who fic: "Solitude and Fire" (Nine/Rose, PG)
title: “Solitude and Fire”
author: fannishliss
pairing: Nine/Rose
rating: PG
warnings, spoilers: none
length: 3233 words
summary: While protecting Rose, the Doctor drops his guard. A lovely evening, a tight space, and a bit of psychic dream-sharing. Also a hefty serving of Nine pining.
Note: This is not a drabble. Blue Skies Drabblethon: Prompt #16 : I walk without flinching through the burning cathedral of the summer. My bank of wild grass is majestic and full of music. It is a fire that solitude presses against my lips. (Mad in Pursuit by Violette Leduc)
I apologize for the formatting issues -- I'm using MS word, which seems to create a lot of junk in the tagging. :(
I.
The evening had been going beautifully: good food, fine wine, pleasant music, peaceful civilization. Dancing, even. The Doctor thought he’d done rather well.
On Jack’s advice, the Doctor had taken Rose to one of the great leisure halls of Arranellia, a mild and beautiful planet known in this age for its single-minded pursuit of romance. It was just the sort of place Jack loved to frequent, not somewhere the Doctor would normally go, but Rose had been tired, eager for some peace. Arranellians of this age were known for making love, not war, and so the Doctor didn’t think twice.
Jack had disappeared much earlier, leading a beautiful girl by the hand and making her laugh delightedly at the whisperings he dropped in her ear. The Doctor told him to be back in the Tardis no later than noon the next day, and Jack had agreed with a good-natured groan.
As the evening grew late, more and more diners began to pair up and leave the hall. A handsome young man Rose had danced with once (twice, the Doctor corrected to himself with a frown), touched Rose on the shoulder. The Doctor forced himself to look away, nonchalant. He had no claim on her. He wanted her to enjoy herself. She was a free woman after all.
When he looked back, Rose was still there, smiling at him, toying with her wine. She looked so beautiful in her modest gown, a shimmering scarf across her shoulders, her hair piled high, glittering earrings calling attention to the line of her neck. Her eyes were heavy with makeup, as usual, and he would have preferred to see her without it, but the Doctor had accustomed himself to her taste.
“Didn’t he dance well enough for you?” he said, pleasantly enough, he thought.
“He was fine,” Rose said non-committally.
Soon another young man approached Rose, and again she turned him down. The Doctor snorted to himself. Another pretty boy, he thought, though he didn’t consider himself much of a judge.
When the third young man went away disappointed, he joined the first two in a corner of the room. The Doctor didn’t like something in their posture, and he particularly didn’t like the way they were looking at Rose. Perhaps their planet was peaceful, but as individuals apparently they could still be a bit hot-headed.
“Rose, it’s time to go,” the Doctor said.
“Right,” she said, draining her glass with a happy sigh. She straightened her scarf around her shoulders and stood as he helped her pull out her chair.
The Doctor noticed a flurry as Rose led the way out of the room. Had he missed something?
Hastily, he reviewed the evening in his mind, and he realized that no other woman had stood without being led by a man. Surely the Arranellians were not still so backward? The suitors glowered openly at him as he trailed after Rose. The Arranellians had been given to feuds before they turned their civilization toward romance in the not-so-distant past. They still wore ceremonial daggers, and the young men were fingering theirs irritably.
The Doctor needed to get Rose out of there and fast. He quickened his stride and reached for her hand. Smiling, she happily returned his grip. Perhaps that would be enough of a claim to appease the young men. He led her out of the hall and into the night. The cool air was brisk and the stars were brilliant in the cloudless sky. Rose’s hair seemed to glow beneath the stars, and her pale satin gown gleamed like moonlight reflected off a lake.
“What a beautiful night, Doctor! Thank you so much for taking me here. I had such a lovely time!” Rose gushed.
The Doctor smiled, but then he heard the young men’s angry tones as they emerged from the hall. Rose’s heels clicked against the stones - not very high heels, good for dancing, but not so good for running.
“Rose, we’re being followed,” he warned.
“Shall we run?” Rose answered mischievously, eyes sparkling.
The Doctor pictured Rose, out of breath, sweaty, hair coming down in tangles around her face. It was a stunning sight and one he’d never tire of. But then he thought of the roughly cobbled street. The likelihood that Rose would twist an ankle, or even fall, was high. He leaned in and surreptitiously sniffed at her. She’d had several glasses of wine during the evening, and the alcohol content he detected on her breath was still too high for him to want to urge her to run.
He listened for their pursuers. They were about a block behind and he and Rose were already at the corner. The Doctor turned left and chanced it, leading Rose in a quick jog to a narrow alley a short way along. Sure enough, halfway down the alley was a recessed door.
“Quick, in here,” he told Rose. She quietly stepped up, pressing her back against the door. He braced his left arm against the door behind Rose’s neck, hiding his face against his upper arm. He pressed tightly in against her, sheltering her glittering beauty in the shadow of the door. He hated the thought that she might sully her beautiful gown against the grime of the alcove, but at least it didn’t stink. Rose breathed out and leaned back against his arm, keeping still and quiet. There was barely room for one of them, but he hoped the darkness of his clothing would help them not be seen.
He listened intently, but the three young men were hardly stealthy. They made quite a racket as they stomped along the street, arguing amongst themselves about Rose and reflecting on her in terms that made the Doctor grit his teeth. None of them were worth a second glance, much less an evening in her arms.
Oh, that was a thought he could’ve done without. He’d kept her smiling all evening, despite deflecting her repeated requests to dance. He’d given in to her once or twice when the style of music suited a respectable distance between partners -- and he certainly didn’t object to holding her hand.
Now, here he was, pressed up against Rose, feeling her every breath, all too aware of her luxurious heat through the thin satin, her precious, familiar scent filling his nostrils. If only, if only, he thought -- then beggars would ride, he answered himself bitterly. He found himself listening to her heartrate - only a little fast. She was keeping absolutely silent, alert, but amused, not frightened-- ready for anything, his Rose. He could feel her excitement at their little adventure, her implicit trust in him...
With a sting of chagrin, the Doctor realized that he was reading her, his body attuning itself to hers, decoding the chemical and electrical signals passing through her systems. He’d wanted her for so long, his senses greedily seizing on the slightest opportunity to learn each tiny nuance, despite the barriers he tried to put between them to protect her privacy. Now, pressed close, there was no holding back as his ravenous senses glutted on the feast that was Rose.
Mortified, he stiffened just a fraction, and Rose immediately noticed. He felt her tensing as she tried to follow his lead, and forced himself to relax.
“Shh,” he hushed, nearly silently. His mouth was just at her ear. Soon the obnoxious boys would have passed and he could step away.
They seemed to be having an argument at the corner. Two were complaining that they should give up and go back to the hall, but the loudest one wanted to keep looking. Apparently, Rose standing on her own instead of being led away by another man was a dreadful insult to their masculinity. Insolent pups! A woman like Rose, fiery and courageous, brilliant and kind -- to insinuate that she couldn’t stand or walk however she chose-- how dare they!
Anger flashed through him and instinctively he pressed closer, in an irresistible urge to defend and protect the beloved woman in his arms. Even that tiny increment of added closeness sang through him in delight, his skin soothed by her softness, his nerves receptive to the impulses flashing through her. As he stood, pressed against her, Rose shifted slightly in the confined space to take a deeper breath, lifting her chin up and to the right.
He felt it when she breathed him in. His desire for her was pouring off him in waves -- not that she could detect his alien pheromones, or at least he didn’t think so -- but his body didn’t know that, reacting as if it were deliberate when she filled her lungs with his honeyed scent, the chemicals rushing madly through her in an attempt to stimulate a like reaction.
He didn’t moan. He knew better than that. But the moan trapped in his throat seemed to choke him. By the Vortex, how he wanted her.
The softness of her cheek was a hair’s breadth from his. If only, if only....
And then she did move deliberately, brushing her cheek lightly against his.
The connection jolted through him. He’d spent so much willpower to keeping her thoughts off-limits, but in an instant, like a waterfall, they cascaded into his mind.
If only he wanted me... he smells so good, he feels so strong, like he’d fight off anything for me, I want him so much -- if only, if only...
Rose! In that moment, every part of him was focused on one fierce, overwhelming need: his body, long obsessed with hers; his will, overcome by the need to keep her safe; and now his mind, presented with the irrefutable knowledge that she returned his feelings. He couldn’t deny it any more--but still, he couldn’t act. He was frozen, his lungs bursting with her fragrances, his whole body on fire with her right there pressed against him, and stupid kids aggressively shouting on the corner.
Her thoughts were gorgeous to him, like orchids unfolding in a collector’s hothouse, each blossom richer than the last, more seductive and rare, and the possibility of joining with her, someday, was like a beautiful dream: two stars locked in binary orbits, interweaving their brilliant tendrils of glowing gases, polychromic ribbons exploding between them in endless celebration.
They stood there, breathing, falling, floating, till the fools on the corner went away.
The Doctor stepped back.
The starlight shone down in the dingy alleyway, illuminating Rose as though she’d been placed in that alcove only to be worshipped. Her skin put her satin gown to shame, and her hair glowed brighter than the jewels in her ears. Her lips were parted as she gazed down at him, her brown eyes full of emotion.
“Come along, then,” he said, and took her hand.
Something like electricity ran back and forth through their touch. She gazed at their joined hands, then into his face.
“Doctor?” she said.
He could feel her puzzlement, and then, her disappointment as he failed to respond. It wasn’t fair to Rose for him to indulge in this kind of bond, one that could take away her freedom if he kept losing control like this. Once again, he would brush the moment aside, for her sake, though the loss of her presence in his mind left him feeling more alone than ever.
She sighed and smiled a little wearily, stepped down from her plinth, and followed him back to the Tardis.
II.
Rose woke crying long past midnight, her mind’s eye saturated with the crimson and gold of a desert sunset: a ravine full of tall red grasses rooted sparse along the banks of rusty parched soil, sunshine blazing slant along a sherbet sky. The grasses rattled and rang like chimes. The ravine was a cathedral of wild fire, of burning lips scorched and ravaged by thirst, aching with the joy of need, the precious fragility of survival, the common majesty of simply being: weathering the heat, flinching from the razor edges of the singing grasses, breathing in the fire of the solemn air.
The press of solitude was heavy: the ghost of a dead homeworld. Rose sat up, threw back the covers. The Tardis brought the light up from the dead of night to dawn.
The saddest song she’d ever heard was fading to nothing, and Rose’s feet hit the floor.
The Tardis loved her children. Rose followed dawn down coral hallways back into night. The library door was open.
His jacket hung empty on the hook by the door. He was sprawled in one of the leather wing chairs, one knee up, the reading light a halo. His book had fallen from his hand, his open fingers gaping to the floor. His lips were parted, his brow tight. His ankle twitched. The Doctor was dreaming.
Rose stared at him, drinking him in: blessing, savior, miracle - words she’d never had any use for till he appeared. That very evening, only a few hours ago, he’d kept her safe, shielding her from ruffians, holding her close in a tight corner for long minutes till she could almost swear she was hearing his thoughts, feeling his wariness and determination. She had felt so protected by his ferocity and gentleness, that she had relaxed into him, dropped her guard and simply felt her gratitude and happiness within the invincible circle of his arms.
Some sort of connection had been forged that trailed between them all the way back to the Tardis.
She had wished him goodnight, almost stumbling at the feel of the phantom kiss he’d wished into her hair as she turned away.
Now, somehow, she was sharing his dream.
She could hear the grass singing in the barely stirring air and the Doctor’s plaint of loneliness, a melody soaring and falling. The ravine was a cathedral of solitude, of loss: the searing sky, the thin hot air, the dry red rocks, everything burning, burning.
She wanted to reach out and take his hand, to comfort him with her touch, to interrupt this devastating dream of sorrow, but she couldn’t do it. It was all he had left of home.
As she stared, he breathed in sharply and opened his eyes. She was looking right into him, his china blue eyes, pure as porcelain, dim with pain.
He smiled, a veil. “Rose,” he said softly. “It’s very late for you to be awake. Or should I say, early?”
“I couldn’t sleep,” she whispered.
“I could. Must’ve dozed for an hour or more, me.” He leaned forward as if to stand and she started into movement.
“Doctor, wait,” she said. “Tell me about your dream.” She blurted out her question and then blushed furiously as she realized what a nosy question she’d asked.
Before answering he looked at her for what seemed like a very long time.
“You want to hear about Gallifrey?” he asked softly, his eyes gone slate with sadness.
“Yeah,” Rose whispered. She lowered herself slowly into the other wing chair. The soft black leather made her think of his jacket and she rubbed her hand softly along the arms.
“Ancient, harsh. Two suns, thin air. Desert mostly, temperature extremes most places. I grew up in the southern mountains. Forests, meadows, strange little animals, tiny birds and giant bees. It was so very beautiful,” he said, trailing off.
“I’m sorry it’s gone,” Rose said.
“Not your fault,” the Doctor said brightly. “In fact, that would be my fault if it’s anyone’s.”
“I don’t believe that,” Rose said.
“What would you know about it?” he answered roughly, but Rose didn’t take offense.
“I know you. You would have done anything to save that place, those people,” she said.
He sat up then and leaned forward. “Not those people, Rose. They’d gotten to be almost as bad as.... Sometimes you can’t put one planet at the top of your priorities -- sometimes you have the save the whole universe.”
“I saw your dream,” she said. “It really was beautiful.”
His eyes widened, his mouth opened. For a moment he didn’t say anything.
“Is that okay? that I saw what you were dreaming? I didn’t do it on purpose,” Rose said, getting nervous.
He swallowed. Then he reached for her hand and she leaned forward to offer it to him. A wave of comfort and security washed over Rose as he took her hand.
“I didn’t mean for that to happen,” the Doctor said, “but you certainly aren’t to blame.”
“For what to happen,” Rose asked. “What happened?”
The Doctor stared at her. His thumb caressed her hand. She was fairly certain he didn’t realize he was doing it.
“Standing so close in that doorway, I lost control,” he murmured. His hand was icy in hers, but she knew it would warm. “Slightly psychic, you know. I, ah, I formed a link with you. I shouldn’t have let it happen without asking.”
“I don’t think... I don’t think you didn’t ask. I think you did ask and I answered.” Rose struggled to make her meaning clear.
“This kind of link, Rose, it could tie you to me forever -- why would you..." the Doctor broke off, looking away.
“Why would I?” Rose asked, feeling a surge of hope flow through her. She lifted her other hand and with one finger turned his face back up to hers. “Why?”
His blue eyes bored into hers, wide, pale. He still had hold of her hand, cradling it tenderly.
She slid forward from the chair onto her knees, holding their joined hands up before his face.
“No one has ever,” she started, but tears filled her eyes and choked off her voice. She started again. “No one ever expected much out of me. But you, you believed in me. So maybe I’ve become what you needed, but that’s because it’s what I needed to become, the best I ever could be.”
His eyes clouded as he searched for the flaw in what she said, but his hand tightened around hers, warming, as she’d known it would.
“Doctor, last night, I thought I could feel you in my thoughts,” Rose whispered.
“I’m sorry,” he said, and she could tell that he meant it.
“Please, don’t be sorry,” she said, smiling through her tears. “Do it again.”
She knelt up in front of him, looking deep into his eyes, wanting him with everything she was.
Slowly, as she resolutely gazed at him, color returned to his icy cheeks and fire bloomed in his eyes. Her hand in his began to feel hot, and he smiled at last. “You’re sure then, Rose?” His free hand lifted to toy with the ends of her hair. A shiver ran down her neck, delicious.
“Absolutely,” she said, and grinned.
“Brilliant,” he said, grinning back, pulling her up onto his lap and touching his forehead to hers, two stars finally locking into orbit.
author: fannishliss
pairing: Nine/Rose
rating: PG
warnings, spoilers: none
length: 3233 words
summary: While protecting Rose, the Doctor drops his guard. A lovely evening, a tight space, and a bit of psychic dream-sharing. Also a hefty serving of Nine pining.
Note: This is not a drabble. Blue Skies Drabblethon: Prompt #16 : I walk without flinching through the burning cathedral of the summer. My bank of wild grass is majestic and full of music. It is a fire that solitude presses against my lips. (Mad in Pursuit by Violette Leduc)
I apologize for the formatting issues -- I'm using MS word, which seems to create a lot of junk in the tagging. :(
I.
The evening had been going beautifully: good food, fine wine, pleasant music, peaceful civilization. Dancing, even. The Doctor thought he’d done rather well.
On Jack’s advice, the Doctor had taken Rose to one of the great leisure halls of Arranellia, a mild and beautiful planet known in this age for its single-minded pursuit of romance. It was just the sort of place Jack loved to frequent, not somewhere the Doctor would normally go, but Rose had been tired, eager for some peace. Arranellians of this age were known for making love, not war, and so the Doctor didn’t think twice.
Jack had disappeared much earlier, leading a beautiful girl by the hand and making her laugh delightedly at the whisperings he dropped in her ear. The Doctor told him to be back in the Tardis no later than noon the next day, and Jack had agreed with a good-natured groan.
As the evening grew late, more and more diners began to pair up and leave the hall. A handsome young man Rose had danced with once (twice, the Doctor corrected to himself with a frown), touched Rose on the shoulder. The Doctor forced himself to look away, nonchalant. He had no claim on her. He wanted her to enjoy herself. She was a free woman after all.
When he looked back, Rose was still there, smiling at him, toying with her wine. She looked so beautiful in her modest gown, a shimmering scarf across her shoulders, her hair piled high, glittering earrings calling attention to the line of her neck. Her eyes were heavy with makeup, as usual, and he would have preferred to see her without it, but the Doctor had accustomed himself to her taste.
“Didn’t he dance well enough for you?” he said, pleasantly enough, he thought.
“He was fine,” Rose said non-committally.
Soon another young man approached Rose, and again she turned him down. The Doctor snorted to himself. Another pretty boy, he thought, though he didn’t consider himself much of a judge.
When the third young man went away disappointed, he joined the first two in a corner of the room. The Doctor didn’t like something in their posture, and he particularly didn’t like the way they were looking at Rose. Perhaps their planet was peaceful, but as individuals apparently they could still be a bit hot-headed.
“Rose, it’s time to go,” the Doctor said.
“Right,” she said, draining her glass with a happy sigh. She straightened her scarf around her shoulders and stood as he helped her pull out her chair.
The Doctor noticed a flurry as Rose led the way out of the room. Had he missed something?
Hastily, he reviewed the evening in his mind, and he realized that no other woman had stood without being led by a man. Surely the Arranellians were not still so backward? The suitors glowered openly at him as he trailed after Rose. The Arranellians had been given to feuds before they turned their civilization toward romance in the not-so-distant past. They still wore ceremonial daggers, and the young men were fingering theirs irritably.
The Doctor needed to get Rose out of there and fast. He quickened his stride and reached for her hand. Smiling, she happily returned his grip. Perhaps that would be enough of a claim to appease the young men. He led her out of the hall and into the night. The cool air was brisk and the stars were brilliant in the cloudless sky. Rose’s hair seemed to glow beneath the stars, and her pale satin gown gleamed like moonlight reflected off a lake.
“What a beautiful night, Doctor! Thank you so much for taking me here. I had such a lovely time!” Rose gushed.
The Doctor smiled, but then he heard the young men’s angry tones as they emerged from the hall. Rose’s heels clicked against the stones - not very high heels, good for dancing, but not so good for running.
“Rose, we’re being followed,” he warned.
“Shall we run?” Rose answered mischievously, eyes sparkling.
The Doctor pictured Rose, out of breath, sweaty, hair coming down in tangles around her face. It was a stunning sight and one he’d never tire of. But then he thought of the roughly cobbled street. The likelihood that Rose would twist an ankle, or even fall, was high. He leaned in and surreptitiously sniffed at her. She’d had several glasses of wine during the evening, and the alcohol content he detected on her breath was still too high for him to want to urge her to run.
He listened for their pursuers. They were about a block behind and he and Rose were already at the corner. The Doctor turned left and chanced it, leading Rose in a quick jog to a narrow alley a short way along. Sure enough, halfway down the alley was a recessed door.
“Quick, in here,” he told Rose. She quietly stepped up, pressing her back against the door. He braced his left arm against the door behind Rose’s neck, hiding his face against his upper arm. He pressed tightly in against her, sheltering her glittering beauty in the shadow of the door. He hated the thought that she might sully her beautiful gown against the grime of the alcove, but at least it didn’t stink. Rose breathed out and leaned back against his arm, keeping still and quiet. There was barely room for one of them, but he hoped the darkness of his clothing would help them not be seen.
He listened intently, but the three young men were hardly stealthy. They made quite a racket as they stomped along the street, arguing amongst themselves about Rose and reflecting on her in terms that made the Doctor grit his teeth. None of them were worth a second glance, much less an evening in her arms.
Oh, that was a thought he could’ve done without. He’d kept her smiling all evening, despite deflecting her repeated requests to dance. He’d given in to her once or twice when the style of music suited a respectable distance between partners -- and he certainly didn’t object to holding her hand.
Now, here he was, pressed up against Rose, feeling her every breath, all too aware of her luxurious heat through the thin satin, her precious, familiar scent filling his nostrils. If only, if only, he thought -- then beggars would ride, he answered himself bitterly. He found himself listening to her heartrate - only a little fast. She was keeping absolutely silent, alert, but amused, not frightened-- ready for anything, his Rose. He could feel her excitement at their little adventure, her implicit trust in him...
With a sting of chagrin, the Doctor realized that he was reading her, his body attuning itself to hers, decoding the chemical and electrical signals passing through her systems. He’d wanted her for so long, his senses greedily seizing on the slightest opportunity to learn each tiny nuance, despite the barriers he tried to put between them to protect her privacy. Now, pressed close, there was no holding back as his ravenous senses glutted on the feast that was Rose.
Mortified, he stiffened just a fraction, and Rose immediately noticed. He felt her tensing as she tried to follow his lead, and forced himself to relax.
“Shh,” he hushed, nearly silently. His mouth was just at her ear. Soon the obnoxious boys would have passed and he could step away.
They seemed to be having an argument at the corner. Two were complaining that they should give up and go back to the hall, but the loudest one wanted to keep looking. Apparently, Rose standing on her own instead of being led away by another man was a dreadful insult to their masculinity. Insolent pups! A woman like Rose, fiery and courageous, brilliant and kind -- to insinuate that she couldn’t stand or walk however she chose-- how dare they!
Anger flashed through him and instinctively he pressed closer, in an irresistible urge to defend and protect the beloved woman in his arms. Even that tiny increment of added closeness sang through him in delight, his skin soothed by her softness, his nerves receptive to the impulses flashing through her. As he stood, pressed against her, Rose shifted slightly in the confined space to take a deeper breath, lifting her chin up and to the right.
He felt it when she breathed him in. His desire for her was pouring off him in waves -- not that she could detect his alien pheromones, or at least he didn’t think so -- but his body didn’t know that, reacting as if it were deliberate when she filled her lungs with his honeyed scent, the chemicals rushing madly through her in an attempt to stimulate a like reaction.
He didn’t moan. He knew better than that. But the moan trapped in his throat seemed to choke him. By the Vortex, how he wanted her.
The softness of her cheek was a hair’s breadth from his. If only, if only....
And then she did move deliberately, brushing her cheek lightly against his.
The connection jolted through him. He’d spent so much willpower to keeping her thoughts off-limits, but in an instant, like a waterfall, they cascaded into his mind.
If only he wanted me... he smells so good, he feels so strong, like he’d fight off anything for me, I want him so much -- if only, if only...
Rose! In that moment, every part of him was focused on one fierce, overwhelming need: his body, long obsessed with hers; his will, overcome by the need to keep her safe; and now his mind, presented with the irrefutable knowledge that she returned his feelings. He couldn’t deny it any more--but still, he couldn’t act. He was frozen, his lungs bursting with her fragrances, his whole body on fire with her right there pressed against him, and stupid kids aggressively shouting on the corner.
Her thoughts were gorgeous to him, like orchids unfolding in a collector’s hothouse, each blossom richer than the last, more seductive and rare, and the possibility of joining with her, someday, was like a beautiful dream: two stars locked in binary orbits, interweaving their brilliant tendrils of glowing gases, polychromic ribbons exploding between them in endless celebration.
They stood there, breathing, falling, floating, till the fools on the corner went away.
The Doctor stepped back.
The starlight shone down in the dingy alleyway, illuminating Rose as though she’d been placed in that alcove only to be worshipped. Her skin put her satin gown to shame, and her hair glowed brighter than the jewels in her ears. Her lips were parted as she gazed down at him, her brown eyes full of emotion.
“Come along, then,” he said, and took her hand.
Something like electricity ran back and forth through their touch. She gazed at their joined hands, then into his face.
“Doctor?” she said.
He could feel her puzzlement, and then, her disappointment as he failed to respond. It wasn’t fair to Rose for him to indulge in this kind of bond, one that could take away her freedom if he kept losing control like this. Once again, he would brush the moment aside, for her sake, though the loss of her presence in his mind left him feeling more alone than ever.
She sighed and smiled a little wearily, stepped down from her plinth, and followed him back to the Tardis.
II.
Rose woke crying long past midnight, her mind’s eye saturated with the crimson and gold of a desert sunset: a ravine full of tall red grasses rooted sparse along the banks of rusty parched soil, sunshine blazing slant along a sherbet sky. The grasses rattled and rang like chimes. The ravine was a cathedral of wild fire, of burning lips scorched and ravaged by thirst, aching with the joy of need, the precious fragility of survival, the common majesty of simply being: weathering the heat, flinching from the razor edges of the singing grasses, breathing in the fire of the solemn air.
The press of solitude was heavy: the ghost of a dead homeworld. Rose sat up, threw back the covers. The Tardis brought the light up from the dead of night to dawn.
The saddest song she’d ever heard was fading to nothing, and Rose’s feet hit the floor.
The Tardis loved her children. Rose followed dawn down coral hallways back into night. The library door was open.
His jacket hung empty on the hook by the door. He was sprawled in one of the leather wing chairs, one knee up, the reading light a halo. His book had fallen from his hand, his open fingers gaping to the floor. His lips were parted, his brow tight. His ankle twitched. The Doctor was dreaming.
Rose stared at him, drinking him in: blessing, savior, miracle - words she’d never had any use for till he appeared. That very evening, only a few hours ago, he’d kept her safe, shielding her from ruffians, holding her close in a tight corner for long minutes till she could almost swear she was hearing his thoughts, feeling his wariness and determination. She had felt so protected by his ferocity and gentleness, that she had relaxed into him, dropped her guard and simply felt her gratitude and happiness within the invincible circle of his arms.
Some sort of connection had been forged that trailed between them all the way back to the Tardis.
She had wished him goodnight, almost stumbling at the feel of the phantom kiss he’d wished into her hair as she turned away.
Now, somehow, she was sharing his dream.
She could hear the grass singing in the barely stirring air and the Doctor’s plaint of loneliness, a melody soaring and falling. The ravine was a cathedral of solitude, of loss: the searing sky, the thin hot air, the dry red rocks, everything burning, burning.
She wanted to reach out and take his hand, to comfort him with her touch, to interrupt this devastating dream of sorrow, but she couldn’t do it. It was all he had left of home.
As she stared, he breathed in sharply and opened his eyes. She was looking right into him, his china blue eyes, pure as porcelain, dim with pain.
He smiled, a veil. “Rose,” he said softly. “It’s very late for you to be awake. Or should I say, early?”
“I couldn’t sleep,” she whispered.
“I could. Must’ve dozed for an hour or more, me.” He leaned forward as if to stand and she started into movement.
“Doctor, wait,” she said. “Tell me about your dream.” She blurted out her question and then blushed furiously as she realized what a nosy question she’d asked.
Before answering he looked at her for what seemed like a very long time.
“You want to hear about Gallifrey?” he asked softly, his eyes gone slate with sadness.
“Yeah,” Rose whispered. She lowered herself slowly into the other wing chair. The soft black leather made her think of his jacket and she rubbed her hand softly along the arms.
“Ancient, harsh. Two suns, thin air. Desert mostly, temperature extremes most places. I grew up in the southern mountains. Forests, meadows, strange little animals, tiny birds and giant bees. It was so very beautiful,” he said, trailing off.
“I’m sorry it’s gone,” Rose said.
“Not your fault,” the Doctor said brightly. “In fact, that would be my fault if it’s anyone’s.”
“I don’t believe that,” Rose said.
“What would you know about it?” he answered roughly, but Rose didn’t take offense.
“I know you. You would have done anything to save that place, those people,” she said.
He sat up then and leaned forward. “Not those people, Rose. They’d gotten to be almost as bad as.... Sometimes you can’t put one planet at the top of your priorities -- sometimes you have the save the whole universe.”
“I saw your dream,” she said. “It really was beautiful.”
His eyes widened, his mouth opened. For a moment he didn’t say anything.
“Is that okay? that I saw what you were dreaming? I didn’t do it on purpose,” Rose said, getting nervous.
He swallowed. Then he reached for her hand and she leaned forward to offer it to him. A wave of comfort and security washed over Rose as he took her hand.
“I didn’t mean for that to happen,” the Doctor said, “but you certainly aren’t to blame.”
“For what to happen,” Rose asked. “What happened?”
The Doctor stared at her. His thumb caressed her hand. She was fairly certain he didn’t realize he was doing it.
“Standing so close in that doorway, I lost control,” he murmured. His hand was icy in hers, but she knew it would warm. “Slightly psychic, you know. I, ah, I formed a link with you. I shouldn’t have let it happen without asking.”
“I don’t think... I don’t think you didn’t ask. I think you did ask and I answered.” Rose struggled to make her meaning clear.
“This kind of link, Rose, it could tie you to me forever -- why would you..." the Doctor broke off, looking away.
“Why would I?” Rose asked, feeling a surge of hope flow through her. She lifted her other hand and with one finger turned his face back up to hers. “Why?”
His blue eyes bored into hers, wide, pale. He still had hold of her hand, cradling it tenderly.
She slid forward from the chair onto her knees, holding their joined hands up before his face.
“No one has ever,” she started, but tears filled her eyes and choked off her voice. She started again. “No one ever expected much out of me. But you, you believed in me. So maybe I’ve become what you needed, but that’s because it’s what I needed to become, the best I ever could be.”
His eyes clouded as he searched for the flaw in what she said, but his hand tightened around hers, warming, as she’d known it would.
“Doctor, last night, I thought I could feel you in my thoughts,” Rose whispered.
“I’m sorry,” he said, and she could tell that he meant it.
“Please, don’t be sorry,” she said, smiling through her tears. “Do it again.”
She knelt up in front of him, looking deep into his eyes, wanting him with everything she was.
Slowly, as she resolutely gazed at him, color returned to his icy cheeks and fire bloomed in his eyes. Her hand in his began to feel hot, and he smiled at last. “You’re sure then, Rose?” His free hand lifted to toy with the ends of her hair. A shiver ran down her neck, delicious.
“Absolutely,” she said, and grinned.
“Brilliant,” he said, grinning back, pulling her up onto his lap and touching his forehead to hers, two stars finally locking into orbit.