fic; doctor who: Gallifrey Records (2/3. rock band AU.)
title: Gallifrey Records (part 2/3).
co-author: gallifreyburning!
fandom: Doctor Who.
pairing: 10/Rose, ROCK BAND AU.
rating: PG-13, this part, probably.
words: 6,067.
notes: This was written by gallifreyburning and allrightfine (that's me!), in a "fic tennis" style, where we take turns with the story. (The prompt photo is under the cut, but for a version with the breakdown of who wrote what, you can read it on Tumblr here, too!)
summary/intro: (continued from part 1)
The gig wasn’t until 9 that night, with an early morning load out tomorrow, which meant an overnight stay in what was probably going to be some posh resort.
The gig wasn’t until 9 that night, with an early morning load out tomorrow, which meant an overnight stay in what was probably going to be some posh resort.
Soundcheck was at 5 p.m. and a whole day in Coventry stretched out before them. Donna was taking one car to check-in at the hotel, and then heading to the venue for the business side of things.
With strict instructions to their driver - a friendly-looking old man the Doctor had called Wilf - to make sure they were at the arena on time, Donna left the two of them, shouting, “Behave!” out the open car window as she left. Rose was grateful for the relative privacy of the station’s back entrance or the press would have a field day with her mothering.
“Well, Rose Tyler, whatever shall we do with ourselves?” He leaned on the hood of the car, the fabric of his trousers vibrating as it idled. She couldn’t see Wilf from outside the tinted glass, but she wondered how he would feel about the Doctor’s rather cavalier attitude toward his vehicle.
Rose shrugged, “I don’t know. What does one do in Coventry?”
The Doctor pushed off the car and squinted into the distance, “There’s St. Michael’s, what do you think? Visit some ruins? Or the Herbert - that’s a museum, up for a bit of learning?”
At the thought of walking around anywehre - ruins or a museum - her stomach growled. It had been a rushed affair to get to the station and she’d gone without breakfast.
“I think I’d like to learn the location of the nearest chip shop,” she said and the Doctor beamed at her in response.
He opened the car door and ducked inside after her, “We’d like some chips, please, Wilf!”
Wilf rolled the partition down and grinned conspiratorily, “You know my granddaughter won’t be happy about that, Doctor.” But he put the car in drive and left the parking lot anyway.
“Granddaughter?” Rose asked, “Who’s his granddaughter?”
The Doctor picked up Rose’s hand from where it rested on the seat between them, carefully inspecting her fingers, “Hm? Oh, Donna, of course. Wilf’s been a driver for me as long as I’ve been touring. He used to drive my bus, actually, when we had no one else to do it. The label insists on a professional driver now, for insurance or something, Donna knows the story. But Wilf’s always our man about town, if you will.”
Rose caught about every third word, focused as she was on the way the Doctor stroked at the skin of her fingers, calloused from one too many nights up with her guitar.
A conspicuous silence settled over the limo and Rose looked up at his expectant face, only to realize he’d said something else or asked her a question and she’d missed it.
“Sorry?”
“These calluses. You play a lot, but you don’t play on-stage, and you don’t play in the studio, which means you play by yourself, I said.”
She nodded; he was still doing that thing, fingertips stroking, and tingles were traveling up her arm in waves, and her brain was about to short out.
“I’d like to practice with you, every day, if we can manage. The more comfortable we get, the better our rapport onstage.”
The shorting-out in her brain happened. She snatched her hand away, taking a deep breath, trying to get her bearings. “Is this all part of the routine? The initiation for the Doctor’s new ‘Companion’? Luring me into your tour bus for the night, introducing me to all your friends, holding my hand like … like that?”
His face was entirely devoid of expression for a moment, and it made her stomach twist sideways - he wasn’t the jovial bloke whose bed she’d crashed in last night, and who had shared jokes with her all morning - she was looking at a Doctor mask, the face she’d seen him give in television interviews when he didn’t like the line of questioning the interviewer was taking.
“You think I’m manipulating you,” he said, his left eye twitching a bit.
“No, no, I didn’t say that” - oh god, had she, had she actually said that? - “This is all such a whirlwind, and I’m trying to keep my feet on the ground, y’know? It’s hard when … you’re the Doctor, and your life on tour is very different than my usual kind of tour, and …” She trails off, because she was going to say something about how her mum isn’t here, and reminding him of Jackie is the last thing she needs to do.
“You want to know about the other women?” he asks, and he isn’t angry or dismissive, he’s just kind of stoic.
Did she? Rose thought about it, dug her fingernails into her palms and tried to put her thoughts in order. When he put the question that way, it seemed so shallow. No, she didn’t want to know about them.
“I just want to know if this is how it is for … all the people who come on tour with you. I guess.”
He turned his entire torso toward her, seatbelt stretching across the plane of his chest.
“I don’t know what you want me to say. I’ve toured with a lot of people, all over the world. Some were for business reasons, some were for personal reasons, but they were all brilliant, in their own way. You probably think so, too. Here, let me see your phone.”
Confused by the non sequitur, she did as he asked, rummaging around in her purse until she found it and handed it over.
“Ah, knew you’d have one of these smart phones, with the music player. Look, see here,” he pointed at the screen, “Sarah Jane and the Adventures. She toured with me around the Velvet and Scarf albums. She comes back for one-off shows every now and again, charity things and the like, but she’s got her own life. They all do.”
He continued thumbing through her music, “Oh! Ace in Your Face! This album’s dead clever, isn’t it? The things she can do with sound effects - those explosions on loop? Forget it. If she comes around at any of the stops, you don’t pay attention to any nicknames she may or may not have for me, yeah?”
The car ride continued like that as they arrived at the restaurant - the Doctor gushing when he found a musician he’d worked with on Rose’s phone, and Rose carefully watching his face for signs of anything more than, well, the fond memories of friendship.
Wilf opted to stay in the car and by the time they’d made their way to the counter, she’d only seen the flash of something she couldn’t pinpoint a couple of times. Once, with Jamie McCrimmon, and once with Romana Travels in Time.
“Sorted then?” The Doctor asked, toying with the order number sign as they made their way to a table. “I can’t say how it is for all the people who come on tour with me, because it’s always different. This, what I’m doing with you, it’s different, too. And nothing I’ve ever done before, regardless of what the press would have you believe.”
Rose took a long drink of her soda, the bubbles popping on her tongue felt like they’d made their way to her blood. What was he implying? That he didn’t hold hands? Or that he didn’t duet with people every night, practicing with them every day?
Or something else entirely? The thing, maybe, that she was trying not to acknowledge might be happening.
Before she could get too far down the rabbit hole, a waiter stopped by with their chips and the Doctor’s face indicated the matter had gone as far as he felt comfortable with it going.
He tucked into his basket of food with a vengeance. Rose used her plastic fork to poke at a chip, picked it up, nibbled on the end, and thought about how all morning she’d been acting like a teenager with a crush, with her giggling and her inappropriate questions and her wild ideas about exactly what was going on in the Doctor’s head. And how all of that was going to stop right now.
She was young - younger than the Doctor. But she was a professional singer, here to learn. So she’d sit down for each and every rehearsal and jam session the Doctor wanted. She’s crash on his couch, if it meant understanding his genius. This man was universally acknowledged as a rock god, and well … if the way he cradled his guitar in his hands, slung low over his hips, happened to be dead sexy; or if he happened to look particularly appetizing in those pinstriped trousers; or if he happened to hold her hand again this afternoon … none of it was here nor there.
“So the cathedral, St. Michael’s, that sounds interesting,” she said, because she’d made things awkward, and she wanted them to be easy again.
He perked up at that. “Y’know, I’ve been to Coventry at least a dozen times and could tell you the entire history of that cathedral, but I’ve never visited it. It was built in the 1300s, amazing bit of architecture …”
And just like that, the Doctor started rattling off the cathedral’s history. Rose had never been terribly interested in architecture or anything else like that, really, but the way he talked made it sound fascinating.
So after chips, when they went to the cathedral and stood in the quiet solemnity of the nave, it wasn’t just an old building made of stones. It was living history, architecture and craftstmanship and artistry, and whether any kind of God inhabited this space or not, it was holy because of the thousands of people who had worked to build it over the centuries, because of their lives and their connection to this place.
She must’ve had a strange look on her face, because when she tore her attention away from their surroundings she found the Doctor staring at her, almost the same way she was staring at the cathedral. He smiled and took her hand, fingers threading with hers, and she grinned right back at him.
They lost track of things exploring and Rose was embarrassed to have made Wilf trek all the way out from the car to find them. Thanks to him, they’d made it back for sound check right at 5.
The Doctor disappeared at the start of it and Rose didn’t see him again for hours - when he was standing offstage during her set, beaming at her like she made the Earth spin.
She forced herself to keep correct time, it would be ridiculous to rush off the stage just to see him for a bit before his own set started. Besides, she’d see him for their duet later. And she was a professional, damn it.
When she’d finished her last song and exited the stage, the Doctor wasn’t around, but Donna was.
“He left something for you, in your dressing room,” Donna told her.
It was a hoodie, a note in what Rose guessed was the Doctor’s handwriting on top:
Baby steps. You could keep the dress on with this.
On the next line, he’d written, If you want.
She did, she did want, and she zipped the pink sweatshirt up around herself, pleased with the weird way it sort of matched her dress. He must have gotten it during sound check.
Grabbing her guitar and practically skipping back to the stage, Rose waited as the Doctor performed some of her favorite songs, a mix from of all of his albums.
And then suddenly he was calling her out, tugging at the sleeve of her hoodie with a grin as she took her place next to him.
He made a gesture like a phone to his ear and winked at her, before launching into one of the most played songs in her favorite playlist. It sounded different on just a guitar, but Rose recognized it immediately, the Postal Service.
I am thinking it’s a sign -
And Rose was gone. When she came back to herself minutes later, the Doctor was sweating and smiling, his arm wrapped around her shoulders as he escorted her off the stage.
He held a finger down over her ear, blocking out the noise of the crowd before raising his voice, “The hotel has a pool! Best way to cool down after a gig!”
Then he was gone, dashing back out to center stage for the first encore.
She pried herself away just as he was finally finishing, and she grimaced as the Doctor’s drummer - Adam Mitchell, was it? - chased after her, “Rose! Rose!”
“Hey, I know you. You’re Adam, right?” she said, flashing him her patented smile.
He looked pleased. “Yeah! I’ve been wanting to say, you’re really spectacular. It takes someone special to keep up with the Doctor, but look at you - you haven’t missed a beat.” He paused, surprise flashing across his face, along with a sheepish smile. “I should know, I suppose. God, that was corny. Did that just happen?” He sighed and rubbed his forehead. “Let me just state for the record, this was not how I was imagining this conversation might go.”
Rose laughed, reaching out to pat his forearm. “I think it’s going perfectly, Adam. And thanks - keeping up has been a challenge, I won’t pretend it hasn’t.”
They were both sweltering from the summer evening and the stage lights, sweating in their costumes. All Rose could think about was the swimming pool and the Doctor and making those two things happen as soon as possible.
“I really need to …” She made a gesture, pointing vaguely toward her dressing room.
“I’ll walk you,” Adam said quickly. Rose glanced behind him, at the empty stage, but there was no sign of the Doctor, only a hive of stage hands disassembling equipment. Adam fell into step beside her. “I’m trying really hard not to sound like a ridiculous fanboy, but I grew up at the Powell Estate, too.”
She blinked at him, squinted a little, studying his profile in the harsh glare of the arena corridors, trying to place it, to glean any bit of familiarity. His short, rounded nose, the dark hair and eyes, none of it triggered any memories. “Really?”
“Yeah, I think I left a few years before you did. Never finished school, went right into the music scene.”
“How’d you end up working with the Doctor?”
“Oh, I was in this band - called ourselves Van Statten’s Bunker, we were trying for a new wave garage sound, we were terrible really. But the Doctor heard us in a club, and I got a phone call from Donna the next day, and here I am.”
They came to a stop outside of Rose’s dressing room door. “I don’t know about the rest of your band-mates, but you’ve found your league here, Adam. You’re not so bad at keeping up with the Doctor, yourself.”
He grinned and jammed his hands into his jean pockets, his cheeks turning pink, his feet shuffling. “Thanks, Rose. Coming from you, that really means - I mean, I appreciate it. So has anyone told you about the pool? We always have a little party of sorts, first night at a hotel on the road. You ought to come. Everybody’s going to be there.”
Rose carefully held her face in check, a skill honed over hundreds of uncomfortable interviews. She hadn’t had time to process just what the Doctor meant with his pool invitation, but she was sure she wasn’t expecting a party.
“Oh, yeah,” she said. “The Doctor told me.”
Adam, apparently without experience in keeping his own face neutral, turned the corners of his mouth down.
“Right, right, yeah, of course he did,” he shuffled his feet, “Well, see you there, I guess.”
And then he was gone.
Rose changed quickly, stopping off at her bus for a few overnight items, including her swim suit and a thin robe for a cover up. She wasn’t sure how tight security was at the hotel, but if any paparazzi managed to sneak in, she wanted to limit the number of photos of her in her bikini. She didn’t need any grief from her mum.
She flagged down one of the cars idling in the back lot. She didn’t see Wilf’s, so the Doctor must have gone on ahead.
Donna had already checked them in and as soon as Rose’s car was pulling into the valet, an attendant rushed out to greet her with her key and the location of her room. She followed his directions and made her way to the correct floor.
There was a message from Donna, too, blinking on the room phone, with instructions to charge food and anything else Rose needed back to the room, rather than try and pay for it and deal with any expense reports.
Rose was grateful, paperwork was not her strong suit, and she didn’t need her mum weighing in on the receipts and why she’d felt the need to order two drinks and a basket of chips at midnight.
When she’d finished the snack, eyes glued to the clock the entire time, she changed into her suit and the robe and made her way outside to the pool.
Her eyes were scanning the crowd, the noise of a party in full effect surrounding her. She’d just spotted Martha Jones sitting on the diving board and was going to go say hello when Donna swam up to the edge of the pool.
“Resort like this,” Donna said. “There’s bound to be another pool, an indoor one for when it gets cold -”
Whatever she was going to say next was cut off as Jack Harkness swam up behind her, dunking her under the water.
When she finally surfaced again, sputtering and smacking Jack over the head repeatedly, she finished her thought: “And I’m about to go track down that indoor pool, because if I don’t get some peace I’m going to murder you, you great dunce!”
“Donna, you’re the most important woman in all of creation,” Jack crooned in a sing-song voice, fending off her blows and still managing to catch her around the waist.
“Don’t start with me, Harkness, I’ve killed before and I’ll kill again!” But she was smiling, and her arms settled around his shoulders.
Jack looked up at Rose, blue eyes glittering mischievously. “C’mon in, Rose! Water’s fine!”
At that moment, Rose’s own guitarist, Jake, barreled into her, shouting “Cannonball!” They both went into the water together, head over heels, and everything was chlorine and she was choking and when she came up to the surface, she did a fairly good imitation of Donna, smacking Jake on the head and yelling insults at him. He was, as usual, incorrigible - he grinned, called her a few names in return, and dove under, disappearing to the other side of the pool.
“He’s not bad,” Jack said to Rose, waggling his eyebrows.
“I’m sure he’ll be flattered to know you think so,” Rose retorted. “He’s always had an eye for American beefcake.”
Jack’s grin widened and he stared across the pool at Jake. “Really?”
“Focus,” Donna reminded him, pointing a finger at her own face. “Most important woman, remember?”
“Oh yes, that’s where we were,” Jack replied, pulling her away with a jaunty wave toward Rose.
Rose heaved herself out of the pool, soaked and dripping, hair stringing down her shoulders and robe completely transparent from the water. So much for keeping the paparazzi from getting those bikini shots. With a sigh she tossed the wet robe onto a lounge chair and there he was, sidling up beside her with a pair of drinks in his hands.
“Here, you look like you need one of these. Who needs enemies when you’ve got friends like that, huh?”
Rose took the drink Adam held out to her. “Yeah, exactly.” She took a sip - whatever it was, it was strong enough to make the back of her throat close up, and she went into a coughing fit, bending over and covering her mouth with her hand. When she recovered, she realized she’d grabbed Adam’s arm to keep from keeling over. Her throat and stomach burning from the alcohol, she let go and managed to say, “Jake likes to pretend he’s my big brother. I’ve known him forever - we were mates when we were kids, him and me and Mickey, like the Three Musketeers.”
Adam nodded in understanding, “That’s what I like about being in a band, the camaraderie of it. Be a shame if the Doctordoes decide to make this his farewell tour. I suppose I could always just find another band to drum in. Doesn’t hurt have to his name on your CV.”
Rose’s eyes widened, hand tightening on her glass - was there something she’d missed?
“Farewell tour?” There, nice and even, well done.
“Oh.” Adam’s face indicated he realized he had just spoken wildly out of turn, but he continued anyway. “Well, um, yeah, I mean, he was talking about it getting old - the business. He didn’t feel it like he used to. Might stop, set up somewhere in a house, he’s got loads of money, he could do whatever he wanted.”
The alcohol in Rose’s system was making her warm and the idea that the Doctor, the Doctor, was going to say “farewell” was making it a thousand times worse.
Was she some final charity case? Help launch Rose Tyler to the next level and then disappear forever?
The noise of the party, the splashes and hollering, the radio replaying their interview from this morning, felt like too much. She pulled a towel around herself, stuffing her feet into the sandals, now soaked, that she’d brought along.
At the turn of the first hallway, there was a sign for another pool, and Rose followed it without thinking. Maybe she could swim some laps, since she was already in her suit and wet, bursting with angry energy.
The noise of the door opening to the pool area echoed loudly in the dim space and Rose was grateful for the relative privacy of it. She was squinting at the water, trying to figure out which end was the deep end, when she heard the Doctor’s voice.
“Rose Tyler,” he grinned at her across the water, taking in her wet hair, “See you found the outdoor pool, then.”
She felt the anger rise, everything was such a laugh to him, but this was her career and this was her - her life, and she needed all the information available, not just whatever breadcrumbs she could find lying around.
“Yeah, it’s a party. You should go, gotta soak it up while you can, right?” Her voice sounded hard in the quiet room.
“What?” His own voice was even, and the water reflecting on his face obscured any other clues.
The room was relatively dark - it was late enough, both pools were technically supposed to be closed to guests, but Donna had no doubt made special arrangements. The overhead lights must’ve been on some sort of auto-timer. At least the pool light was on.
“Swan songs, Doctor. I was just thinking about swan songs,” Rose said. With that, she dove into the water. She’d never been much of a swimmer - gymnastics were more her thing - but the trainer the record label had hired had forced her to do laps enough that she made it to the opposite end of the pool before she had to surface.
When her head popped up, she found the Doctor had come to sit at the edge of the pool in front of her, cross-legged, his elbow on his knee and his fist resting against his cheek. Since they’d first met a few days ago, he hadn’t worn anything besides his pinstripes, and the sight of him in swim shorts threw her off more than she would’ve expected. He was skinny, but not scrawny at all; his lines were filled out nicely. His shoulders and arms were freckled, his chest covered in hair, she could even see an appendix scar on his abdomen. In the light reflected from the pool, his brown eyes looked older than usual, like the soul of an ancient being was staring through them.
“Is this a riddle, Rose?” he asked, cocking one eyebrow at her. “I enjoy a good riddle.”
He was too close. The alcohol was warm in her veins, there was too much skin, she was getting distracted, and so she backed away from him and the edge of the pool, treading water.
“You’re in here by yourself, although you’ve obviously been to the party. You want some peace and quiet. I’d say you’re just tired from the day, but if that was the case you’d be in your hotel room. Your tone of voice says you’re unhappy. So what are you upset about?”
“Adam said -”
“Adam?” the Doctor interrupted, leaning back and scrubbing a hand through his already wild hair. He wrinkled his nose. “Worked up the nerve to talk to you, did he?”
“Yeah, he seems like a nice bloke.”
Without warning, the Doctor moved forward and hopped into the pool - well, half-fell, actually, although he seemed to do it on purpose. He surfaced, spitting out a mouthful of water like a fountain, and came to tread water alongside her, just beyond arm’s distance. “Adam’s a decent kid.” The look on his face belied his words, and what he said next had a distinct edge of anger to it: “And what exactly did he say to upset you?”
Rose didn’t let herself think for long about whether that tone implied jealousy or just that he was upset Adam might have been telling secrets.
She pushed the thought down with a forceful kick of her feet under the water, “Oh, you know, gave me a drink, put my hand on his arm, the words ‘farewell tour’ were thrown around.”
The Doctor’s face flashed with something quiet and severe, “Adam should learn to keep his mouth shut. Wish I could click my fingers and do it for him.”
Rose felt for the bottom of the pool, propelling herself away from the Doctor when she found it.
“So, it’s true, then? This is it? You’ll never ever play music professionally again?”
He followed her across the pool and she tried to be mindful not to back herself into a corner.
“Never ever say ‘never ever,’ Rose.”
She hit out at the water with her fist, creating a splash, “Why are you always so cryptic? Just give me a straight answer!”
The water was shallow enough now that the Doctor could stand and he walked slowly through it, something like fury in his movements.
“Oh, I’m always cryptic, am I? And you’ve had such a long stretch of time to form an assumption like that. You don’t know what it does to you, living this life for as long as I have. The things I’ve seen, and done. It stays with you.”
Terrific, the high and mighty approach, little Rose Tyler could hardly hope to understand the tribulations of the Doctor, God of Rock.
“I want to stay with you, but not if it could be all over tomorrow. I’m not going to start something - start creating music - if there’s already an expiration date.”
The Doctor made his way over to the steps, sinking down against them, “We’re only on the second stop, Rose. The tour will hardly be over tomorrow.”
She had an urge to stomp her foot, but the movement was slowed by the water, “You know what I mean! I thought this could be a new direction for my li- my career, but if it’s just some one-off and then back to the clubs with you, Rose Tyler, I’ll have to say ta, but I’ll pass.”
His shoulders slumped, “You want to go home?”
Rose grit her teeth before answering, “No!” she roared. “I want to stay here! But I want it to mean something!”
For some reason, the angrier she got, the more morose the Doctor became. “Mean something? For your career? Rose Tyler, what do you think all of this is about? I saw how promising you were, how much you had to offer. What a legacy you’d be. I made you my opening act on what’s going to be my farewell tour, I gave you an extended duet in the middle of my set - you’ve got nearly as much stage time as me. Should we talk about billing, how big your name is on the poster? Do you need to call your mum, have her negotiate for more money?”
During his speech, Rose had been steadily making her way closer, and as soon as she was within reach, she slapped him. The crack of her palm against his face ricocheted around the stark surfaces of the pool room, loud as a gunshot. He reared back and put a hand to his cheek, climbing up the steps to the edge of the pool, dripping water everywhere.
He was, apparently, too shocked for speech.
Rose’s own cheeks were numb and stinging, as though she was the one who’d been slapped. She was reeling, and any filter she’d had between her thoughts and her mouth was gone.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” she hissed. “I’m not talking about my career or your legacy. I’m talking about you - forty-eight hours in, and I can see how much you love this. It’s your lifeblood. It’s who you are. Up on stage, with your guitar and your voice - the Doctor in his purest form. Saving the world with your words and the way you make people feel, even when they don’t think they want to. And you’re going to walk away from all that?”
The Doctor lowered his hand, revealing his bright crimson cheek, the outline of Rose’s fingers clearly visible. Brow puckered, face grim, he got to his feet, staring down at her in the water.
“I’m tired, Rose. Goodnight.”
He wasn’t talking about needing a good sleep, Rose figured that out easily enough. He was already leaving, long legs carrying him out of the room with remarkable speed, and Rose slogged out of the pool after him. “Doctor! Wait! I’m sorry, I just -”
“You’re what?” Whipping around so fast he sprayed her with a shower of water droplets, he glowered at her. She skidded to a stop in front of him, shivering and covered in goosebumps, and none of it was from the cold air.
“I’m sorry,” she repeated softly, lifting her hand toward his face, but he narrowed his eyes and leaned back. “I was out of line. I shouldn’t have …” slapped you, she wanted to finish, but she couldn’t make herself say it, because the gravity of what she’d done was just dawning on her.
“It’s your decision,” she finished lamely. “I’ll just have to get what I can and greet the next adventure alone.”
The Doctor sighed and glanced at the door, apparently confirming his escape route was still available should he need it.
“That’s just it, Rose. It stopped being an adventure for me. A long time ago, if I’m honest. Fights with the label, juggling the press, watching my music get chopped up into little radio friendly pieces - none of that is what I signed on for.”
He paused and Rose held her breath, wanting him to continue more than she wanted to respond.
“I got into music to get away, to escape the stuffy, old place I grew up in - and to help people, to try and speak to them the way other music spoke to me. But I’ve been doing it for so long, I’d forgotten all that. I hadn’t even thought about it in a long time, until -”
Rose felt a flush along the back of her neck, the high ceilings of the pool area amplifying his sudden silence.
“Until what?”
He didn’t speak until she met his eyes, “Until Donna showed me that tape of you performing. There’s something about you, Rose Tyler. It makes me want to remember who I was.”
She wanted to hug him, or at least take his hand, but moving her arms seemed risky in light of the slap she’d given him.
Slowly, slow enough that he could back away at any time, she rose up on her toes and leaned in toward him. She pressed a light kiss to his injured cheek, both an apology and a thank you.
When she dropped back down, she wasn’t expecting the look on his face. A wide grin, yes, or a wince at the pain that had to still be lingering where she’d struck him, but not this.
He was looking at her with such wonder, as if he’d never seen anything like her before.
She bounced on her toes, feeling anxious under the weight of his eyes, when suddenly they dropped lower, to her chest, to where she was just now realizing she had been - jiggling.
He looked up again, a hand rising to press over his cheek, and then he was all movement, closing the distance between them in a flash.
His mouth met hers, frantic and strong, and then he was backing her up, hands clutching at the skin of her hips, as he guided her toward the lifeguard stand.
Her back met the cold metal of the base, and she arched into him to get away from it, an intimate movement heightened by their lack of clothing. She pulled back, readjusting before clutching at his hair, pulling his mouth down to hers again.
It was mad and wonderful and confusing, they’d only known each other for two days, but she’d wanted it like they’d been together for years. The thought personified as they pulled apart and reconnected, mouths like magnets, before he finally slipped his tongue past her lips.
Her arch this time was voluntary, his tongue warm and slick as it battled with her own. She unwound her hands from his hair to slide down his neck before moving to clutch at his shoulders.
His own hands skated from her hips around to the top of her bum and she made a noise like surprise and acceptance rolled together. It sounded needy though, she knew, and he seemed to hear it, too, wrenching his mouth from hers and stumbling backward.
Her eyes went wide at the look of him, the wet, messy hair, the red of his cheeks, both sides even in color now, and the film of sheer panic as he avoided her gaze.
It was a look that said he’d rather not talk about it, maybe ever.
Still feeling guilty for hauling off and hitting him - and more than a bit ruffled by this newest development - she took a deep breath and gave him an out.
“I think Jake said something about beer pong. Seems like a sport you’d be good at - what do you think?”
He scrubbed a hand over his face, coming up with a smile when he pulled it away.
“Sounds brilliant.”
PART 3.
co-author: gallifreyburning!
fandom: Doctor Who.
pairing: 10/Rose, ROCK BAND AU.
rating: PG-13, this part, probably.
words: 6,067.
notes: This was written by gallifreyburning and allrightfine (that's me!), in a "fic tennis" style, where we take turns with the story. (The prompt photo is under the cut, but for a version with the breakdown of who wrote what, you can read it on Tumblr here, too!)
summary/intro: (continued from part 1)
The gig wasn’t until 9 that night, with an early morning load out tomorrow, which meant an overnight stay in what was probably going to be some posh resort.
The gig wasn’t until 9 that night, with an early morning load out tomorrow, which meant an overnight stay in what was probably going to be some posh resort.
Soundcheck was at 5 p.m. and a whole day in Coventry stretched out before them. Donna was taking one car to check-in at the hotel, and then heading to the venue for the business side of things.
With strict instructions to their driver - a friendly-looking old man the Doctor had called Wilf - to make sure they were at the arena on time, Donna left the two of them, shouting, “Behave!” out the open car window as she left. Rose was grateful for the relative privacy of the station’s back entrance or the press would have a field day with her mothering.
“Well, Rose Tyler, whatever shall we do with ourselves?” He leaned on the hood of the car, the fabric of his trousers vibrating as it idled. She couldn’t see Wilf from outside the tinted glass, but she wondered how he would feel about the Doctor’s rather cavalier attitude toward his vehicle.
Rose shrugged, “I don’t know. What does one do in Coventry?”
The Doctor pushed off the car and squinted into the distance, “There’s St. Michael’s, what do you think? Visit some ruins? Or the Herbert - that’s a museum, up for a bit of learning?”
At the thought of walking around anywehre - ruins or a museum - her stomach growled. It had been a rushed affair to get to the station and she’d gone without breakfast.
“I think I’d like to learn the location of the nearest chip shop,” she said and the Doctor beamed at her in response.
He opened the car door and ducked inside after her, “We’d like some chips, please, Wilf!”
Wilf rolled the partition down and grinned conspiratorily, “You know my granddaughter won’t be happy about that, Doctor.” But he put the car in drive and left the parking lot anyway.
“Granddaughter?” Rose asked, “Who’s his granddaughter?”
The Doctor picked up Rose’s hand from where it rested on the seat between them, carefully inspecting her fingers, “Hm? Oh, Donna, of course. Wilf’s been a driver for me as long as I’ve been touring. He used to drive my bus, actually, when we had no one else to do it. The label insists on a professional driver now, for insurance or something, Donna knows the story. But Wilf’s always our man about town, if you will.”
Rose caught about every third word, focused as she was on the way the Doctor stroked at the skin of her fingers, calloused from one too many nights up with her guitar.
A conspicuous silence settled over the limo and Rose looked up at his expectant face, only to realize he’d said something else or asked her a question and she’d missed it.
“Sorry?”
“These calluses. You play a lot, but you don’t play on-stage, and you don’t play in the studio, which means you play by yourself, I said.”
She nodded; he was still doing that thing, fingertips stroking, and tingles were traveling up her arm in waves, and her brain was about to short out.
“I’d like to practice with you, every day, if we can manage. The more comfortable we get, the better our rapport onstage.”
The shorting-out in her brain happened. She snatched her hand away, taking a deep breath, trying to get her bearings. “Is this all part of the routine? The initiation for the Doctor’s new ‘Companion’? Luring me into your tour bus for the night, introducing me to all your friends, holding my hand like … like that?”
His face was entirely devoid of expression for a moment, and it made her stomach twist sideways - he wasn’t the jovial bloke whose bed she’d crashed in last night, and who had shared jokes with her all morning - she was looking at a Doctor mask, the face she’d seen him give in television interviews when he didn’t like the line of questioning the interviewer was taking.
“You think I’m manipulating you,” he said, his left eye twitching a bit.
“No, no, I didn’t say that” - oh god, had she, had she actually said that? - “This is all such a whirlwind, and I’m trying to keep my feet on the ground, y’know? It’s hard when … you’re the Doctor, and your life on tour is very different than my usual kind of tour, and …” She trails off, because she was going to say something about how her mum isn’t here, and reminding him of Jackie is the last thing she needs to do.
“You want to know about the other women?” he asks, and he isn’t angry or dismissive, he’s just kind of stoic.
Did she? Rose thought about it, dug her fingernails into her palms and tried to put her thoughts in order. When he put the question that way, it seemed so shallow. No, she didn’t want to know about them.
“I just want to know if this is how it is for … all the people who come on tour with you. I guess.”
He turned his entire torso toward her, seatbelt stretching across the plane of his chest.
“I don’t know what you want me to say. I’ve toured with a lot of people, all over the world. Some were for business reasons, some were for personal reasons, but they were all brilliant, in their own way. You probably think so, too. Here, let me see your phone.”
Confused by the non sequitur, she did as he asked, rummaging around in her purse until she found it and handed it over.
“Ah, knew you’d have one of these smart phones, with the music player. Look, see here,” he pointed at the screen, “Sarah Jane and the Adventures. She toured with me around the Velvet and Scarf albums. She comes back for one-off shows every now and again, charity things and the like, but she’s got her own life. They all do.”
He continued thumbing through her music, “Oh! Ace in Your Face! This album’s dead clever, isn’t it? The things she can do with sound effects - those explosions on loop? Forget it. If she comes around at any of the stops, you don’t pay attention to any nicknames she may or may not have for me, yeah?”
The car ride continued like that as they arrived at the restaurant - the Doctor gushing when he found a musician he’d worked with on Rose’s phone, and Rose carefully watching his face for signs of anything more than, well, the fond memories of friendship.
Wilf opted to stay in the car and by the time they’d made their way to the counter, she’d only seen the flash of something she couldn’t pinpoint a couple of times. Once, with Jamie McCrimmon, and once with Romana Travels in Time.
“Sorted then?” The Doctor asked, toying with the order number sign as they made their way to a table. “I can’t say how it is for all the people who come on tour with me, because it’s always different. This, what I’m doing with you, it’s different, too. And nothing I’ve ever done before, regardless of what the press would have you believe.”
Rose took a long drink of her soda, the bubbles popping on her tongue felt like they’d made their way to her blood. What was he implying? That he didn’t hold hands? Or that he didn’t duet with people every night, practicing with them every day?
Or something else entirely? The thing, maybe, that she was trying not to acknowledge might be happening.
Before she could get too far down the rabbit hole, a waiter stopped by with their chips and the Doctor’s face indicated the matter had gone as far as he felt comfortable with it going.
He tucked into his basket of food with a vengeance. Rose used her plastic fork to poke at a chip, picked it up, nibbled on the end, and thought about how all morning she’d been acting like a teenager with a crush, with her giggling and her inappropriate questions and her wild ideas about exactly what was going on in the Doctor’s head. And how all of that was going to stop right now.
She was young - younger than the Doctor. But she was a professional singer, here to learn. So she’d sit down for each and every rehearsal and jam session the Doctor wanted. She’s crash on his couch, if it meant understanding his genius. This man was universally acknowledged as a rock god, and well … if the way he cradled his guitar in his hands, slung low over his hips, happened to be dead sexy; or if he happened to look particularly appetizing in those pinstriped trousers; or if he happened to hold her hand again this afternoon … none of it was here nor there.
“So the cathedral, St. Michael’s, that sounds interesting,” she said, because she’d made things awkward, and she wanted them to be easy again.
He perked up at that. “Y’know, I’ve been to Coventry at least a dozen times and could tell you the entire history of that cathedral, but I’ve never visited it. It was built in the 1300s, amazing bit of architecture …”
And just like that, the Doctor started rattling off the cathedral’s history. Rose had never been terribly interested in architecture or anything else like that, really, but the way he talked made it sound fascinating.
So after chips, when they went to the cathedral and stood in the quiet solemnity of the nave, it wasn’t just an old building made of stones. It was living history, architecture and craftstmanship and artistry, and whether any kind of God inhabited this space or not, it was holy because of the thousands of people who had worked to build it over the centuries, because of their lives and their connection to this place.
She must’ve had a strange look on her face, because when she tore her attention away from their surroundings she found the Doctor staring at her, almost the same way she was staring at the cathedral. He smiled and took her hand, fingers threading with hers, and she grinned right back at him.
They lost track of things exploring and Rose was embarrassed to have made Wilf trek all the way out from the car to find them. Thanks to him, they’d made it back for sound check right at 5.
The Doctor disappeared at the start of it and Rose didn’t see him again for hours - when he was standing offstage during her set, beaming at her like she made the Earth spin.
She forced herself to keep correct time, it would be ridiculous to rush off the stage just to see him for a bit before his own set started. Besides, she’d see him for their duet later. And she was a professional, damn it.
When she’d finished her last song and exited the stage, the Doctor wasn’t around, but Donna was.
“He left something for you, in your dressing room,” Donna told her.
It was a hoodie, a note in what Rose guessed was the Doctor’s handwriting on top:
Baby steps. You could keep the dress on with this.
On the next line, he’d written, If you want.
She did, she did want, and she zipped the pink sweatshirt up around herself, pleased with the weird way it sort of matched her dress. He must have gotten it during sound check.
Grabbing her guitar and practically skipping back to the stage, Rose waited as the Doctor performed some of her favorite songs, a mix from of all of his albums.
And then suddenly he was calling her out, tugging at the sleeve of her hoodie with a grin as she took her place next to him.
He made a gesture like a phone to his ear and winked at her, before launching into one of the most played songs in her favorite playlist. It sounded different on just a guitar, but Rose recognized it immediately, the Postal Service.
I am thinking it’s a sign -
And Rose was gone. When she came back to herself minutes later, the Doctor was sweating and smiling, his arm wrapped around her shoulders as he escorted her off the stage.
He held a finger down over her ear, blocking out the noise of the crowd before raising his voice, “The hotel has a pool! Best way to cool down after a gig!”
Then he was gone, dashing back out to center stage for the first encore.
She pried herself away just as he was finally finishing, and she grimaced as the Doctor’s drummer - Adam Mitchell, was it? - chased after her, “Rose! Rose!”
“Hey, I know you. You’re Adam, right?” she said, flashing him her patented smile.
He looked pleased. “Yeah! I’ve been wanting to say, you’re really spectacular. It takes someone special to keep up with the Doctor, but look at you - you haven’t missed a beat.” He paused, surprise flashing across his face, along with a sheepish smile. “I should know, I suppose. God, that was corny. Did that just happen?” He sighed and rubbed his forehead. “Let me just state for the record, this was not how I was imagining this conversation might go.”
Rose laughed, reaching out to pat his forearm. “I think it’s going perfectly, Adam. And thanks - keeping up has been a challenge, I won’t pretend it hasn’t.”
They were both sweltering from the summer evening and the stage lights, sweating in their costumes. All Rose could think about was the swimming pool and the Doctor and making those two things happen as soon as possible.
“I really need to …” She made a gesture, pointing vaguely toward her dressing room.
“I’ll walk you,” Adam said quickly. Rose glanced behind him, at the empty stage, but there was no sign of the Doctor, only a hive of stage hands disassembling equipment. Adam fell into step beside her. “I’m trying really hard not to sound like a ridiculous fanboy, but I grew up at the Powell Estate, too.”
She blinked at him, squinted a little, studying his profile in the harsh glare of the arena corridors, trying to place it, to glean any bit of familiarity. His short, rounded nose, the dark hair and eyes, none of it triggered any memories. “Really?”
“Yeah, I think I left a few years before you did. Never finished school, went right into the music scene.”
“How’d you end up working with the Doctor?”
“Oh, I was in this band - called ourselves Van Statten’s Bunker, we were trying for a new wave garage sound, we were terrible really. But the Doctor heard us in a club, and I got a phone call from Donna the next day, and here I am.”
They came to a stop outside of Rose’s dressing room door. “I don’t know about the rest of your band-mates, but you’ve found your league here, Adam. You’re not so bad at keeping up with the Doctor, yourself.”
He grinned and jammed his hands into his jean pockets, his cheeks turning pink, his feet shuffling. “Thanks, Rose. Coming from you, that really means - I mean, I appreciate it. So has anyone told you about the pool? We always have a little party of sorts, first night at a hotel on the road. You ought to come. Everybody’s going to be there.”
Rose carefully held her face in check, a skill honed over hundreds of uncomfortable interviews. She hadn’t had time to process just what the Doctor meant with his pool invitation, but she was sure she wasn’t expecting a party.
“Oh, yeah,” she said. “The Doctor told me.”
Adam, apparently without experience in keeping his own face neutral, turned the corners of his mouth down.
“Right, right, yeah, of course he did,” he shuffled his feet, “Well, see you there, I guess.”
And then he was gone.
Rose changed quickly, stopping off at her bus for a few overnight items, including her swim suit and a thin robe for a cover up. She wasn’t sure how tight security was at the hotel, but if any paparazzi managed to sneak in, she wanted to limit the number of photos of her in her bikini. She didn’t need any grief from her mum.
She flagged down one of the cars idling in the back lot. She didn’t see Wilf’s, so the Doctor must have gone on ahead.
Donna had already checked them in and as soon as Rose’s car was pulling into the valet, an attendant rushed out to greet her with her key and the location of her room. She followed his directions and made her way to the correct floor.
There was a message from Donna, too, blinking on the room phone, with instructions to charge food and anything else Rose needed back to the room, rather than try and pay for it and deal with any expense reports.
Rose was grateful, paperwork was not her strong suit, and she didn’t need her mum weighing in on the receipts and why she’d felt the need to order two drinks and a basket of chips at midnight.
When she’d finished the snack, eyes glued to the clock the entire time, she changed into her suit and the robe and made her way outside to the pool.
Her eyes were scanning the crowd, the noise of a party in full effect surrounding her. She’d just spotted Martha Jones sitting on the diving board and was going to go say hello when Donna swam up to the edge of the pool.
“Resort like this,” Donna said. “There’s bound to be another pool, an indoor one for when it gets cold -”
Whatever she was going to say next was cut off as Jack Harkness swam up behind her, dunking her under the water.
When she finally surfaced again, sputtering and smacking Jack over the head repeatedly, she finished her thought: “And I’m about to go track down that indoor pool, because if I don’t get some peace I’m going to murder you, you great dunce!”
“Donna, you’re the most important woman in all of creation,” Jack crooned in a sing-song voice, fending off her blows and still managing to catch her around the waist.
“Don’t start with me, Harkness, I’ve killed before and I’ll kill again!” But she was smiling, and her arms settled around his shoulders.
Jack looked up at Rose, blue eyes glittering mischievously. “C’mon in, Rose! Water’s fine!”
At that moment, Rose’s own guitarist, Jake, barreled into her, shouting “Cannonball!” They both went into the water together, head over heels, and everything was chlorine and she was choking and when she came up to the surface, she did a fairly good imitation of Donna, smacking Jake on the head and yelling insults at him. He was, as usual, incorrigible - he grinned, called her a few names in return, and dove under, disappearing to the other side of the pool.
“He’s not bad,” Jack said to Rose, waggling his eyebrows.
“I’m sure he’ll be flattered to know you think so,” Rose retorted. “He’s always had an eye for American beefcake.”
Jack’s grin widened and he stared across the pool at Jake. “Really?”
“Focus,” Donna reminded him, pointing a finger at her own face. “Most important woman, remember?”
“Oh yes, that’s where we were,” Jack replied, pulling her away with a jaunty wave toward Rose.
Rose heaved herself out of the pool, soaked and dripping, hair stringing down her shoulders and robe completely transparent from the water. So much for keeping the paparazzi from getting those bikini shots. With a sigh she tossed the wet robe onto a lounge chair and there he was, sidling up beside her with a pair of drinks in his hands.
“Here, you look like you need one of these. Who needs enemies when you’ve got friends like that, huh?”
Rose took the drink Adam held out to her. “Yeah, exactly.” She took a sip - whatever it was, it was strong enough to make the back of her throat close up, and she went into a coughing fit, bending over and covering her mouth with her hand. When she recovered, she realized she’d grabbed Adam’s arm to keep from keeling over. Her throat and stomach burning from the alcohol, she let go and managed to say, “Jake likes to pretend he’s my big brother. I’ve known him forever - we were mates when we were kids, him and me and Mickey, like the Three Musketeers.”
Adam nodded in understanding, “That’s what I like about being in a band, the camaraderie of it. Be a shame if the Doctordoes decide to make this his farewell tour. I suppose I could always just find another band to drum in. Doesn’t hurt have to his name on your CV.”
Rose’s eyes widened, hand tightening on her glass - was there something she’d missed?
“Farewell tour?” There, nice and even, well done.
“Oh.” Adam’s face indicated he realized he had just spoken wildly out of turn, but he continued anyway. “Well, um, yeah, I mean, he was talking about it getting old - the business. He didn’t feel it like he used to. Might stop, set up somewhere in a house, he’s got loads of money, he could do whatever he wanted.”
The alcohol in Rose’s system was making her warm and the idea that the Doctor, the Doctor, was going to say “farewell” was making it a thousand times worse.
Was she some final charity case? Help launch Rose Tyler to the next level and then disappear forever?
The noise of the party, the splashes and hollering, the radio replaying their interview from this morning, felt like too much. She pulled a towel around herself, stuffing her feet into the sandals, now soaked, that she’d brought along.
At the turn of the first hallway, there was a sign for another pool, and Rose followed it without thinking. Maybe she could swim some laps, since she was already in her suit and wet, bursting with angry energy.
The noise of the door opening to the pool area echoed loudly in the dim space and Rose was grateful for the relative privacy of it. She was squinting at the water, trying to figure out which end was the deep end, when she heard the Doctor’s voice.
“Rose Tyler,” he grinned at her across the water, taking in her wet hair, “See you found the outdoor pool, then.”
She felt the anger rise, everything was such a laugh to him, but this was her career and this was her - her life, and she needed all the information available, not just whatever breadcrumbs she could find lying around.
“Yeah, it’s a party. You should go, gotta soak it up while you can, right?” Her voice sounded hard in the quiet room.
“What?” His own voice was even, and the water reflecting on his face obscured any other clues.
The room was relatively dark - it was late enough, both pools were technically supposed to be closed to guests, but Donna had no doubt made special arrangements. The overhead lights must’ve been on some sort of auto-timer. At least the pool light was on.
“Swan songs, Doctor. I was just thinking about swan songs,” Rose said. With that, she dove into the water. She’d never been much of a swimmer - gymnastics were more her thing - but the trainer the record label had hired had forced her to do laps enough that she made it to the opposite end of the pool before she had to surface.
When her head popped up, she found the Doctor had come to sit at the edge of the pool in front of her, cross-legged, his elbow on his knee and his fist resting against his cheek. Since they’d first met a few days ago, he hadn’t worn anything besides his pinstripes, and the sight of him in swim shorts threw her off more than she would’ve expected. He was skinny, but not scrawny at all; his lines were filled out nicely. His shoulders and arms were freckled, his chest covered in hair, she could even see an appendix scar on his abdomen. In the light reflected from the pool, his brown eyes looked older than usual, like the soul of an ancient being was staring through them.
“Is this a riddle, Rose?” he asked, cocking one eyebrow at her. “I enjoy a good riddle.”
He was too close. The alcohol was warm in her veins, there was too much skin, she was getting distracted, and so she backed away from him and the edge of the pool, treading water.
“You’re in here by yourself, although you’ve obviously been to the party. You want some peace and quiet. I’d say you’re just tired from the day, but if that was the case you’d be in your hotel room. Your tone of voice says you’re unhappy. So what are you upset about?”
“Adam said -”
“Adam?” the Doctor interrupted, leaning back and scrubbing a hand through his already wild hair. He wrinkled his nose. “Worked up the nerve to talk to you, did he?”
“Yeah, he seems like a nice bloke.”
Without warning, the Doctor moved forward and hopped into the pool - well, half-fell, actually, although he seemed to do it on purpose. He surfaced, spitting out a mouthful of water like a fountain, and came to tread water alongside her, just beyond arm’s distance. “Adam’s a decent kid.” The look on his face belied his words, and what he said next had a distinct edge of anger to it: “And what exactly did he say to upset you?”
Rose didn’t let herself think for long about whether that tone implied jealousy or just that he was upset Adam might have been telling secrets.
She pushed the thought down with a forceful kick of her feet under the water, “Oh, you know, gave me a drink, put my hand on his arm, the words ‘farewell tour’ were thrown around.”
The Doctor’s face flashed with something quiet and severe, “Adam should learn to keep his mouth shut. Wish I could click my fingers and do it for him.”
Rose felt for the bottom of the pool, propelling herself away from the Doctor when she found it.
“So, it’s true, then? This is it? You’ll never ever play music professionally again?”
He followed her across the pool and she tried to be mindful not to back herself into a corner.
“Never ever say ‘never ever,’ Rose.”
She hit out at the water with her fist, creating a splash, “Why are you always so cryptic? Just give me a straight answer!”
The water was shallow enough now that the Doctor could stand and he walked slowly through it, something like fury in his movements.
“Oh, I’m always cryptic, am I? And you’ve had such a long stretch of time to form an assumption like that. You don’t know what it does to you, living this life for as long as I have. The things I’ve seen, and done. It stays with you.”
Terrific, the high and mighty approach, little Rose Tyler could hardly hope to understand the tribulations of the Doctor, God of Rock.
“I want to stay with you, but not if it could be all over tomorrow. I’m not going to start something - start creating music - if there’s already an expiration date.”
The Doctor made his way over to the steps, sinking down against them, “We’re only on the second stop, Rose. The tour will hardly be over tomorrow.”
She had an urge to stomp her foot, but the movement was slowed by the water, “You know what I mean! I thought this could be a new direction for my li- my career, but if it’s just some one-off and then back to the clubs with you, Rose Tyler, I’ll have to say ta, but I’ll pass.”
His shoulders slumped, “You want to go home?”
Rose grit her teeth before answering, “No!” she roared. “I want to stay here! But I want it to mean something!”
For some reason, the angrier she got, the more morose the Doctor became. “Mean something? For your career? Rose Tyler, what do you think all of this is about? I saw how promising you were, how much you had to offer. What a legacy you’d be. I made you my opening act on what’s going to be my farewell tour, I gave you an extended duet in the middle of my set - you’ve got nearly as much stage time as me. Should we talk about billing, how big your name is on the poster? Do you need to call your mum, have her negotiate for more money?”
During his speech, Rose had been steadily making her way closer, and as soon as she was within reach, she slapped him. The crack of her palm against his face ricocheted around the stark surfaces of the pool room, loud as a gunshot. He reared back and put a hand to his cheek, climbing up the steps to the edge of the pool, dripping water everywhere.
He was, apparently, too shocked for speech.
Rose’s own cheeks were numb and stinging, as though she was the one who’d been slapped. She was reeling, and any filter she’d had between her thoughts and her mouth was gone.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” she hissed. “I’m not talking about my career or your legacy. I’m talking about you - forty-eight hours in, and I can see how much you love this. It’s your lifeblood. It’s who you are. Up on stage, with your guitar and your voice - the Doctor in his purest form. Saving the world with your words and the way you make people feel, even when they don’t think they want to. And you’re going to walk away from all that?”
The Doctor lowered his hand, revealing his bright crimson cheek, the outline of Rose’s fingers clearly visible. Brow puckered, face grim, he got to his feet, staring down at her in the water.
“I’m tired, Rose. Goodnight.”
He wasn’t talking about needing a good sleep, Rose figured that out easily enough. He was already leaving, long legs carrying him out of the room with remarkable speed, and Rose slogged out of the pool after him. “Doctor! Wait! I’m sorry, I just -”
“You’re what?” Whipping around so fast he sprayed her with a shower of water droplets, he glowered at her. She skidded to a stop in front of him, shivering and covered in goosebumps, and none of it was from the cold air.
“I’m sorry,” she repeated softly, lifting her hand toward his face, but he narrowed his eyes and leaned back. “I was out of line. I shouldn’t have …” slapped you, she wanted to finish, but she couldn’t make herself say it, because the gravity of what she’d done was just dawning on her.
“It’s your decision,” she finished lamely. “I’ll just have to get what I can and greet the next adventure alone.”
The Doctor sighed and glanced at the door, apparently confirming his escape route was still available should he need it.
“That’s just it, Rose. It stopped being an adventure for me. A long time ago, if I’m honest. Fights with the label, juggling the press, watching my music get chopped up into little radio friendly pieces - none of that is what I signed on for.”
He paused and Rose held her breath, wanting him to continue more than she wanted to respond.
“I got into music to get away, to escape the stuffy, old place I grew up in - and to help people, to try and speak to them the way other music spoke to me. But I’ve been doing it for so long, I’d forgotten all that. I hadn’t even thought about it in a long time, until -”
Rose felt a flush along the back of her neck, the high ceilings of the pool area amplifying his sudden silence.
“Until what?”
He didn’t speak until she met his eyes, “Until Donna showed me that tape of you performing. There’s something about you, Rose Tyler. It makes me want to remember who I was.”
She wanted to hug him, or at least take his hand, but moving her arms seemed risky in light of the slap she’d given him.
Slowly, slow enough that he could back away at any time, she rose up on her toes and leaned in toward him. She pressed a light kiss to his injured cheek, both an apology and a thank you.
When she dropped back down, she wasn’t expecting the look on his face. A wide grin, yes, or a wince at the pain that had to still be lingering where she’d struck him, but not this.
He was looking at her with such wonder, as if he’d never seen anything like her before.
She bounced on her toes, feeling anxious under the weight of his eyes, when suddenly they dropped lower, to her chest, to where she was just now realizing she had been - jiggling.
He looked up again, a hand rising to press over his cheek, and then he was all movement, closing the distance between them in a flash.
His mouth met hers, frantic and strong, and then he was backing her up, hands clutching at the skin of her hips, as he guided her toward the lifeguard stand.
Her back met the cold metal of the base, and she arched into him to get away from it, an intimate movement heightened by their lack of clothing. She pulled back, readjusting before clutching at his hair, pulling his mouth down to hers again.
It was mad and wonderful and confusing, they’d only known each other for two days, but she’d wanted it like they’d been together for years. The thought personified as they pulled apart and reconnected, mouths like magnets, before he finally slipped his tongue past her lips.
Her arch this time was voluntary, his tongue warm and slick as it battled with her own. She unwound her hands from his hair to slide down his neck before moving to clutch at his shoulders.
His own hands skated from her hips around to the top of her bum and she made a noise like surprise and acceptance rolled together. It sounded needy though, she knew, and he seemed to hear it, too, wrenching his mouth from hers and stumbling backward.
Her eyes went wide at the look of him, the wet, messy hair, the red of his cheeks, both sides even in color now, and the film of sheer panic as he avoided her gaze.
It was a look that said he’d rather not talk about it, maybe ever.
Still feeling guilty for hauling off and hitting him - and more than a bit ruffled by this newest development - she took a deep breath and gave him an out.
“I think Jake said something about beer pong. Seems like a sport you’d be good at - what do you think?”
He scrubbed a hand over his face, coming up with a smile when he pulled it away.
“Sounds brilliant.”
PART 3.