unable to bear his close scrutiny. "There is no need for guilt, my dear. Have you not pledged yourself to him, forsaking all others?"
She looked back at him, completely taken aback. He waited, his aged face eternally patient and kind. At last, she nodded.
"And he has done the same for you. I have encouraged both of you to seize the moment and love your life passionately, every day. It would be unjust for me to disapprove when you found that love in one another."
"How do you know these things?" asked Rose, dumbfounded.
Jacob's laugh rang out, and the rich, sweet sound cascaded over Rose, leaving her unable to stop the quick smile from her own lips. "I know because I study, and I read, and I watch. I know because I have devoted my whole life to the service of love, Rose. That is what I do here, at least," he twinkled merrily at her, "when I am not feeding chickens."
The Doctor, strolling back out of the hall, caught the last bit of the conversation. "On and on about the chickens! Jacob, we need to find you a hobby."
Match-making, thought Rose, still smiling broadly to make her lips ache. A mad, meddling, match-making monk. And how she loved him, too.Back to index
Chapter 15: Chapter 15
Author's Notes: Definitely longer than the last chapter and admittedly low on plot movement, but again, I think we need some illustration of the good times that Rose and the Doctor share, rather than just glossing over them.
Jacob had understated the "good distance" to the ruin, Rose thought after a good hour or more of walking briskly through the forest. She would have used the word "hiking" to describe their activity, but walking hand in hand with the Doctor, clad in his usual long coat and Chuck Taylors, seemed too lovely an activity to saddle with an outdoorsy connotation. Rose couldn't stop smiling, feeling the warmth of the sun filtering absently down through the tall pines onto her head and shoulders and the strong grip of the Doctor's hand in hers. She occasionally broke into a skip, tugging him along with her, laughing and jubilant. His hair bobbed up and down as they moved in unison. When had he last been so unabashedly open and joyful with her, she wondered. His delight at showing her the world was strangely childlike, for all his centuries of experience. He would present her with a new sight, a new taste or experience, and watch her face for her reaction, his eyes bright with expectation. She loved showing him her own wonder at his offering, seeing her own astonishment mirrored in him. Hers for the novelty itself; his for, she thought, her reaction.
The green forest around them radiated life and palpable energy. Rose stopped counting animals, including innumerable birds, a few squirrels, a rabbit, and one, hauntingly lovely mottled doe who looked straight at Rose before turning tail and leaping off into the trees. The metronomic crunch, crunch, crunch of their shoes on the leaf litter below provided a low undertone to the harmony of the bright trills of birdsong and the chatter of insects.
"How much further?" Rose asked.
"Not more than, oh," the Doctor squinted into the distance and then up at the steadily rising sun, "another few minutes, if we keep up this pace. In a hurry?"
"Nope," she replied. "Just thinking about sitting down, is all."
"Not too long, then."
They continued walking, hands clasped. Rose let her mind wander freely, thinking about all that had transpired between the Doctor and her and Jacob's unforeseen blessing of their new couplehood.
"Penny for your thoughts," interrupted the Doctor. Rose murmured something indistinct and tried to shrug it off. "Oh no," he said, eyes wide in mockery at her. "Don't shut me out, remember?"
"That's you," she said, caught squarely in her own trap.
"Fair's fair," he deadpanned, not batting an eyelash. "You made me talk, remember?"
"I was thinking about Jacob, if you want to know."
This, for whatever reason, did seem to surprise the Doctor. "Our chicken-tending friend?"
"Yeah. He said," she stopped, and flushed, glanced over at him, still watching her with one eyebrow carefully raised and amusement lighting his face. "He figured it out."
"It?"
"Us," she said, suddenly self-conscious.
"Ah," he pronounced, drawing out the word in all apparent seriousness, except that she knew very well that he wasn't in the slightest bit serious. "And that troubles you, does it?"
"Sort of, yeah," she mumbled.
The Doctor's hand tightened in hers and he swung their joined hands in an arc between them. "It's the religious guilt thing, isn't it?" He sighed. "He's a monk, not heartless. I told you when we first talked about him that he's one of the least judgmental humans I've ever met. Really, least judgmental person of any species. Didn't you believe me?"
Rose shrugged again. "I guess I thought ... well, with him being a monk and all, that he might not appreciate," oh, I am not having this conversation! "Might not approve of, well, sex."
The Doctor's mouth tightened and Rose thought for a fleeting moment that he might be angry, but then she looked in his eyes and realized he was holding back laughter. His mouth worked with effort. "Just because he's celibate," he started, then gave up and dissolved into peals of laughter. Rose smacked him in the stomach, a little harder than she meant to, and he stopped laughing with an "ooof!" and a wounded look at her. "No need to get violent." Rose muttered something about violence under her breath and he swept her into a quick, tight hug. "Sorry for teasing, really. I just was surprised you'd get a complex about Jacob, that's all."
"I don't have a complex."
"Mmm," he said, doubtfully. "Sounded like a complex to me. Sex, religion, guilt, oh my. Next thing you know we'll start talking about your mother." A horrified look crossed his face as soon as the words left his mouth. "Wait, I really, and I mean, really really really, didn't mean to bring her up."
Rose pulled away and began walking again. "Sounds like a mother complex," she giggled. "Want to ask her for her blessing?" Thunderstruck, the Doctor couldn't even form words for a rebuttal. "I think we can move on past the guilt issues, yeah?"
"Yeah," agreed the Doctor, much chastened.
With impeccable timing ("Time Lord," thought Rose with a smirk), they arrived at the ruin. The trees opened up abruptly and they stood overlooking a low valley, covered with grass and dark, irregularly spaced and shaped lines. In parts, the lines swept upward into crumbling walls or pillars, separating the space out into what must have once been rooms. Rose tilted her head and tried to make sense of what she saw. The Doctor, seeing her interest, jumped in to explain.
"It's the original monastery," he said. "They abandoned it about three hundred years ago for the newer site."
Rose glanced over at him. "But the buildings aren't that old."
"No, they've mostly been repaired and rebuilt, getting updated piecemeal as the years went by. A bad fire, a rickety building, and it makes sense to put up a new one on top of the old foundation. Here, they just moved the whole monastery." He pointed at one end of the valley. "That was the original church. See the large open space that would have been in between those two walls?" Rose nodded. "And there, that's the old library. Lots of narrow hallways between rooms filled with books." Another gesture. "Sleeping quarters, mostly communal, and then the outbuilding that was kitchen and dining hall. They kept that separate and at a distance from the other buildings in case of fire, same as today."
"That's why the library's on the other end of the valley? In case of fire?"
"Point to you, Rose! Yes, the books would have been the most precious possessions -- well, still are! Want to take a closer look?" Rose nodded and they started down the hill toward the buildings. As they approached, she saw the lines that had appear to be so slight gain size and breadth and morph into true walls, some taller than the Doctor.
She reached out one hand and touched a line of ancient brick, crumbling and rough under her fingers. Lichen and moss grew abundantly in the shade, adding a velvet texture to the brick background. Plants of every description erupted from broken and shifted stone floor. A pine tree, shorter than its forest brethren but still graceful and tall, leaned away from a stairway leading eight or nine steps into the air and then dissolving into piles of brick and stone. The Doctor seated himself on the second step and began rummaging in his pockets. He pulled out one, then a second, wrapped packet and offered one to Rose. She joined him on the step and felt the chill of the stone beneath her radiating into her backside. She scooted closer to the Doctor and took the packet from him. He placed his in his lap and then produced two amber bottles from his pockets. He fiddled with the sonic screwdriver for a moment and the bottle cap popped off with a hiss of carbonation. He handed it to her and repeated the process on the other bottle.
"Beer?" said Rose, incredulously. "What else do you have in those pockets?"
"Supplies," he said, ambiguously. "Another monastery makes fantastic lager, and they trade with this group. I know a monk who knows a monk who got me a couple of bottles."
"Jacob?"
"Tomas, actually," he said with a grin. "Jacob wouldn't approve." She gave him an exasperated look (what complex?) and he relented. "I'm joking, Rose. Jacob likes his brew. He just didn't give these to me."
Rose took a drink and decided it was quite nice, sharp and refreshing after a long walk. She set the bottle down next to her foot and unwrapped the packet, finding a brown bread and cucumber sandwich with some sort of herb spread, an apple, and a hard-boiled egg. She began peeling the shell off her egg.
"Nice picnic?" he asked, between mouthfuls of sandwich.
"Quite," she said, happily. They ate in companionable silence for a time, hungry again after their morning exercise. All I have done here, thought Rose, is talk, eat, and sleep. She blushed. Well, most of what I've done here.
The Doctor, predictably, caught her blushing but didn't call her on it this time. When she finished, he took her eggshell, crumbled it into small bits, and piled them neatly on a nearby part of the wall with the shell bits from his egg. "Shouldn't we clean up?" she asked.
"Everything else, yes. The eggshells stay. Birds will eat them."
"Birds eat eggshells?" said Rose in some confusion.
"Absolutely. Great source of calcium. Female birds need a lot of calcium to produce eggshells, and what better source?"
After their meal, he tucked his apple into a coat pocket, secreting it away like a squirrel with a nut. Rose considered her erratic mealtimes over the last day and handed him her apple for later, which also disappeared easily into another of those seemingly bottomless pockets.
"Where do you keep all that stuff?" she asked, breaking down after he had carefully shaken out the last drops of beer from his bottle and addied that to a pocket for, presumably, later recycling.
"Bigger on the inside," he winked.
"Oh, you're kidding me," she groaned.
"Want to take a look?" He opened his coat suggestively, like a flasher.
"You're a nutter."
"But never boring," he said smugly. She rolled her eyes and finished her beer, handing him the bottle without comment and watching as it, too, disappeared into a pocket. "So," he said, putting emphasis on the word, "do you?"
"Do I what?"
"Want a look?" He leaned down and caught her open mouth in a kiss. He tasted of lager, not unpleasantly.
Rose pulled back slightly, still so close that she couldn't focus on his face, and said, questioningly, "Here? Outside?"
The Doctor's nose gently rubbed against her cheek and his words were a light breath on her skin. "It's just us, Rose. If you're not comfortable, that's all right."
"I'm not," she said, a little shyly, "but I think maybe I could get over it."Back to index
Chapter 16: Chapter 16
Author's Notes: A couple of author's notes. This chapter is most emphatically adult, and R.
1. ivydoor, I had planned the coat stuff before your comments, but cheers, this one's for you. :)
2. For reviewer amaranthaseven at Teaspoon, yes, there's al fresco sex here.
3. Absolutely, positively, zero Jacob in this chapter. Rose would have died. And so, despite his fairly liberal views on romance, would have Jacob.
The Doctor was laughing at her. Not with her. Definitely at her. His wide, manic grin forced his eyes to narrow and furrow up a thousand little laugh lines at the corners. He had one hand resting on his stomach, slightly bent over.
Rose, to reuse a phrase, was not amused.
"Outside?" she had said, incredulously, and then everything had gone rapidly downhill over the last several minutes.
"I suppose," he said, recovering himself somewhat and straightening to beam into her aghast face, "we'd better restrict amorous activities to somewhere with four walls and a roof. And the lights definitely off. Would you turn your stuffed animals around so they wouldn't see anything naughty?"
Rose drew a breath and counted to ten. Twice.
"I forget, I am sorry, I really am." His face cleared and he made a visible effort to shake off his amusement, even wagging his head twice from side to side for good measure. "Lie on your back and think of England. It'll be fine." He burst into laughter again and covered his face with his hands.
"Are you quite done?" she said, a hint of ice in her voice.
"I am. I am." He stepped over to her, where she had backed away and out of his embrace earlier, and put one arm around her waist. "Rose, really, I'm sorry."
"You're not, either," she told him, not a bit mollified.
He kissed her forehead, right between her eyes, and then tilted his head forward so his own forehead rested against the top of her head. Again, his nose gently rubbed at her.
"You never even talked about sex before yesterday," Rose said into the space between them. "I'm having a little trouble adjusting."
"Sure we did," he said, his voice a rumble against her. "Dancing, Jack, all that."
"Now you're laughing at me."
At that, he wound both his arms around her and pulled her close, her head sliding to one side and coming to rest against his shoulder. He whispered lightly into her ear. "You delight me. I can't help it." His lips moved close and he delicately nibbled on her exposed ear. "You started it, anyway."
"Very mature. 'You started it,'" she mimicked.
"Mmm," the Doctor agreed easily, touching his tongue to her earlobe and then gently nipping. Rose's eyes drifted closed and she simply enjoyed the feel of the warm sun on her back, the light breeze tracing through her hair, the Doctor's exploring mouth on her ear. She couldn't stay mad, or embarrassed, not with him so happy and wanting to be close to her. She leaned up and met his lips with hers. For a long moment, they brushed lightly against each other, noses and lips and breath and tongues.
Her hands roamed up his chest and unfastened a few buttons, slipping inside his shirt to touch bare skin and soft hair. He fumbled and loosened his tie, letting it hang open around his neck. "You're daft," she said, just a whisper away from his open mouth. "Who wears a tie to go hiking?"
"You like it," he teased. She resumed her work with the buttons and pulled his shirt untucked from his trousers, leaving it on him under his jacket and coat and hanging down loosely around him. He focused his attention on her neck, moving his lips against her sensitive skin and playing lightly with his tongue. When his mouth moved away, she felt the cool of the air against moistened skin and shivered, burrowing closer against him.
"What do we do now?" she asked, hesitant.
The Doctor's face came into focus, eyebrows raised. "Oh, I thought you had that part figured out already," he said, smiling. He assumed his best lecturer's stance and voice and began. "You see, when a boy really, really likes a girl --"
She smacked him on the arm. "I don't mean that, I meant -- where, how, here?" She gestured out amidst the ruin of the ancient buildings, where plants worked tirelessly to reclaim the valley from the bricks and stone.
The Doctor shrugged off his coat and spread it out on the soft grass, then gestured grandly at it with a half bow. "My lady," he intoned. "Your bower."
Rose couldn't resist a smile and settled herself down on top of his coat. Around them, the stairway where they had eaten lunch provided some shade, as did the pine tree tilting at an angle from it. Crumbling or partially collapsed walls stood on three sides, although there was clearly not enough left to support a ceiling or roof, and no evidence of what that roof might have looked like before the building fell to ruin. Through the trees, puffy clouds floated lazily in a stark blue sky.
The Doctor kicked off his trainers and sat next to her, stretching his long legs in front of him, and reached over to kiss her again. Rose didn't want to stop kissing him. She knew the stumbling blocks they had faced in getting to this point, and she couldn't help but feel some regret that they had missed so many chances in their time together. She wouldn't miss another. She suspected that the Doctor felt the same.
He broke the kiss long enough to slip her shirt over her head and make short work of her bra, then resumed contact. His hands cupped her breasts and fingers mapped out her skin, shoulders and collarbone and breasts and belly. She reached up and pushed his jacket and shirt off his shoulders, settling her mouth against his skin and kissing, with precision, each freckle. His hands came up into her hair and she felt his thumbs lightly stroking her ears on each side as she captured a small, taut nipple in her own mouth. His chest tightened against her and she suckled fiercely, feeling him press his fingers more firmly against her scalp. She released and blew out her breath softly against him.
"Rose," he said, drawing out the O in her name as a caress.
She unfastened his trousers and felt him lift his hips to help her tug him out of them. She chuckled at him then, clad in nothing but his socks.
"Laughing at a fellow with his trousers off is not a way to inspire confidence," said the Doctor, offended.
"It's the socks," she giggled.
"And just for that," he said, in mock dignity, "I'm leaving them on. Now, your turn." He helped her off with her jeans and knickers and Rose, still giggling, left her socks on, too.
"I'm a trend setter, as always."
"We might have to run," said Rose. "It's practical."
"Mmm, practical. I like the way you think. Maybe I should put the Chucks on, too?"
"Oh, don't you dare!" She kissed him hard and he responded with equal enthusiasm.
After a few breathless moments, he nudged her onto her back against his coat, her hair spilling out behind her. She spread her legs and tugged him to come down with her, but he remained seated, looking down at her with darkness in his eyes. "You are beautiful," he said, his eyes tracing over her whole form. Rose shivered again and moved to sit up, but he kept one hand on her shoulder. "No, stay," he said, with a question in his voice. He bent down and kissed her, lips moving from her mouth to jaw to throat and neck. He licked softly, stroking her skin with his lips and breathing quietly against her. One hand still rested against her shoulder, fingers moving lightly, and another, just to the side of her neck, braced his weight as he moved. He raised a leg and straddled her, his bare bum resting against her thighs but his weight balanced forward into his knees and hand. His kisses trailed down to her breasts, focusing attention on first one nipple, then the other, then in the valley between. His tongue dipped leisurely into her navel and swirled around, tasting and sampling. He leaned up then, rising on all fours above her, and kissed her hungrily and fully on the mouth. His tongue touched hers and ran along the edge of her teeth. Rose's hands came up and tangled in his hair, pulling him into her. He suckled her tongue and she tried to open her legs, but couldn't with his just outside her thighs.
"Patience," said the Doctor in a low growl. One hand left her hair and she ran it underneath him and gripped him firmly, running her thumb against the tip, feeling his body jerk in response. He made a soft, low moan and backed away, taking her hand in his and bringing it up to his mouth for a kiss. He was back to leaning against her thighs, poised on his knees, but then scooted back and began kissing her chest and belly again. His hands walked down alongside her and Rose let her own find the back of his head again.
When he pressed the ghost of a touch against her thigh with his lips, she shuddered and again felt her legs spread in reflex. This time, the Doctor lifted one of his own up and to the side and let her do so. He licked the crease where her thigh met her body, and helped her hoist one of her legs over his shoulder. Rose had never felt so exposed and so open in her life, naked and spread under the bright blue sky with the fluffy clouds and the crumbling brick walls and the trees and the Doctor's head between her legs. She half sat up and he nipped, sharply, her thigh.
"Ouch," she cried, taken aback.
"Be a good girl then," he said darkly. "No trying to get away."
The blood came to Rose's cheeks as she flushed, and her mouth went dry. She swallowed and tried to lick her lips and moisten her mouth. When the first, light touch of his fingers brushed between her legs, her mouth promptly went dry again and she forgot it was a problem.
Lips and tongue followed fingers and she was lost in the wet pleasure of his exploration. She forced her eyes open, wide open, and saw the dark crown of his head pressed against her, her own leg thrown over his shoulder, with the still sock-clad foot resting on his back. She whimpered and tried not to claw his head with her nails. His fingers stroked rhythmically inside her, curved and full and relentless. His tongue licked up and down, then circles, then fully back and forth, on her clit. The sounds from her throat were feral and incomprehensible, and she rocked her hips against him in defeat.
Rose lost track of time. It could have been minutes, or hours as his tongue and lips and fingers drove her into a frenzy. She forced her lips together, trying not to cry out, feeling the sounds battering in her throat for escape. When she finally came, she opened her mouth and the cry came out. "Doctor," once, strangled, blurted out in her moment of ecstasy.
He released her gently, folding her leg back down, watching her chest heave as she struggled to regain some measure of control, and sat back onto his haunches. His wicked lips curved in a knowing, wicked smile, still gleaming wetly as he looked at her. He carefully licked his lips, once, and Rose's mouth hung open, words deserting her, at the sight of his tongue appearing from between those lips.
In a moment, he covered her whole body with his and she opened her legs for him, feeling his erection press against her thigh where he had nipped her earlier. She wiggled her hips upward, and he shifted forward to sink deeply into her. She sucked in a breath -- his breath -- and kissed him frantically as she moved her hips against him. He groaned and leaned forward, bracing his weight on his elbows and forearms, and pounded against her. Last night, his movements had been controlled, even as he moved within her, but today, in the daylight, his need was undeniable and Rose felt the slap, slap of his body against hers and his driving breath as he gasped. She threw her head back and felt him suck hard on the exposed skin on one shoulder, the brief pain disappearing in the fog of pleasure.
He straightened his back as if he had been whipped and pushed deeply into her, let her name cascade in a long, low stream from his lips as he came. Rose watched his face contort in passion, all the laugh lines forced down into agony and pleasure and his mouth open in a wide O. She loved his face, loved this face too.
He released and his head flopped forward, his face damp with sweat against her shoulder. Rose drew in a shaky breath, then kissed the side of his head gently.
Rose wouldn't have asked him to move except for the fact that she was becoming increasingly aware that, in fact, his coat was not a soft mattress. Below her, a rock stuck uncomfortably into her bottom, and the ground was seeping cold into her bare back. "Doctor," she said, softly, into his ear. He made a mumble in response but didn't move a muscle. "Doctor," she said again, and heaved up her shoulder a bit. "I need to get up. There's a rock sticking me. I think it's a rock, anyway."
"Probably a brick," he muttered indistinctly against her shoulder. "Or a stone from the building." He didn't move.
"It's poking me," she said. He sighed, a little sadly, and shifted off her, again sitting back on his haunches. Rose sat up too, feeling a little stiff for being on the ground, although she wasn't going to voice a complaint. She felt a vague, buzzing, lazy pleasure filtering through her blood and ran a hand through her now messy hair. She reached for her shirt, but the Doctor grabbed her wrist. "Not yet," he said with a wink. "I'm enjoying the view."
Rose harrumphed. "I got that. I'm just wondering who else might, too."
"Oh come on," he protested. "I was pretty well covering you up most of the time, wasn't I?" Rose blushed again and did put on her bra and shirt, then slid into her knickers and jeans. The Doctor still sat back, naked but for his socks, watching her. "I'll have to take you to a clothing-optional planet," he mused thoughtfully. "I would very much like to sketch you again."
Rose looked up. "Naked?"
"Well, yes. I've got quite a good one of you with your clothes on." He winked. "Now, tell me, that wasn't so bad, was it?"
"It was," she looked at the fluffy clouds, one of which looked suspiciously like a teddy bear, "fantastic."
He grinned widely. "Did you think, even once," he said, in a husky, teasing voice, "of England?"Back to index
Chapter 17: Chapter 17
Author's Notes: Oh, the creative mind is all a flitter this fantastic weekend. It is absolutely gorgeous outside and between running around wildly outside and staring in delighted happiness at blooming azaleas (blooming azaleas! it is spring), I have been writing like mad.
They spent the rest of the afternoon exploring the ruins, at least, after Rose had persuaded the Doctor that he should wear more than just his socks and trainers to do so. She wasn't entirely sure if he was teasing or not, but the idea of him clambering atop half collapsed walls in the altogether made her nervous. "What about sunburn?" she had asked, eyeing his pale, freckled skin.
"Not a problem," he answered sagely.
"Got some sunscreen in one of your pockets, then?"
At that, with another mutter about laughing at a naked man not being at all polite, he had clambered into his clothes and fastened his tie with a puppy-dog look at her. She planted a wet kiss on the end of his nose in response.
"Minx," he said, affectionately, and offered her his hand, which she took willingly.
His explanations about building styles, masonry, carpentry, and a dozen other topics provided a constant soundtrack to the day, with Rose occasionally following along enough to ask a question. When she did, he was invariably delighted and gave her a more detailed explanation than she probably wanted. This is what he does, she thought good-naturedly. He rattles.
He stopped abruptly and pulled the sketch pad out of a pocket, earning a curious look from Rose, and sketched some of the walls and lines of the buildings. She studied the drawings over his shoulder, not sure what he saw in one fairly unremarkable brick column in particular. When she asked about it, he traced a series of four-sided shapes in the air in front of the column and the wall before it. "Just a coincidence, I'm sure," he said. "When it was built, the architect deliberately used the golden ratio for several rectangles in the church and other buildings here. Now, it's fallen apart, but it just caught my eye that its remaining parts are also composed of golden rectangles. A little touching, that the original aesthetic sense of the architect is still evident in the ruin."
"Golden what?"
"Golden ratio, golden rectangles." He squatted and drew a line in the earth with his finger. "Now this line, here, is composed of two parts, a and b. Follow?" Rose nodded. "The ratio of part a to part b is the same as the whole line is to part a. That's a golden section, this line. The golden ratio is the formula for the relationship, usually represented by the Greek letter phi." He wrinkled his nose. "In a golden rectangle -- that's what I saw here -- the ratio of the longer side is to the shorter side is the golden ratio. There's a lot of debate as to whether the Greeks and others intentionally used it in their architecture or whether they just stumbled across some geometry that happened to be pleasing to the eye." He winked. "I might have more information, but that would be telling."
"You told the Greeks about the golden ratio," said Rose, a little more than slightly confused.
"I didn't say that," said the Doctor cautiously, looking around as if for eavesdroppers, and stood, wiping over the line with one foot. "I'll just say that the human brain is programmed to see the golden ratio as aesthetically pleasing. You look for it in faces, bodies, art, buildings. Actually, you're not the only species that's true for, which is quite interesting in and of itself. And, the ratio pops up in plant life, solar system formation, and a lot of other unlikely places. Geometry seems to be a more universal language than physics, and much more so than that crazy Esperanto your people came up with." He winced. "The TARDIS refuses to translate Esperanto, did you know that? I had to learn it myself once to keep a mining colony from being destroyed."
"How long did that take you?" Rose smiled at him.
"One minute, forty-eight seconds."
"No," gasped Rose in mock horror. "Almost two whole minutes?"
"I hadn't had breakfast." He shrugged. "I'm not always at my best."
She laughed and swung into his arms, causing him to drop the sketch pad and pencil. "Oi," he protested. "Now it's got dirt on it. Have you no respect for art?" He released her and retrieved the items in question, exaggeratedly brushing the pad off and giving her a stern look. "Miss Tyler," he said. "You're in for it now."
"Oh?"
He put the pad and pencil away and leaped toward her, turning her back against him, wrapping one arm around her, and ticking her with the other while he mock-growled into her ear. She shrieked and wiggled. He gripped her fiercely. "Apologize!"
"Never!" He retaliated with more tickling until she refused to stand up, letting her knees go weak and pulling at his arms. He let go all at once and she dropped unceremoniously onto the ground with a thud, jarring her teeth together. "Ow," she said. The Doctor was immediately on one knee beside her, searching her face and body for any sign of obvious injury. He looked genuinely worried and Rose laughed to reassure him. "I'm fine, I'm fine," she said. "And I'm sorry I made you drop your pad."
He helped her to her feet and brushed the dirt from her bottom with considerable care. She picked a few leaves out of her hair. "Apology accepted," he chirped brightly. She gave him a wondering look. "Are you hungry?"
Rose started to make a witty rejoinder about his constant need to talk or have something in his mouth, but she remembered their encounter this morning and thought she couldn't go another round with him on sexual innuendo. "Sure," she said.
He rummaged through his pockets. "Apples are around here somewhere. Oh, look, Rose!" He pulled out a metal spring with a few wires hanging off one end. "I've been looking for that for ages. Ah, here are the apples." She took one apple from him and watched him tuck the mystery part back in a pocket, wondering if he'd ever find it again. He crunched happily into his apple. Rose held the stem between her thumb and forefinger and twirled the apple around several times before it came loose with a pop. She gave the stem to the Doctor, just to see what he'd do, and he did indeed put it in his pocket, although a different one than the apples had come from.
"Is that the dustbin pocket, then?"
"Nope," he said. "Biological samples." He reached in and pulled out several green, waxy leaves. She looked at them, perplexed. "You saw me pick them," he reminded her. "When we first arrived." She still looked blank. "Camellia japonica, for comparison to camellia sinensis. Don't you remember?"
"Oh, right. I didn't think you were still carrying them around."
"Absolutely. I haven't had time to run any tests yet."
She ate her apple and regarded him. He held the camellia leaves in one hand and the apple in the other, and studied the leaves between bites. He seemed to come to some conclusion and tucked the leaves back into the pocket.
"What are you going to do with the apple stem?" she asked, curiosity finally getting the better of her.
"Toss it," he said, with a grin. She snorted. "What? It's not like I haven't studied an apple before. Really, Rose, you need to think these things through before you ask."
"I thought there were no stupid questions."
"Oh, I never said that. There certainly are stupid questions. And stupid question-askers, too, although you aren't one of them. That was just a poorly thought out question. If you'd met me just after I had eaten my first apple, and asked about an apple stem, I would have responded quite differently. So not a stupid question, just a few centuries too late to be meaningful."
Rose was taken by a curious thought, and wondered if this would be a stupid question. "Could I meet you then? I mean, a younger you."
"Not a good idea at all," said the Doctor. "Causality, all that. What if I recognized you later when we met at the shop? Catastrophe."
"Reapers?" she asked tentatively.
"Nah," he said, "nothing so serious as that, but a paradox that I'd prefer not to have to unravel. Besides, I don't think you would have liked that particular version of me very much."
"I liked the last version of you."
It was his turn to snort. "And that proves there's no accounting for taste. Those ears, the angst, what in the universe were you thinking?"
"I thought you were funny." She smiled. "And sweet."
"Only a little, and I'll thank you not to mention that in public."
She hugged him tightly. He dropped his mostly eaten apple with a thump and wound his arms around her. "I like you now, too," she said, her eyes suddenly stinging.
"I know," he responded, nuzzling her neck. "I like you, too." A pause. "Even if you laugh at me when I'm naked."
"You laughed first."
"No, I laughed at your prudish human sensibilities about sex, not at your body. Never ever at that. I think I said a number of rather flattering things about your body. Actually, I know I did. And then you laughed at me."
Rose kissed his cheek. "I laughed at the socks. Your body," she hesitated. "Well, you're very attractive."
He sniffed imperiously. "That all you have to say?"
"Foxy, even."
"You're not the one who said that."
"Do you have any idea how confusing it was to still miss the other you and want the new you just as badly?" she blurted out all in a rush.
He leaned back and took her face in his hands. "Yes," he said simply. "I saw you struggle and I didn't want to interfere. I thought -- well, I thought it was a bad idea to get involved. We've covered that." He sighed. "Rose, I wanted you before I regenerated and I wanted you after, just differently. It's hard to explain. The body's different, the mind is different, but it's still me underneath, just with new likes and dislikes and quirks. But I came into this body wanting you and that's never changed."
"Same here," she said.
He smiled a little knowing smile. "I didn't see much evidence of that at the start. You seemed quite eager to get the old me back."
"I thought -- I thought you were dead."
"I should have told you about it before," he said. "It's not the first time someone has reacted badly to my regenerating." The unspoken and it won't be the last hung in the air between them. "I scared you and I could have made it easier. I'm sorry for that."
"Apology accepted," she said softly. He kissed her tenderly on the lips, and for a moment she almost remembered the kiss she had shared with the other him, the golden light and the music.
"We ought to be heading back soon," he said, some regret in his words. "We've got a long walk and should be back before dark. Jacob would worry."
"Mmm," she said, not moving, and truthfully, leaning closer into his embrace.
"You're not helping," he said. "This was quite a lovely place to spend an afternoon but I for one don't fancy spending the night here. For one thing, it's going to rain. For another, as you so delicately pointed out to me earlier, this coat of mine doesn't make a great bed."
Rose had to agree, and they ambled off in the direction of the new monastery, hand in hand.
"So," she asked, "why did they move from this site to the new one? I mean, if you said they had been rebuilding on the new site for so long, why not just do it there?"
"Water," said the Doctor. "There was a bad storm that drove a great deal of salt water inland, and for several years, they ended up having to trek miles out of the way to get fresh water. When there was a fire here, it made much more sense to rebuild nearer a reliable source of water than to do it here and end up hauling so much."
"Makes sense."
"Monks are generally quite practical. Well, except for the whole belief in a higher power and an afterlife."
Rose rolled her eyes at him. "Don't be rude."
"It was a compliment! I said 'practical,' didn't I? And the faith, it's a nice dream, but a dream." He squeezed her hand. "I can think of worse failings to have."
"Obviously, or Jacob wouldn't be your friend."
"Honestly," said the Doctor, "I'm not quite sure why he puts up with me. I unloaded several lifetimes' worth of angst on him in my last visit and refused to talk about any of it, for one. There's also that time when he was at university -- well, that's another story."
"Oh, tell it," said Rose.
The Doctor shook his head. "Not today. Maybe another day. I was rather a cad, and I am rather enjoying your flattery, at least when you're not laughing at me."
Rose laughed. The Doctor, smiling, took it in stride.Back to index
Chapter 18: Chapter 18
They reached the dining hall in time for dinner and ate with enthusiasm after their day spent al fresco. I am eating again, thought Rose with amusement. Afterward, sitting outside on the bench in front of the dormitory, Jacob wanted to hear all about the ruin, which he had not visited in years. Rose steadfastly ignored the twinkle in the Doctor's eyes as he filled Jacob in on a somewhat edited version of the day's events, and showed him the sketches he had made.
They talked together about geometry and golden ratios and building styles and Rose tried not to laugh, as the two men had forgotten her existence completely. The Doctor's hand was in the small of her back, and he leaned across her to talk animatedly to Jacob, who sat on her opposite side. Rose suppressed a giggle at the thought that the Doctor had more in common with the monk than he did with her mum. He'll thank me not to bring that up.
When the bells tolled for the final prayers of the day, Jacob smiled at both of them and excused himself. He stopped after several paces and looked back at the two figures on the bench. "Doctor, Rose," he said. "You are, as always, welcome to join us."
Rose looked at the Doctor and he shook his head but patted her on the back. "Go if you want, Rose, you don't have to ask me. Thank you, Jacob, but I'll wait here. I would like to talk again before you head off for the night."
She hesitated for only a brief moment before standing and walking toward Jacob. "I'd love to, thanks," she said. She cast a glance back at the Doctor, who was watching her with a tender smile.
She followed Jacob and the others inside the small church and seated herself in the middle row of pews on what she assumed from her previous visit was the visitor's side. Jacob's bald head quickly disappeared in the midst of the other bald, bearded men and she smiled to think of him once again firmly ensconced in the middle of his brotherhood, celebrating what he held most sacred.
Quiet descended within the large room, with the only sounds the soft rustle of cloth as men shifted in their seats and the crackle of several candles in sconces on the wall, the only light provided. The light was gentle and kind, warm and alluring, enfolding the darkness rather than trying to drive it away. Rose sat as still as she could, trying to breathe quietly, and waited for them to begin.
As before, a monk stood and moved to the front of the group, carrying an open book and addressing the gathered crowd.
"O God, come to my aid," he said, his voice filling the room and enfolding the silence as the flickering candles did the dark, and Rose realized with a start that it was Jacob.
"O Lord, make haste to help me," the others responded.
"Glory be to the Father and to the Son and to the Holy Spirit, as it was in the beginning, is now, and ever shall be, world without end." Jacob's musical voice, so familiar and beloved, always gentle in his speech to Rose, rang out with the force of inner conviction.
Rose smiled, and spoke with the others in one voice. "Amen. Alleluia."
They sang, the words unfamiliar to her but as before instilled a sense of longing and belonging in her that surprised her with its force. When they finished, Jacob read from Psalms, "The Wedding of the King."
"My heart cries out on a joyful theme:
I will tell my poem to the king,
my tongue like the pen of the swiftest scribe.
You have been given more than human beauty,
and grace is poured out upon your lips,
so that God has blessed you for ever.
Strap your sword to your side, mighty one,
in all your greatness and splendour.
In your splendour go forth, mount your chariot,
on behalf of truth, kindness and justice.
Let your right hand show you marvels,
let your arrows be sharp against the hearts of the king’s enemies
— the peoples will fall before you.
Your throne is firm, O God, from age to age,
your royal sceptre is a sceptre of justice.
You love uprightness, hate injustice
— for God, your God has anointed you
with the oil of gladness, above all your companions.
Myrrh and aloes and cassia anoint your garments.
From ivory palaces the sound of harps delights you.
In your retinue go the daughters of kings.
At your right hand, the queen is adorned with gold of Ophir.
Glory be to the Father and to the Son and to the Holy Spirit,
as it was in the beginning, is now, and ever shall be,
world without end.
Amen."
The readings went on, and the words washed over Rose, who was content to listen to Jacob's voice and the response of his brothers. At the end, they concluded with words they had spoken times too numerous to count:
"Lord, keep your family always in your care. Our only hope is in your divine grace: keep us always under your protection," Jacob said.
"Through our Lord Jesus Christ, your Son, who lives and reigns with you in the unity of the Holy Spirit, God for ever and ever. Amen," came the one voice of the others.
Rose waited until the others had left before she stood and followed, finding Jacob seated again on the bench next to the Doctor. She sank down between them and felt the Doctor's arm come around her.
"What did you think?" asked Jacob.
"It was -- beautiful," she said. "I thought so before, when I went while you were sick. You sounded so," she paused, wanting to select the precise word to describe him, but failing and shaking her head with a laugh. "I liked it," she finished lamely.
Jacob nodded thoughtfully, no ridicule or amusement evident on his lined face. "I am glad. You are welcome any time, whether I am there or not."
"But you will be, yeah?"
He smiled serenely. "Until the Lord calls me home, I will."
The Doctor cleared his throat and then looked guilty. "Sorry, didn't mean to interrupt." Rose nudged him with her shoulder. "I wanted to let you know," he stopped and glanced at Rose, some trepidation visible on his face. "Well, we should probably be heading on," he finished, still watching Rose. "Is that all right, Rose?"
She felt a sinking in the pit of her stomach and summoned a smile as bright as she could muster. "Yeah, sure. I mean, we'll come back, right?"
His eyes didn't leave hers and she tried to read the expression in them, and failed. "If you want," he said. "We can go anywhere, remember?"
"Time machine," she laughed hollowly. Their days here had been poignant and timeless, in a way that even their travels in time had never been. Like a honeymoon, she thought. Now it's time to go back to the real world.
"We don't have to," said the Doctor, backtracking abruptly.
Jacob leaned in and interjected himself between them. "You are welcome to stay, and I will be sad to see you go." He stood and placed one wrinkled hand on Rose's head, then on the Doctor's. "Be well until morning. I will see you then." He turned and entered the dormitory, the door closing with a soft thud behind him.
Rose looked at the Doctor, who ran a hand through his hair nervously. "Sorry," he said. "I shouldn't have just sprung that on you like that."
"It's all right," she said slowly. "We can't stay forever."
His fingers stroked her arm and he pulled her closer against his side, still watching her with some concern. He considered something very hard and then said quickly, "We could stay, if you want." Rose shrugged, and the Doctor's look of unease grew. "I mean we could just stay."
"How long?"
His eyes searched hers, and he seemed to find the answer he wanted there. "Forever," he responded quietly.
Rose's eyes widened and her mouth came open in surprise at what he offered. "You?" she said, incredulously. "Forever, in a monastery? I mean, in one place?"
"Your forever," he said, and his smile did not reach his eyes.
"Oh," she said, the realization hitting her in the gut. Until your death do us part. "You don't really want to do that, do you?"
"I will."
"That's not what I asked," she said firmly.
"Pass," he said, with the ghost of a smile.
"There is no 'pass' here," she huffed, trying to suppress her fear and panic. "You have to answer."
"No," he said finally. "I don't have to answer. But Rose, it's not just up to me, is it?"
"I won't put you in a cage," she said fiercely. "I can't make you. I won't."
He leaned in and put his other arm around her, pulling her into his embrace and holding her there. "You don't have to make me do anything, Rose. You just have to ask." There was a quiet sweetness in his voice and she heard his affection, his fear, his love for her, his wanderlust, all bubbling beneath the surface.
"Just tell me we'll come back," she said. "That's all."
"We'll come back," he answered, his words muffled as he spoke into her hair. He kissed her head lightly and then, delicately, her lips.
"Tomorrow, then," she said, and smiled. "Where will we go?"
The Doctor studied her carefully for a moment. "Oh, I don't know," he said lightly. "The sixth moon of Tralaxia, where there are some sunrises that would put even the one we saw this morning to shame. Or maybe Devos, where there is the finest banana sorbet in the universe. What do you want to do?"
"I want to go wherever you go."
That elicited a real smile from him. "That seems a given, now, doesn't it? Good. Tralaxia it is. You'll like it." He winked, once, and waggled his eyebrows playfully. "Pack extra socks."
They stood and walked hand in hand toward the little cottage, not caring who saw or who disapproved.
Back to index
Chapter 19: Chapter 19
Author's Notes: Another love scene. I won't say "smut" for fear of getting fussed at. And, along with sex, some humor.
Before the door of the little cottage, the Doctor put a hand on Rose's shoulder and stopped her. She gave him a questioning look and he grinned, then threw open the door with a resounding bang and hopped back to her. "Ready?" he said. Before she could answer, he scooped her up and carried her into the little cottage, across the threshold.
"Doctor," she laughed, taken aback and breathless. He set her down as delicately as if she were made of porcelain, and closed the door behind them. They regarded each other shyly in the dimming light. The fire crackled in the hearth and Rose shook her head at it. "Who lights the fire?" she asked. "I never see anyone do it, and it's always burning when I come back."
"Fireplace gnomes," said the Doctor seriously.
"You nutter," she giggled.
"No, really, fireplace gnomes. The monks have this sweat shop, you see, in the basement of the dining hall --" She smacked him on the arm, playfully. "All right, then. The gnomes do actually draw a fair wage, but it's a much less compelling story --"
She shut him up with a long, intense kiss. When she released him, a tuft of his hair was standing straight up and he looked a little dazed. "I'm sorry, you were saying?" she teased.
"No idea," he said, and came close to kiss her again. His soft lips worked against hers, gently urging her to open for him, and she felt the warm touch of his tongue. She made a gentle purr of pleasure and pulled at his tie.
"Randy, are we?" He grinned and her and turned to carefully remove his coat and jacket, arranging them with precision on the back of the chair.
"You started it."
"You kissed me first," he protested. "I was completely innocent." He toed off his trainers and socks, dangling one sock with a teasing grin in front of her before folding them neatly atop his shoes.
"Innocent," said Rose. "Hmm. I don't think so." She cupped his bum in her two hands and felt him straighten up, turning to give her a bright smile. "And you kissed me first, unless your memory is failing in your old age."
He turned and began work on his tie. "Let's see. You kissed me here when I was sketching you, and well, there was Cassandra, but I guess I can't really count that, can I?" He winked. "You kiss much better than she did, anyway."
"I'd better. You just stood there like a wet rag anyway."
"So you remember, then."
"Course I do. I was there, just not in control." She mock pranced across the room, thrusting out her bottom in imitation. "Hardly used," she cooed.
"Oi!" said the Doctor, removing his tie and tossing it over the back of the chair without much attention. "I had regenerated days before, and everything was pretty bloody new, if you'll remember."
"How used now?" she asked with a wicked smirk.
"I think you're well aware," he said, pulling her toward him and rolling his hips into hers.
She squeaked and tried to recover her voice. "You kissed me before that," she said unsteadily. He looked at her, momentarily puzzled, and comprehension dawned slowly.
"Yes, I did. I didn't think you remembered."
"Well, I don't, not exactly, just what you told me. And every once in a while," she tilted her head from side to side as if trying to hear a faint sound, "I can remember ... light, and music, and you staring at me with such -- fear."
"I was afraid," he said, his voice cracking. "You were dying, Rose. I told you how that felt." He shuddered. "Do we have to talk about it again?" he pleaded in a higher voice than usual, brown eyes wide and full of reflected firelight and sadness.
"No, we don't," she said, burrowing into him for comfort. "But you started it -- you kissed me first."
His laugh was relieved and abrupt. "So that's what this is about? Who started it?" He kissed her temple. "I did. I came back after you said no the first time."
"I'm glad you did." She hung onto him for dear life.
"Oh, me too," he breathed. "Me, too. Now," he said, settling down to business, "you seem to be wearing entirely too many clothes, and you ought to do something about it."
"Yes, sir!" She saluted, and vaulted past him into the en-suite.
"Where are you going?" he asked, perplexed.
"Bath," she responded, her words echoing across porcelain and corners and into the room with him. "In case you haven't noticed -- and I guess you haven't -- I didn't take a bath this morning and I've been hiking all day. I need soap and bubbles."
"Mmm, bubbles," said the Doctor, stroking his chin thoughtfully. "I could do with some of those myself, now that you mention it."
"Me first!" said Rose, turning on the tap and letting the water run full force into the tub.
"Do we have to take turns?" His freckled face appeared in the doorway, eyebrows raised. "It's a big tub."
"I was thinking of getting some actual bathing done first," she replied, "but I could be persuaded after I get cleaned up if you are still interested."
"Oh, I'm interested. Can I watch?"
She laughed and then realized that he wasn't joking. Of course not. She put aside her modesty and shrugged. After today, what was it to have him watch her in the bath? "Sure, bring the chair in here if you want." The Doctor bounded away and returned with the chair, which he wedged into the tiny room between the toilet and sink. He sat down and looked at her expectantly. "What, you want a show?" He grinned up at her. "Now who's randy?"
"Guilty," he said. "You certainly started that."
Rose couldn't complain, so she gave him a thoughtful look and pulled her shirt off, twirling it over her head and then tossing it with a flourish directly onto the Doctor's expectant face. He spluttered and removed it, hair hopelessly ruffled, and Rose removed the remaining bits of her clothing, continuing to throw them at him as she finished. When she tossed her knickers at him, he considered them carefully, took a long sniff, and gave her a wicked, wicked smile. The blood drained from her face. She quickly spun around, turned off the taps, and sank into the hot water up to her neck.
"Not a bad view," said the Doctor contemplatively.
She ducked her head under water and surfaced, wiping her wet hair back from her face. "Hand me those bottles," she asked. He obliged and she poured clear shampoo into her hand, then lathered her hair and scrubbed vigorously. She cut her eyes over at the Doctor, who had leaned back in the chair and was watching her appreciatively.
"That smells good," he said. "I like it better than the other one."
She shouldn't be surprised that he was acquainted with the individual scents of her shampoo. In fact, he probably knew what they tasted like, too. She made a face and ducked back under to rinse the shampoo out. The strands of her hair squeaked cleanly as she pressed the excess water out. She conditioned and applied soap over her various bits, occasionally looking over to see the Doctor's expression. He wore a silly smile, still leaning back, looking for all the world like he was watching telly. Rose had an idea and lifted one long leg out of the water, resting it on the hot water tap and lifting her hips slightly to let as much out of the water as she could. She reached over and retrieved her razor, carefully shaving her leg from ankle to hip and shaking it out between long strokes.
She was inordinately pleased to see the Doctor's mouth hanging open when she glanced over at him. When he saw her looking, he shut it and tried to look casual. She repeated the process on the other leg, trying to hide her amusement over this small victory.
She pulled the stop to start the water draining and stood, letting the water run down her naked body, and reached for a towel. The Doctor said something deeply important and intellectual, along the lines of "guh," and stood, coming over to reach for her. She playfully swatted his hand away. "Your turn," she said, stepping out of the tub and drying herself off. He leaned in to kiss her and she pulled back, shaking her head. "You're a mess. Bath time." He rolled his eyes dramatically and reached for the taps, acknowledging defeat.
She tucked the towel around her, ran a comb through her hair, and settled herself into the chair to watch the show. He was still watching her. Without moving his eyes from hers, he began unbuttoning his shirt, taking his time working his way down. He pulled the shirt out from his trousers and then slid it off. He unfastened his trousers and let the rest fall from him into a pile on the floor. Rose sucked in a breath. He was visibly aroused, and she let her eyes wander all over his body before returning to his face. His expression was enigmatic.
With a voice that shook more than she would have liked to admit, she said quietly, "Foxy. Definitely foxy," and wanted to see him smile, but his expression remained intense. "All right, then, you're magnificent."
Without a word, he turned and settled into the tub, turning off the taps and letting his head fall back. His eyes drifted closed. For several long moments, he didn't move. Rose's breath gradually returned to something approaching normal until she realized that there were waves in the water, rippling back and forth from one end of the tub to the other. She looked back at the Doctor's face, his eyes still closed and face neutral. She half sat up to see what was moving in the water to cause those ripples -- although she thought she already knew -- and he opened his eyes, pinning her with a dark gaze. He sat up, reached for the soap, and began washing his chest and back. He hitched a little forward and Rose heard the pop as the tub began to drain. He quickly washed the rest of his body and rinsed with the draining water, then stood in the tub. "Towel?" he said, standing perfectly still. He was still hard.
Rose realized her mouth was open and stood to hand him a towel. He took it without comment and toweled himself off, then dropped it into the tub. She didn't want to tease him any more. She wanted him, now. She took a few steps toward him, hesitant, and he looked at her with eyes dilated and full of desire for her. She wondered if hers looked the same for him. He stepped out of the tub and met her halfway, crushing her against him. He tugged on her towel and it fell away, leaving her bare, still-damp skin pressed against his, heated and wet from the bath.
"Bed?" she queried against his mouth.
"Don't care," he said. She pulled away and took his hand, guiding him through the doorway out into the other room. The dry heat of the fire was a shock against her damp skin. She stepped backward, searching, and found the bed one step before she expected to, falling backward and landing with a puff of soft mattress beneath her. The Doctor, more gracefully, lowered himself onto her, sliding every inch of his long, lean body against hers, legs and belly and chest and then his mouth, hungry, claiming hers. She whimpered and scooted up onto the bed, pulling him with her. He rolled her a little to the side and then she found herself on top of him, gasping.
"I want to watch you," he whispered. His hands found her hips and his pressure there caused her to shift, straddle, lean in and kiss him deeply and again and again. He murmured encouragement and bucked his hips upward into her, his erection hot against her bottom. She slid down and rubbed herself against him, hearing his pained intake of breath as she moved on top of him. "Rose," he pleaded, and she moved once again, then shifted and felt him slide inside her, familiar now and welcome.
She sat up tall, pulling her knees underneath her and letting the tops of her feet down against the sheet. She looked down at him, his wet hair standing up in every possible direction, his lips shining and parted, his eyes half lidded and dark. His hands came up and cupped her breasts. She rocked forward and back, seeing his teeth close on his lower lip in response. One hand slipped from her breast to her belly and lower, stroking and rubbing lightly and encouraging. She moved atop him with increased speed, shaking them both, neither caring. She was falling and taking him with her and she would fall, fall again, to be with him.
She shattered and then muffled a cry as she climaxed, feeling herself squeeze and contract around him. She lost the rhythm of her movements then but he did not, thrusting upward into her, giving her more and harder and deep. His hands settled at her hips and pulled, pushed, please, and she kept moving, feeling the spreading pangs of pleasure through her whole body, toes and eyelids and back. He closed his eyes in a grimace she would have mistaken for pain in a different context and came with a shout, a word she didn't recognize. She hung her head forward, panting, and heard him exhale in a long breath.
He traced his palms over her back, following the gentle curve of her spine, and pulled her gently forward. She slumped toward him and he caught her, easing her down. She rested atop him in a heap. His hands continued their light touches as she felt her heart's hammering ease and settle back into a normal rhythm.
"Magnificent?" he asked, low and amused into her ear.
"You heard me," she said. "I wasn't laughing."
"I like it when you laugh. Except when I'm naked."
"I can never laugh when you're naked?" she asked, lazily.
"Not at me, no. It's rude."
"Mmm," she said, without conviction, and drew a circle on his chest. "I might need another bath."
He chuckled. "Cleanliness is next to godliness, is it?"
"Something like. That was ... intense." She lifted up her head and met his eyes. "What were you doing in the bathtub, anyway?"
His eyes gleamed wickedly. "You should have gotten in with me and found out."
Rose sighed and put her head back down, listening to the alternating thump-thump, thump-thump of his two hearts, a comforting lullaby for her. After a time, both of them drifted off into a deep and dreamless sleep.
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Chapter 20: Chapter 20
Author's Notes: This is the final chapter before the epilogue.
In the morning, they made love again in the leisurely manner Rose had often imagined. He murmured sleepily into her hair and they moved together languidly, reaching for one another with attentive hands, not fully awake, and finally falling deeply into each other and blissful, shivering release. Afterward, the Doctor spooned against her back and they spoke quietly of their plans for the day, the last day of their dreamlike visit to this tranquil place.
"Don't have much to pack," said Rose, drowsily. "Just some clothes." She felt the Doctor nod his agreement into his hair and she smiled. "You probably have everything in your coat pockets, yeah?"
His laugh puffed her hair up around her neck. "Mostly." He squeezed her hip and left his hand there. "Some things don't fit in my pockets."
She heard the soft tolling of the bells, calling the monks to prayers at the hour of Lauds. She closed her eyes and snuggled back against him, shutting the world out for a while longer. His arm shifted around her and his thumb lightly traced the curve of her cheek. "I'm happy," she breathed quietly. He didn't respond, just kept moving his thumb. His offer of the night before wavered in her mind. You just have to ask, he had stated with assurance in his voice. She knew he had meant it, and felt the temptation again in her bones and her blood, to seize the moment, to shut out the world for as long as she could. But, in the end, she opened her eyes and blinked away the mist that had gathered there, her resolve firmly in place.
Behind her, the Doctor lifted up and turned her head to look back at him, his face concerned. "You tensed up," he said.
"Just a little sad about leaving." He brushed some hair behind her ear and studied her closely. "No," she responded before he could speak, "I'm not changing my mind, we can still go to -- Tralaxia, yeah?"
"Tralaxia," agreed the Doctor fondly.
"Fantastic sunrises?"
"Oh, the very best."
Rose turned around to face him. He was propped up on one elbow, head in his hand, with a faint smile across his lips but a shadow of concern in his eyes. Rose leaned in and kissed him quickly. "So, where else?"
He thought for a moment, letting his eyes drift to the ceiling as his mind worked. "Forward or back?"
"Back," suggested Rose. "We usually go forward."
"Some history, then? Perhaps Caesar's Gaul?"
"Somewhere with indoor plumbing."
"That limits the 'back' part of it nicely, then," grumbled the Doctor without rancor. "Roaring twenties? Prohibition Chicago?" His eyes twinkled. "You dressed as a flapper would be something to see."
"Short skirts, yeah?"
"Rather." He ruffled her hair. "Maybe a wig, too? Unless you want to cut your hair."
"Wig, please." She stretched languidly and he continued stroking her hair.
"All right, then?"
"Yeah, all right." She smiled up at him. "Let's go." She sat up, turning and letting her feet fall to the ground. The Doctor pulled the blanket back and ran a single finger down her spine. She turned around to give him a hard look. "Trying to keep me in bed?" He assumed an innocent expression, eyes wide and eyebrows raised. Who, me? She grinned and stood up, conscious of his eyes on her. She padded into the bathroom and gathered up the clothes she had flung at him the night before.
When she returned to the main room, the Doctor, naked, stood in the center of the room on his tiptoes with his hands raised above his head. He inhaled and stretched as tall as he would reach, then lowered his arms to his side as he blew out his breath. Rose's eyes widened and he caught her staring, giving her a shameless grin. She held the pile of discarded clothes in front of her a little protectively. "A good stretch after sleep is an excellent way to reinvigorate the body and mind," he said, grinning. "Gets the blood flowing, all that." He casually leaned on the chair and studied Rose speculatively. I will not blush. I will not blush. She retrieved some clean clothes from her rucksack and tucked her dirties inside. When she turned, her mouth dropped open with astonishment.
The Doctor, bare as a babe, had drawn the sheets smooth across the bed, folded the down blanket, and was tucking in the corners with military precision. He glanced up at her. "What?"
"You're," she stuttered, "making the bed."
"What, did you think there were gnomes for that, too? It's good guest behavior. Didn't your mum teach you manners?"
She opened and closed her mouth several times in rapid succession and finally gave up. The Doctor fluffed the pillows tidily at the head of the bed and began putting on his own clothes, socks first. Rose followed his example, although she saved her socks for last. When she was fully dressed, she returned to the en-suite, washed up, and gave herself a hard stare in the mirror. Her hair had dried naturally during the night, but beyond that, she thought she looked rested. She brushed it out and twined it into a loose braid, and applied her usual makeup. When she finished, she gathered up her bottles, jars, and other implements to stash in her rucksack.
The Doctor was dressed by this time, seated in the chair with his glasses on, reading the copy of The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe. Rose realized she hadn't finished it. While she knew the story, she felt a pang at leaving it half read, the story in limbo, characters waiting and plot lines unresolved. "Do you have a copy of that in the TARDIS library?" she asked hesitantly.
The Doctor looked up and nodded enthusiastically. "Of course, the whole series if you want it." He closed the book and stood up, putting it back on the shelf and enfolding her in a hug. "Rose, this is a pause, not a full stop." He kissed her. "I said we'd come back." She nodded against him. He let go and picked up her rucksack. "All set?"
Rose put on a bright smile and opened the door for him. They walked a little way down the path before the Doctor shrugged the bag onto his shoulder and reached out a hand to her. She took it gladly.
I will be back. We will be back. She repeated the mantra silently to herself as they walked, letting her eyes wander among the graceful, tall pines, across the scattering of leaves as a small brown bird searched for food, the bright, incongruous pinks and reds of wild camellias. The Doctor, beside her, was uncharacteristically silent, and she wondered if he memorized the scene as she did.
When they emerged at the central clearing, before the dining hall, the line of monks queued to enter the building. Rose's eyes searched for Jacob, finding his bald head and prominent white beard easily even as he moved in a group of identically dressed men with equally bald heads. She grinned happily at him, and he nodded in response, his beard bowing up and down as his head moved. The Doctor squeezed her hand lightly in support as Jacob approached them.
"Good morning," the monk said, his voice resonant and full. "Did you decide?" He, like the Doctor, looked directly at Rose for an answer to the question. She nodded and returned a tentative smile. "Ah," said Jacob. "I thought as much. I will miss you both, and you know you are welcome any time you want to return."
Rose's throat closed and she reached forward, hugging the monk to her. He patted her back. When she pulled away, the Doctor had wandered off toward the dining hall, leaving the two of them alone. Jacob gave the retreating form a thoughtful look. "He's not good at goodbyes," he mused.
"You think?" Rose laughed at the understatement.
"He is trying, in his own way, to change."
"Why does he come back here, when he doesn't come back to anywhere else?" she asked.
"You'd have to ask him," responded Jacob gravely. "Even a wanderer needs roots, in the end." They walked together, following the others and the Doctor inside.
After the shared meal, Jacob told them firmly to stay, in a tone that brooked no argument, even from the Doctor, and went to pray with the others. Rose and the Doctor wandered around, sharing some "remember when" stories, as if their time here had been years, not days. The echoes of voices raised in song and in speech filtered out from within the church, and when Rose looked in that direction for the eighth or ninth time, the Doctor stopped and looked at her.
"You could have gone, too," he chided gently.
"But you didn't --"
"I never have, but that doesn't mean you can't or shouldn't. Do what you want, Rose. I'll wait for you."
"Too late now," she said, not wanting to interrupt. He chuckled at her easy excuse and resumed pacing, drawing her along with him by the hand. After a time, Jacob rejoined them and they parted easily to let him walk between them, Rose taking his arm.
"Walk with us to the TARDIS?" asked the Doctor of Jacob.
"Not going in, Doctor."
"Come on," the Doctor crooned, almost in a pleading tone. "I could take a look at your heart and lungs and maybe do a little --"
"Your brand of jiggery-pokery? I think not. I will leave my faith in God for my body and soul."
Rose jiggled Jacob's arm. "It won't hurt a bit," she said. "Just a quick scan or something, yeah?" She wanted to know that Jacob would be all right when they left him. He had to be.
"No, Rose." His words were final, and even the Doctor stopped trying to persuade him in the end.
The incongruous, bright blue police box stood on the same rise in the grassy clearing where it had waited for several days. The Doctor beamed and touched his hand to the door reverently, then looked back toward Rose and Jacob, standing slightly below him. Rose turned and looked down the slope toward the river, undulating gracefully in a sea of dry marsh grass. The waves crested in tiny whitecaps, barely perceptible at this distance, in the wind. She turned and embraced Jacob, who hugged her back and said in a whisper against her ear, "Take care of him, will you, Rose?" She nodded back, unable to speak, and released him, studying the lines of his familiar, dear face before she stepped back.
The Doctor dipped his head in farewell to his friend, who reached out and took both his hands instead. "I will pray for you," said Jacob.
"If you must," sighed the Doctor.
Jacob's eyes sparkled with amusement. "I must, I'm afraid." His eyes turned to Rose, and back to the Doctor. "'Be perfect, be of good comfort, be of one mind, live in peace; and the God of love and peace shall be with you,'" he intoned, smiling. "I will see you again, in this world or the next." He let the Doctor's hands fall away and kissed Rose gently on the forehead, in benediction and farewell.
The Doctor opened the TARDIS door and held out a hand to Rose. She took it, felt the warm, strong pulse of his hearts, his firm grip. For a moment they were utterly alone, all the world and the TARDIS and Jacob and the river falling away from them.
At last, they stepped, as one, through the door.Back to index
Chapter 21: Epilogue
Author's Notes: I admit freely that I cried when I wrote this. Multiple times. This epilogue has been fluid and ever-changing throughout the last ten or so chapters, and it has me more than any of the rest of the story. I have loved this journey and I am so sad to have it end, but so glad to have shared it with you, whether you have commented or not. If you haven't, I would adore a brief line from you, just to know you're there. If this has touched you, know it has touched me, too.
There is more to come, I promise. I am busy at work on a sequel and will share it when it's ready. Until then, adieu.
Your hands once touched this table and this silver,
And I have seen your fingers hold this glass.
These things do not remember you, belovèd,
And yet your touch upon them will not pass.
-- Conrad Aiken, Bread and Music
The wind caught the dry grasses and rattled them, waves of sound and movement spiraling through the yellow reeds at the river's edge. The new sound carried, a grating whirr-whirr-whirr of metal and something unnatural. A blue box gradually shivered into being on top of the hill overlooking the river and grasses below, near a low brick wall crumbled from age and weather.
The Doctor stepped out, his hands thrust into his pockets, the collar of his coat turned up protectively, and his face carefully expressionless. He walked with reluctant purpose down the trail through the woods toward the circle of huddled buildings some distance away. When he arrived, he was unsurprised to see Jacob waiting, leaning on a cane and somewhat stooped. Jacob's eyes flicked behind the Doctor, just past his right shoulder, and then back to his friend's face. His expression softened immediately and he gestured to a nearby bench, where they both sat.
"I told her I would have a good life when she was gone," said the Doctor after a time, breaking the silence between them. "When I said it," he hesitated, pulling on one earlobe and drawing in a shaky breath, "I thought we would have more time."
"There is never enough time in this world," said Jacob quietly.
The Doctor's laugh was dry and humorless. "This world, yes. She's not dead, Jacob. She's living a life without me, in another universe, and I can never see her again. I can imagine all of it, her fantastic life, everything I always wanted for her, and it's not enough." He closed his eyes. "I want her back." The moments stretched on, and the Doctor, as usual, was the first to stumble under Jacob's unwavering gaze. "What?" he asked, a touch of irritation in his voice.
"You can always say what is on your mind to me."
"I don't want to," said the Doctor, peevishly, like a child. "I don't want to talk and I don't want to hurt and I don't want to --" He gestured wildly, drew in a breath and hiccupped. "Jacob," he said, stricken, and a single tear rolled down his cheek. "She's gone." The lone word, uttered with all the force of his solitude and desperation, echoed in the trees and the wind and resonated over and over again in his mind.
Jacob stood, sat down next to the Doctor, and put his arm around the other man. The Doctor rested his head against Jacob's shoulder and wept. Around them, the wind stirred, blowing leaves in eddies around the clearing. "I believe that you will see her again one day, Doctor. My faith tells me that we will be rewarded in the next life and reunited with those whom we love."
The Doctor collected himself and sat up, staring forward. "You know I do not believe that."
"I know it," said Jacob. "But that does not make it less true. 'Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things.' You will endure, and do not lose hope. Have you ever been wrong?"
"I am not wrong about this." His gaze was direct, challenging, angry.
"About the next world, Doctor, or about seeing Rose again?" The Doctor studied the sky, cerulean blue through the tops of the trees. "When you came here with her, had you not made up your mind that we would both despise you for what you did in the War?"
"Yes," said the Doctor, quietly.
"You were wrong," Jacob said sternly. "You are not infallible. We have more faith in you than you have in yourself. Do not let it be misplaced."
--
The cottage stood empty and silent, unprepared for a visitor. The Doctor stood inside the main room and let his gaze fall first on the cold fireplace, then the table, with the worn volume of The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe still stacked underneath with some other books, and then the single bed, made neatly with the folded down blanket at its foot. He brought in some wood from the back and made a fire, holding his hands out in front to warm them.
He sat for a time in the lone chair. The fire sparked occasionally and cast an orange, ever-shifting glow into the room. As the sun outside set, the shadows lengthened, deepening into dusk, and he heard the tolling of the bells calling the monks for Vespers. He closed his eyes, again feeling the envy for those with faith to sustain them through the dark days like this one, and the ones to come.
When the shadows of sunset had become true night, he stood and unfolded the blanket across the bed, turning back the corner to expose the sheet beneath. He then shrugged off his coat, hanging it precisely on the back of the chair, then added his jacket. He removed his tie, unbuttoned his shirt, and folded them both into a neat pile on the chair. Trainers and socks were next. Socks. Oh, Rose. Next came his trousers, and he stood bare in the room where he had first made himself bare in spirit to her, where he had first made love to her.
He slipped into the bed where she was not and pulled the blanket over himself, turning onto his side and scooting over to leave room for her. He laid his head on the pillow and let his eyes drift closed. He had been happy here, for a brief time. Is it worth it? she had asked, turned to face him in this very bed, her eyes wide and full of love for him, and not a little fear.
"Yes," said the Doctor, as he had before. And, wondering at a strange sensation, a fluttering in the back of his mind and deep in his hearts, inexplicably, he slept.
--
In the pink light of dawn, the Doctor trudged down to the path to find breakfast and Jacob, waiting for him after morning prayers. They ate, with the Doctor putting porridge in his mouth but not tasting it, and then walked together in silence. If Jacob thought it strange that the Doctor helped him tend chickens and gather eggs, he did not comment upon it, only gave terse directions on the care of the chirping chicks and the feeding of their elders. They washed up afterwards, joined the community for prayers (or, rather, the Doctor waited studiously outside while Jacob prayed with the others) and another meal. After, the Doctor followed Jacob on his rounds, tending camellias under the watchful eye of the monk, touching a pocket in his coat once with a lost, far-away look in his eye.
They had tea at the stone table in the mid-afternoon. Jacob put his teacup down with a sigh and looked fondly at his friend.
"Doctor," he said, "I want to tell you how proud I am of you." The Doctor looked up with an expression of complete bewilderment on his freckled face, setting down his teacup and tugging nervously on his earlobe. "I mean it. I am proud of you," repeated Jacob. "In two visits, I have seen you go from guilt-ridden and silent, carrying the load of all the worlds on your shoulders, to guarded and closed, to fall in love and be loved in return." The Doctor closed his eyes against the last words. "I do not mean to cause you pain, Doctor. I only mean to observe that you have grown, and changed, and adapted, all at the prodding of those who love you, and have asked for so little in return."
"So little," said the Doctor, without mirth. "Rose -- I let her in only to lose her. You -- my friend, I will lose you, too."
"Yes," Jacob said kindly. "It is the way of things, and unavoidable. But what you have done is to acknowledge that the time you have with us is worth the price, in the end. That we are worth loving and losing." He reached across and rested his hand across the Doctor's, stilling his friend's nervous fiddling with his saucer. "I thank you for that, and bless you for it."
The Doctor smiled the tiniest of smiles, the first since he had stepped from the TARDIS the day before.
"You have made compromises for our sake," continued Jacob, his tone becoming stronger. "I will compromise as well, for yours." He took a breath and then began stroking his beard in careful thought. "Mind you," he warned, "you'll have to do it here."
"Do what?"
"Your exam, or whatever it is you've always wanted to do," Jacob replied evenly, with the expression facing execution.
At that, the Doctor's face lit up in a genuine smile. "Oh, you'll have to come to the medical bay in the TARDIS," he blurted out. "I have all my supplies there."
"Go and fetch them then," said Jacob. "It's here, or nowhere at all." He gave the Doctor a stern look that brooked no argument, and without another word, the Doctor hopped up and fairly ran back to his ship.
Jacob drank his tea and waited.
When the Doctor returned, carrying a burgeoning armful of wires and gadgets, Jacob's expression became considerably more dubious. "What in heaven's name are you going to do to me?" he asked with trepidation. "I said you could do an exam, not rebuild me completely."
"No fear," said the Doctor, depositing his burden on the table and making a few careful selections. "I just didn't want to have to make a return trip. Thought you might change your mind if I let you." He grinned.
Jacob grinned back, or at least, he pulled his lips back from his teeth and pointed his mouth at the Doctor. "Go on, then. Do your worst."
"Stand up." Jacob did so, and the Doctor put on his glasses, pulled out a white, plastic scanner with a display on one end, and aimed it carefully at Jacob, moving it up and down and reading the display avidly. "Ah," he said, nodding seriously.
"You know why I'm doing this, don't you?"
The Doctor pulled his gaze away from the scanner and back to Jacob's face. "Why is that?"
"Because I've prayed a great deal, and I've come to an inexorable conclusion," said the monk. He drew himself up as high as his stooped back would allow. "You need me, old friend. The universe needs you and, for whatever reason, you are my responsibility." He sighed. "We must all face our trials and tribulations." He eyed the scanner with considerable suspicion. "Mine, it seems, is to allow such ... machinery ... upon my person."
"I'm not even touching you with it," protested the Doctor. "Here, it's completely painless, see?" He waved the scanner at himself and showed Jacob the display.
"A lot of gibberish."
"Au contraire, mon frère, it's telling me that I'm in perfect health. You," he waved the scanner at Jacob again, "have several small blockages in your coronary arteries, and the linings of your lungs have lost a great deal of their natural flexibility. You've also got some fluid built up around your heart. That's why you get out of breath, and tired, and have those episodes."
"How long do I have?" asked Jacob quietly.
"Oh, who knows?" said the Doctor, too casually. "But this, I can fix." He grinned. "You'll be right as rain. That all right?"
"Yes," said Jacob with another pained sigh. "As I said, do your worst."
Over the next few moments, the Doctor whirled around Jacob, fiddling with one gadget or another, all of which the monk eyed with the same suspicion as the scanner. In the end, the Doctor said, "This will be cold, but it won't hurt a bit. Be still," and held a pressurized syringe to Jacob's chest. There was a slight, muffled pop, and Jacob sat down hard on the bench and glared at the Doctor. Perhaps, thought the Doctor, it's not a good idea after all to lie to a monk.
"Won't hurt a bit," muttered Jacob, rubbing his chest. "Hmm. I think your bedside manner needs some work. What next?"
"That's it," said the Doctor, flopping down on the bench beside Jacob. "How do you feel?"
Jacob sucked in a breath and blew it out thoughtfully. He then beamed at the Doctor. "I feel healthy as a horse."
"As two horses," said the Doctor, smiling. "You're still just as old as you were, well, old for you, anyway, but your cardiovascular system is several decades younger."
"In that case," said Jacob, "I'll thank you to take that mess off my table." The Doctor scooped it up, returned it to the TARDIS, and was back in a flash.
As they walked toward the main clearing, Jacob delivered some astonishing news in a soft tone. "You can do the exams on a regular basis now."
"Oh," said the Doctor, pleased. "Are you coming with me, then?"
Jacob laughed and shook his head. "No. I will never leave this place. You, however, seem to have the ability to pop back whenever you like."
"One of these days," said the Doctor, "I will come back and you will be gone." His face fell and he looked away. "If I stay away, you're still alive."
"Ah," said Jacob, and nodded to himself. "A great mystery solved. This is why you don't go back for your companions, isn't it? If you don't look back, don't visit, they are hale and hearty and in limbo, and eternally young. Life, Doctor, is just not that simple. You will come back here, because you can't seem to stay away." He squeezed the other man's arm. "I will be your companion in exile, if you want. You can travel the whole of space and time, serving the universe as you always have, and come back here when you're done. After all," Jacob chuckled, "if you can learn to land better, you can arrive here five seconds after you last left. We can muddle on like that for quite some time, I'd expect."
The Doctor looked at him in wonder. "We could, rather," he said, and was surprised at how oddly good the idea felt. Some constancy in an inconstant life.
"Then it's settled," said Jacob with finality. "Go play with the chickens while I'm at services."
"What, don't you want me to come?" Jacob's astonishment straightened out the laugh lines on his face, and the Doctor laughed in earnest. "No, no, no, sorry, I'm joking. I'll just," he gestured to the bench, "be waiting right here when you get out."
And, he was.Back to index