dw fic: "Home."
Home. Ten/Rose (PG) inspired by Edward Sharpe & The Magnetic Zeros.
She doesn’t complain when he lies down next to her, and in the morning, if she sees him watching her sleep as though she’s the greatest spectacle in the entire universe, she doesn’t call him on it. 1, 055.
Written for challenge 36 at then_theres_us
In the early hours of the morning in a service station café somewhere in the mid west of England, a young couple sit content in the aftermath of their rather large English breakfast. One is busy folding his napkin into something intricate and ridiculous, while his blonde friend dips her finger into the tomato sauce left behind on the plate and licks it as though she’s missed the taste.
Travellers, the usual passers by deduce. Distant, maybe.
They pay and smile, and stroll through the empty car park until one challenges the other to a race. They sprint like nothing anyone’s ever seen at five thirty am on a Monday morning, and they never let go of each other’s hand.
Not even a little.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
They jump from century to century, from Winter to Summer, to Autumn and Spring. Back and forth, forth and back, time and again always changing. The world exists and then it doesn’t, and in between it all stand the Doctor and Rose-the only constant to one another in all this kerffufle of time travel. They are home when their surroundings are not.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
He doesn’t sleep but after eons of running hand in hand from one adventure to the next, Rose insists on doing so. He tries to keep himself busy, but that’s surprisingly hard to do when there’s an irritable lady just down the hall intent on silence.
She doesn’t complain when he lies down next to her, and in the morning, if she sees him watching her sleep as though she’s the greatest spectacle in the entire universe, she doesn’t call him on it.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
In the light of an artificial morning (something the TARDIS began to create to accommodate Rose when she first insisted on a good night’s sleep) the Doctor feels the need to memorise every tiny freckle on Rose’s skin. His fingers leave a trail of soft lines along the skin of her back as though in search of the motorway on a large country map. Past the hidden rivers beneath her ribs, around the lakes of her tailbone. Moats and boats and waterfalls, alley-ways and pay phone calls, I’ve been everywhere with you.
“That tickles.” She mumbles, before yawning and blinking up at him.
“Oh does it now?” He smirks. “Ticklish are we?”
“Doctor...don’t...you…dare!”
Which roughly translates from Rose-speak as, go on then.
And the Doctor’s always been good with languages. Especially hers.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
The two of them get hideously drunk in some dive hidden away in a star system that the Doctor hasn’t seen since he was a teenager. And that really was some time ago. They giggle far too much, and Rose’s laugh almost always descends into snorting, which only makes the Doctor laugh harder. Their sentences are slurred but they’re always speaking the same language and as the music jazzes up towards the end of the night, the Doctor can’t help but make a reference to star wars.
Which leads to an insanely detailed account of the franchise to Rose, who despite having seen the films, is still not quite on par with the Doctor’s level of geek as he’d like.
He stops talking when he finds it far more enjoyable to watch Rose. She’s unconsciously biting at her lip and her fingers trace the top rim of her empty glass again and again in a circular motion. The barman rings the bell-and apparently it’s the interstellar signal for last orders. Just like on Earth.
“La, la, la, la take me home!”
This leads to more giggling, more snorting, and more laughter in general as they hold on to one another and fall through the doors of the TARDIS. She whirrs at their presence, and the Doctor thinks he can hear a disapproving lecture in the ship’s engines. Rose just sinks into a chair and thinks contended to herself, how glad she is to be home.
She wakes up in a warm bed and tugs the quilt out of the Doctor’s hogging hold. He may have no sleep in the most usual of terms, but get the Lord of Time drunk and he’s out like a light just like everybody else.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
At a music festival the Doctor grins and twirls Rose around with her eyes closed to the symphony of sounds surrounding her. Blonde locks catch in the dwindling sunlight, swishing side to side as they coast along the sea of people in the audience, her bare feet are muddied and grass stained.
Her blue dress twirls around her as on stage, the band whistle into their microphones and tap their tambourines. A man sings to a woman, smiling and grinning just as Rose and The Doctor dance on the field. Like it’s only you and me, jeez you’re something to see.
A guitar strums with a violin and maracas shake to the beat of the rising tide of fans below the stage.
The Doctor folds himself around Rose, arms cradling her as they sway together, hands held tight against her abdomen.
Home, let me come home, home is wherever I‘m with you, oh home, yes I am home, home is when I’m alone with you.
When she trips over a mound of grass, he catches her as though they’re lost in a tango-he twirls her out in a waltz and ends with a flourish.
“You caught me.” She smiles.
“I always will.”
For a moment all they can do is stare at one another, but then Rose mutters Ow, and they sit for a very long time.
Her shoulders are sunburnt, and she thinks she might have sprained her ankle but she can’t stop laughing at the Doctor’s jokes while the sun sets and they sit between tents, admiring the scenery before they head back to the TARDIS.
“I could grab a tent you know.” The Doctor tells her, absently picking at the daisies around them. “There’s bound to be at least one around in the closet somewhere...”
“I like it like this. The stars, the fading sun, the drumbeat in the distance...” Her voice is wistful and more alike to the Doctor’s own content contemplation than she has yet to realise.
“It is rather perfect isn’t it?”
“Exactly. I wouldn’t change a thing.”
“Me either, Rose, me either.”
-Fin.
( link to original post )
She doesn’t complain when he lies down next to her, and in the morning, if she sees him watching her sleep as though she’s the greatest spectacle in the entire universe, she doesn’t call him on it. 1, 055.
Written for challenge 36 at then_theres_us
In the early hours of the morning in a service station café somewhere in the mid west of England, a young couple sit content in the aftermath of their rather large English breakfast. One is busy folding his napkin into something intricate and ridiculous, while his blonde friend dips her finger into the tomato sauce left behind on the plate and licks it as though she’s missed the taste.
Travellers, the usual passers by deduce. Distant, maybe.
They pay and smile, and stroll through the empty car park until one challenges the other to a race. They sprint like nothing anyone’s ever seen at five thirty am on a Monday morning, and they never let go of each other’s hand.
Not even a little.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
They jump from century to century, from Winter to Summer, to Autumn and Spring. Back and forth, forth and back, time and again always changing. The world exists and then it doesn’t, and in between it all stand the Doctor and Rose-the only constant to one another in all this kerffufle of time travel. They are home when their surroundings are not.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
He doesn’t sleep but after eons of running hand in hand from one adventure to the next, Rose insists on doing so. He tries to keep himself busy, but that’s surprisingly hard to do when there’s an irritable lady just down the hall intent on silence.
She doesn’t complain when he lies down next to her, and in the morning, if she sees him watching her sleep as though she’s the greatest spectacle in the entire universe, she doesn’t call him on it.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
In the light of an artificial morning (something the TARDIS began to create to accommodate Rose when she first insisted on a good night’s sleep) the Doctor feels the need to memorise every tiny freckle on Rose’s skin. His fingers leave a trail of soft lines along the skin of her back as though in search of the motorway on a large country map. Past the hidden rivers beneath her ribs, around the lakes of her tailbone. Moats and boats and waterfalls, alley-ways and pay phone calls, I’ve been everywhere with you.
“That tickles.” She mumbles, before yawning and blinking up at him.
“Oh does it now?” He smirks. “Ticklish are we?”
“Doctor...don’t...you…dare!”
Which roughly translates from Rose-speak as, go on then.
And the Doctor’s always been good with languages. Especially hers.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
The two of them get hideously drunk in some dive hidden away in a star system that the Doctor hasn’t seen since he was a teenager. And that really was some time ago. They giggle far too much, and Rose’s laugh almost always descends into snorting, which only makes the Doctor laugh harder. Their sentences are slurred but they’re always speaking the same language and as the music jazzes up towards the end of the night, the Doctor can’t help but make a reference to star wars.
Which leads to an insanely detailed account of the franchise to Rose, who despite having seen the films, is still not quite on par with the Doctor’s level of geek as he’d like.
He stops talking when he finds it far more enjoyable to watch Rose. She’s unconsciously biting at her lip and her fingers trace the top rim of her empty glass again and again in a circular motion. The barman rings the bell-and apparently it’s the interstellar signal for last orders. Just like on Earth.
“La, la, la, la take me home!”
This leads to more giggling, more snorting, and more laughter in general as they hold on to one another and fall through the doors of the TARDIS. She whirrs at their presence, and the Doctor thinks he can hear a disapproving lecture in the ship’s engines. Rose just sinks into a chair and thinks contended to herself, how glad she is to be home.
She wakes up in a warm bed and tugs the quilt out of the Doctor’s hogging hold. He may have no sleep in the most usual of terms, but get the Lord of Time drunk and he’s out like a light just like everybody else.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
At a music festival the Doctor grins and twirls Rose around with her eyes closed to the symphony of sounds surrounding her. Blonde locks catch in the dwindling sunlight, swishing side to side as they coast along the sea of people in the audience, her bare feet are muddied and grass stained.
Her blue dress twirls around her as on stage, the band whistle into their microphones and tap their tambourines. A man sings to a woman, smiling and grinning just as Rose and The Doctor dance on the field. Like it’s only you and me, jeez you’re something to see.
A guitar strums with a violin and maracas shake to the beat of the rising tide of fans below the stage.
The Doctor folds himself around Rose, arms cradling her as they sway together, hands held tight against her abdomen.
Home, let me come home, home is wherever I‘m with you, oh home, yes I am home, home is when I’m alone with you.
When she trips over a mound of grass, he catches her as though they’re lost in a tango-he twirls her out in a waltz and ends with a flourish.
“You caught me.” She smiles.
“I always will.”
For a moment all they can do is stare at one another, but then Rose mutters Ow, and they sit for a very long time.
Her shoulders are sunburnt, and she thinks she might have sprained her ankle but she can’t stop laughing at the Doctor’s jokes while the sun sets and they sit between tents, admiring the scenery before they head back to the TARDIS.
“I could grab a tent you know.” The Doctor tells her, absently picking at the daisies around them. “There’s bound to be at least one around in the closet somewhere...”
“I like it like this. The stars, the fading sun, the drumbeat in the distance...” Her voice is wistful and more alike to the Doctor’s own content contemplation than she has yet to realise.
“It is rather perfect isn’t it?”
“Exactly. I wouldn’t change a thing.”
“Me either, Rose, me either.”
-Fin.
( link to original post )