Voyages of Discovery (Chapter Thirteen)
I'm baaaaaaaack! Miss me?
Unusually for my writing, this chapter is from the Doctor's POV. Jacob's quotation is from Ecclesiastes 9:9.
Previous Chapters
"When you come to the end of all the light you know, and it's time to step into the darkness of the unknown, faith is knowing that one of two things shall happen: Either you will be given something solid to stand on or you will be taught to fly." - Edward Teller
The Doctor dreamed again of Rose's screams, and his own, as she reached out her arms for him and fell toward the Void. This nightmare had been his faithful companion since that terrible day in Torchwood Tower, and each time, it left him hollow and desperate to reassure himself that no, no, Rose was safe, Pete had caught her, she was safe.
The dream ended, this time leaving him bolt upright and sucking in air like a drowning man. As he acclimated to the room around him, he felt the soft, sleeping form tucked around him and amazement replaced the horror. Here she was, safe and sound, sleeping in his bed. Their bed. With wonder, he laid the lightest of touches on her hair, rubbing a few strands between his thumb and forefinger. Rose. Here. With me. He smiled, shook his head, and slid back down in the bed, not wanting to wake her.
In sleep, her face was utterly relaxed and angelic. Her lower lip stood out slightly in a faint pout. Her eyelids and lashes, free of makeup, fluttered as she dreamed. He could see the faint movement of her pupils underneath those lids and wondered what she dreamed about. There was the briefest temptation to find out, to delve in and be with her in her dream world, but he resisted, not wanting to invade her privacy. There would be invitation in time, and he would wait for her to welcome him with full knowledge of what that sharing meant. He could tell her dream was an untroubled one, with her forehead unfurrowed and her full lips curled in the barest of smiles.
He smiled back. He had often chided her, and to be honest, most humans, about their insatiable need for sleep, which his superior brain handled much more efficiently. However, he had to admit there was something engrossing in watching Rose, normally so animated and emotional, completely unguarded.
He had slept longer than he had expected to, but he should not have been surprised at that; he always slept well when he was with Rose. The earliest morning light curled faintly into the cottage, casting a kind, pink glow. He heard the bells for Lauds, calling the monks to prayer at sunrise. The bells for Vigils, suspended halfway between midnight and dawn, had come and gone without disturbing either of them from sleep. In the distance, monks gathered after reflective study and moved together to greet the sun and the coming of the light.
Rose shifted in her sleep and mumbled something. He cradled her close and kissed her forehead lingeringly, keeping his lips light but close against her skin. In this idyll, there was nothing but quiet, and peace, and joy in her presence. More than anything, he wanted to wake her, to see her eyes drift open and focus upon him. His body hummed with nervous energy and restlessness. At one time, he might have simply vibrated enough to jostle her from sleep and then played it off, but now he felt compelled to stand vigil over her slumber. Of course, there was nothing to protect her from here, and he smiled at his own indulgence.
The smile faded as he thought of what he couldn't protect her from. Time, the inevitable march of oxidation, cellular decay, and genetic mutation. He could, with the proper equipment, insulate her from some of it, perhaps a lot of it, but not everything. He could simply shed his own worn-out body and assume a new one when he needed to, of course, and even that would run out in time, but well after any extension he could manage for Rose. In the end, he would lose her again, no matter how protective he was or how much he cared for her. He wondered again why he didn't befriend a species with a longer lifespan and came to the same conclusion he always did: there was something about humans that never ceased to fascinate him. Perhaps it was that mortality that gave them such joy and awe at the universe. At any rate, it was a catalyst for his own wonderment at the worlds around him.
It's time for breakfast, he thought distractedly. Wake up, Rose. He stared fixedly at her, but she remained blissfully unaware of his growing hunger. He thought wistfully of warm rolls with fresh butter and homemade jam. His mouth watered. Rose didn't stir. The idea of sneaking off without a word to her was not very palatable even with his body's steady urging.
At long last, he gave in to his impulse and kissed her awake. She responded at first without any real awareness, allowing him to snog her thoroughly. When realization struck her, he felt her quick jerk of surprise and then, satisfyingly, her rather enthusiastic response to his greeting. She tasted of sleep and her mouth was somewhat dry, a situation which resolved itself as his tongue explored.
"Good morning," he said brightly, breaking away and grinning foolishly at her starry-eyed, drowsy expression. "Want me to fetch you some breakfast in bed? I'm starving and there's new jam in the kitchen."
"You're a nutter," she said, rolling her eyes at him and letting her head fall back against the pillow.
"You always say that," he complained, levering himself gracefully across her and crossing to his discarded pile of clothes.
"Come back to bed," she enticed, extending a hand toward him.
"Oh, I will, never you mind that, but first things first. It's time for breakfast and you are entirely too thin. I intend to take you on a whirlwind tour of the best chips in the universe - again - but for now, some breakfast will have to do. It is," he intoned, slipping on his trousers, "the most important meal of the day." Rose threw the pillow at him and he ducked, giving her a wounded look. "There's no need for that." He picked up the projectile and carefully handed it back to her before putting on his shirt.
"Fine," she said, giving in with obvious annoyance. "I wanted to clean my teeth anyway." She threw back the sheet and stalked into the bathroom.
"I wasn't going to say anything about that," he called, and she slammed the door. "What?" he asked of the door. "I didn't say anything." He added socks and trainers and left off the tie, coat, and jacket in favor of haste, considering his chosen companion's mood, and headed off for the dining hall at a brisk trot.
He arrived just after the monks had finished their morning meal and caught Jacob outside the dining hall. "Where's Rose?" asked the monk, giving the Doctor's disheveled state of attire an amused look.
"At the cottage. She needed to sleep. I wanted to get some breakfast," he explained quickly.
"Ah," intoned Jacob meaningfully. "Let's get her something, then." They went into the kitchen and Jacob rummaged in some cabinets and drawers. "Jam? I thought so. Here's the strawberry. Good heavens, you can't possibly eat all those rolls. Fine, fine, take what you want."
"Bananas?" asked the Doctor hopefully.
"Not a chance." Jacob bundled some of the ever-present citrus fruit into a small canvas bag and arranged a jar of the strawberry jam and a wax-paper covered pat of butter inside along with a small spreader. The Doctor dropped a large number of the crusty rolls on top of his bag of loot.
"Thanks," he said happily. "I'll be off, then."
"Not quite yet," said Jacob sternly. "Did you tell her?"
"Tell her what?" he asked, with the most innocent face he could muster.
Jacob regarded him evenly and employed his best waiting stance, arms crossed and feet slightly apart. The Doctor shifted uncomfortably under the weight of the regard from the human who might know him best, had been there for the darkest days after his separation from Rose, and who certainly knew … entirely too much.
"Ah, she knows," he mumbled, avoiding Jacob's steady gaze.
Jacob, the mild-mannered man of God, companion in exile to the Oncoming Storm, utterly lost his temper.
"Time Lord," he exploded, white beard standing out from his chin and finger waving in the air, "you try my patience!" He pursed his lips and shot the Doctor an icy blue glare. "You nearly collapsed when you lost her. Don't start with me! I saw you. I helped you. I listened and I let you not talk when you needed to not talk. You made progress and peace and started to move on, but don't tell me you wouldn't have given all of your remaining lives to have her back. You would have. And now, you coward, you are trying to fall right back into where you were. I can't, I can't, I can't," he spluttered to a halt, giving the astonished Doctor a chance to pipe in.
"But it's not how it was," he began lamely.
"Oh, isn't it? She walked away from her whole world to be with you, and you love her as much as she loves you. In the name of all that is right and holy - whether you believe in any of it or not - tell her that. You may not need the words but I guarantee that she does."
"But she said -"
"Never mind what she said. Just do the right thing."
"That's a Spike Lee movie." The Doctor offered a tentative smile.
"Don't try to distract me with popular culture. 'Live joyfully with the wife whom thou lovest all the days of the life of thy vanity, which he hath given thee under the sun, all the days of thy vanity: for that is thy portion in this life, and in thy labour which thou takest under the sun.' You pleaded for Rose to be returned to you, and so she has been. Do not waste one more minute of one more day. Now, get out of my kitchen."
"Jacob," said the Doctor beseechingly.
"I said, get out!" Jacob pointed with one long finger at the kitchen door and handed the bag to the Doctor.
The Doctor, who had toppled governments and faced down countless threats to countless planets, put his head down and hurried out the door.
Unusually for my writing, this chapter is from the Doctor's POV. Jacob's quotation is from Ecclesiastes 9:9.
Previous Chapters
"When you come to the end of all the light you know, and it's time to step into the darkness of the unknown, faith is knowing that one of two things shall happen: Either you will be given something solid to stand on or you will be taught to fly." - Edward Teller
The Doctor dreamed again of Rose's screams, and his own, as she reached out her arms for him and fell toward the Void. This nightmare had been his faithful companion since that terrible day in Torchwood Tower, and each time, it left him hollow and desperate to reassure himself that no, no, Rose was safe, Pete had caught her, she was safe.
The dream ended, this time leaving him bolt upright and sucking in air like a drowning man. As he acclimated to the room around him, he felt the soft, sleeping form tucked around him and amazement replaced the horror. Here she was, safe and sound, sleeping in his bed. Their bed. With wonder, he laid the lightest of touches on her hair, rubbing a few strands between his thumb and forefinger. Rose. Here. With me. He smiled, shook his head, and slid back down in the bed, not wanting to wake her.
In sleep, her face was utterly relaxed and angelic. Her lower lip stood out slightly in a faint pout. Her eyelids and lashes, free of makeup, fluttered as she dreamed. He could see the faint movement of her pupils underneath those lids and wondered what she dreamed about. There was the briefest temptation to find out, to delve in and be with her in her dream world, but he resisted, not wanting to invade her privacy. There would be invitation in time, and he would wait for her to welcome him with full knowledge of what that sharing meant. He could tell her dream was an untroubled one, with her forehead unfurrowed and her full lips curled in the barest of smiles.
He smiled back. He had often chided her, and to be honest, most humans, about their insatiable need for sleep, which his superior brain handled much more efficiently. However, he had to admit there was something engrossing in watching Rose, normally so animated and emotional, completely unguarded.
He had slept longer than he had expected to, but he should not have been surprised at that; he always slept well when he was with Rose. The earliest morning light curled faintly into the cottage, casting a kind, pink glow. He heard the bells for Lauds, calling the monks to prayer at sunrise. The bells for Vigils, suspended halfway between midnight and dawn, had come and gone without disturbing either of them from sleep. In the distance, monks gathered after reflective study and moved together to greet the sun and the coming of the light.
Rose shifted in her sleep and mumbled something. He cradled her close and kissed her forehead lingeringly, keeping his lips light but close against her skin. In this idyll, there was nothing but quiet, and peace, and joy in her presence. More than anything, he wanted to wake her, to see her eyes drift open and focus upon him. His body hummed with nervous energy and restlessness. At one time, he might have simply vibrated enough to jostle her from sleep and then played it off, but now he felt compelled to stand vigil over her slumber. Of course, there was nothing to protect her from here, and he smiled at his own indulgence.
The smile faded as he thought of what he couldn't protect her from. Time, the inevitable march of oxidation, cellular decay, and genetic mutation. He could, with the proper equipment, insulate her from some of it, perhaps a lot of it, but not everything. He could simply shed his own worn-out body and assume a new one when he needed to, of course, and even that would run out in time, but well after any extension he could manage for Rose. In the end, he would lose her again, no matter how protective he was or how much he cared for her. He wondered again why he didn't befriend a species with a longer lifespan and came to the same conclusion he always did: there was something about humans that never ceased to fascinate him. Perhaps it was that mortality that gave them such joy and awe at the universe. At any rate, it was a catalyst for his own wonderment at the worlds around him.
It's time for breakfast, he thought distractedly. Wake up, Rose. He stared fixedly at her, but she remained blissfully unaware of his growing hunger. He thought wistfully of warm rolls with fresh butter and homemade jam. His mouth watered. Rose didn't stir. The idea of sneaking off without a word to her was not very palatable even with his body's steady urging.
At long last, he gave in to his impulse and kissed her awake. She responded at first without any real awareness, allowing him to snog her thoroughly. When realization struck her, he felt her quick jerk of surprise and then, satisfyingly, her rather enthusiastic response to his greeting. She tasted of sleep and her mouth was somewhat dry, a situation which resolved itself as his tongue explored.
"Good morning," he said brightly, breaking away and grinning foolishly at her starry-eyed, drowsy expression. "Want me to fetch you some breakfast in bed? I'm starving and there's new jam in the kitchen."
"You're a nutter," she said, rolling her eyes at him and letting her head fall back against the pillow.
"You always say that," he complained, levering himself gracefully across her and crossing to his discarded pile of clothes.
"Come back to bed," she enticed, extending a hand toward him.
"Oh, I will, never you mind that, but first things first. It's time for breakfast and you are entirely too thin. I intend to take you on a whirlwind tour of the best chips in the universe - again - but for now, some breakfast will have to do. It is," he intoned, slipping on his trousers, "the most important meal of the day." Rose threw the pillow at him and he ducked, giving her a wounded look. "There's no need for that." He picked up the projectile and carefully handed it back to her before putting on his shirt.
"Fine," she said, giving in with obvious annoyance. "I wanted to clean my teeth anyway." She threw back the sheet and stalked into the bathroom.
"I wasn't going to say anything about that," he called, and she slammed the door. "What?" he asked of the door. "I didn't say anything." He added socks and trainers and left off the tie, coat, and jacket in favor of haste, considering his chosen companion's mood, and headed off for the dining hall at a brisk trot.
He arrived just after the monks had finished their morning meal and caught Jacob outside the dining hall. "Where's Rose?" asked the monk, giving the Doctor's disheveled state of attire an amused look.
"At the cottage. She needed to sleep. I wanted to get some breakfast," he explained quickly.
"Ah," intoned Jacob meaningfully. "Let's get her something, then." They went into the kitchen and Jacob rummaged in some cabinets and drawers. "Jam? I thought so. Here's the strawberry. Good heavens, you can't possibly eat all those rolls. Fine, fine, take what you want."
"Bananas?" asked the Doctor hopefully.
"Not a chance." Jacob bundled some of the ever-present citrus fruit into a small canvas bag and arranged a jar of the strawberry jam and a wax-paper covered pat of butter inside along with a small spreader. The Doctor dropped a large number of the crusty rolls on top of his bag of loot.
"Thanks," he said happily. "I'll be off, then."
"Not quite yet," said Jacob sternly. "Did you tell her?"
"Tell her what?" he asked, with the most innocent face he could muster.
Jacob regarded him evenly and employed his best waiting stance, arms crossed and feet slightly apart. The Doctor shifted uncomfortably under the weight of the regard from the human who might know him best, had been there for the darkest days after his separation from Rose, and who certainly knew … entirely too much.
"Ah, she knows," he mumbled, avoiding Jacob's steady gaze.
Jacob, the mild-mannered man of God, companion in exile to the Oncoming Storm, utterly lost his temper.
"Time Lord," he exploded, white beard standing out from his chin and finger waving in the air, "you try my patience!" He pursed his lips and shot the Doctor an icy blue glare. "You nearly collapsed when you lost her. Don't start with me! I saw you. I helped you. I listened and I let you not talk when you needed to not talk. You made progress and peace and started to move on, but don't tell me you wouldn't have given all of your remaining lives to have her back. You would have. And now, you coward, you are trying to fall right back into where you were. I can't, I can't, I can't," he spluttered to a halt, giving the astonished Doctor a chance to pipe in.
"But it's not how it was," he began lamely.
"Oh, isn't it? She walked away from her whole world to be with you, and you love her as much as she loves you. In the name of all that is right and holy - whether you believe in any of it or not - tell her that. You may not need the words but I guarantee that she does."
"But she said -"
"Never mind what she said. Just do the right thing."
"That's a Spike Lee movie." The Doctor offered a tentative smile.
"Don't try to distract me with popular culture. 'Live joyfully with the wife whom thou lovest all the days of the life of thy vanity, which he hath given thee under the sun, all the days of thy vanity: for that is thy portion in this life, and in thy labour which thou takest under the sun.' You pleaded for Rose to be returned to you, and so she has been. Do not waste one more minute of one more day. Now, get out of my kitchen."
"Jacob," said the Doctor beseechingly.
"I said, get out!" Jacob pointed with one long finger at the kitchen door and handed the bag to the Doctor.
The Doctor, who had toppled governments and faced down countless threats to countless planets, put his head down and hurried out the door.