Fic: Feeling our way
Title: Feeling our way
Author: psyfi_geekgirl
Characters/Pairings: Ten/Rose
Rating: G
Teaser: It’s a few minutes before she realizes with a start that she’s been lazily tracing imaginary lines between the freckles on the back of his hand. Guiltily, she glances up and sees him watching her, his brown eyes filled with a look she can’t quite place on him-at least not this version of him. Not yet. This, she thinks, is a new look.
Word count: 961
Disclaimer: I don’t own ‘em. “Not nobody, not nohow…”
A/N: Prompted by Challenge 10 at then_theres_us (Photos). Timeline: Post Tooth And Claw. Prompted photo under the cut
She thinks she’s developed a hand fetish. It seems to coincide nicely with a burgeoning hair thing as well. Then again, she’s noticed a lot of men in suits walking around lately, too. But there is only one person she knows who perfectly fits all three of her secret new favourite things, and then some. And he isn’t even a real bloke, but he’s seriously all she needs.
She shifts to balance better on her hip as the dune erodes beneath her. She’s got her head in the crook of his armpit and she rises up to watch his eyelids flutter open. He’s been dozing a bit in the warm sun, but he’d deny it, of course. His eyes quickly perform a perfunctory search of her face. Rose knows this look. She calls it “The Scan”. He scans her face for pain, for discomfort, for tears, smiles-for a reaction of any kind-for he always needs to know that she’s ok. She smiles reassuringly at him. He grins happily back at her and reduces his overall concentration to DEFCON 4.
“The Scan” is certainly one thing that hasn’t changed since The Big Change, and she’s glad of that because she needs some continuity. However she feels she’s acclimating to the New New Doctor very quickly. He’s a bit more fun, she notices. A bit more goofy and lighthearted, too. He’s still irreverent and intense and smart as hell, but he smiles more and flirts with her more, which makes her feel beautiful. He pouts too. She loves the pout.
He holds her hand more now, too.
In fact, he’s holding it now-hasn’t let go since they landed and walked out the doors. He reached for it on the way out and their fingers are still intertwined. She’s surprised and not surprised at the same time. She lifts their hands into the air and grasping his in both of hers, she studies the hands of her New New Doctor. His nails are buffed and shiny. This is definitely new. Pressing their palms together, she measures the length of his fingers. They’re much longer than hers. Longer than they used to be, too, and more tapered. And covered in freckles. She loves the freckles. They’re so him, so brown.
It occurs to her that the other him held her hand a lot, and yet something tells her that this new edition will quickly surpass the old. Still, she treasures each one, each time he’s grabbed and held her hand, each time he’s asked her to run with him: Henrick’s basement, on a road outside the Powell Estates, across London Bridge, on Platform One, in a Cardiff morgue in 1869, on the roof of her flat, in a cupboard in 10 Downing Street, in an elevator on Satellite Five, on floor 500 running from exploding Jagrafess, while watching her Dad get hit by a car (3 times), dancing in a hospital basement in 1941 and again in the TARDIS, in Millennium Centre Square in Cardiff 2005. Then the new him: In the TARDIS after he changed he tried to reassure her, in the courtyard of the Powell Estates standing in the snow/ash from the exploded Sycorax ship, on the hillside overlooking NNY and running from a werewolf in the Torchwood House with Queen Victoria. She thought she’d never tire of him holding her hand or want anyone else to ever hold it after him and yet now she’s beginning to forget exactly what his other hands felt like in hers. She’s adapting to him so quickly now.
It’s a few minutes before she realizes with a start that she’s been lazily tracing imaginary lines between the freckles on the back of his hand. Guiltily, she glances up and sees him watching her, his brown eyes filled with a look she can’t quite place on him-at least not this version of him. Not yet. This, she thinks, is a new look.
Now it’s her turn to scan.
She sees softness and a calmness that begins in his eyes and spreads through to the rest of his face. She sees his ears redden slightly at the tips, which washes down his body until she can feel it in the hand she’s still holding. He’s relaxed, and his pupils dilate as he opens himself up to her searching gaze. She’s never seen this before.
Yet, despite the warmth and slackness there’s something else. Discomfort? No. Vulnerability. Yes, that’s it. Funny how he should feel the same she does. Yeah, there’s just a tiny bit of fear there.
This is what it feels like, Doctor. The shoe is on the other foot, now.
But he’s just looking, patiently, expectantly, like he’s waiting for something, but for what? Quickly she applies her own experience to the problem-what is it that she fears and wants in these situations? She doesn’t have to delve too deeply: When it’s her, she worries that he might reject her, see something cold or hard there, something that tells her she’s not good enough to stay with him. And what she wants most in that moment-when it’s him doing “The Scan” on her-is that she wants reassurance, acceptance…
In short: His love. She wants his love.
The Doctor watches as a smile breaks over her face that puts every “rosy fingered” dawn he’s ever seen in any galaxy-ever-to shame; and he realizes that while his regeneration may have given him this new body, it is Rose and her smile that grants him the spark of life. He matches her grin with his own and for a second, believes that not even a supernova could light up either as brightly as Rose or his hearts do for her.
Yep. Looks like things are gonna be ok.
Author: psyfi_geekgirl
Characters/Pairings: Ten/Rose
Rating: G
Teaser: It’s a few minutes before she realizes with a start that she’s been lazily tracing imaginary lines between the freckles on the back of his hand. Guiltily, she glances up and sees him watching her, his brown eyes filled with a look she can’t quite place on him-at least not this version of him. Not yet. This, she thinks, is a new look.
Word count: 961
Disclaimer: I don’t own ‘em. “Not nobody, not nohow…”
A/N: Prompted by Challenge 10 at then_theres_us (Photos). Timeline: Post Tooth And Claw. Prompted photo under the cut
She thinks she’s developed a hand fetish. It seems to coincide nicely with a burgeoning hair thing as well. Then again, she’s noticed a lot of men in suits walking around lately, too. But there is only one person she knows who perfectly fits all three of her secret new favourite things, and then some. And he isn’t even a real bloke, but he’s seriously all she needs.
She shifts to balance better on her hip as the dune erodes beneath her. She’s got her head in the crook of his armpit and she rises up to watch his eyelids flutter open. He’s been dozing a bit in the warm sun, but he’d deny it, of course. His eyes quickly perform a perfunctory search of her face. Rose knows this look. She calls it “The Scan”. He scans her face for pain, for discomfort, for tears, smiles-for a reaction of any kind-for he always needs to know that she’s ok. She smiles reassuringly at him. He grins happily back at her and reduces his overall concentration to DEFCON 4.
“The Scan” is certainly one thing that hasn’t changed since The Big Change, and she’s glad of that because she needs some continuity. However she feels she’s acclimating to the New New Doctor very quickly. He’s a bit more fun, she notices. A bit more goofy and lighthearted, too. He’s still irreverent and intense and smart as hell, but he smiles more and flirts with her more, which makes her feel beautiful. He pouts too. She loves the pout.
He holds her hand more now, too.
In fact, he’s holding it now-hasn’t let go since they landed and walked out the doors. He reached for it on the way out and their fingers are still intertwined. She’s surprised and not surprised at the same time. She lifts their hands into the air and grasping his in both of hers, she studies the hands of her New New Doctor. His nails are buffed and shiny. This is definitely new. Pressing their palms together, she measures the length of his fingers. They’re much longer than hers. Longer than they used to be, too, and more tapered. And covered in freckles. She loves the freckles. They’re so him, so brown.
It occurs to her that the other him held her hand a lot, and yet something tells her that this new edition will quickly surpass the old. Still, she treasures each one, each time he’s grabbed and held her hand, each time he’s asked her to run with him: Henrick’s basement, on a road outside the Powell Estates, across London Bridge, on Platform One, in a Cardiff morgue in 1869, on the roof of her flat, in a cupboard in 10 Downing Street, in an elevator on Satellite Five, on floor 500 running from exploding Jagrafess, while watching her Dad get hit by a car (3 times), dancing in a hospital basement in 1941 and again in the TARDIS, in Millennium Centre Square in Cardiff 2005. Then the new him: In the TARDIS after he changed he tried to reassure her, in the courtyard of the Powell Estates standing in the snow/ash from the exploded Sycorax ship, on the hillside overlooking NNY and running from a werewolf in the Torchwood House with Queen Victoria. She thought she’d never tire of him holding her hand or want anyone else to ever hold it after him and yet now she’s beginning to forget exactly what his other hands felt like in hers. She’s adapting to him so quickly now.
It’s a few minutes before she realizes with a start that she’s been lazily tracing imaginary lines between the freckles on the back of his hand. Guiltily, she glances up and sees him watching her, his brown eyes filled with a look she can’t quite place on him-at least not this version of him. Not yet. This, she thinks, is a new look.
Now it’s her turn to scan.
She sees softness and a calmness that begins in his eyes and spreads through to the rest of his face. She sees his ears redden slightly at the tips, which washes down his body until she can feel it in the hand she’s still holding. He’s relaxed, and his pupils dilate as he opens himself up to her searching gaze. She’s never seen this before.
Yet, despite the warmth and slackness there’s something else. Discomfort? No. Vulnerability. Yes, that’s it. Funny how he should feel the same she does. Yeah, there’s just a tiny bit of fear there.
This is what it feels like, Doctor. The shoe is on the other foot, now.
But he’s just looking, patiently, expectantly, like he’s waiting for something, but for what? Quickly she applies her own experience to the problem-what is it that she fears and wants in these situations? She doesn’t have to delve too deeply: When it’s her, she worries that he might reject her, see something cold or hard there, something that tells her she’s not good enough to stay with him. And what she wants most in that moment-when it’s him doing “The Scan” on her-is that she wants reassurance, acceptance…
In short: His love. She wants his love.
The Doctor watches as a smile breaks over her face that puts every “rosy fingered” dawn he’s ever seen in any galaxy-ever-to shame; and he realizes that while his regeneration may have given him this new body, it is Rose and her smile that grants him the spark of life. He matches her grin with his own and for a second, believes that not even a supernova could light up either as brightly as Rose or his hearts do for her.
Yep. Looks like things are gonna be ok.