Who Fic - The Art of Being Human - Chapter Four
The Art of Being Human - Chapter 4/11 PG-13, Ten/Rose, John Smith/Rose
AU. It is the autumn of 1913 and Rose has found herself the wife of a man who doesn’t really exist. Between the fear that she may truly learn to love John and the ever present knowledge of his true identity, Rose is forced to re-evaluate both her life and loves. And all the while the Family of Blood draws nearer to their prey...
Author's Note: I'm back at uni as of this week so the chapters might be a little bit further apart again for a while. I will be doing my damndest to get it finished over the next few weeks though so don't lose heart! It will be finished, I promise. Also, a huge thank you to everyone who has read and reviewed so far - it's so wonderful to get so much amazing feedback from you all! Much love to you all xoxo Ellin
Prologue, Chapter One, Chapter Two, Chapter Three, Chapter Four, Chapter Five, Chapter Six, Chapter Seven, Chapter Eight, Chapter Nine, Chapter Ten, Chapter Eleven, Epilogue
Rose already knew of course that there were bits of the Doctor leaking through in John’s dreams but she hadn’t realised just how much he himself was akin to the Doctor until she started to really knuckle down and think about it.
Take for example what had happened when they had run into Sarah Jane at Jeffry Vale. Up until then Rose had never thought to ask about the companions that came before her. Mostly of course because the Doctor never spoke about them, but still. She’d certainly never entertained the possibility of the existence of other companions because in all truth, Rose had always been the sort of girl who was more focused on living in the present and did little wondering about the past or future.
Travelling with the Doctor hadn’t changed that much (with the exception of when she literally was in her own past of future), but the realisation that he’d travelled with loads of other people and had never even mentioned them to her had. Suddenly she was thinking an awful lot about the people who came before her as well as the people who might come after she was gone. The idea that she might just be what Mickey derisively called ‘the flavour of the month’ opened up all sorts of horrible thoughts and feelings - self doubt being one of the big ones. Sheer, abject terror of being left behind by him was another. And when she confronted him about withholding something so important from her he’d been defensive, even angry that she didn’t understand why he’d never thought to tell her in the first place.
Now it was very much the same. John had withheld the fact that this school had a military curriculum from her (for whatever reason), and then he’d gone and inadvertently upset her when the truth finally came out. Only this time instead of probing gently and trying to find out his reason for keeping it from her Rose had started screaming at him, then gotten in a strop and refused to speak to him at all.
Oh great, and there came that guilty feeling again. She really seemed to be getting a lot of that lately, especially in relation to John.
But honestly, she had to wonder whether she hadn’t been the least bit unfair to him. She had forgiven the Doctor so many times for things much worse than this. Maybe, she reasoned with herself, she was just more upset because she knew how much the Doctor loathed weapons and to hear John talking about using them in such a casual manner was just a little too unsettling.
Either way she owed him an apology - and afternoon tea for that matter. And that was why she was sitting up in their room with a tea tray, waiting for him. Joan’s plan had been a good one, and really very simple. It didn’t take long for John to appear, bursting through the door in such a hurry he didn’t even bother to knock.
His chest was rising and falling rapidly, as though he’d run all the way up the stairs and Rose smiled weakly at him in greeting, feeling a touch of guilt for worrying him so much. At the sight of her sitting with her foot bandaged and propped up on a stool his face creased with anxiety and he rushed to her side without an ounce of hesitation.
“Oh Rose, are you alright?” he said, face bleak as dropped to his knees to inspect her neatly bandaged ankle for himself. “Matron said you fell on the stairs and hurt yourself.”
“I’m alright,” Rose assured him, peeling his hands gently from where they fluttered uncertainly at her ankle. “It’s not even sprained really, just a bit swollen. I did break a really nice pair of shoes though,” she added as a rueful afterthought.
John stared and Rose bit her lip, trying not to smile.
“Sorry,” she said sheepishly. “It was the only way we could think of to get you out of watching the boys.”
John frowned, pushing himself to his feet again. “I don’t understand. Why would you do that?”
“Well...erm...” Rose cleared her throat awkwardly. “Cos I sort of...owe you an apology?”
John looked utterly flabbergasted.
“Also,” she added. “I owe you afternoon tea. From yesterday. When I blew you off.”
“Blew me...off?” John echoed faintly. He looked like he was liable to faint and as he settled into open mouthed silence again Rose rather desperately searched the room for inspiration on what to say next. It was then that she glanced at the tea tray that sat waiting for them and she looked up at him with her best winning smile, the one that always made the Doctor do whatever she asked him.
“D’you...fancy a cuppa?” she asked hopefully and after a long moment in which she held her breath and John gaped at her, a tentative smile slowly blossomed on his face.
“I’d love one.”
Rose eagerly nodded him into the chair opposite hers and as he sat down she leaned forward awkwardly, trying not to jostle her ankle as she reached for the teapot. She had barely touched the handle however when John leant forward, stilled her hand and said, “Here, let me.”
Touched by his obvious concern, Rose sat back comfortably and watched as he carefully he measured out the milk and sugar for them both. A fond smile tugged at her lips when she realised that John had somehow managed to commit to memory how she took her tea, right down to the way she shook her sugar out flat on the spoon to get just the right amount.
“White and one,” he announced quietly, handing over the cup and saucer carefully. Rose took it gratefully, blowing across the surface gently before resting it in her lap to cool. John did much the same.
Silence fell.
“Sorry I yelled at you yesterday,” Rose said finally, awkwardly, into the silence. “In front of the boys an’ everything. I know you don’t like making a - what do you say? - a spectacle of yourself an’...I’m just really sorry.”
John dropped his gaze to his tea and nodded.
What he said next nearly made Rose spill the contents of her own teacup in her lap.
“I’m sorry too.”
Rose blinked, sure she had misheard him.
“What?”
John took a breath. “I’m sorry that I never told you about the military requirements of the curriculum here. I was afraid that it would upset you so I tried to keep it from you. In hindsight of course, a grievous error on my behalf which I won’t be making again but in short; I lied to you and I’m so very sorry.”
Rose stared at him, shocked. “Right,” she said faintly.
Okay so scrap all previous notions - John was absolutely nothing like the Doctor. Not if he was actually apologising for something he’d done to upset her. The Doctor had far too much pride for things like apologies unless he’d done something really, really spectacularly awful (which didn’t happen often) and even then he usually just took her somewhere pretty or wheedled her endlessly until she relented and stopped being sour towards him.
Or they’d just hug and make up. That tended to happen a lot, especially if they were mid-adventure.
John cleared his throat nervously.
“Do you...” he began hesitantly. “Do you accept my apology?”
“I suppose so.” Rose said dubiously and John looked relieved for about a millisecond before she hastily added, “Can I just ask one thing though?”
John looked apprehensive but nodded anyway and Rose pushed forward before she lost her nerve. If he gave her a straight answer for this then he was definitely not channelling the Doctor. No way.
“This military curri-curriculum stuff,” she began, only stumbling slightly over the unfamiliar word. “It’s compulsory right?”
John’s brow furrowed slightly. “Yes. What-”
“For students and teachers?” Rose interrupted and John’s mouth worked silently for a moment before he took a hurried gulp of his tea and then choked a little as it scalded him. “John?”
“It isn’t my place to question the curriculum.” he said, voice a little raspy from where the tea had scalded him.
“So it’s a part of your contract that you’ve gotta teach them how to shoot yeah?” Rose guessed hopefully.
“It isn’t my place to question the curriculum,” John repeated. “Not unless I want to lose my position here and return to tutoring in London which, as you will remember, hardly pays as well as this job.”
Rose resisted the urge to punch the air. Joan had been right - it was in his contract.
“But you don’t think it’s right yeah?” she pressed eagerly. “Teaching kids how to shoot?”
“I-” John swallowed and looked away from her awkwardly. “It doesn’t matter what I think Rose.”
“Yeah it does.” Rose said, leaning forward and catching his eye again. “It matters to me.”
They looked at each other for a long moment and then John had to look away again, mumbling and stumbling and stuttering. Rose reached awkwardly over the tea set to place her hand over his and her touch seemed to steel him because he took a deep breath and then just blurted it all out.
“Look I-well I don’t believe that teaching them how to fight should be an integral part of their schooling when there are other ways to instil discipline but I understand why it is a part of the curriculum and I pray that if these boys - heaven forbid - are ever called upon to fight that they do not become embittered but rather...well, use the skills they have learnt here to help them to survive. Not that I believe mankind needs to prove itself in war of course, there is honour and courage to be found even in ordinary life. The very act of reaching out for another’s hand...” at this he paused, turned his hand over and twined his fingers with Rose’s, mouth tilting upwards when he saw the shine of their wedding bands reflecting off each other. His voice was quieter as he continued. “I believe that history is and should be built on moments of love and trust - not just battle and bloodshed. I myself am certainly much happier to study warfare than to be an active participant any day.
“Also,” he added as an afterthought. “I know it is expected but I truly, truly loathe using the cane on the boys here.”
He finished with yet another deep breath which he huffed out dramatically and then a slightly stunned expression blossomed on his face as he realised what had just come tumbling out of his mouth.
“Gracious,” he breathed and then turned his gaze to her in consternation. “Please promise me that you won’t tell my colleagues a word of what I just told you. They already think that I am far too sentimental.”
Rose couldn’t help herself - she burst out laughing.
“Rose?” John looked honestly concerned now as he began to plead with her. “Please...”
“Don’t be silly,” she interrupted him with a shake of her head, giggling like crazy now. “It’ll be our secret yeah? You might have to do what they tell you but it doesn’t mean you have to agree with it. Right?”
She winked at John and he responded by looking slightly dazed. “You aren’t still cross with me?” he said wonderingly.
Rose rolled her eyes. “How’m I supposed to be angry at you when they’re making you do something you don’t want to? You should’ve told me though.”
“I know,” John said regretfully and then leant forward earnestly. “Let me to make it up to you?”
Rose wrinkled her nose. “You really don’t have to.”
“No but I do,” he interrupted beseechingly. “Let me take you out on a picnic. Somewhere special that I haven’t taken you before.”
Rose looked pointedly down at her foot and John looked sheepish as he conceded, “When your ankle is a little better of course.”
Rose hesitated a little but then nodded gladly. “Alright then.”
“Excellent!” John proclaimed and then beamed at her, relief evident in his every feature. Rose grinned back just as wide and for a long time they just sat there and smiled at each other like idiots until their faces actually hurt. It really did feel good to have cleared the air between them Rose thought as she rested her aching cheeks and set to sipping her tea, now cooled to an acceptable temperature.
“So,” she finally said, coquettishly, over the rim of her cup. “I believe you had some new stories to tell me?”
The rest of the afternoon was so enjoyable that Rose honestly regretted missing out on John’s company the day before - especially when he had clearly been in such a good mood. In lieu of their row he kept throwing in apologies in the lulls between stretches of conversation but after a while he loosened up and they retired to the couch so he could read his latest dreams from his journal, even going so far as to act out some of the more exciting bits which he had never done before.
Once those stories were exhausted they easily lapsed back into their own anecdotes from the past two days. Rose told him all about the defaced books and John frowned and spluttered on for a while about children disrespecting literature and when she laughed at him and called him a stodgy old man he tried to convince her otherwise by telling her a terrible joke that he’d heard from one of the villagers he’d paused to have a yarn with the other day.
The joke was so awful and they laughed so much that Rose was worried she might accidentally perforate a lung, what with her corset squished ribs and all. By the time supper arrived they had moved onto John’s account of the past two days but apart from their row (which he apologised for yet again) nothing out of the ordinary had happened to him and soon enough they fell into a companionable silence that lasted until they decided to turn in.
John surprised her then by scooping her up in his arms and carrying her to the bed.
“I can walk.” Rose protested, even though she was laughing.
“Matron Redfern told you to rest your ankle,” John explained primly as he set her down gently. “And you’re certainly light enough for me to carry.”
“Either I’m light or you’re just really strong.” Rose teased as she crawled under the covers. “Not that you look it.”
John smiled wryly as he clambered in beside her and propped himself up on his elbow. “I think you will find, Rose, that size is not always an accurate indication of strength. Or other things for that matter,” he added aloofly and Rose went out in helpless giggles. John laughed too, a strangely controlled chuckle to match his careful smiles but then he leant over her and Rose found her giggles stifled as he pressed his mouth gently over hers.
It started out as little more than a chaste goodnight kiss and Rose was quite happy to return that but the second she felt his hands on her beneath the blankets she flinched away from his touch.
“John...erm...maybe not today yeah?” she said as calmly as she could with his hand resting so intimately against her hip and his lips hovering breathily over her own. “We should probably wait till my ankle’s a bit better.”
It was an inexcusably lame excuse, but it seemed to work because John looked heartily disappointed but agreed.
“It’s probably a little soon still isn’t it?” he said ruefully, taking his hands back with reluctance and shrinking back into himself like dog that had been scolded. “I didn’t really think...I’m truly sorry.”
Rose frowned for a second and then nearly laughed when she realised that John had just apologised to her for basically attempting to seduce her into having makeup sex with him. How...modern. Instead of laughing and upsetting his delicate sensibilities however, she reached for his hand under the blankets and squeezed it.
“Stop apologising,” she told him as she snuggled comfortably against his chest. “You’ll drive me mental if you keep on like that.”
As it turned out the apologies would continue for the rest of the week. The bad weather returned with a vengeance the next day, seeming to mock poor John and his good intentions. In addition, no matter how many times Rose tried to tell him that everything was okay between and he really didn’t need to make it up to her he stubbornly continued to apologise.
“You were right,” he would say, shaking his head. “I don’t agree with it and I shouldn’t have lied to you about it and...”
So it went on.
The end of the week was as rainy as the beginning but thankfully Saturday dawned bright and clear and John skittered down to the kitchens early to stock up on provisions before the weather turned and he lost his chance to take her out. Rose had barely finished her breakfast when he returned, grinning broadly, their usual picnic basket hooked over his elbow.
“Would you care to accompany me for a stroll Mrs Smith?” he said, graciously offering her his arm.
Grinning, Rose took it and affected her best snobbish accent. “Oh I’d simply adore it Mr Smith. Do lead on.”
The two of them set off arm in arm, John whistling as he set a jaunty pace that had Rose half skipping to keep up with him. First they took a brief detour to inspect the rabbit warren that he had told her about earlier in the week and after they had been satisfied with a brief flash of twitching whiskers Rose began to head for their usual picnic spot.
John had other ideas. He led her down a little used path at the back corner of the school instead, and in his manner was all the air of a little boy eagerly seeking out his favourite and most secret of hiding places.
“Oi, where’re you taking me?” Rose asked, laughing in bemusement as he guided her along a winding, overgrown path through the trees.
“It’s a surprise,” John smiled back at her and tugged her hand gently. “I rather think you’ll like it. At least, I hope you will.”
“Yeah?” Rose said, grinning.
“Yes,” he corrected her, but his eyes were shining.
As it turned out, his surprise picnic spot turned out to be a small clearing ringed with the last few straggling flowers from summer. While he meticulously set out their rug and sandwiches Rose sat on a fallen tree where the sunlight was weak but warm and watched fondly as he laid out the spoils of their picnic.
She really was starting to like this sweet, daft man and his bumbling, old fashioned ways. As she watched him puttering about she was moved by the thought that in less than two months he was going to disappear forever. As she watched him sadly he suddenly brushed off his hands and then looked up at her with a wide smile. Rose smiled back but his happy expression faded suddenly in favour of something else altogether.
“Oh...” he breathed, quite stricken and Rose shifted nervously under his gaze.
“What?” she asked and then stiffened in horror as a thought occurred to her. “Is there a spider on me or something?”
“What? No, no. Rose can you just...stay very still for me?” John requested, fumbling for a moment in the picnic basket before extracting his journal and a pencil. “I’m going to sketch you.”
“What?” Rose felt her face flush as she readjusted herself self-consciously. “What for?”
“No don’t-don’t move!” he said and she tried not to grin as she settled herself down a little more comfortably. “That’s it. Can you tilt your head just slightly to your right? Like it was before. That’s perfect, hold it right there...”
He sketched slowly and painstakingly, his dark eyes utterly focused beneath his ridiculous cloud of hair that even now stood on end like a startled rooster. Rose watched him out of the corner of her eye as he scrutinised the basic drawing against her for a long time before beginning to carefully shade in details, concentrating on getting all of the lines just right. When he’d finished he blew the excess graphite off the page gently and then got to his feet.
“Can I have a look?” she asked, voice hushed. She’d watched him draw before of course but never had she been the subject of his work and the intensity and great care with which he had sketched her was honestly a little bit humbling.
“Of course,” John said. He came to sit beside her and Rose took the journal from him carefully, not entirely sure what to expect.
The Doctor had rendered her in stone once before but even the perfection of his statue of her as Fortuna couldn’t compare to this - Rose had never seen a more flattering likeness of herself. He had somehow managed to catch all the nuances of the weak autumn sun on her skin even in black and white and shades of grey. The curve of her chin was flawless, her eyes beautifully expressive and the soft tendrils of hair framing her face were rendered to perfection.
“Wow,” she breathed. “S’beautiful!”
“Only because you are,” John said softly as he brushed one of the flyaway strands of hair back from her face, hand lingering on her cheek. Rose blushed deeply at his attentions and cleared her throat awkwardly.
“You know, you never said,” she said, turning her attention back to the matter at hand which was clearly his drawing skills and not the way her stomach had done a rather spectacular back flip when he touched her. “Where’d you learn to draw?”
“On Gallifrey I think.” John mused vaguely, clearly concentrating more on her hair than her question.
Rose however, looked at him sharply.
“On where?”
John blinked in confusion. “Did I say on? I meant in.”
“And where’s that then?” Rose pressed on despite herself. “Gallifrey I mean.”
John considered, chewing his lip. “Ireland I think it must be. I spent some time there when I was quite young, with my family.”
He smiled insipidly at her but Rose wasn’t convinced. She knew that name and she knew that John of all people shouldn’t know it. To distract him she began flipping through the journal looking for something new that might get him talking. Unfortunately the only new thing in there was the picture of her and she blushed all over again at the sight of it.
“Do you like it?” John asked gently and Rose bit her lip as she looked up.
He looked so earnestly hopeful, so desperate for her approval. And it was beautiful. Rose smiled at him and nodded a little. “I love it,” she admitted honestly and John beamed at her, pleased beyond all measure.
“I’m glad,” he said quietly and touched her cheek again, a proper caress this time. Rose leant into his palm a little and after a moment John took advantage of her stillness, leant in and touched his lips gently against hers.
Rose felt her pulse quicken slightly at the touch of his lips, then a little more again as his mouth moved against hers gently, the whisper of a kiss. She exhaled gently into his slightly open mouth and at the touch of her breath, John pulled back just a little. Rose could see his eyelashes fluttering dark against his skin for just a second before he opened his eyes to gaze at her.
Under his scrutiny her lips began to twitch a little, as though she were about to say something though she had no idea what. Nevertheless, although no words escaped her, the silent question in his eyes seemed to be answered by her body language because he leant in, a little less tentatively this time, to kiss her again.
And she let him.
Maybe it was the weak warmth of the sun, the gentleness in his touch. Or maybe it was the stories he had been sharing with her over the past weeks, how comfortable he felt to be with now. But for the first time since landing here, for the first time since she had become a wife and a librarian and a nursing assistant and any other number of things - Rose didn’t think.
She let him kiss her. Let herself kiss him back and became so caught up in the act of just kissing him that she didn’t even realise that his hand had moved from her cheek until he shuffled forward on the log. At the firmer push of his lips against hers, the press of his thigh against hers even through all her layers of skirts, Rose drew back shyly.
“John...” she began but then she saw the softness of his expression, the yearning and the adoration and the love and all the words of protest she had been so close to blurting out got lost behind the lump in her throat. She stared at him, lips pink and wet and his eyes dark and soft and hooded.
And before she could even think to stop herself, Rose found herself kissing him.
It was the first time she had ever initiated a kiss with John and it was unlike any other that they had shared. This was no mere touch of lips made appropriate for public consumption - there was something more to it. Acceptance maybe, or the tentativeness and sweetness of a new love just beginning to bud. The fact that it was she who had initiated the action made it all the more so.
She felt his hand slip into her hair, long fingers caressing the few short strands that had fallen out of the bun she often pinned it into. Almost unconsciously, she leaned into his touch and she felt a stray finger brush against the soft skin beneath her jaw.
Uncharacteristically it was he who finally broke the kiss, hand lingering against the curve of her neck. Rose was surprised to realise that her chest was rising and falling rapidly now, as though she’d just run a marathon. Her heart was hammering away too, her chest tight against the constraints of her corset.
“We’d better um, have our...” she broke off awkwardly and then she brushed past him and made her way over to the rug, making a big show of re-organising the remaining contents of their picnic basket as she looked for the napkins.
“Rose.”
It was almost an admonition and she froze as John came to kneel beside her, took the napkins out of her hands and laid them aside.
“John...” she began in a whisper but then stopped abruptly as he kissed her again.
If there had been something new and beautiful in the kiss that she had given him then there was something a little fierce in the kiss he now gave to her. The intensity was coming off him in waves, a slow possessive burn that left her breathless as he pressed her back gently into the picnic rug, kissing her all the way down.
“John...” she mumbled against his lips, not quite wanting to stop but knowing that they couldn’t carry on in this fashion for much longer before things got too out of control. Oblivious to her concerns, John hummed contentedly against her lips and then bent his head to pepper her neck with small kisses.
At the same time he reached down, a hand reaching for the hem of her many skirts...
It was only when she felt his hand on her lower leg that Rose sat up with a terrified jerk (“No, stop!” she gasped), knocking John flying as she did so.
The man in question was breathing heavily where he lay. Sprawled back on his elbows his lips were pinker than ever and his body language was open and inviting. But his hands had also curled into fists in response to the terror in her shout - a protective instinct. Rose was torn momentarily between a terrifying desire to kiss him silly or to just run away before she did something stupid.
Like kiss him again.
“Rose...” he reached for her in concern but she was on her feet before she even realised that she had shoved him aside again on her way up. Once again she sent him sprawling but she didn’t pause to apologise or even look back, she was too busy dodging between the trees and away as fast as her feet would take her overly dressed self.
She heard John call after her plaintively but she still didn’t stop until she’d reached the school and even then when she turned and saw that he hadn’t pursued her she didn’t dare pause, running on and on down the road towards the village. At one point she tripped and fell, rolling her already weakened ankle painfully and getting muck all over her clothes but she pushed herself straight up again and charged on, the pain in her ankle numbed by the adrenalin in her system.
She hadn’t run so far in a long time. By the time her feet carried her to the TARDIS she was out of breath but jubilant at the same time with the rush of natural chemicals in her bloodstream. It wasn’t until she was pressed against the inside of the barn door that she realised she hadn’t actually been to the TARDIS in almost two weeks - had all but forgotten about it in fact, in lieu of listening to John’s stories instead.
Slowly, skittishly, she made her way over to the TARDIS and let herself in with trembling hands. The recording of the Doctor was halfway through on the monitor (had the TARDIS been playing it?) and the guilt of seeing him there twisted her stomach painfully, like she’d swallowed down shards of glass from a broken bottle.
Rounding the console to the jump seat she was shocked to realise that she hadn’t really been missing him these last few days at all - hadn’t felt the need to see the recording or to hear his voice. She hadn’t even cared that John had run out of stories to tell about him, completely content to listen to him prattle on about Nottingham and his students and...
God, when had that happened? She felt a sudden panic bubbling up within her and her lower lip trembled as she suddenly began to cry. When had she started caring so much about John that she’d started to forget about the Doctor? She sat down heavily on the jump seat. The image of the Doctor on the view screen was blurred by her tears but his voice was cheerfully unassuming as he prattled off his endless list of instructions.
Rose cried bitterly as he recited the list she still had memorised. He’d never even mentioned the possibility of his human self falling in love with her. He’d probably not even considered it, just like he hadn’t considered the notion that Rose might accidentally fall for his human self. Why would he? He was clearly confident enough in their relationship - whatever that might be - to not worry about Rose straying if she was left alone with another man for three months.
God, and how arrogant was that? Typical bloody Doctor! Always expecting her to come back to him, just assuming that she would no matter how many stupid things he did or how many secrets he kept from her or how historical figures he flirted with or...
What if he didn’t care what she did? Maybe she’d been wrong about him and she really was just the latest in a long line of ever changing names and faces. The thought made her feel ill - Rose Tyler, flavour of the month. Nothing more than a passing fancy that had stopped briefly, something to keep him happy and amused. Certainly never anything more than just a friend to him - he probably didn’t even feel love the way humans did!
And oh that just wasn’t fair - that she could be so hopelessly in love with this amazing man and he didn’t even seem to notice, or care.
Later she would dismiss the thought but with the state she was currently in Rose leapt to her feet and in a sudden burst of fury at him she mashed at the console with her hands in an effort to stop the recording. To her utter dismay, it merely began repeating the last three seconds over and over again.
“Thank you.” he smiled. “Thank you.” he smiled. “Thank you.” he smiled. “Thank you.” he smiled.
Rose pushed the tears off her cheeks just long enough to stab the pause button and once that was done she slumped back onto the jump seat with her hands folded in her lap and wondered - what next? She couldn’t stay in the TARDIS forever, eventually she would have to go back to the school and face John.
The problem was that as far as she could see there were only two possible outcomes to a confrontation with him after what had just happened between them. Either she flat out refused him, broke his heart and had to deal with the consequences (would he send her away? She wouldn’t blame him if he did), or she embraced this new life and risked ruining what she had with the Doctor forever.
Taking a deep breath, she decided to try and look at the situation from a rational point of view but her emotions were too confused to even try. John had shown her so much love - more than the Doctor had ever dared - but she knew, knew that her Doctor cared for her, maybe even loved her. How could she give that up for a man she’d only known for a month and a half?
Abruptly her thoughts turned to Mickey - and not for the first time since she’d been stranded here. She remembered how she had left him behind so she could travel with the Doctor, not even sparing a thought as to their future as a couple. And then how the longer she travelled with the Doctor the bigger the rift between she and Mickey had become.
In the end she had lost Mickey anyway, no matter how hard she’d tried to love them both. And although losing him had been horrible and it still hurt to think about now, Rose couldn’t even fathom the depth of pain that would come should she lose the Doctor.
If the Family got their hands on him he could very well die for all she knew - with his regenerative energy sucked dry he wouldn’t stand a chance. And she just couldn’t leave John defenceless against those monsters. If they found him out then he would need her to protect him and if she hurt him now then he’d push her away for sure. The Doctor had been very insistent that she be able to keep watch over him, that she integrate herself into his life.
Which meant she’d have to let him...she’d have to...
Groaning, Rose slumped back onto the jump seat as much as her corset would allow and kneaded her eyes with her knuckles.
This whole thing had totally gone spiralling out of control and so much of it was her own stupid fault. She should have pretended to stay mad at him about the guns. She should have pretended that it was an arranged marriage, that she was barren, that she had some horrible contagious disease...anything. But she hadn’t even thought about any of that had she? Oh no. She’d just gone along with John and let him start kissing her and taking her out on picnics and now...
Her thoughts turned again. What if she fell for John? She was already so close to giving in to his affections and from there things would only grow more complicated. What happened if she got to the three month mark and couldn’t bear to open the watch? Would the Doctor fight his way out, demanding to be freed? Worse, what if she gave in, opened the watch and then he refused to let her travel with him anymore because she’d taken advantage of him when he’d been human?
What if...?
Rose pushed herself to her feet. Hands shaking, chest tight, she searched the console for her mobile and then curled up on the jump seat as she dialled.
Five rings later she was greeted with a somewhat absent, “Hello?”
“Mum?” Rose said in a trembling voice and Jackie’s tone changed instantly.
“Rose?” she said, surprised. “Sweetheart! What’s wrong? Are you hurt?”
Trying desperately to get herself under control, Rose took a deep breath and then began. “I’m alright mum. M’not hurt. It’s the Doctor...”
Chapter Five ->