Bump in the Night Ficathon: To Hold His Hand (9/R, 10/R)
Title: To Hold His Hand
Characters/Pairing: Doctor, Rose, Jack, Ten/Rose, Nine/Rose
Rating: PG
Prompt: never_ever_will prompt by juliet316, and fication: Bump in the Night
Beta: None, sorry but I proof read it about seven times...
Disclaimer: I do not own Doctor Who or the BBC, they own me.
Summary: Prompt: Nine/Rose, and/or Ten/Rose, the mummified remains of the Last Time Lord lay before her, and all Rose Tyler wants is to hold his hand one last time.
Author's Note: I hope no one minds that Jack snuck his way in there, it was either that or come up with OCs which I didn't feel like doing so much of.
She doesn’t cry when she finds him. She can’t. The shock of it all has numbed her.
She’s been telling herself for days that she would find him, that he was going to be okay when she found him. She would burst into the room out of breath from running; his back would be to her so she would call out to him. He would turn with that huge grin on his face that he reserved especially for her. He would say her name. She would run to him, and the moment she was in his arms everything would be okay. He would smell of black leather, engine grease, masculinity, and time, but more importantly he would be alive, and real, and solid. Much more so than the pillow she had hugged close during the long desert nights she’d been enduring.
So when she did burst into the room out of breath from running, and he wasn’t standing with his back to her, in fact, he wasn’t standing at all, that meant that this was a dream: because the Doctor, looking pale and small, lying on a hard table, eyes closed with his hands crossed over his chest, body mostly wrapped in white linen, could not be reality. It just couldn’t. The Doctor could never look that fragile, not even if he was dead, which he wasn’t.
Rose’s sense of hearing is the first sense to come back to her, she hears Jack yelling at her to tell her what is wrong. Then smell: embalming oils and dried blood. Then taste: bile in her mouth. Then perception of time and reality: she’s been standing here for about thirty seconds and yes… this has to be real because he’s got her bracelet, the one he’d promised her he’d fix, clasped around his mummified wrist.
Sight never left so it couldn’t come back, and Rose is sure that the sight of the Doctor lying there on that table will be burned behind her eyelids for the rest of time.
Rose’s sense of touch doesn’t return; she’s still numb as she steps into the room fully so that Jack can step in and see too.
Jack’s gun falls from his hand as he stares in horror. He recovers quickly though.
“Rosie, come here. Don’t look at this.” He implores her tugging her into his arms, and blocking her view of the Doctor’s still body by cradling her face to his chest.
Rose pushes away without saying anything, but Jack tries to pull her back.
Suddenly the numbness is gone and all she can feel is rage.
“No!” she shrieks at Jack and flails as hard as she can to be free of Jack’s suddenly overwhelming proximity.
“Let me go!” she howls like a wounded animal.
She is angry, more angry than she’s ever been in her life; at the people who did this, at the Doctor for bringing them here, and at herself, for failing the person she loves more than anyone else in the universe.
She finally reduces to screaming his name when the anger floods out of her in a rush and is replaced by a sorrow so crippling that she literally feels her heart crumble under its weight.
She continues to sob his name when the tears come, and she clutches Jack closer seeking what comfort she can glean from his warm, solid body, any warm, solid body. It’s not the right one to heal her aching heart, never the right one, but for the moment it’s almost enough to fool herself that these tears are, in fact, helping.
After a long while Rose’s tears stop flowing but the pain and loss haven’t faded.
Rose tries to pull away from Jack only to feel his grip on her tighten. She gives him a pointed look and successfully stands as Jack relents.
As she moves to stand before the Doctor’s body, Jack stiffens.
“Rose, is that a good idea?”
“I just want to hold his hand, Jack.” Rose replies. “Just one more time.”
Rose approaches the body and the agony she feels floods her eyes with tears again. It’s almost too much; she almost does not reach forward to take his hand in hers, almost.
When their hands touch all of Rose’s hope for the Doctor maybe, possibly, having escaped this fate is gone. She can tell he’s dead, really, truly dead, because his hands, though always cooler than her own, are too cold. No living thing can have skin that cold or a limb that feels that much like stone with a thin layer of flesh to cover it.
It was all that had kept her going as she and Jack had searched desperately for the people who had kidnapped the Doctor. The thought of her hand held tightly in his. His grip was always strong but gentle, like he was holding onto her for dear life, like she was the only thing keeping him from drowning in the sorrow of his memories, while at the same time he was also terrified of shattering her, because he thought that everything he touched broke in his hands, which is why he was constantly trying to fix everything.
Her Doctor, her wonderful Doctor, with a rough and tumble mask with which he tried to hide his adoration and wonder for all of creations many beauties and blunders. Her Doctor who professes to be a coward only to cover that he loves too much and can’t stand for injustices. Her Doctor who is the loneliest man in the universe, but who has accepted her as someone to hold his hand when he needs the simple comfort of just having another person by his side to help him fight back his ghosts, if just for a little while longer.
She weaves their fingers together as best she can despite the rigor mortis and uses her other hand to touch his face. First she strokes over his forehead and through his short-cropped hair, and then traces his high cheek-bones and the line of his nose before her fingers brush over his blue lips.
Jack feels his heart break for her. He’d loved the Doctor too but, Rose was the one who had her love for him reciprocated, and to love the Doctor, you had to do so with your entire being.
Shouts sounded from down the hallway and Jack turned to face them.
“Rose, we have to go, now!” Jack cried and stepped forward to grip her arm and pull her away from the Doctor’s still corpse.
“I’m not gonna leave him, Jack!” Rose clung tighter to the Doctor’s rigid fingers, and Jack huffed in exasperation.
“We really don’t have time for this sweetheart!”
“Then go! Get out of here! You can pilot the TARDIS, at least a little ways, so go!”
“And what am I supposed to tell your mother, Rose? That I just left you here to be mummified alive because you were too stubborn to leave? Do you really think that’s what he would want you to do?”
Rose was crying again. “I don’t care! I don’t want him to have to be alone! Just go, Jack!”
Jack sighed, looked to the only exit then relented.
“Damn it Rose!” He cursed as he kissed Rose’s forehead then grabbed his gun and high tailed it out of the room.
Rose looked back to the Doctor and swallowed her tears.
Suddenly five men stormed into the room to survey the scene.
“Who are you?” the leader of the group demanded.
Rose wasn’t given the time to reply. “Never mind. Imseti, restrain the girl and sedate her!”
Rose struggled and screamed as two of the men pried her from the Doctor’s side. She continued to struggle as they lay her out on the embalming table next to him. She flung curses and threatening promises to the men overpowering her but she could do little else as a needle full of sedatives was injected into her arm. Rose continued to thrash as the sedatives took their hold, but eventually she realized she couldn’t shake this feeling of intense drowsiness. With her last bit of strength she turned her head to face the Doctor and moved her arm so that she could hold the Doctor’s hand one last time. Then the sedatives were too powerful for her and Rose surrendered to her traitorous body telling her to sleep.
3600 years later…
The Doctor threw his light into the room ahead and pushed himself the rest of the way through the tiny entrance to the desert tomb.
He grinned to himself and said, “No one’s seen this place in over 3000 years! Brilliant!”
The Doctor held his torch aloft trying to illuminate the dark space.
There were bas reliefs all over the walls and the Doctor stepped forward to take a closer look. However, when the Doctor began to read the translated hieroglyphs his manic grin washed away.
“What?” He cried skimming the lines faster, until he came to one particular wall painting that depicted a blue box, and two people stepping out of it, a man with big ears and a leather jacket, and a pink and yellow girl.
“What!?” He repeated turning quickly to the sarcophagus in the center of the room.
According to the inscriptions on the wall his ninth self and Rose Tyler were mummified and resting in that single stone coffin. It looked big enough for two people, he supposed, but it was impossible! Rose was back on the TARDIS, hadn’t felt like visiting this planet today, blamed it on a weird feeling she’d gotten when he’d opened the doors.
The Doctor pulled a pry bar from out of his trans-dimensional pockets and strode towards to sarcophagus purposefully. Shedding his long brown coat and jacket, the Doctor used the pry bar as a lever and then pushed the lid of the sarcophagus free with a hard shove of his foot. Dust was kicked up and the Doctor leaned forward to peer inside the coffin and waited for it to settle.
The sarcophagus was empty, save for a small piece of parchment, which had been preserved by the desert environment and stone coffin.
The Doctor lifted the piece of paper from the bottom of the sarcophagus and unfolded it to read the message aloud.
“Don’t worry, I got her.
XX Jack
P.S. Stop wasting time, tell her now!”
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
A/N: Thank you to juliet316 for that lovely prompt. I hope this fic is acceptable.
For those who are not satisfied with this ending: I will be posting an alternate ending soon, one that explains how the heck they got out of this one. But I liked this ending, so this is the official version.
This was my first time writing Nine… well writing Nine into a story… he didn’t really do much did he?
Thank you for reading! As I cannot ask for tips in my hat, comments will be accepted as currency and greatly appreciated! Tell me if you liked it, and if you didn’t, tell me what I can do to make it better.
Characters/Pairing: Doctor, Rose, Jack, Ten/Rose, Nine/Rose
Rating: PG
Prompt: never_ever_will prompt by juliet316, and fication: Bump in the Night
Beta: None, sorry but I proof read it about seven times...
Disclaimer: I do not own Doctor Who or the BBC, they own me.
Summary: Prompt: Nine/Rose, and/or Ten/Rose, the mummified remains of the Last Time Lord lay before her, and all Rose Tyler wants is to hold his hand one last time.
Author's Note: I hope no one minds that Jack snuck his way in there, it was either that or come up with OCs which I didn't feel like doing so much of.
She doesn’t cry when she finds him. She can’t. The shock of it all has numbed her.
She’s been telling herself for days that she would find him, that he was going to be okay when she found him. She would burst into the room out of breath from running; his back would be to her so she would call out to him. He would turn with that huge grin on his face that he reserved especially for her. He would say her name. She would run to him, and the moment she was in his arms everything would be okay. He would smell of black leather, engine grease, masculinity, and time, but more importantly he would be alive, and real, and solid. Much more so than the pillow she had hugged close during the long desert nights she’d been enduring.
So when she did burst into the room out of breath from running, and he wasn’t standing with his back to her, in fact, he wasn’t standing at all, that meant that this was a dream: because the Doctor, looking pale and small, lying on a hard table, eyes closed with his hands crossed over his chest, body mostly wrapped in white linen, could not be reality. It just couldn’t. The Doctor could never look that fragile, not even if he was dead, which he wasn’t.
Rose’s sense of hearing is the first sense to come back to her, she hears Jack yelling at her to tell her what is wrong. Then smell: embalming oils and dried blood. Then taste: bile in her mouth. Then perception of time and reality: she’s been standing here for about thirty seconds and yes… this has to be real because he’s got her bracelet, the one he’d promised her he’d fix, clasped around his mummified wrist.
Sight never left so it couldn’t come back, and Rose is sure that the sight of the Doctor lying there on that table will be burned behind her eyelids for the rest of time.
Rose’s sense of touch doesn’t return; she’s still numb as she steps into the room fully so that Jack can step in and see too.
Jack’s gun falls from his hand as he stares in horror. He recovers quickly though.
“Rosie, come here. Don’t look at this.” He implores her tugging her into his arms, and blocking her view of the Doctor’s still body by cradling her face to his chest.
Rose pushes away without saying anything, but Jack tries to pull her back.
Suddenly the numbness is gone and all she can feel is rage.
“No!” she shrieks at Jack and flails as hard as she can to be free of Jack’s suddenly overwhelming proximity.
“Let me go!” she howls like a wounded animal.
She is angry, more angry than she’s ever been in her life; at the people who did this, at the Doctor for bringing them here, and at herself, for failing the person she loves more than anyone else in the universe.
She finally reduces to screaming his name when the anger floods out of her in a rush and is replaced by a sorrow so crippling that she literally feels her heart crumble under its weight.
She continues to sob his name when the tears come, and she clutches Jack closer seeking what comfort she can glean from his warm, solid body, any warm, solid body. It’s not the right one to heal her aching heart, never the right one, but for the moment it’s almost enough to fool herself that these tears are, in fact, helping.
After a long while Rose’s tears stop flowing but the pain and loss haven’t faded.
Rose tries to pull away from Jack only to feel his grip on her tighten. She gives him a pointed look and successfully stands as Jack relents.
As she moves to stand before the Doctor’s body, Jack stiffens.
“Rose, is that a good idea?”
“I just want to hold his hand, Jack.” Rose replies. “Just one more time.”
Rose approaches the body and the agony she feels floods her eyes with tears again. It’s almost too much; she almost does not reach forward to take his hand in hers, almost.
When their hands touch all of Rose’s hope for the Doctor maybe, possibly, having escaped this fate is gone. She can tell he’s dead, really, truly dead, because his hands, though always cooler than her own, are too cold. No living thing can have skin that cold or a limb that feels that much like stone with a thin layer of flesh to cover it.
It was all that had kept her going as she and Jack had searched desperately for the people who had kidnapped the Doctor. The thought of her hand held tightly in his. His grip was always strong but gentle, like he was holding onto her for dear life, like she was the only thing keeping him from drowning in the sorrow of his memories, while at the same time he was also terrified of shattering her, because he thought that everything he touched broke in his hands, which is why he was constantly trying to fix everything.
Her Doctor, her wonderful Doctor, with a rough and tumble mask with which he tried to hide his adoration and wonder for all of creations many beauties and blunders. Her Doctor who professes to be a coward only to cover that he loves too much and can’t stand for injustices. Her Doctor who is the loneliest man in the universe, but who has accepted her as someone to hold his hand when he needs the simple comfort of just having another person by his side to help him fight back his ghosts, if just for a little while longer.
She weaves their fingers together as best she can despite the rigor mortis and uses her other hand to touch his face. First she strokes over his forehead and through his short-cropped hair, and then traces his high cheek-bones and the line of his nose before her fingers brush over his blue lips.
Jack feels his heart break for her. He’d loved the Doctor too but, Rose was the one who had her love for him reciprocated, and to love the Doctor, you had to do so with your entire being.
Shouts sounded from down the hallway and Jack turned to face them.
“Rose, we have to go, now!” Jack cried and stepped forward to grip her arm and pull her away from the Doctor’s still corpse.
“I’m not gonna leave him, Jack!” Rose clung tighter to the Doctor’s rigid fingers, and Jack huffed in exasperation.
“We really don’t have time for this sweetheart!”
“Then go! Get out of here! You can pilot the TARDIS, at least a little ways, so go!”
“And what am I supposed to tell your mother, Rose? That I just left you here to be mummified alive because you were too stubborn to leave? Do you really think that’s what he would want you to do?”
Rose was crying again. “I don’t care! I don’t want him to have to be alone! Just go, Jack!”
Jack sighed, looked to the only exit then relented.
“Damn it Rose!” He cursed as he kissed Rose’s forehead then grabbed his gun and high tailed it out of the room.
Rose looked back to the Doctor and swallowed her tears.
Suddenly five men stormed into the room to survey the scene.
“Who are you?” the leader of the group demanded.
Rose wasn’t given the time to reply. “Never mind. Imseti, restrain the girl and sedate her!”
Rose struggled and screamed as two of the men pried her from the Doctor’s side. She continued to struggle as they lay her out on the embalming table next to him. She flung curses and threatening promises to the men overpowering her but she could do little else as a needle full of sedatives was injected into her arm. Rose continued to thrash as the sedatives took their hold, but eventually she realized she couldn’t shake this feeling of intense drowsiness. With her last bit of strength she turned her head to face the Doctor and moved her arm so that she could hold the Doctor’s hand one last time. Then the sedatives were too powerful for her and Rose surrendered to her traitorous body telling her to sleep.
3600 years later…
The Doctor threw his light into the room ahead and pushed himself the rest of the way through the tiny entrance to the desert tomb.
He grinned to himself and said, “No one’s seen this place in over 3000 years! Brilliant!”
The Doctor held his torch aloft trying to illuminate the dark space.
There were bas reliefs all over the walls and the Doctor stepped forward to take a closer look. However, when the Doctor began to read the translated hieroglyphs his manic grin washed away.
“What?” He cried skimming the lines faster, until he came to one particular wall painting that depicted a blue box, and two people stepping out of it, a man with big ears and a leather jacket, and a pink and yellow girl.
“What!?” He repeated turning quickly to the sarcophagus in the center of the room.
According to the inscriptions on the wall his ninth self and Rose Tyler were mummified and resting in that single stone coffin. It looked big enough for two people, he supposed, but it was impossible! Rose was back on the TARDIS, hadn’t felt like visiting this planet today, blamed it on a weird feeling she’d gotten when he’d opened the doors.
The Doctor pulled a pry bar from out of his trans-dimensional pockets and strode towards to sarcophagus purposefully. Shedding his long brown coat and jacket, the Doctor used the pry bar as a lever and then pushed the lid of the sarcophagus free with a hard shove of his foot. Dust was kicked up and the Doctor leaned forward to peer inside the coffin and waited for it to settle.
The sarcophagus was empty, save for a small piece of parchment, which had been preserved by the desert environment and stone coffin.
The Doctor lifted the piece of paper from the bottom of the sarcophagus and unfolded it to read the message aloud.
“Don’t worry, I got her.
XX Jack
P.S. Stop wasting time, tell her now!”
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
A/N: Thank you to juliet316 for that lovely prompt. I hope this fic is acceptable.
For those who are not satisfied with this ending: I will be posting an alternate ending soon, one that explains how the heck they got out of this one. But I liked this ending, so this is the official version.
This was my first time writing Nine… well writing Nine into a story… he didn’t really do much did he?
Thank you for reading! As I cannot ask for tips in my hat, comments will be accepted as currency and greatly appreciated! Tell me if you liked it, and if you didn’t, tell me what I can do to make it better.