Fic commentary: Dance
For the fic commentary meme, larielromeniel requested commentary on Dance. Which she also kindly beta'd for me back in the day. :)
One of my few honest-to-god reunion fics completed before we knew that S4 spoiler. Maybe my only one? I dunno. But it's one of my favorites and it was fun to revisit.
As I recall, this is one of those few fics that emerged fully formed in my head. I’m pretty sure I had it all written in one sitting on the same day I thought it up. This is really rare for me. I agonize over fics for days, if not weeks. And even longer in some cases, but usually those never get done.
The heady bassline thrummed through her as she wriggled her hips and stomped her feet in time. Occasionally her hands would caress her sides on their way above her head or into her hair, as if they were a lover’s and not her own. And although she must know she created a tantalizing picture to every male in sight, her glistening body barely half-clothed, she danced as if she was all alone.
I wanted this beginning to be both about sexiness and loneliness. I wasn’t sure how to have Rose dressed, but I figured I would go with the barely there clothes…it fit with the theme.
The song was vaguely familiar to her, as everything in this slightly-wrong world was vaguely familiar. Still it reminded her of being young and carefree, and it was times like these that she could pretend to be just that. Not a care in the world, none of the responsibilities of a top secret job, no fate of the world to think about, and no memory of a lost love to tug at her heart after so many years.
Because she’s always gonna be thinking of the Doctor. And being “defender of the earth” has got to come with a lot of stresses. Especially when you can’t just run off in the TARDIS after a job well done. I was trying to get across that she was never quite at home in this world, but avoid the cliché of the melodramatic Rose-is-incurably-miserable-without-the-Doctor thing
In body she was not yet 27; she felt decades older. Except when she could go out and dance. She always took a mate for safety and an excuse to ward off any blokes who got any ideas from her provocative dancing. She didn’t have time for boyfriends and wasn’t particularly interested in one-off shags either. The dance floor was the perfect place to find a bit of anonymity, and a bit of release for her excess energy.
These days she spent more time behind a desk than running for her life. And while she still found herself often in the field, dealing with the latest alien threat, her life wasn’t made up of one run-for-your-life adventure to the next anymore.
She missed it, truth be told. But here, she’d do her damndest not to think of it. Of him. She thought of nothing but the rhythm.
Little does she know, she’s about to do a LOT of thinking about him. I wonder if this was obvious straight away? I wanted there to be a bit of mystery, and yet for the reader to be surer than Rose that it’s him.
So when a hand landed lightly on her bare shoulder, she hastily brushed it aside, giving what she hoped was a clear not-interested sign without so much as missing a beat. Opening her eyes she saw Mickey’s girlfriend Carla, her chosen companion for the evening, dancing nearby and eying her curiously.
“What?” Rose mouthed.
Carla shrugged and danced a little closer, as Mystery Hand Man became bold and slid his hands to her waist.
Anyone who thinks us Rose lovers write Rose as a Mary Sue? Rest assured this Rose (or any Rose for that matter) is nothing like me. Stranger touching me? Yikes. I run away. Or at the very least shove him off, which of course she does plan to do.
Rose stiffened and faltered for a second in her movements, but not wanting to cause a scene (the Vitex Heiress did have to the tabloids to think of, after all), she let the man dance close behind her for a few moments. And it did feel nice to have someone so close. He smelled nice, if vaguely familiar, sparking a memory she quickly shoved away. He wasn’t pawing her or pushing himself up against her, just kept his hands at her waist and moved with her to the pulsing beat.
At least he’s a nice stranger. Vaguely familiar is probably the tip off that it’s the Doctor, right? Or you know, the HEADER of the fic. ;)
Still she had a fairly strict policy about these things and was about to remove his hands and to politely tell him to sod off when he brought his lips down to her ear and whispered low. It was so quiet she shouldn’t have been able to hear it over the music, but she felt it, nonetheless.
“Rose.”
She did stop dancing then, because hearing that voice was absolutely, utterly, impossible. The last time she’d heard it say that word, its owner was a second away from disappearing from her life forever, leaving her a sobbing wreck on a cold foreign beach.
*Doomsday wibble*
Rose slid her hands to cover those at her waist, but otherwise stayed completely still. She was too scared to turn around to confirm that she’d misheard, that she was dreaming, or that maybe she’d finally lost her grip on reality.
Carla sought her eyes again, showing concern, ready to step in and get between her and the would-be suitor. But Rose couldn’t convey anything to her friend, instead she closed her eyes, summoning any inner strength she could find, ready to tell Mr. Can’t Possibly Be The Doctor …
It was fun trying to come up with different ways Rose would think about this guy, and the names she’d give him in his head. Mystery Hand Man and Mr. Can’t Possibly Be The Doctor. She really does think it’s utterly impossible. So given that, why isn’t she freaking out? That’s Rose for you…
…to peddle his wares elsewhere. But before she could, he spoke again.
“Rose, it’s me.”
He gripped her tighter and she leaned into him, almost convinced that the fantasy was real and suddenly not wanting to let it go.
This is why she’s not freaking out. Because the fantasy is nice. She’s in public, not in danger and she can pretend for a little while that she’s got the man she loves. For the record, I don’t think she is really almost convinced. I think she thinks she’s being messed with, straight away.
She slid her hands up to grip him behind his neck and began to move her hips to the music again and he followed suit.
“’S impossible,” she murmured.
“Maybe,” he answered, his breath warm on her ear. “Still real, though.”
I was, of course, going for the sexy here. With the hands on the neck and the murmuring by both of them. I mean, this fandom has all sorts of connotations heaped on the word “dance” already, but yeah, I wanted this fairly sexy for a short, not smutty fic. And yes, perhaps it is improbable that Rose never turns around, but… suspension of disbelief!!!
She opened her eyes, finally remembering Carla’s concern. Rose flashed her a smile, telling her she was all right. As she did, she caught sight of the blue sleeve of her dancing partner. Blue. Now she knew it really wasn’t him. And she knew she should be wary of this man who knew her name, who sounded and felt like the Doctor. Still, she let him hold her, dance with her through several more songs, caress her as she did him, never turning to face him, never breaking the spell that was woven between them, even as he gradually guided their steps towards the edge of the dance floor and away from the crowd.
If he wasn’t an imposter messing with her head, but just a normal bloke, Rose knew what would be expected of her at this point after dancing like they’d been. An exchange of names (though he already knew hers), to accept an offer of drink, maybe a snog, maybe a taxi ride back to his flat and a night of nearly anonymous shagging.
Does this imply that Rose has been being a bit sluttish these past few years? I’m sure I didn’t mean that. Just what was expected of normal people in such a situation. Not that there’s any reason why she couldn’t or shouldn’t have one-night stands or anything, I just didn’t mean to imply that it’s a regular thing for her.
But he wasn’t just any bloke, and she knew she had to deal with the issue and let the thin fantasy shatter completely. She disentangled herself from him and made for the stairs that led to a quieter bar above the dance floor. She didn’t look behind her, but had a pretty good idea that he’d follow.
Running to the bar, a little breathless, she leaned against it and asked the bartender for a water.
“Two, please,” came the familiar voice next to her.
Rose raised her eyes to the mirror that lined the back of the bar, and in between the jewel tones of the wall of countless bottles, was the unmistakable face of the Doctor. She gasped. Wavering unsteadily on her feet, she gripped the edge of the bar for support.
I think I got a few compliments on this scene and its description. You’d never know (except you do now!) that I had a very particular place in mind for this scene. That is, a real place. A bar in Ireland (not above a dance floor though). I think that’s why I was able to realize it the way I did. It had a bar like this and shadowy corner tables and everything. It was quite lovely. This bit of the story may have come before the rest.
The Doctor slid an arm about her waist to steady her and met her eyes in the mirror.
“Told you,” he said.
Turning in his grasp then, she finally faced him, immediately raising an unsteady hand to his cheek. Though they’d been touching, quite intimately, for some time now, she needed this contact to convince her that her eyes weren’t fooling her like she’d thought the rest of her body had been. Her fingertips made contact with his slightly stubbled face and she quickly drew back, letting go another gasp.
“How-?”
“Long story. Do you-should we-that is-it’s complicated. Can we sit?” he finally asked, glancing to some empty tables clustered in a dark corner.
“You git!” Rose exclaimed and smacked him on the arm. “Why didn’t you say anything?!” Tears threatened in her eyes. How could he have wasted so much time dancing? It wasn’t mock annoyance in her voice, but he gave her a small laugh anyway.
“I thought I did. You wanted to dance.” He shrugged. “So we danced.”
I wanted this to be… relatively angst-free. I mean, it can’t be totally, because of the circumstances, but I wanted it to be them right away, back to being them. It only takes her a minute to smack him and call him a git. And his logic is…well, very Doctorish. The ‘don’t blame me’ thing.
Rose gaped at him for a few moments. Then huffed loudly and dragged him by the hand to a table, their drinks forgotten at the bar. Before they could sit, though, Rose threw herself into his arms. They immediately came up around her, hugging her tightly to him. She breathed in the scent that was, indeed, all Doctor, enjoying his arms around her without the distractions of the dance floor and the doubting of her sanity. Her tears fell freely then, wetting his suit.
“Missed you too,” he whispered into her hair, his voice tight with emotion.
Because they totally know what the other is thinking. *dreamy sigh*
Rose pulled back a little and looked up at him. “How much time is there?” She asked tentatively.
“For you? All the time in the world. Well…I say ‘all’, but you can’t measure time that way, can you? What I mean is enough. Enough time. This time,” he added seriously.
Rose was afraid to ask what for-the possibilities and options running at light speed through her head, wondering what his impossibly possible return meant-but she couldn’t stop the words coming out of her mouth. “Enough for what?”
“For this, at least,” he said gently, then dipped his head and kissed her.
She responded immediately, not even pausing to be shocked at his actions. After their years of separation, and never having done this properly while they were together, it felt too good, too right to question.
Quickly he deepened the kiss, his tongue sliding to meet hers in a dance as sensual as the ones they’d been sharing downstairs, but infinitely more satisfying.
Ah, look! A reason for the kiss/dance metaphor!
His hands roamed her mostly bare back, as his mouth continued its onslaught on hers, and Rose promptly decided that, actually, it would take a lot more of this, and related activities, for her to be satisfied.
When she felt a moan creeping up inside her, she reluctantly pulled away, and buried her face in his suit coat again to let it escape.
“Probably not the right place for this, yeah?” she asked.
“Well,” he considered, looking around. “No, probably not. Sit?” He asked again.
At her nod, he ushered her in to a booth along the wall and sidled in beside her. A silence followed, in which she focused on rememorizing the lines of his face, and listening to the sounds of his breaths, which, fast as they were, seemed to come in time to the muted beat of the bass still pumping below. She itched to kiss him again, but waited, still.
He wrapped his hands around hers, and held tight. He was still silent, but if the odd expressions that passed over his face were any indication, he was looking for precisely the right words, nearly starting to speak a dozen times before stopping himself.
“Doctor-” she began, because someone had to, but he cut her off.
“Rose, there’s so much I have to say to you, and I don’t know how or where to begin.” If the snogging wasn’t proof enough, here was evidence that he was truly letting his guard down around her, admitting he didn’t know what words to form in a tense moment.
“It’s all right,” she soothed, squeezing his hands, “just say…whatever you need to.”
“Okay.” He took a deep breath, then, seeming to come to a decision, he asked, “Are you happy here?”
Oooh, where’d that come from? This bit surprised me when I wrote it. I think it was to show that it’s not a fairy tale, they’re not perfect. And it is a kind of unfair question, for the first question. But it’s just like the Doctor to blunder like that.
Rose bristled. How could he ask that of her? “You don’t get to ask me that,” she answered, mildly, but firmly.
“I don’t?”
She shook her head. “Not just now. Next question.”
He thought for a few seconds, his tongue darting out to moisten his top lip and distracting her again.
“You know that…in Norway…I was going to tell you…something? Ran out of time. Ironic, that.”
“I know.”
“Right. Well. What I mean to say is… I don’t know if you still…I realize it’s been some years, and I literally came straight here, traced your bio-signature, I have no idea what your life is like here, here in Pete’s World, or who you might…keep company with, besides that lovely woman downstairs who seemed to be your friend, and I know it’s slightly oafish for me to barge back into your life with a dance and a kiss, but if I may say it was a fantastic snog, and if you do still feel anything like you did, back then, then you should know that I do. Too. I do too.”
A couple people said this bit was very Doctorish. How I love praise like that! But yeah, I heard him very clearly in my head, saying this. If I were being entirely fair to the character, I’d make this ramble longer, but I didn’t have the heart to let him ramble on unanswered and unsure for so long.
Rose let a smile grow during his babble. When he paused, though she knew how hard it had been for him even to get that much of an admission out, she prodded him gently.
“You do what too?”
He released her hands and cupped her face, pulling her in for a brief, hard kiss.
“You know. I love you.” And then, more confidently, he repeated, “Rose Tyler, I love you.”
Because in this world, he CAN say it. *moar wibbles*
She felt the tears threaten to rise again, and holding them back took all her effort. Words wouldn’t come, and knowing how her silence might seem to him, she tried to smile back.
“And,” he continued as if he hadn’t paused to let her speak, “if you’re in any way agreeable, I’d like very much, to be…with you. For as long as…for as long as we have. I have one trip left back to our universe. And I’ll take it. Tomorrow or in 70 years, with you, or with the memory of a life lived with you. Either way. You’ll not be rid of me.”
Rose boggled at him as he grinned at her. Had he just offered her a lifetime? Not in the more rhetorical sense that he had after she’d met Sarah Jane, but an actual offer to be with her, for her whole life.
The whole “proposal” in School Reunion never sat well with me as a true offer. It’s more significant that he says he’s not going to leave her, but the “you can spend the rest of your life with me” is rhetorical, or theoretical, really, not an offer, per se.
That he’d even stay here, on this slightly-wrong world, if that’s what she wanted. Rose was dumbfounded.
“What?” She squeaked.
He pulled absentmindedly at an earlobe and looked briefly away. “Well, I’m a bit rubbish without you, you know. It took me a bit to figure that out. And a bit longer to figure out how to get here. And longer still to make it all work without imploding at least two universes. And I hope, I really, really hope, that I’m not…too late?”
Happiness billowed inside her and threatened to escape, as she put on a stern face and pretended to consider.
“Rose!” he pressed impatiently.
She gave him a huge grin, then. “Better late, than never ever, yeah?”
What do you think she chose? I wanted to leave it up to the reader. In my mind they went back sooner than later, but it’s really up to you. Ah the happy-go-lucky days before canon went and made some things impossible for really reals. Oh well. Thanks for reading, if you did!
One of my few honest-to-god reunion fics completed before we knew that S4 spoiler. Maybe my only one? I dunno. But it's one of my favorites and it was fun to revisit.
As I recall, this is one of those few fics that emerged fully formed in my head. I’m pretty sure I had it all written in one sitting on the same day I thought it up. This is really rare for me. I agonize over fics for days, if not weeks. And even longer in some cases, but usually those never get done.
The heady bassline thrummed through her as she wriggled her hips and stomped her feet in time. Occasionally her hands would caress her sides on their way above her head or into her hair, as if they were a lover’s and not her own. And although she must know she created a tantalizing picture to every male in sight, her glistening body barely half-clothed, she danced as if she was all alone.
I wanted this beginning to be both about sexiness and loneliness. I wasn’t sure how to have Rose dressed, but I figured I would go with the barely there clothes…it fit with the theme.
The song was vaguely familiar to her, as everything in this slightly-wrong world was vaguely familiar. Still it reminded her of being young and carefree, and it was times like these that she could pretend to be just that. Not a care in the world, none of the responsibilities of a top secret job, no fate of the world to think about, and no memory of a lost love to tug at her heart after so many years.
Because she’s always gonna be thinking of the Doctor. And being “defender of the earth” has got to come with a lot of stresses. Especially when you can’t just run off in the TARDIS after a job well done. I was trying to get across that she was never quite at home in this world, but avoid the cliché of the melodramatic Rose-is-incurably-miserable-without-the-Doctor thing
In body she was not yet 27; she felt decades older. Except when she could go out and dance. She always took a mate for safety and an excuse to ward off any blokes who got any ideas from her provocative dancing. She didn’t have time for boyfriends and wasn’t particularly interested in one-off shags either. The dance floor was the perfect place to find a bit of anonymity, and a bit of release for her excess energy.
These days she spent more time behind a desk than running for her life. And while she still found herself often in the field, dealing with the latest alien threat, her life wasn’t made up of one run-for-your-life adventure to the next anymore.
She missed it, truth be told. But here, she’d do her damndest not to think of it. Of him. She thought of nothing but the rhythm.
Little does she know, she’s about to do a LOT of thinking about him. I wonder if this was obvious straight away? I wanted there to be a bit of mystery, and yet for the reader to be surer than Rose that it’s him.
So when a hand landed lightly on her bare shoulder, she hastily brushed it aside, giving what she hoped was a clear not-interested sign without so much as missing a beat. Opening her eyes she saw Mickey’s girlfriend Carla, her chosen companion for the evening, dancing nearby and eying her curiously.
“What?” Rose mouthed.
Carla shrugged and danced a little closer, as Mystery Hand Man became bold and slid his hands to her waist.
Anyone who thinks us Rose lovers write Rose as a Mary Sue? Rest assured this Rose (or any Rose for that matter) is nothing like me. Stranger touching me? Yikes. I run away. Or at the very least shove him off, which of course she does plan to do.
Rose stiffened and faltered for a second in her movements, but not wanting to cause a scene (the Vitex Heiress did have to the tabloids to think of, after all), she let the man dance close behind her for a few moments. And it did feel nice to have someone so close. He smelled nice, if vaguely familiar, sparking a memory she quickly shoved away. He wasn’t pawing her or pushing himself up against her, just kept his hands at her waist and moved with her to the pulsing beat.
At least he’s a nice stranger. Vaguely familiar is probably the tip off that it’s the Doctor, right? Or you know, the HEADER of the fic. ;)
Still she had a fairly strict policy about these things and was about to remove his hands and to politely tell him to sod off when he brought his lips down to her ear and whispered low. It was so quiet she shouldn’t have been able to hear it over the music, but she felt it, nonetheless.
“Rose.”
She did stop dancing then, because hearing that voice was absolutely, utterly, impossible. The last time she’d heard it say that word, its owner was a second away from disappearing from her life forever, leaving her a sobbing wreck on a cold foreign beach.
*Doomsday wibble*
Rose slid her hands to cover those at her waist, but otherwise stayed completely still. She was too scared to turn around to confirm that she’d misheard, that she was dreaming, or that maybe she’d finally lost her grip on reality.
Carla sought her eyes again, showing concern, ready to step in and get between her and the would-be suitor. But Rose couldn’t convey anything to her friend, instead she closed her eyes, summoning any inner strength she could find, ready to tell Mr. Can’t Possibly Be The Doctor …
It was fun trying to come up with different ways Rose would think about this guy, and the names she’d give him in his head. Mystery Hand Man and Mr. Can’t Possibly Be The Doctor. She really does think it’s utterly impossible. So given that, why isn’t she freaking out? That’s Rose for you…
…to peddle his wares elsewhere. But before she could, he spoke again.
“Rose, it’s me.”
He gripped her tighter and she leaned into him, almost convinced that the fantasy was real and suddenly not wanting to let it go.
This is why she’s not freaking out. Because the fantasy is nice. She’s in public, not in danger and she can pretend for a little while that she’s got the man she loves. For the record, I don’t think she is really almost convinced. I think she thinks she’s being messed with, straight away.
She slid her hands up to grip him behind his neck and began to move her hips to the music again and he followed suit.
“’S impossible,” she murmured.
“Maybe,” he answered, his breath warm on her ear. “Still real, though.”
I was, of course, going for the sexy here. With the hands on the neck and the murmuring by both of them. I mean, this fandom has all sorts of connotations heaped on the word “dance” already, but yeah, I wanted this fairly sexy for a short, not smutty fic. And yes, perhaps it is improbable that Rose never turns around, but… suspension of disbelief!!!
She opened her eyes, finally remembering Carla’s concern. Rose flashed her a smile, telling her she was all right. As she did, she caught sight of the blue sleeve of her dancing partner. Blue. Now she knew it really wasn’t him. And she knew she should be wary of this man who knew her name, who sounded and felt like the Doctor. Still, she let him hold her, dance with her through several more songs, caress her as she did him, never turning to face him, never breaking the spell that was woven between them, even as he gradually guided their steps towards the edge of the dance floor and away from the crowd.
If he wasn’t an imposter messing with her head, but just a normal bloke, Rose knew what would be expected of her at this point after dancing like they’d been. An exchange of names (though he already knew hers), to accept an offer of drink, maybe a snog, maybe a taxi ride back to his flat and a night of nearly anonymous shagging.
Does this imply that Rose has been being a bit sluttish these past few years? I’m sure I didn’t mean that. Just what was expected of normal people in such a situation. Not that there’s any reason why she couldn’t or shouldn’t have one-night stands or anything, I just didn’t mean to imply that it’s a regular thing for her.
But he wasn’t just any bloke, and she knew she had to deal with the issue and let the thin fantasy shatter completely. She disentangled herself from him and made for the stairs that led to a quieter bar above the dance floor. She didn’t look behind her, but had a pretty good idea that he’d follow.
Running to the bar, a little breathless, she leaned against it and asked the bartender for a water.
“Two, please,” came the familiar voice next to her.
Rose raised her eyes to the mirror that lined the back of the bar, and in between the jewel tones of the wall of countless bottles, was the unmistakable face of the Doctor. She gasped. Wavering unsteadily on her feet, she gripped the edge of the bar for support.
I think I got a few compliments on this scene and its description. You’d never know (except you do now!) that I had a very particular place in mind for this scene. That is, a real place. A bar in Ireland (not above a dance floor though). I think that’s why I was able to realize it the way I did. It had a bar like this and shadowy corner tables and everything. It was quite lovely. This bit of the story may have come before the rest.
The Doctor slid an arm about her waist to steady her and met her eyes in the mirror.
“Told you,” he said.
Turning in his grasp then, she finally faced him, immediately raising an unsteady hand to his cheek. Though they’d been touching, quite intimately, for some time now, she needed this contact to convince her that her eyes weren’t fooling her like she’d thought the rest of her body had been. Her fingertips made contact with his slightly stubbled face and she quickly drew back, letting go another gasp.
“How-?”
“Long story. Do you-should we-that is-it’s complicated. Can we sit?” he finally asked, glancing to some empty tables clustered in a dark corner.
“You git!” Rose exclaimed and smacked him on the arm. “Why didn’t you say anything?!” Tears threatened in her eyes. How could he have wasted so much time dancing? It wasn’t mock annoyance in her voice, but he gave her a small laugh anyway.
“I thought I did. You wanted to dance.” He shrugged. “So we danced.”
I wanted this to be… relatively angst-free. I mean, it can’t be totally, because of the circumstances, but I wanted it to be them right away, back to being them. It only takes her a minute to smack him and call him a git. And his logic is…well, very Doctorish. The ‘don’t blame me’ thing.
Rose gaped at him for a few moments. Then huffed loudly and dragged him by the hand to a table, their drinks forgotten at the bar. Before they could sit, though, Rose threw herself into his arms. They immediately came up around her, hugging her tightly to him. She breathed in the scent that was, indeed, all Doctor, enjoying his arms around her without the distractions of the dance floor and the doubting of her sanity. Her tears fell freely then, wetting his suit.
“Missed you too,” he whispered into her hair, his voice tight with emotion.
Because they totally know what the other is thinking. *dreamy sigh*
Rose pulled back a little and looked up at him. “How much time is there?” She asked tentatively.
“For you? All the time in the world. Well…I say ‘all’, but you can’t measure time that way, can you? What I mean is enough. Enough time. This time,” he added seriously.
Rose was afraid to ask what for-the possibilities and options running at light speed through her head, wondering what his impossibly possible return meant-but she couldn’t stop the words coming out of her mouth. “Enough for what?”
“For this, at least,” he said gently, then dipped his head and kissed her.
She responded immediately, not even pausing to be shocked at his actions. After their years of separation, and never having done this properly while they were together, it felt too good, too right to question.
Quickly he deepened the kiss, his tongue sliding to meet hers in a dance as sensual as the ones they’d been sharing downstairs, but infinitely more satisfying.
Ah, look! A reason for the kiss/dance metaphor!
His hands roamed her mostly bare back, as his mouth continued its onslaught on hers, and Rose promptly decided that, actually, it would take a lot more of this, and related activities, for her to be satisfied.
When she felt a moan creeping up inside her, she reluctantly pulled away, and buried her face in his suit coat again to let it escape.
“Probably not the right place for this, yeah?” she asked.
“Well,” he considered, looking around. “No, probably not. Sit?” He asked again.
At her nod, he ushered her in to a booth along the wall and sidled in beside her. A silence followed, in which she focused on rememorizing the lines of his face, and listening to the sounds of his breaths, which, fast as they were, seemed to come in time to the muted beat of the bass still pumping below. She itched to kiss him again, but waited, still.
He wrapped his hands around hers, and held tight. He was still silent, but if the odd expressions that passed over his face were any indication, he was looking for precisely the right words, nearly starting to speak a dozen times before stopping himself.
“Doctor-” she began, because someone had to, but he cut her off.
“Rose, there’s so much I have to say to you, and I don’t know how or where to begin.” If the snogging wasn’t proof enough, here was evidence that he was truly letting his guard down around her, admitting he didn’t know what words to form in a tense moment.
“It’s all right,” she soothed, squeezing his hands, “just say…whatever you need to.”
“Okay.” He took a deep breath, then, seeming to come to a decision, he asked, “Are you happy here?”
Oooh, where’d that come from? This bit surprised me when I wrote it. I think it was to show that it’s not a fairy tale, they’re not perfect. And it is a kind of unfair question, for the first question. But it’s just like the Doctor to blunder like that.
Rose bristled. How could he ask that of her? “You don’t get to ask me that,” she answered, mildly, but firmly.
“I don’t?”
She shook her head. “Not just now. Next question.”
He thought for a few seconds, his tongue darting out to moisten his top lip and distracting her again.
“You know that…in Norway…I was going to tell you…something? Ran out of time. Ironic, that.”
“I know.”
“Right. Well. What I mean to say is… I don’t know if you still…I realize it’s been some years, and I literally came straight here, traced your bio-signature, I have no idea what your life is like here, here in Pete’s World, or who you might…keep company with, besides that lovely woman downstairs who seemed to be your friend, and I know it’s slightly oafish for me to barge back into your life with a dance and a kiss, but if I may say it was a fantastic snog, and if you do still feel anything like you did, back then, then you should know that I do. Too. I do too.”
A couple people said this bit was very Doctorish. How I love praise like that! But yeah, I heard him very clearly in my head, saying this. If I were being entirely fair to the character, I’d make this ramble longer, but I didn’t have the heart to let him ramble on unanswered and unsure for so long.
Rose let a smile grow during his babble. When he paused, though she knew how hard it had been for him even to get that much of an admission out, she prodded him gently.
“You do what too?”
He released her hands and cupped her face, pulling her in for a brief, hard kiss.
“You know. I love you.” And then, more confidently, he repeated, “Rose Tyler, I love you.”
Because in this world, he CAN say it. *moar wibbles*
She felt the tears threaten to rise again, and holding them back took all her effort. Words wouldn’t come, and knowing how her silence might seem to him, she tried to smile back.
“And,” he continued as if he hadn’t paused to let her speak, “if you’re in any way agreeable, I’d like very much, to be…with you. For as long as…for as long as we have. I have one trip left back to our universe. And I’ll take it. Tomorrow or in 70 years, with you, or with the memory of a life lived with you. Either way. You’ll not be rid of me.”
Rose boggled at him as he grinned at her. Had he just offered her a lifetime? Not in the more rhetorical sense that he had after she’d met Sarah Jane, but an actual offer to be with her, for her whole life.
The whole “proposal” in School Reunion never sat well with me as a true offer. It’s more significant that he says he’s not going to leave her, but the “you can spend the rest of your life with me” is rhetorical, or theoretical, really, not an offer, per se.
That he’d even stay here, on this slightly-wrong world, if that’s what she wanted. Rose was dumbfounded.
“What?” She squeaked.
He pulled absentmindedly at an earlobe and looked briefly away. “Well, I’m a bit rubbish without you, you know. It took me a bit to figure that out. And a bit longer to figure out how to get here. And longer still to make it all work without imploding at least two universes. And I hope, I really, really hope, that I’m not…too late?”
Happiness billowed inside her and threatened to escape, as she put on a stern face and pretended to consider.
“Rose!” he pressed impatiently.
She gave him a huge grin, then. “Better late, than never ever, yeah?”
What do you think she chose? I wanted to leave it up to the reader. In my mind they went back sooner than later, but it’s really up to you. Ah the happy-go-lucky days before canon went and made some things impossible for really reals. Oh well. Thanks for reading, if you did!