Bedtime Tales
Title: Bedtime Tales
Fandom: Doctor Who
Characters/Pairings: Nine, Rose, Nine/Rose
Summary: Rose caught a cold, and the Doctor reads to her.
Notes: Written for fall_away_from for the whedonland fic fest. They gave the prompt someone reading someone else to sleep. Who doesn't see the Doctor and Rose doing that? Also, my first attempt at writing the Ninth Doctor, please tell me how it came out.
Word count: 1009
The Doctor stood by the console, looking slightly impatient. He knew that it had been exactly nine hours and forty five minutes since Rose went to sleep. She should have been up an hour and forty five minutes ago. How much sleep did one young girl need? Humans, all they did was sleep. He wondered again why he always seemed to get attached to them. He figured he might as well fix that wire that was shorting while Rose slept in.
Two hours and thirty minutes later, and the Doctor had fiddled with everything the Tardis would let him fiddle with. He let out an exasperated sigh. Just how long was she planning on wasting in bed? Still, though he wouldn’t admit, least of all to himself, the Doctor was beginning to worry about her. Rose did occasionally like to sleep in, but this much was extreme even for her. He tapped his hand against the console, indecisive. Sighing again, he decided he would go and check on her.
When he reached her door, he hesitated. She could actually just be sleeping in. He had been running them pretty hard lately. Perhaps she was just catching up for all those missed hours he’d caused. Or she might have been reading. She might not even be in her room. Ever since she discovered the library on board, he’d found she spent time there. He hadn’t pegged her as the literary type, but she proved him wrong on that point. She might have snuck off for a read and lost track of the time.
He was about to turn and head to the library, when he heard a soft sneeze followed by a groan. The Doctor paused, listening. He could hear another sniffle, followed by a cough and a sneeze. It sounded like Rose might have caught a cold while running around in the rain. He knocked on the door. “Rose? Can I come in?”
He thought he made out a muffled ‘yeah’ so he pushed open the door. He leaned against the door jamb, and shook his head as he crossed his arms. Her hair was tousled and tangled, her eyes were puffy and red, and her whole face was flushed. There was a box of tissues next to the bed, and her bin was filled with used ones. “Rose Tyler, why didn’t you tell me you were feeling ill?” She gave a little half shrug, pulling the covers up a bit to block out the light. “Wait here.” He said, and turned to leave, smiling as he caught a muffled, ‘where the hell do you think I’m gonna swan off to?’ When he was out of earshot, he let out a bit of a chuckle.
He walked into the kitchen. “Good thinking, ole girl,” he said, seeing a tray on the table with a steaming bowl of chicken soup, some crackers and a glass of orange juice with some paracetamol next to it. There was something else next to the tray, and the Doctor paused. It was book. More specifically it was Emma by Jane Austin. He vaguely remembered Rose mentioning that first time she found the library that Jane Austin was her favorite author. He wasn’t quite sure what the book was doing here, but he shrugged, placed it on the tray and picked up the tray.
Rose had managed to go through twenty or so tissues by the time he returned with the soup and medicine. The Doctor set the tray down on the bed. “Come on, you need to eat something. Doctor’s orders,” he said with a little smirk. “The Tardis has kindly provided some chicken soup, crackers, and some paracetmol. Should be up and about in no time.”
She pushed herself up a bit in the bed, and he pushed the tray closer to her. Rose took the medicine with the Orange juice, and began working on the soup. The Doctor pulled up a chair, and they sat there, the Doctor telling stories of some of his past escapades in hopes to cheer her up. He occasionally got a smile from her, but she still looked pretty miserable. She looked at the book on the table. “Emma. My favorite.” She said, with a smile. she took the book and handed it to the Doctor. “When I was a kid mum used to read to me. I mean, I would understand if you didn’t want to….”
The Doctor looked from the book to Rose. This was not something he would normally do, not this time around, but then again, it was Rose. Something about that girl made him smile at her, with a shake of his, and take the book. He moved the tray she was finished with to the chair. “All right, budge over, if we’re going to do this, we’re going to do this right.” She giggled and moved over. He sat on the bed next to her, letting her lean in on his shoulder as he opened the book, and began to read out loud.
It felt just a bit too domestic for him. If it weren’t for the fact that Rose looked so content, and that she was sick, he would not be caught doing this. It wasn’t his thing. He told her once before, the domestic thing wasn’t for him. He didn’t do it. He didn’t even have a good reading voice. He knew he was stumbling over the words, and probably reading too fast for her, yet every so often a contented sigh would escape from Rose’s mouth. It was usually followed by a sneeze, a cough, or a sniffle, but still, it would make the Doctor smile.
As he finished the first chapter, he looked down at Rose, and smiled again. She had fallen asleep on his shoulder. He marked their place in the story, and set it on her nightstand. He shifted carefully so that he could lay her down, and tuck her back in. He moved the tissue box closer, and dimmed the lights in the room.
And when he was sure she was sound asleep, he leaned down and kissed her on the forehead before leaving the room. He didn’t see the contented smile on Rose’s face as he left.
Fandom: Doctor Who
Characters/Pairings: Nine, Rose, Nine/Rose
Summary: Rose caught a cold, and the Doctor reads to her.
Notes: Written for fall_away_from for the whedonland fic fest. They gave the prompt someone reading someone else to sleep. Who doesn't see the Doctor and Rose doing that? Also, my first attempt at writing the Ninth Doctor, please tell me how it came out.
Word count: 1009
The Doctor stood by the console, looking slightly impatient. He knew that it had been exactly nine hours and forty five minutes since Rose went to sleep. She should have been up an hour and forty five minutes ago. How much sleep did one young girl need? Humans, all they did was sleep. He wondered again why he always seemed to get attached to them. He figured he might as well fix that wire that was shorting while Rose slept in.
Two hours and thirty minutes later, and the Doctor had fiddled with everything the Tardis would let him fiddle with. He let out an exasperated sigh. Just how long was she planning on wasting in bed? Still, though he wouldn’t admit, least of all to himself, the Doctor was beginning to worry about her. Rose did occasionally like to sleep in, but this much was extreme even for her. He tapped his hand against the console, indecisive. Sighing again, he decided he would go and check on her.
When he reached her door, he hesitated. She could actually just be sleeping in. He had been running them pretty hard lately. Perhaps she was just catching up for all those missed hours he’d caused. Or she might have been reading. She might not even be in her room. Ever since she discovered the library on board, he’d found she spent time there. He hadn’t pegged her as the literary type, but she proved him wrong on that point. She might have snuck off for a read and lost track of the time.
He was about to turn and head to the library, when he heard a soft sneeze followed by a groan. The Doctor paused, listening. He could hear another sniffle, followed by a cough and a sneeze. It sounded like Rose might have caught a cold while running around in the rain. He knocked on the door. “Rose? Can I come in?”
He thought he made out a muffled ‘yeah’ so he pushed open the door. He leaned against the door jamb, and shook his head as he crossed his arms. Her hair was tousled and tangled, her eyes were puffy and red, and her whole face was flushed. There was a box of tissues next to the bed, and her bin was filled with used ones. “Rose Tyler, why didn’t you tell me you were feeling ill?” She gave a little half shrug, pulling the covers up a bit to block out the light. “Wait here.” He said, and turned to leave, smiling as he caught a muffled, ‘where the hell do you think I’m gonna swan off to?’ When he was out of earshot, he let out a bit of a chuckle.
He walked into the kitchen. “Good thinking, ole girl,” he said, seeing a tray on the table with a steaming bowl of chicken soup, some crackers and a glass of orange juice with some paracetamol next to it. There was something else next to the tray, and the Doctor paused. It was book. More specifically it was Emma by Jane Austin. He vaguely remembered Rose mentioning that first time she found the library that Jane Austin was her favorite author. He wasn’t quite sure what the book was doing here, but he shrugged, placed it on the tray and picked up the tray.
Rose had managed to go through twenty or so tissues by the time he returned with the soup and medicine. The Doctor set the tray down on the bed. “Come on, you need to eat something. Doctor’s orders,” he said with a little smirk. “The Tardis has kindly provided some chicken soup, crackers, and some paracetmol. Should be up and about in no time.”
She pushed herself up a bit in the bed, and he pushed the tray closer to her. Rose took the medicine with the Orange juice, and began working on the soup. The Doctor pulled up a chair, and they sat there, the Doctor telling stories of some of his past escapades in hopes to cheer her up. He occasionally got a smile from her, but she still looked pretty miserable. She looked at the book on the table. “Emma. My favorite.” She said, with a smile. she took the book and handed it to the Doctor. “When I was a kid mum used to read to me. I mean, I would understand if you didn’t want to….”
The Doctor looked from the book to Rose. This was not something he would normally do, not this time around, but then again, it was Rose. Something about that girl made him smile at her, with a shake of his, and take the book. He moved the tray she was finished with to the chair. “All right, budge over, if we’re going to do this, we’re going to do this right.” She giggled and moved over. He sat on the bed next to her, letting her lean in on his shoulder as he opened the book, and began to read out loud.
It felt just a bit too domestic for him. If it weren’t for the fact that Rose looked so content, and that she was sick, he would not be caught doing this. It wasn’t his thing. He told her once before, the domestic thing wasn’t for him. He didn’t do it. He didn’t even have a good reading voice. He knew he was stumbling over the words, and probably reading too fast for her, yet every so often a contented sigh would escape from Rose’s mouth. It was usually followed by a sneeze, a cough, or a sniffle, but still, it would make the Doctor smile.
As he finished the first chapter, he looked down at Rose, and smiled again. She had fallen asleep on his shoulder. He marked their place in the story, and set it on her nightstand. He shifted carefully so that he could lay her down, and tuck her back in. He moved the tissue box closer, and dimmed the lights in the room.
And when he was sure she was sound asleep, he leaned down and kissed her on the forehead before leaving the room. He didn’t see the contented smile on Rose’s face as he left.