Huzzah, It Is the Day of Kalleah's Birth!
I shall celebrate by posting (unprompted) fic!
Title: Waiting on Exodus
Author: ladychi
Pairing: Ten II/Rose
Rating: Older teen
Summary: A year into their relationship, the Doctor and Rose make a change.
A/N: Happiest of birthdays to you, kalleah, writer of fantastic fic, rescuer of hedgehogs, extraordinary woman and fantastic friend!
Waiting on Exodus
It's three in the morning before the door of the flat opens up, and the Doctor's feet hurt. They've been running all over London all day, only to come up completely dry, thirteen hours later. His back hurts and his head aches, and this is the part of being human he could really do without. He looks over at Rose, who seems heavy and weighed-down, like she has a lot these days. He has a thought that they should take a vacation, as he tosses his keys onto the counter and pulls his tie from his neck.
Rose is pulling her jacket from her arms and sheds her t-shirt before they even get to the bedroom. They leave a trail of clothes from the door to the bedroom, a trail that likely won't be removed until the next time they do laundry.
They're really too tired to make love, but they try anyway. His hands slide up her thighs and his mouth meets her stomach, and she squirms and laughs under his attention. She teases him to life with her hands and her clever tongue, and he slips inside of her easily, like they were always meant to be like this, and after it's over, they fall asleep, limbs entangled in a sweaty, sticky mess they're both too exhausted to clean up.
**
Rose wakes up first, an hour later, vaguely uncomfortable, but it takes her a while to figure out why. Slowly, she works herself out from underneath of the Doctor and pads, naked, to their bathroom. The shower turns her white skin pink, it's so scalding hot, and she has a thought that they can't go on this way. She's tired, and he's tired. It's like they're running all the time: running from the conversations they should be having, running from the flat that never gets any bigger even as they acquire more things to fill it.
She lays her head against the tiled wall and sighs. She never truly wanted domesticity from him, but now that she has it, it's not so bad. It's boiled-over teakettles and a microwave that doesn't work, and more bits and bobs of machinery laying around for her to trip over than she would have ever thought. It's waking up late for work in the morning and making up for it by not coming home at night. It's hurried lovemaking sessions in dark corners when they think no one is looking. It's days off from work spent laying in bed, trying not to move anymore than necessary. It's the post office and grocery stores and pubs and paperwork.
She reaches for the shower gel and squeezes some onto the bath sponge she uses and starts to work the soap into a lather. She's washing her feet and thinking about shaving when it hits her that she's not particularly happy.
It's a revolution so shocking she almost drops the sponge, but there it is. She's not unhappy, but the heady, giddy sensation of having the Doctor with her has faded in the last year. She's still very much in love, but... What else does she need? What else could she want?
It irritates her, all of a sudden, that there's not enough food in the kitchen to fix breakfast the next morning, that the box in the bedroom full of her books has never been unpacked. She seethes when she thinks that they're still eating on paper plates, that they never move their laundry from baskets to the closets and the dressers.
She throws the sponge to the ground and takes a deep breath, but inside her mind is shouting at her, "Where are you going to go, Rose? Why not take off your coat and stay a while?" It's a voice that sounds profoundly like her mother's, but the truth is that Jackie nearly always has a point.
At the same time, the thought of all that -- of choosing this flat to set up home in, of permanency, leaves her a bit panicked. All of her adult life, she's lived as though she could leave at any moment, as though she'll be called away across the galaxy, never to return. She tries to think if she has photographs of Tony, Jackie or Pete anywhere in the flat, if she's left any mark at all on this place.
It's the Doctor who's a bit better about that. He's the one who insisted on buying the bed -- huge and heavy and sturdy so it wouldn't break during some of their more amorous adventures (a precaution that's more than a little ambitious these days). He's the one who fixed the drain in the sink when it plugged up (a task he said would have gone much smoother with the sonic around).
She doesn't want to turn off the shower -- the noise in her head would be too overwhelming if there's nothing to drown it out. Even though she doesn't need to, she starts to shampoo her hair, digging strong fingers into her scalp, trying to massage away the headache that's building there. The old itch, the old wanderlust, builds in her until she rinses out her hair and wrenches the shower off.
Sopping wet, she steps out of the shower and roughly towels her hair dry. She pulls the bathroom door open and doesn't walk so much as fly to the bed where the Doctor is laying face down.
She taps his shoulder insistently, the same way he's woken her up on several days this past year. "Doctor. Doctor. Doctor."
"Tell Torchwood to stuff it," the Doctor says, mumbling into his pillow. "Scientific research has shown me irrefutable proof that human beings, which I am now one half of, desperately need sleep after thirteen hours of chasing wild geese."
"Just a minute," Rose pleads. "Please, it's not for Torchwood, it's for me."
He blinks, warily, lifting his head. "Rose?"
"I'd hope so," Rose says cheekily, her tongue escaping from her mouth. She plays with the duvet for a moment and then takes a deep breath. There's no other way to get around it. "Doctor, are we going to run?"
He sits up, fully awake now. "What?"
"Are we going to pack up all our stuff and make a run for it? Because if you want to, I'm in," Rose says on a rush. "I'm all for leaving Torchwood and traveling with you for the rest of our lives."
"I'm going to need tea," the Doctor mumbles, scratching his scalp. "What are you talking about?"
"We just... we're never here. Our job sucks. We eat out of paper tins and this flat is a mess and I can't bring myself to care cause it doesn't really feel like we live here." Rose flopped over on the bed, staring at the ceiling. "Oh God, this sounds boring, doesn't it? And needy and... everything else I told myself I'd never be."
"Is this why you're not happy?" the Doctor sits up, leaning over her to play with a string of her hair. "Because the flat's a bit of a pit?"
"It's more than that," Rose says, helplessly. "Don't you feel like... Before, when we traveled, we had the TARDIS, yeah? And it was never in the same place but it felt like home cause we made it that way. It's just... when you got here, I was so... Oh, I'm rubbish at this."
"You were so what?"
"Overwhelmed. And in love with you, and falling in love with this you and the way you smelled and all of your new tics and I was just... high. The running around never bothered me because I had all this energy." Rose avoids his eyes. "I think I've run out of energy. We can't keep living like this, Doctor. We just can't."
The Doctor cups her cheek with his hand. "We need a holiday."
Rose breathes. That wasn't exactly what she was getting at, but it's close. "Yes."
"We could... lark about France, if you want, haven't done that in ages... go the new world, might be nice to see the Empire State building, or..." He breaks off. "You know, we have two bedrooms in this flat?"
Rose laughs. "What?"
"Two bedrooms. Honestly. And how often do we go in that other bedroom?"
Rose thinks about it. "Not... very often."
"There's not a bed in the other bedroom, either," the Doctor says solemnly. "As a matter of fact, there's nothing in there at all. We could have two beds, Rose."
"Or... an office," Rose says, smirking at him. "We could get a proper desk or maybe a work bench for you to destroy toasters on in privacy."
The Doctor wrinkles his nose. "Have one of those at work, why would I want one here?"
Rose grins. "We could make it into a nursery and grow alien plants!"
"I was thinking a temple to Ra," the Doctor says, laughing.
"A conservatory, so we could invite Yo Yo Ma over to play cello..."
"Or," the Doctor says, rolling her over and kissing her neck, "we could have two beds. Think of it. We could start in one room and work our way throughout the flat. We could mix our game, if you will."
"We've never done it in the kitchen," Rose says, the thought occurring to her.
"Let's go." The Doctor sits up.
Rose blinks. "What?"
"We haven't had sex in the kitchen. That's probably why this flat doesn't feel like home. Come on, up you get. I'm going to blow your mind, in the kitchen."
"That's completely unromantic," Rose says on a laugh. "You've got to do more than that."
"I'll do the thing," the Doctor says, wiggling his eyebrows. "With my tongue."
"And your fingers?"
"Absolutely."
"Sold."
**
"You're going on holiday to do what?" Jackie asks, her mind boggling.
"Pick out flatware," Rose says, "and plates and cups and... things. Possibly a rug, or two."
"Oi! Let's not be hasty," a voice says in the background. "I'd quite fancy a plant, though. Something large and... green."
"Tell himself he can't have a plant. He's likely to have one of those that chews bits of you up for breakfast. You know, sane people just have a wedding so other people will buy them those things," Jackie says, making an airplane noise at Tony so he would open his mouth.
"Not going to go there, Mum," Rose says, and Jackie grins.
"All right, love. You just keep thinking that. I never thought I'd see the day when you would set up proper house, though," Jackie says.
"Well, that's just the first week," Rose says, laughing. "The week after that, we're headed to Roswell, in the States. It's a great big alien tourist trap."
"Of course it is," Jackie mumbles. "Why can't you go to the Mediterranean like normal people?"
"Love you, Mum, gotta run. There's a... thing. And a lizard. Bye!"
The phone disconnects and Jackie shakes her head at the dial tone. "She is a strange one. But, what can you do, eh?" Tony swallows the spoonful of green beans and then spits them back up. "You watch that, mister, or I'll turn you over to Torchwood. Don't think I won't."
Tony buzzes his lips and hiccups. "You just wait till you have girlfriends. Then you'll be proper scared of me," Jackie promises, but there is a smile on her face.
Title: Waiting on Exodus
Author: ladychi
Pairing: Ten II/Rose
Rating: Older teen
Summary: A year into their relationship, the Doctor and Rose make a change.
A/N: Happiest of birthdays to you, kalleah, writer of fantastic fic, rescuer of hedgehogs, extraordinary woman and fantastic friend!
Waiting on Exodus
It's three in the morning before the door of the flat opens up, and the Doctor's feet hurt. They've been running all over London all day, only to come up completely dry, thirteen hours later. His back hurts and his head aches, and this is the part of being human he could really do without. He looks over at Rose, who seems heavy and weighed-down, like she has a lot these days. He has a thought that they should take a vacation, as he tosses his keys onto the counter and pulls his tie from his neck.
Rose is pulling her jacket from her arms and sheds her t-shirt before they even get to the bedroom. They leave a trail of clothes from the door to the bedroom, a trail that likely won't be removed until the next time they do laundry.
They're really too tired to make love, but they try anyway. His hands slide up her thighs and his mouth meets her stomach, and she squirms and laughs under his attention. She teases him to life with her hands and her clever tongue, and he slips inside of her easily, like they were always meant to be like this, and after it's over, they fall asleep, limbs entangled in a sweaty, sticky mess they're both too exhausted to clean up.
**
Rose wakes up first, an hour later, vaguely uncomfortable, but it takes her a while to figure out why. Slowly, she works herself out from underneath of the Doctor and pads, naked, to their bathroom. The shower turns her white skin pink, it's so scalding hot, and she has a thought that they can't go on this way. She's tired, and he's tired. It's like they're running all the time: running from the conversations they should be having, running from the flat that never gets any bigger even as they acquire more things to fill it.
She lays her head against the tiled wall and sighs. She never truly wanted domesticity from him, but now that she has it, it's not so bad. It's boiled-over teakettles and a microwave that doesn't work, and more bits and bobs of machinery laying around for her to trip over than she would have ever thought. It's waking up late for work in the morning and making up for it by not coming home at night. It's hurried lovemaking sessions in dark corners when they think no one is looking. It's days off from work spent laying in bed, trying not to move anymore than necessary. It's the post office and grocery stores and pubs and paperwork.
She reaches for the shower gel and squeezes some onto the bath sponge she uses and starts to work the soap into a lather. She's washing her feet and thinking about shaving when it hits her that she's not particularly happy.
It's a revolution so shocking she almost drops the sponge, but there it is. She's not unhappy, but the heady, giddy sensation of having the Doctor with her has faded in the last year. She's still very much in love, but... What else does she need? What else could she want?
It irritates her, all of a sudden, that there's not enough food in the kitchen to fix breakfast the next morning, that the box in the bedroom full of her books has never been unpacked. She seethes when she thinks that they're still eating on paper plates, that they never move their laundry from baskets to the closets and the dressers.
She throws the sponge to the ground and takes a deep breath, but inside her mind is shouting at her, "Where are you going to go, Rose? Why not take off your coat and stay a while?" It's a voice that sounds profoundly like her mother's, but the truth is that Jackie nearly always has a point.
At the same time, the thought of all that -- of choosing this flat to set up home in, of permanency, leaves her a bit panicked. All of her adult life, she's lived as though she could leave at any moment, as though she'll be called away across the galaxy, never to return. She tries to think if she has photographs of Tony, Jackie or Pete anywhere in the flat, if she's left any mark at all on this place.
It's the Doctor who's a bit better about that. He's the one who insisted on buying the bed -- huge and heavy and sturdy so it wouldn't break during some of their more amorous adventures (a precaution that's more than a little ambitious these days). He's the one who fixed the drain in the sink when it plugged up (a task he said would have gone much smoother with the sonic around).
She doesn't want to turn off the shower -- the noise in her head would be too overwhelming if there's nothing to drown it out. Even though she doesn't need to, she starts to shampoo her hair, digging strong fingers into her scalp, trying to massage away the headache that's building there. The old itch, the old wanderlust, builds in her until she rinses out her hair and wrenches the shower off.
Sopping wet, she steps out of the shower and roughly towels her hair dry. She pulls the bathroom door open and doesn't walk so much as fly to the bed where the Doctor is laying face down.
She taps his shoulder insistently, the same way he's woken her up on several days this past year. "Doctor. Doctor. Doctor."
"Tell Torchwood to stuff it," the Doctor says, mumbling into his pillow. "Scientific research has shown me irrefutable proof that human beings, which I am now one half of, desperately need sleep after thirteen hours of chasing wild geese."
"Just a minute," Rose pleads. "Please, it's not for Torchwood, it's for me."
He blinks, warily, lifting his head. "Rose?"
"I'd hope so," Rose says cheekily, her tongue escaping from her mouth. She plays with the duvet for a moment and then takes a deep breath. There's no other way to get around it. "Doctor, are we going to run?"
He sits up, fully awake now. "What?"
"Are we going to pack up all our stuff and make a run for it? Because if you want to, I'm in," Rose says on a rush. "I'm all for leaving Torchwood and traveling with you for the rest of our lives."
"I'm going to need tea," the Doctor mumbles, scratching his scalp. "What are you talking about?"
"We just... we're never here. Our job sucks. We eat out of paper tins and this flat is a mess and I can't bring myself to care cause it doesn't really feel like we live here." Rose flopped over on the bed, staring at the ceiling. "Oh God, this sounds boring, doesn't it? And needy and... everything else I told myself I'd never be."
"Is this why you're not happy?" the Doctor sits up, leaning over her to play with a string of her hair. "Because the flat's a bit of a pit?"
"It's more than that," Rose says, helplessly. "Don't you feel like... Before, when we traveled, we had the TARDIS, yeah? And it was never in the same place but it felt like home cause we made it that way. It's just... when you got here, I was so... Oh, I'm rubbish at this."
"You were so what?"
"Overwhelmed. And in love with you, and falling in love with this you and the way you smelled and all of your new tics and I was just... high. The running around never bothered me because I had all this energy." Rose avoids his eyes. "I think I've run out of energy. We can't keep living like this, Doctor. We just can't."
The Doctor cups her cheek with his hand. "We need a holiday."
Rose breathes. That wasn't exactly what she was getting at, but it's close. "Yes."
"We could... lark about France, if you want, haven't done that in ages... go the new world, might be nice to see the Empire State building, or..." He breaks off. "You know, we have two bedrooms in this flat?"
Rose laughs. "What?"
"Two bedrooms. Honestly. And how often do we go in that other bedroom?"
Rose thinks about it. "Not... very often."
"There's not a bed in the other bedroom, either," the Doctor says solemnly. "As a matter of fact, there's nothing in there at all. We could have two beds, Rose."
"Or... an office," Rose says, smirking at him. "We could get a proper desk or maybe a work bench for you to destroy toasters on in privacy."
The Doctor wrinkles his nose. "Have one of those at work, why would I want one here?"
Rose grins. "We could make it into a nursery and grow alien plants!"
"I was thinking a temple to Ra," the Doctor says, laughing.
"A conservatory, so we could invite Yo Yo Ma over to play cello..."
"Or," the Doctor says, rolling her over and kissing her neck, "we could have two beds. Think of it. We could start in one room and work our way throughout the flat. We could mix our game, if you will."
"We've never done it in the kitchen," Rose says, the thought occurring to her.
"Let's go." The Doctor sits up.
Rose blinks. "What?"
"We haven't had sex in the kitchen. That's probably why this flat doesn't feel like home. Come on, up you get. I'm going to blow your mind, in the kitchen."
"That's completely unromantic," Rose says on a laugh. "You've got to do more than that."
"I'll do the thing," the Doctor says, wiggling his eyebrows. "With my tongue."
"And your fingers?"
"Absolutely."
"Sold."
**
"You're going on holiday to do what?" Jackie asks, her mind boggling.
"Pick out flatware," Rose says, "and plates and cups and... things. Possibly a rug, or two."
"Oi! Let's not be hasty," a voice says in the background. "I'd quite fancy a plant, though. Something large and... green."
"Tell himself he can't have a plant. He's likely to have one of those that chews bits of you up for breakfast. You know, sane people just have a wedding so other people will buy them those things," Jackie says, making an airplane noise at Tony so he would open his mouth.
"Not going to go there, Mum," Rose says, and Jackie grins.
"All right, love. You just keep thinking that. I never thought I'd see the day when you would set up proper house, though," Jackie says.
"Well, that's just the first week," Rose says, laughing. "The week after that, we're headed to Roswell, in the States. It's a great big alien tourist trap."
"Of course it is," Jackie mumbles. "Why can't you go to the Mediterranean like normal people?"
"Love you, Mum, gotta run. There's a... thing. And a lizard. Bye!"
The phone disconnects and Jackie shakes her head at the dial tone. "She is a strange one. But, what can you do, eh?" Tony swallows the spoonful of green beans and then spits them back up. "You watch that, mister, or I'll turn you over to Torchwood. Don't think I won't."
Tony buzzes his lips and hiccups. "You just wait till you have girlfriends. Then you'll be proper scared of me," Jackie promises, but there is a smile on her face.