(no subject)
Title: Vagaries of Love
Characters/Pairings: 10/Rose
Rating: I suppose R to be on the safe side
Spoilers: Post-Doomsday, so everything up to then really.
Summary: Reunion fic, taking a look at how the Doctor and Rose's relationship would change after Rose's return.
Massive thanks to
the_lucky_stars for betaing :D First fanfic so hopefully you enjoy
I - Alterations
When she’s back, nothing is said of the palpable changes in them.
He pretends not to notice the hard edge that bewitches her body when they are out seeking adventures, or the cold glint that appears in her eye when facing their enemies. Where once there was joy and excitement, no matter the danger, now there is a detached and determined woman - a girl (woman, he corrects himself) who still doesn’t listen to him and still wanders off; a woman who sometimes, at a glance, he doesn’t recognise.
It is in these moments he aches the most. The feelings of guilt and fear set into motion the thought that if they had never been separated she never would have been forced to steel her heart against the cruel world around her. For that alone he hates the world a little bit more. Hates it for taking away the girl he loved, and bringing him back a changed and damaged woman. But before he can linger on the thoughts of blame, he abruptly turns and ignores the thought. Sometimes, ignorance is bliss.
She pretends that she doesn’t notice how he has darkened and aged. She knows that she must been gone for about three years for him, but his eyes have aged a hundred times over. She looks into them now and sees glimpses of a depth of grief and anger that was never there before - a look of fire, and ice, and rage. The fathomless depths of his brown eyes no longer continuously swirl with the lightened joy she so often remembered in her dreams. They are the eyes of a desperate, broken man. When she looks too closely it burns; it burns her heart so much that sometimes it hurts more than the memory of their separation. So she quickly learns to turn her head and blink.
But then he grabs her hand, and she smiles at him, and memories come flooding back. The joy; the pure unadulterated joy of being together - of surviving. She has changed, but so has he. And as they walk back, hand in hand, to the Tardis, he thinks that change doesn’t have to be a bad thing. They are different, the process of time ravaging their bodies and minds. But not so much that everything has changed. Their hands still fit, their hugs are still warm and their friendship is still as strong as the day that she was ripped from him.
They are learning - charting the changes in each other, one step at a time. And it’s fantastic, even if they ache in reminder at times. But he remembers that she is worth it. And she learns that time does not change the man inside; no more than a new face does.
II - Jealousy
He can see it in her eyes now. Before he was glibly ignorant and would unfalteringly deny that she would be so fallible. But now, he recognises the turn; the quick, resolute stare of the woman in question, the clenched fist at her side that is quickly released, before she thinks he can notice. But he does.
Possession. She wants to own him for herself, as much as he wants to claim her for himself (a thought he would never admit to her). It is only natural, he supposes, for her to steadfastly cling to the only person that she truly has left in this Universe. Her mother, Mickey, Pete, baby Jamie - on another world, separated by a now impenetrable white wall. And he can tell it burns her, to her very core. He can see the pressing loneliness as it seeps into her mind. So very human. So very primitive, the urge to own.
So she clings to his hand that much harder in the face of her ‘rivals’. She is not unkind, insincere or unfriendly. Rose could never be those things. But her eyes speak volumes. A depth of despair, and resoluteness. Despair - please don’t take him away. Resoluteness - I’ve lost him once and it won’t happen again. I will fight.
And he lets her. Never one to admit he longs for the moments when this change occurs. When he can see that she yearns to possess him as much as he wants her. The desire to be wanted has never been so strong in him before. This base urge delights and scares him. He feels that thrill that he can know for sure that she is his, and he is hers. Forever - or whatever time she can give him.
And that is what scares him. What if she lets go? What happens when she falls and he cannot pick her up again? Sometimes he thinks she just made it all that much harder for him to let go since she came back. Now he has the knowledge of what life is like without her. Now, when he holds her hand, he will remember the echo of a once empty hand. Knows what lengths he will go to ensure he never has to endure such similar torment again.
So he has learnt. He can sacrifice giving up this bit of domesticity for her. If he had noticed this before Canary Wharf, he would have run. Run from the thought that he could dedicate his life to her, for the remainder of her days. Now it is different. Now he clings to her (at times) just as much as she clings to him.
To the pretty boys they meet along the way, his smile says ‘I’m here to help,’ while his eyes say ‘she is mine.’ Faced with the fury of the Oncoming Storm, they never forget the silent message. Just as the women they encounter quickly learn that while Rose is quietly jealously possessive, the man in question has no thoughts of straying from her.
Together they fight, together they remain. Enclosed in a world where none other can intimately touch them. A disaster waiting to happen, perhaps? But for the time being, the Doctor cannot bring himself to care. He is hers and she is his.
III - Intimacy
When she returned it was if someone had punched him in the gut. An explosion of feeling burst through his chest, forcing his hearts to beat out a pounding rhythm. The flood of love comes rushing back with the oh so inconvenient rush of want, that he was once so good at concealing.
She is older, more mature. Less easy to ‘write off’ as a child, as a girl in his protection who he could not touch. When they hug, he feels the press of her body, her curves shaping themselves into his lean lines as if they were made for each other. They fit. Just as they always did. But now when she leans into him, the press of her breasts against his chest is too much. Her hands at his neck and shoulders are not so easy to ignore now. And he wants. Oh how he wants her, on the very basest level. And he is ashamed. Ashamed of his body.
Their parting words linger in the air. The final barrier was crossed and the words only uttered because of the belief that it was the end. There were no consequences because she was not here to face him. He could admit what she was to him without having to commit himself to a human heart. He was right. He was a coward every time. He finally admitted how he felt, but only because it was too late and he knew that it didn’t really matter anymore. But now… she is here, and the words are ever present.
She is more aware of herself now as a woman in his presence. The way she moves, talks and looks at him suggest her awareness of herself as a potential mate for him. But, he cannot give her what she wants. The fear bites at his throat, clogging up the words and halting his hands from reaching for her. She smiles, her tongue between her teeth and he looks away. She presses closer to him, and he moves an infinitesimal distance beyond the level of the intimacy she is initiating. He pretends he doesn’t see her sadness and disappointment; schools himself to remain detached from her as a sexual being. She is Rose. His best friend. That is all.
*****
It changes on a not so special day. They stand on a cliff-top, overlooking a pebbled beach as they watch the planet’s suns set over a purple sea. The wind whips her hair around, reminding him painfully of another beach scene when he was not so fortunate to be able to hold her hand. Peering to one side he sees a solitary tear track down her cheek. Unable to move or say a word, he turns to the picturesque sky, confused.
She gets right to the point of course. A new quirk he has to get used to. ‘Why won’t you kiss me?’
The words circle around them - the only sound is the sea crashing against the beach and his strangled intake of breath. In the corner of his eye, she looks down as a slight blush creeps across her cheek regardless of her deliberate brazenness. He is silent, doesn’t know what to say. Why doesn’t he? He looks down at their joined hands that hang between them. He has been given this chance to make things right. To live again, and to not regret all that never was but could have been. When he feels her pull away he stops her with a kiss.
It changes from then on in. They share the Tardis, they share a life, they share a bed. Looking back, he wonders why that ever seemed so frightening. Intimacy - he was always so apprehensive. But now, as he kisses along the curve of her neck, he can’t imagine life without it.
IV - Life
So, they live. They may be altered but they still fit together as two halves of a whole. Those who look on them know they have seen something special. They have witnessed an enviable bond; a bond which cannot be expressed by words. He tries to, of course, and fails. She giggles at his attempts, and feels the echoes of the words he tries to say drift across her mind. She doesn’t need them. She knows. As he worships her body, she cannot doubt it. The panic and desperation in his hugs when they are reunited speak more to her than any words ever could.
Yet the words he does say, speak more to her than if he uttered those three little words he is unable to say. As he whispers beautiful words from a long forgotten language in her ear, she hears a loving prayer. His naked limbs curl her up into him, their bodies merging as one under crisp white sheets. He cannot say it. She does not need it. Their life is love. It’s as simple as that. Time doesn’t change it any more than separation did. For as long as they have, they are as one.