fic: moments after i have dreamed
Rose rolls off of him with a quiet, content sigh. When the Doctor mirrors her sigh she wriggles closer, resting her head on his chest and draping an arm across his stomach. “That was lovely,” she murmurs, smiling against him.
The Doctor moves his arm to trace lazy paths across her bare back. “You are lovely.”
She hums and drops a kiss to his chest. After a beat she cracks her eyes open and looks up at him as best she can from her position. “Doctor?”
“Hmm?”
“D’you…That is, is there anything you’d like to say?”
He furrows his brow at the ceiling, his hand still working over her back. “No, I don’t think so.”
Rose lifts herself up on her elbow and studies him, squinting. “Are you absolutely sure?”
The Doctor sits up and stares back at her, uncomprehending. “I can’t think…Oh!” His eyes fly wide and he wraps his arms around her, tumbling them both back to the bed. “I love you!”
She giggles and kisses him before repositioning her body against his. “I love you, too. But what I meant was…It’s just, I’m going to sleep in a bit.”
“Ah. Well…good night?” he guesses, pulling her close. “Sleep well, Rose.”
She glances at the clock on the bedside table, estimates that she can look forward to about two hours of uninterrupted sleep, and sighs. “I’ll try, Doctor.”
***
There was a time, two years ago, when Rose dreamed constantly of walking away. The instant she fell asleep she was walking-she didn’t know from what or from whom, she just knew away-and she couldn’t stop. Sometimes she felt her own footsteps; sometimes she was an observer, lacking voice or presence. No matter how she tried she couldn’t turn around and she couldn’t stop. Those days she woke up the same way she fell asleep: feeling far away and broken hearted.
Tonight for the she-doesn’t-know-what night in a row she dreams again that she is walking, but it is not the same as the recurring dream of years ago. She can sense in these dreams that she is in control; she knows where she is going. She is walking toward, not away. She has yet to make it to the end of the journey in any of these dreams, but most nights she can feel a hand in hers along the way. Something in the dream asks her if that’s enough, and the answer comes easily: Yes. Oh yes.
***
“Did you know?”
She allows herself to be stirred to consciousness and glances at the clock to see that her prediction was, as usual, right on target. She smiles a bit at his question and at the insistence of his fingers kneading her face; this is hardly the first time he has asked since the day on the beach. “Course I did,” she assures him as usual. Tonight, for the first time, she adds, “Could’ve told me, though.” Then she curls up against him, facing the opposite wall, and gives herself back over to sleep.
She returns to the dream but it is different now, more vivid; she can feel the air pushing by her, can squeeze the hand wrapped around hers. Every once in a while his words come to her-you are magnificent; I loved you more than traveling-and the sound fills the dream world, replaces the noise of her footsteps and her breathing. She can’t tell whether the words are products of her subconscious or bits of his monologue filtering through. Knowing him-knowing him, she smiles in the dream-she guesses the latter.
The Doctor’s nose in her hair brings her fully back to their bedroom, but she keeps still. “They all left me, Rose, and I always carried on,” he whispers into her ear, and she feels the familiar clench in her stomach, the familiar urge to hold him, to smooth his hair and quiet his ghosts. She stays for now, though, urging him silently to continue.
“I didn’t know how I would do the same, if it was you,” he goes on, quietly. “And so I didn’t say anything, because I thought it would be better. For both of us. And I’m sorry,” he says, and warmth floods through her at the feel of his fingers on her stomach. “I’m so sorry. For my silence. Never again. I promise.” He presses his lips into the hollow of her neck and she feels his lips curl into a soft smile against her skin. “I love you.”
She sighs, exhaling the last of the feelings of losing and searching and waiting that linger in the corners of her mind, and moves her foot against his to remind them both of the proximity. “Oh, I know.”
And then she turns over, winds her hands in his hair, pulls him in, and kisses him. And kisses him, and kisses him, and kisses him.
The Doctor moves his arm to trace lazy paths across her bare back. “You are lovely.”
She hums and drops a kiss to his chest. After a beat she cracks her eyes open and looks up at him as best she can from her position. “Doctor?”
“Hmm?”
“D’you…That is, is there anything you’d like to say?”
He furrows his brow at the ceiling, his hand still working over her back. “No, I don’t think so.”
Rose lifts herself up on her elbow and studies him, squinting. “Are you absolutely sure?”
The Doctor sits up and stares back at her, uncomprehending. “I can’t think…Oh!” His eyes fly wide and he wraps his arms around her, tumbling them both back to the bed. “I love you!”
She giggles and kisses him before repositioning her body against his. “I love you, too. But what I meant was…It’s just, I’m going to sleep in a bit.”
“Ah. Well…good night?” he guesses, pulling her close. “Sleep well, Rose.”
She glances at the clock on the bedside table, estimates that she can look forward to about two hours of uninterrupted sleep, and sighs. “I’ll try, Doctor.”
***
There was a time, two years ago, when Rose dreamed constantly of walking away. The instant she fell asleep she was walking-she didn’t know from what or from whom, she just knew away-and she couldn’t stop. Sometimes she felt her own footsteps; sometimes she was an observer, lacking voice or presence. No matter how she tried she couldn’t turn around and she couldn’t stop. Those days she woke up the same way she fell asleep: feeling far away and broken hearted.
Tonight for the she-doesn’t-know-what night in a row she dreams again that she is walking, but it is not the same as the recurring dream of years ago. She can sense in these dreams that she is in control; she knows where she is going. She is walking toward, not away. She has yet to make it to the end of the journey in any of these dreams, but most nights she can feel a hand in hers along the way. Something in the dream asks her if that’s enough, and the answer comes easily: Yes. Oh yes.
***
“Did you know?”
She allows herself to be stirred to consciousness and glances at the clock to see that her prediction was, as usual, right on target. She smiles a bit at his question and at the insistence of his fingers kneading her face; this is hardly the first time he has asked since the day on the beach. “Course I did,” she assures him as usual. Tonight, for the first time, she adds, “Could’ve told me, though.” Then she curls up against him, facing the opposite wall, and gives herself back over to sleep.
She returns to the dream but it is different now, more vivid; she can feel the air pushing by her, can squeeze the hand wrapped around hers. Every once in a while his words come to her-you are magnificent; I loved you more than traveling-and the sound fills the dream world, replaces the noise of her footsteps and her breathing. She can’t tell whether the words are products of her subconscious or bits of his monologue filtering through. Knowing him-knowing him, she smiles in the dream-she guesses the latter.
The Doctor’s nose in her hair brings her fully back to their bedroom, but she keeps still. “They all left me, Rose, and I always carried on,” he whispers into her ear, and she feels the familiar clench in her stomach, the familiar urge to hold him, to smooth his hair and quiet his ghosts. She stays for now, though, urging him silently to continue.
“I didn’t know how I would do the same, if it was you,” he goes on, quietly. “And so I didn’t say anything, because I thought it would be better. For both of us. And I’m sorry,” he says, and warmth floods through her at the feel of his fingers on her stomach. “I’m so sorry. For my silence. Never again. I promise.” He presses his lips into the hollow of her neck and she feels his lips curl into a soft smile against her skin. “I love you.”
She sighs, exhaling the last of the feelings of losing and searching and waiting that linger in the corners of her mind, and moves her foot against his to remind them both of the proximity. “Oh, I know.”
And then she turns over, winds her hands in his hair, pulls him in, and kisses him. And kisses him, and kisses him, and kisses him.