dw fic: The Stone (Nine/Rose) PG
title: The Stone
Author: fannishliss
pairing: Nine/Rose
Rating: PG
summary: The Doctor was glad to see the last of Adam, but he wasn't exactly calm about it.
About a million years ago I asked for prompts and several friends were so kind as to oblige -- yumimum
offered this prompt for Nine/Rose possessiveness/ angst with a nice bit of Jealous!Doctor showing Rose she doesn't need that pretty boy. Hope you enjoy!
Door in the forehead was too good for the likes of Adam, that was the Doctor's opinion.
His fingers were twitching to click, click, click, even after the Tardis doors were shut, the old girl had himself and Rose safely back in the Vortex, and they were well away from the smug, self-centered, self-impressed little tosser.
"Y'all right?" Rose asked, in her gentle lilt.
The Doctor didn't look up. He was well aware that his eyes were full of unreasonable fire. How dare -- how dare a human! -- how dare a boy like that, a pup, look at a girl like Rose, so clever and beautiful, her own age, her own species…
The fire in his eyes suddenly twisted from irritation, bordering on rage, to sorrow, loneliness, a torturing ache. It was like this, now, with him, inside him: wild, passionate, desolate, a cascading storm of fire and ice.
He gritted his jaw and clamped down. His fingers danced over controls, not making adjustments -- they were cruising aimlessly through the Vortex -- just drifting. Sometimes, it was a comfort just to feel his Tardis there, under his hands, her massive convoluted consciousness as always trained precisely in line with his own. Symbiotic, bound, his forever. All he could wish for.
All he could ever be allowed to have, now.
"Doctor? Doctor!"
Rose's hand alighted timidly on his arm, and he realized he'd fallen still, eyes closed, head bowed over the console, focused on nothing more than the eerie wailing keen of the Tardis that rang sweetly discordant along the undercurrents of his mind as she navigated the swirls and eddies of Time and Space.
Listening so intently to his Tardis, the Doctor had let his guard fall. Psychically open, he felt Rose's touch, so gentle, even through his armor of heavy leather. The impact on his psyche was like a heavy stone dropping into a deep pool ---
sinking, sinking,
down through the darkness, through the depths,
surrendering its last claims to fresh air and sunlight,
wafting, rocking gently as it fell, inexorable,
as it came to rest, lodging itself under a fountaining veil of silt in the muddy blackness.
The Doctor shuddered as Rose's concern lodged a wedge of her consciousness deep inside him.
Her eyes flew wide. Her hand tightened on his arm.
"Don't--" he gasped.
"I never--" she answered, brown eyes huge.
He felt her awareness move inside him, peering into the murk. She struggled to bring a light, shocked at the opacity she was feeling, without even knowing what it was. All she knew, he could feel, was that he was hurting. He was. He was always, always hurting.
"Don't pity me," he hissed. His mind tried to clench, to cover, but she was already in too deep.
"I never!" she retorted, her spirit flashing in her eyes.
He couldn't bear the thought of her pity. He couldn't bear the glimpse inside him she was getting, whether she understood what she was experiencing or no. He couldn't bear the thought that she would pull away, even as he cringed away from her, desperate for a return of singleness, of privacy.
The concept of pity sparked in her topmost thoughts, in a crackling cloud of denial.
Compassion, she vied, friendship, fellow-feeling. Bucking up, thought Rose, ever the optimist.
Love, her warm heart murmured, love love love.
The golden rose-hued flame of love flickered and caught, began to glow.
The Doctor hardly dared breathe as the inward warmth intensified. Such a glow would never come from the Tardis -- she was sentient and had her emotions (ferocity, loyalty, cunning, glee) but love was not amongst them.
Love was the country of Rose Tyler. Love was the flower his Rose had planted in the Doctor's murkiest soil.
How could he ever have been jealous of a pup like Adam? Rose had batted an eyelash and that was the extent of it.
Here, now, her hand on his shoulder, her eyes locked with his, her soul sending tendrils and shoots twining through and through the core of him -- Rose was his, and she was making him hers.
Barely thirty seconds had passed as Rose threaded her way through the defenses of lifetimes: brushing aside brusqueness, asperity, tartness, rudeness, arrogance, shouting, silence, curses, silliness, disdain.
She was in. Inside him. So deep.
How had this happened?
What if it had never happened?
His alternate precognition stung as he sneaked a peek: the almost-would-haves too horrible to contemplate. He hurriedly shut them down and heaved a deep breath as they faded into never-woulds.
"All right now, are you?" Rose said, out loud.
"Can't you tell?" he asked. His voice, out loud, sounded strange in his own ears -- as though the disparate identities of his many lives had been jumbled by her entry and fallen back in a strange enlightened disorder.
"You had me worried for a moment there," Rose said, but her face had relaxed into a joyful smile. "I thought maybe you were upset, about Adam."
"Nah," he said, all casual.
"Right," she said. "Because you'd have no reason to be, at all."
"Course not," he said.
He felt her pull him in, her gaze locked with his, those deep brown eyes glowing with such love. He leaned back just slightly, just to feel that irresistible attraction locked in and homing.
Closer and closer, till lips and breath mingled, and the warmth inside him flared into the brilliance of suns. They kissed, and drew apart, and Rose was beaming at him.
A light blazed out into his inner darkness, and the darkness could not overcome it, and fell away.
"So much," he whispered into her golden hair. So much to do, to see, to say. So much to live for now, together, and the Tardis hummed happily in her channel through the Doctor's mind, singing the end of his desolation, the beginning of so much more.
Author: fannishliss
pairing: Nine/Rose
Rating: PG
summary: The Doctor was glad to see the last of Adam, but he wasn't exactly calm about it.
About a million years ago I asked for prompts and several friends were so kind as to oblige -- yumimum
offered this prompt for Nine/Rose possessiveness/ angst with a nice bit of Jealous!Doctor showing Rose she doesn't need that pretty boy. Hope you enjoy!
Door in the forehead was too good for the likes of Adam, that was the Doctor's opinion.
His fingers were twitching to click, click, click, even after the Tardis doors were shut, the old girl had himself and Rose safely back in the Vortex, and they were well away from the smug, self-centered, self-impressed little tosser.
"Y'all right?" Rose asked, in her gentle lilt.
The Doctor didn't look up. He was well aware that his eyes were full of unreasonable fire. How dare -- how dare a human! -- how dare a boy like that, a pup, look at a girl like Rose, so clever and beautiful, her own age, her own species…
The fire in his eyes suddenly twisted from irritation, bordering on rage, to sorrow, loneliness, a torturing ache. It was like this, now, with him, inside him: wild, passionate, desolate, a cascading storm of fire and ice.
He gritted his jaw and clamped down. His fingers danced over controls, not making adjustments -- they were cruising aimlessly through the Vortex -- just drifting. Sometimes, it was a comfort just to feel his Tardis there, under his hands, her massive convoluted consciousness as always trained precisely in line with his own. Symbiotic, bound, his forever. All he could wish for.
All he could ever be allowed to have, now.
"Doctor? Doctor!"
Rose's hand alighted timidly on his arm, and he realized he'd fallen still, eyes closed, head bowed over the console, focused on nothing more than the eerie wailing keen of the Tardis that rang sweetly discordant along the undercurrents of his mind as she navigated the swirls and eddies of Time and Space.
Listening so intently to his Tardis, the Doctor had let his guard fall. Psychically open, he felt Rose's touch, so gentle, even through his armor of heavy leather. The impact on his psyche was like a heavy stone dropping into a deep pool ---
sinking, sinking,
down through the darkness, through the depths,
surrendering its last claims to fresh air and sunlight,
wafting, rocking gently as it fell, inexorable,
as it came to rest, lodging itself under a fountaining veil of silt in the muddy blackness.
The Doctor shuddered as Rose's concern lodged a wedge of her consciousness deep inside him.
Her eyes flew wide. Her hand tightened on his arm.
"Don't--" he gasped.
"I never--" she answered, brown eyes huge.
He felt her awareness move inside him, peering into the murk. She struggled to bring a light, shocked at the opacity she was feeling, without even knowing what it was. All she knew, he could feel, was that he was hurting. He was. He was always, always hurting.
"Don't pity me," he hissed. His mind tried to clench, to cover, but she was already in too deep.
"I never!" she retorted, her spirit flashing in her eyes.
He couldn't bear the thought of her pity. He couldn't bear the glimpse inside him she was getting, whether she understood what she was experiencing or no. He couldn't bear the thought that she would pull away, even as he cringed away from her, desperate for a return of singleness, of privacy.
The concept of pity sparked in her topmost thoughts, in a crackling cloud of denial.
Compassion, she vied, friendship, fellow-feeling. Bucking up, thought Rose, ever the optimist.
Love, her warm heart murmured, love love love.
The golden rose-hued flame of love flickered and caught, began to glow.
The Doctor hardly dared breathe as the inward warmth intensified. Such a glow would never come from the Tardis -- she was sentient and had her emotions (ferocity, loyalty, cunning, glee) but love was not amongst them.
Love was the country of Rose Tyler. Love was the flower his Rose had planted in the Doctor's murkiest soil.
How could he ever have been jealous of a pup like Adam? Rose had batted an eyelash and that was the extent of it.
Here, now, her hand on his shoulder, her eyes locked with his, her soul sending tendrils and shoots twining through and through the core of him -- Rose was his, and she was making him hers.
Barely thirty seconds had passed as Rose threaded her way through the defenses of lifetimes: brushing aside brusqueness, asperity, tartness, rudeness, arrogance, shouting, silence, curses, silliness, disdain.
She was in. Inside him. So deep.
How had this happened?
What if it had never happened?
His alternate precognition stung as he sneaked a peek: the almost-would-haves too horrible to contemplate. He hurriedly shut them down and heaved a deep breath as they faded into never-woulds.
"All right now, are you?" Rose said, out loud.
"Can't you tell?" he asked. His voice, out loud, sounded strange in his own ears -- as though the disparate identities of his many lives had been jumbled by her entry and fallen back in a strange enlightened disorder.
"You had me worried for a moment there," Rose said, but her face had relaxed into a joyful smile. "I thought maybe you were upset, about Adam."
"Nah," he said, all casual.
"Right," she said. "Because you'd have no reason to be, at all."
"Course not," he said.
He felt her pull him in, her gaze locked with his, those deep brown eyes glowing with such love. He leaned back just slightly, just to feel that irresistible attraction locked in and homing.
Closer and closer, till lips and breath mingled, and the warmth inside him flared into the brilliance of suns. They kissed, and drew apart, and Rose was beaming at him.
A light blazed out into his inner darkness, and the darkness could not overcome it, and fell away.
"So much," he whispered into her golden hair. So much to do, to see, to say. So much to live for now, together, and the Tardis hummed happily in her channel through the Doctor's mind, singing the end of his desolation, the beginning of so much more.