(no subject)
Title: What he needs
Author: Fayth
Show/Ship: Doctor Who/ NINE/Rose
Genre: Sweetness.
Prompt: #10- Hug
Disclaimer: Reading this fic doesn't constitute a form of legal contract. Unlike making a pact with the beast for the Doctor. Dammit.
Summary: The Doctor thinks on what he really needs.
A/N- Happy!Who fic from my new table. I miss Nine. Really miss Nine. What is with all the GITF angst recently? Am I projecting?
How do you ask for something like this? He wonders, darting quick little looks at her from the corner of his eye. How do you ask for what you want, what you need, from the one person you don’t have a right to ask it from?
It seems easy enough for Jack, easy enough for Mickey. Even flipping Adam the idiot and Charles Dickens manage it.
Yet he, Time Lord, can’t seem to get those words out.
He bites his lip and looks down, deep into the bowels of the TARDIS controls, wondering if she could give him a hand or if those words are even beyond her amazing translation powers.
Oh, he knows what the words are, has always known.
But can he say them? Say them out loud to her, to Rose, without sounding like some kind of blithering, pathetic idiot?
He watches as she flips over another page in her book, intent on reading about the lost adventures of Mrs Marple.
He’d taken her to see Dame Agatha Christie and Rose had been beside herself, barely being able to stop telling the woman how she’d been in detention when she’d first discovered one of her books and had managed to get read them all one summer.
It had been a real eye opener for him to realise that Rose had even more depth than he’d realised. Not that he’d ever thought she was thick, and that isn’t the point.
The point is that he’s supposed to be some linguistic genius and yet he can’t find the words to tell one 19 year old shop girl from Earth’s most annoying time period., what he really wants.
He’d had to learn at least twelve languages before he could pass his university course. He’d learnt an additional fifty-two before he’d even set foot in the TARDIS. Now his knowledge of languages was unsurpassed, if aided by the TARDIS. But he still can’t say those little words to her.
She won’t laugh at him, he knows. She won’t deride him or mock him or even deny him, but pride stops him. He doesn’t want to admit to this, to this need, this desire. He doesn’t want her to know that he, too, has feelings.
He shakes his head again and rams the sonic screwdriver into the console and almost squeaks as it sparks at him.
Rose looks up from her book and gives him a lop-sided grin. “You okay?”
“Yeah.”
No, is what he really wants to say.
He wants to tell her that he hasn’t been okay since he’d seen the way that Prince had looked at her over the last course on Bellaire. He hasn’t been okay since he’d seen her dragged away by the Axons. He hasn’t been okay since he’d watched her walk away with Mickey in Cardiff. He hasn’t been okay since Jack had come aboard to claim a dance.
But, most of all, he hasn’t been okay since they’d stood face to face with the Daleks and he’d let her be trapped.
Things had been festering in his head since then and he knows what he needs, knows exactly what will put them to rights again.
But he’s afraid to ask.
Yep, that’s right; he’s a coward in more ways than one.
Adam had stopped him; her father had stopped him; Jack had stopped him. But now they’re alone in the TARDIS and there’s just one thing he wants from Rose.
He takes a deep breath and walks over, taking his hearts in his hands and reaches for the book she’s holding.
Rose looks up at his determined face. “Doctor?”
He can do this, he can ask this. He can say this to her, it’s no big deal.
The Doctor takes a deep breath.
“Rose Tyler … I need a hug.”
A grin splits her face and she drops her book, opening her arms for him.
He drops to one knee and tugs her into his embrace, feeling her warmth surround him, her presence comfort him and he fits his head into the hollow of her throat.
This is exactly what he needs.
Author: Fayth
Show/Ship: Doctor Who/ NINE/Rose
Genre: Sweetness.
Prompt: #10- Hug
Disclaimer: Reading this fic doesn't constitute a form of legal contract. Unlike making a pact with the beast for the Doctor. Dammit.
Summary: The Doctor thinks on what he really needs.
A/N- Happy!Who fic from my new table. I miss Nine. Really miss Nine. What is with all the GITF angst recently? Am I projecting?
How do you ask for something like this? He wonders, darting quick little looks at her from the corner of his eye. How do you ask for what you want, what you need, from the one person you don’t have a right to ask it from?
It seems easy enough for Jack, easy enough for Mickey. Even flipping Adam the idiot and Charles Dickens manage it.
Yet he, Time Lord, can’t seem to get those words out.
He bites his lip and looks down, deep into the bowels of the TARDIS controls, wondering if she could give him a hand or if those words are even beyond her amazing translation powers.
Oh, he knows what the words are, has always known.
But can he say them? Say them out loud to her, to Rose, without sounding like some kind of blithering, pathetic idiot?
He watches as she flips over another page in her book, intent on reading about the lost adventures of Mrs Marple.
He’d taken her to see Dame Agatha Christie and Rose had been beside herself, barely being able to stop telling the woman how she’d been in detention when she’d first discovered one of her books and had managed to get read them all one summer.
It had been a real eye opener for him to realise that Rose had even more depth than he’d realised. Not that he’d ever thought she was thick, and that isn’t the point.
The point is that he’s supposed to be some linguistic genius and yet he can’t find the words to tell one 19 year old shop girl from Earth’s most annoying time period., what he really wants.
He’d had to learn at least twelve languages before he could pass his university course. He’d learnt an additional fifty-two before he’d even set foot in the TARDIS. Now his knowledge of languages was unsurpassed, if aided by the TARDIS. But he still can’t say those little words to her.
She won’t laugh at him, he knows. She won’t deride him or mock him or even deny him, but pride stops him. He doesn’t want to admit to this, to this need, this desire. He doesn’t want her to know that he, too, has feelings.
He shakes his head again and rams the sonic screwdriver into the console and almost squeaks as it sparks at him.
Rose looks up from her book and gives him a lop-sided grin. “You okay?”
“Yeah.”
No, is what he really wants to say.
He wants to tell her that he hasn’t been okay since he’d seen the way that Prince had looked at her over the last course on Bellaire. He hasn’t been okay since he’d seen her dragged away by the Axons. He hasn’t been okay since he’d watched her walk away with Mickey in Cardiff. He hasn’t been okay since Jack had come aboard to claim a dance.
But, most of all, he hasn’t been okay since they’d stood face to face with the Daleks and he’d let her be trapped.
Things had been festering in his head since then and he knows what he needs, knows exactly what will put them to rights again.
But he’s afraid to ask.
Yep, that’s right; he’s a coward in more ways than one.
Adam had stopped him; her father had stopped him; Jack had stopped him. But now they’re alone in the TARDIS and there’s just one thing he wants from Rose.
He takes a deep breath and walks over, taking his hearts in his hands and reaches for the book she’s holding.
Rose looks up at his determined face. “Doctor?”
He can do this, he can ask this. He can say this to her, it’s no big deal.
The Doctor takes a deep breath.
“Rose Tyler … I need a hug.”
A grin splits her face and she drops her book, opening her arms for him.
He drops to one knee and tugs her into his embrace, feeling her warmth surround him, her presence comfort him and he fits his head into the hollow of her throat.
This is exactly what he needs.