Fic: Fall
Title: Fall
Author: nocookiesjustbooks 2nd2ndalto
Character/Pairing: Ten/Rose
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: BBC owns everything, obviously.
Summary: Their first kiss is memorable, could have been fantastic if not for the minor head wound, which bleeds quite a bit more than Rose would have expected
Author's Notes: Written for a prompt from mrv3000 for doctor_rose_fix's End of Summer Fixathon. ("I've decided that the Doctor and Rose would probably fall off a lot of things while snogging and/or sex.")
Their first kiss is memorable, could have been fantastic if not for the minor head wound, which bleeds quite a bit more than Rose would have expected.
~.~.~.~.~
They tumble into the TARDIS, breathless and giggling, and whatever smelly, hairy thing had been chasing them hits the door with a muted thud seconds after the Doctor slams it shut. Rose grasps a coral pillar for support, still gasping with laughter and the speed of their escape as the Doctor sends the TARDIS back into the vortex. Buttons punched, levers pulled, he stuffs his hands into his pockets and rocks back on his heels, turns to give her a wide grin, his eyes bright.
Maybe it’s the adrenaline. Maybe it’s just the look of him, cheeks flushed and hair even wilder than usual. Maybe she’s just waited long enough. Whatever the reason, she can’t help but kiss him then.
For just a second, his lips are still as he takes in a small surprised breath against her cheek. But then his hands fly up to fumble at her waist and he’s most definitely kissing her back, with an eagerness that knocks Rose off balance, both literally and figuratively. She stumbles against him, then trips, and the next thing she’s aware of is a sharp pain in her head. The TARDIS’ grille is cold under her back as her mind drifts back to consciousness. The Doctor’s face swims into focus above her, wide dark eyes huge in his pale face.
She can barely keep up with him as he hurries her down the corridor, one hand firmly gripping her arm, the other holding a blood-soaked handkerchief to her head. From the few short, terse sentences she manages to get out of him, Rose gathers she was only unconscious for a very little while, her head having encountered a particularly sharp bit of TARDIS after she’d tripped over his trainers.
Ten very quiet minutes later, Rose is resting comfortably on what appears to be someone’s weekend carpentry project of an examining table in the TARDIS’ infirmary, the Doctor dabbing something purple and foul-smelling on her scalp. Rose wonders if it might be okay to laugh about this yet, maybe tease him for sweeping her off her feet. Keeping her head very still for his ministrations, she glances up at the tight line of his shoulders, the muscle twitching in his jaw. Perhaps not quite yet, then.
“Right then, that’s you sorted,” the Doctor announces after another moment. He steps away to wash his hands and Rose carefully sits up, easing her legs over the side of the table. She bites her lip, wondering what to say now. From the affected nonchalance of the Doctor’s voice, she’s fairly sure he intends to sweep the whole incident under the rug and go back to business as usual.
He returns to the examining table, offering her a hand down but not quite meeting her eye. Rose summons what’s left of her courage, ignoring his hand and reaching up to touch his cheek instead. His expression softens as he finally meets her gaze, and he gives her a small smile.
“Sorry,” he begins. “Not for - you know,” his hand rises to rub at the back of his neck. “Not for the snogging bit. Definitely for the part with the unconsciousness, though. And the bloodshed.” He looks at her sheepishly.
Rose grins. “It wasn’t your fault.” She tilts her head. “You know, I’m feeling much better now,” she offers.
His eyes widen. “Oh?”
“Yeah.”
He kisses her carefully and thoroughly now, his hands going to her hips and holding on firmly. After several very long, very pleasant moments, Rose swings her feet forward to hook them around the backs of his knees, drawing him nearer, closing those last few inches between them. He sighs and breaks the kiss to press his forehead to hers.
“Shall we take this somewhere with fewer sharp edges and hard surfaces?” he murmurs.
They do.
~.~.~.~.~
Years later, Rose can still feel the inch-long scar. It becomes something she does while she’s puzzling out a particularly difficult problem. Eyes unfocussed, she runs a hand through her hair, fingertips searching for that little ridge near the crown of her head. It always makes her smile.
Author: nocookiesjustbooks 2nd2ndalto
Character/Pairing: Ten/Rose
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: BBC owns everything, obviously.
Summary: Their first kiss is memorable, could have been fantastic if not for the minor head wound, which bleeds quite a bit more than Rose would have expected
Author's Notes: Written for a prompt from mrv3000 for doctor_rose_fix's End of Summer Fixathon. ("I've decided that the Doctor and Rose would probably fall off a lot of things while snogging and/or sex.")
Their first kiss is memorable, could have been fantastic if not for the minor head wound, which bleeds quite a bit more than Rose would have expected.
~.~.~.~.~
They tumble into the TARDIS, breathless and giggling, and whatever smelly, hairy thing had been chasing them hits the door with a muted thud seconds after the Doctor slams it shut. Rose grasps a coral pillar for support, still gasping with laughter and the speed of their escape as the Doctor sends the TARDIS back into the vortex. Buttons punched, levers pulled, he stuffs his hands into his pockets and rocks back on his heels, turns to give her a wide grin, his eyes bright.
Maybe it’s the adrenaline. Maybe it’s just the look of him, cheeks flushed and hair even wilder than usual. Maybe she’s just waited long enough. Whatever the reason, she can’t help but kiss him then.
For just a second, his lips are still as he takes in a small surprised breath against her cheek. But then his hands fly up to fumble at her waist and he’s most definitely kissing her back, with an eagerness that knocks Rose off balance, both literally and figuratively. She stumbles against him, then trips, and the next thing she’s aware of is a sharp pain in her head. The TARDIS’ grille is cold under her back as her mind drifts back to consciousness. The Doctor’s face swims into focus above her, wide dark eyes huge in his pale face.
She can barely keep up with him as he hurries her down the corridor, one hand firmly gripping her arm, the other holding a blood-soaked handkerchief to her head. From the few short, terse sentences she manages to get out of him, Rose gathers she was only unconscious for a very little while, her head having encountered a particularly sharp bit of TARDIS after she’d tripped over his trainers.
Ten very quiet minutes later, Rose is resting comfortably on what appears to be someone’s weekend carpentry project of an examining table in the TARDIS’ infirmary, the Doctor dabbing something purple and foul-smelling on her scalp. Rose wonders if it might be okay to laugh about this yet, maybe tease him for sweeping her off her feet. Keeping her head very still for his ministrations, she glances up at the tight line of his shoulders, the muscle twitching in his jaw. Perhaps not quite yet, then.
“Right then, that’s you sorted,” the Doctor announces after another moment. He steps away to wash his hands and Rose carefully sits up, easing her legs over the side of the table. She bites her lip, wondering what to say now. From the affected nonchalance of the Doctor’s voice, she’s fairly sure he intends to sweep the whole incident under the rug and go back to business as usual.
He returns to the examining table, offering her a hand down but not quite meeting her eye. Rose summons what’s left of her courage, ignoring his hand and reaching up to touch his cheek instead. His expression softens as he finally meets her gaze, and he gives her a small smile.
“Sorry,” he begins. “Not for - you know,” his hand rises to rub at the back of his neck. “Not for the snogging bit. Definitely for the part with the unconsciousness, though. And the bloodshed.” He looks at her sheepishly.
Rose grins. “It wasn’t your fault.” She tilts her head. “You know, I’m feeling much better now,” she offers.
His eyes widen. “Oh?”
“Yeah.”
He kisses her carefully and thoroughly now, his hands going to her hips and holding on firmly. After several very long, very pleasant moments, Rose swings her feet forward to hook them around the backs of his knees, drawing him nearer, closing those last few inches between them. He sighs and breaks the kiss to press his forehead to hers.
“Shall we take this somewhere with fewer sharp edges and hard surfaces?” he murmurs.
They do.
~.~.~.~.~
Years later, Rose can still feel the inch-long scar. It becomes something she does while she’s puzzling out a particularly difficult problem. Eyes unfocussed, she runs a hand through her hair, fingertips searching for that little ridge near the crown of her head. It always makes her smile.