Who Fic - The Art of Being Human - Chapter Five
The Art of Being Human - Chapter 5/11 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...
Prologue, Chapter One, Chapter Two, Chapter Three, Chapter Four, Chapter Five, Chapter Six, Chapter Seven, Chapter Eight, Chapter Nine, Chapter Ten, Chapter Eleven, Epilogue
~*~
The world’s
not wanton
only wild and wavering
I wanted to choose words that even you
would have to be changed by
Take the word
of my pulse, loving and ordinary
Send out your signals, hoist
your dark scribbled flags
but take
my hand
All wars are useless to the dead
My hands are knotted in the rope
and I cannot sound the bell
My hands are frozen to the switch
and I cannot throw it
The foot is in the wheel
When it’s finished and we’re lying
in a stubble of blistered flowers
eyes gaping, mouths staring
dusted with crushed arterial blues
I’ll have done nothing
even for you?
Adrienne Rich “Implosions” - 1968
~*~
As far as Rose knew there was no self help book written in the history of the universe for a 21st century girl stranded in the early 20th century trying to have a relationship with an alien unknowingly masquerading as a human. That didn’t stop her for searching through the TARDIS library for one though - just in case.
Of course there wasn’t anything of the sort and (despite a very strong desire to do so) she knew that she couldn’t hide in the TARDIS forever. Doubtless John would send people out looking for her if she didn’t return by suppertime and the last thing she needed was for somebody to find a Police Public Call Box sitting benignly in a barn in the English countryside a good forty, fifty years before they were due to appear in London.
That could potentially be a little awkward to explain.
Especially when the inside of said Police Public Call Box was much, much bigger than the outside.
After carefully locking the doors to the time ship and making sure the barn was closed up tight as well, Rose hitched up her voluminous skirts and began the long, slow walk back to the school.
The adrenalin in her system had worn off during her extended stay in the TARDIS and her bad ankle was sore again from when she’d fallen. Even though it was throbbing by the time she got back to Farringham however, Rose didn’t dare go and get Joan to bandage it for her. The woman could read her like a book and really, what had just happened between her and John wasn’t something that she could discuss openly with the other woman.
Marriage troubles were one thing - being terrified of sleeping with your own husband because he was really your alien best friend who was currently being tracked down by a bunch of homicidal aliens and you’d both time-travelled from the future to get away from them? That was just a whole new brand of wackiness that Rose didn’t think Joan would cope with at all.
Wanting to avoid John for as long as she possibly could (and everyone else for that matter too) she took refuge in the common library. Funny, how the place had become such a safe haven for her in the time since she’d come here. The Doctor had always said that there was something comforting about being in the company of books and she had to admit that she was really beginning to see his point. How else could you explain the fact that she didn’t even mind the monotony of book re-shelving anymore even though most other repetitive tasks made her want to bang her head up against a wall from boredom?
But there were only so many books to shelve on a Saturday and all too soon she ran out of things to tidy. At a loss and still trying desperately not to think about what was to come later, Rose plucked a book from the shelves at random and settled down with it only to quickly rediscover why she didn’t much like reading in the first place - especially not the books in this particular library. Most of them were all but indecipherable to her, all ridiculously long words and stupidly constructed sentences that made no logical or grammatical sense. Well, at least not as far as she was concerned.
After slogging through various volumes of fiction searching for something halfway tolerable and finding nothing worth her time, she tried the nonfiction section instead. Science and mathematics and history weren’t really much better than flowery 18th and 19th century prose, but thankfully she had barely settled down with a stack of random books to peruse when her afternoon tea arrived.
She brightened for a while then, especially when she discovered the presence of some rather magnificent scones. But it didn’t take long after she’d scoffed them down before her belly started grumbling protestations at her again - she had missed out on lunch after all. Ignoring it, she set to a book about Astronomy and had stoically managed her way through three whole chapters before she was interrupted by Jenny who had come to take her afternoon tea tray away again.
“I thought you and Professor Smith were going on a picnic lunch today?” the maid observed lightly, but underneath the nonchalant tone she looked genuinely concerned and Rose went from calm to upset again in the blink of an eye.
She didn’t want to think about what had happened with John, what was still to come between them. Even so she was a little shocked when she found herself dismissing Jenny with all the casual bluntness that a woman of her supposed status was expected to show towards serving staff.
“Thank you Jenny,” she said stiffly. “That’ll be all.”
Jenny’s friendly smile fell instantly. “Yes Mrs Smith,” she said, dropping back into her usual, subservient manner automatically.
She scurried out of the library with head bowed and Rose had to physically bite down on her lip to stop herself from calling her back in to apologise. She felt awful speaking to poor Jenny in such a way, knowing all too well herself what it was like to have to suck it up to people who had more money and power than you did.
She hated the fact that she was now expected to play the role of someone who behaved like that. Even more than that though, she hated how she was using her newfound status as a way to make her own ends meet. It was manipulative and horrible and it was making her act in a hurtful way towards perfectly nice people that she had come to really like.
More miserable by now than she had been all day, she finally gave up on hiding (and in to her growling stomach) when the nosy maid from the other day came to tell her quite pointedly that her husband was waiting for her upstairs so that they could take supper together.
Rose took her time, dragging her feet up the stairs like a woman condemned. In a way, she supposed she was. Her palms were so sweaty by the time she managed to reach their room that she had to wipe her hands on her skirt before she could even turn the brass doorknob.
Their evening meal was a silent, awkward affair, most of which Rose spent going over and over the conversation she’d had with her mum in the TARDIS. After a lengthy explanation of the situation she had actually felt a lot better about it all, and had then waited patiently while her mother mulled it all over.
When Jackie finally spoke, it was not the sort of response Rose had been hoping for.
“Listen sweetheart,” she’d begun diplomatically. “It’s really none of my business what you two...”
“Mum!” Rose exploded, doing her best not to burst out into tears again. “I need help! What the hell do I do?”
On the other end of the line Jackie was silent for a long moment and then she sighed.
“Oh Rose,” she said sympathetically. “I really dunno sweetheart. I’ve had lots of relationships before but nothing like what you’ve got with him. Just...”
Rose snuffled and gripped her mobile a little tighter.
“Just do what feels right - what feels best for you yeah? It’ll work itself out in the end. Things always do one way or the other. And he’d forgive you anything, that Doctor of yours.”
Rose felt her heart clench and her lip wobbled abruptly. She bit down to stop it from shaking but the action didn’t help abate the uncomfortable pressure in her chest. She’d been so certain that her mother would make her feel better, would be able to help, but Rose felt just as confused as she had before ringing her. What was even stupider was that Jackie was so renowned for giving out advice left right and centre whether it was wanted or not. Now, for the first time ever, she was stumped.
“Look I’m sorry sweetheart,” Jackie apologised, correctly interpreting her daughter’s silence. “Really I am. But honestly, what can I do when I’m here and you’re in blooming 1913 of all places!”
“Yeah.” Rose barked the word out as a harsh laugh and her mother grew sympathetic again.
“You’ll sort it out love,” she told Rose gently. “Don’t worry.”
“Yeah,” Rose repeated, voice short. “S’pose I’d better go. Love you.”
“Love you too sweetheart. Take care of yourself. And him,” Jackie added as an afterthought.
Rose nearly started crying all over again when her mother ended the call.
Now she waited on tenterhooks for John to broach the subject with her himself. The fact that he hadn’t yet was making her incredibly nervous. It was though he was waiting for something from her, a signal of some kind. But he didn’t speak at all until after their supper tray had been taken away, the fire guard put up and they had changed into their night clothes. Rose lingered by the mantel a while, idly thumbing the edge of the silver pocket watch resting there as John finished buttoning his pyjama top and then sat down on the edge of the bed.
Rose waited for him to speak.
“GET DOWN!”
She fell hard. The metal grating bit deep into the soft skin of her palms and the impact jarred both of her wrists painfully but otherwise she was unscathed. Really, she’d had worse.
“Blimey that’s gotta be a new record hasn’t it?” Rose said breathlessly from where she lay, face down on the floor. “Barely outside the TARDIS for five seconds before we start getting shot at...”
The Doctor was flat on his face beside her too but he quickly pushed to his feet and wasted no time in dragging Rose up too.
“Did they see you?” he demanded, gripping her shoulders tighter than was probably strictly necessary.
“Oh that’s nice,” she said sarcastically. “Throw me face first into the grating and then don’t even ask if I’m alright...”
“Rose I am really not kidding around here, now did they see you or not?”
“I-”
The Doctor snapped. “DID THEY SEE YOU?!”
Rose flinched. “I-I don’t...no. They can’t’ve. You were in front of me the whole time and as soon as you told me to get back in the TARDIS...” she trailed off as he bolted to the console and took off with absolutely no preamble whatsoever. “Doctor?”
“Come on come on come...augh! They’re following us!”
Rose straightened herself out a little, staggering slightly against the turbulence of the Vortex as she moved to join him. She peered at the view screen over his shoulder with a slight frown, one hand resting on his arm to help steady her. “I didn’t think anything could follow the TARDIS. Not when she’s in the vortex anyways.”
“They’re using stolen technology,” the Doctor explained in a terse voice as his fingers flew across the controls, the symbols on the screen spinning dizzily in concentric patterns. “A Time Agent’s vortex manipulator - like the one Jack had. With that they can follow us all the way across the universe.” He stopped suddenly and rocked back on his heels, unbridled horror on his face. “Anywhere we go they’ll be able to find us. Anywhere, anywhen. Unless...”
Rose waited for a long moment in case he started speaking before she took the bait. He liked a good dramatic pause sometimes, this Doctor. “Unless what?” she prompted.
“I’ll have to do it,” the Doctor realised softly, not really listening to her as he ran a hand through his hair once and then again absently.
“Do what?” Rose pressed him again and he turned to her abruptly.
“Rose,” he said, very seriously. “I need to ask you something. This is important - really important okay?”
Rose nodded. It wasn’t often that he got as serious as this, but when he did she knew that it was no time to be mucking about. “Yeah,” she said instantly. “Course.”
The question that came next was not what she had expected.
“Do you trust me?”
She was instantly indignant. “What sort of question’s that? Course I trust you!”
“How much?” the Doctor pressed.
Rose had to remind herself briefly not to be offended that he even had to ask her. “I’d trust you with my life,” she said simply. “Any day. You know that.”
“Good,” the Doctor said, hunting through a small compartment hidden under the console that Rose had never noticed before. “Because now I’m going to trust you with mine. Completely.”
Rose blinked as the Doctor pulled out a silver fob watch engraved with a pattern of circles just like the symbols on the console display. “Wait...what?”
The Doctor brandished the time piece at her. “You’re going to need this. Now listen carefully Rose - this watch? Is me.”
“Okay.” She said, nodding and taking the watch from him briefly to inspect it a little closer. “Right. Yep. The watch is...you.”
He waited impatiently, one leg jiggling restlessly as she turned the watch over in her hand and then finally gave in.
“No wait, hang on - sorry,” she admitted, clueless. “I don’t get it. Like...at all. How’s this watch you?”
But the Doctor was already in motion again, snatching it out of her hands and tackling the console with renewed vigour. “Well it’s...ah, complicated.” He said, quite helpfully not explaining anything at all. “Anyway, you’re going to have to keep me safe and to do that you’re going to have to take care of the watch because those creatures, those beings that were shooting at us, if I’m not mistaken then they’re called the Family. The Family of Blood in fact...”
“Brilliant.” Rose muttered but the Doctor wasn’t listening, still preoccupied with his own explanation.
“...and they’re hunters - like bloodhounds. Use their sense of smell to track down viable energy sources to absorb, extend their lifespan. If I can’t find a way to hide myself then they’ll sniff me out and hunt me down and use my regenerative energy to make themselves immortal.”
Rose grimaced. “Right,” she said. “And that’s bad yeah?”
“Oh yes.” He said softly. “That’s very bad. Very, very bad in fact.”
Rose nodded again. “So what are we gonna do then?”
Abruptly, the Doctor stopped and stood still, facing her.
“I’m going to stop being a Time Lord.” He told her. “I’m gonna become human.”
“You...you’re gonna...” Rose gaped awhile as he returned to the console yet again. “Wait, how d’you make yourself human? And why didn’t you ever tell me you could turn yourself human in the first place? Doctor...”
“Cos I never thought I’d have to use it,” he said vaguely, before looking up sharply. “Funny...I’ve always wondered...”
Rose followed his gaze and what she saw made her stomach twist into a variety of knots.
“What is that thing?” she whispered.
“Chameleon Arch.” The Doctor told her even as he reached up and tugged the strange looking headpiece down towards himself. He immediately began to check it over with sure fingers. “It rewrites my biology. Literally changes every single cell in my body.”
“What, like when you regenerated?” A terrifying thought suddenly occurred to her. “Oh my god - it won’t make you change bodies again will it?”
“Hmmn? No! No, no, no not like that,” the Doctor rushed to reassure her. “It just changes me into a human.”
“So...you’ll still be you?” Rose said hopefully. “Only in a human body yeah?”
The Doctor grimaced as he snapped the watch into place on the device. “Not quite. The TARDIS’ll make up a history for me and find somewhere to integrate me but I’ll need you to look after yourself, try and integrate as best you can. Hopefully I won’t be completely thick as a human and I’ll have enough residual awareness to let you in but I can’t promise that...are you alright?”
Rose shook her head fervently. “Terrified!” she squeaked.
“You’ll be fine.” The Doctor said confidently, carefully putting the Chameleon Arch onto his head and adjusting it.
“Hope so.” Rose muttered.
The Doctor said nothing for a moment, adjusting a few more settings before finally turning to her.
“Rose?”
“Yeah?”
She expected him to grin, to ask her to wish him luck or make some terrible pun about getting to see things from the other side or having the shoe on the other foot or something daft like that. Instead he just looked scared, really scared - and that look alone frightened her more than anything else he’d told her that day.
“I’m sorry,” he apologised, his gaze hollow. “I’m really so very sorry Rose but...I don’t think this is going to be very pleasant for you to watch.”
A few seconds later she knew why.
Rose’s hand shook a little as she turned the tarnished fob watch over and then back again, the memory of the Doctor’s pained screams filling the heavy silence that had settled between where she stood at the mantel and where John sat on their bed.
Eventually she stopped her fidgeting.
John spoke up almost immediately.
“Where were you earlier?” he enquired softly, and although his voice was even and had no trace of malice in it Rose still cringed when he addressed her. “Where did you go after you left me?”
“I just...went for a quick walk.” She lied.
“Yes you did walk very fast didn’t you?” John said, his voice surprisingly cold. Rose began to fidget with the watch again. “Four hours you were gone.”
The lie she told him in response sounded ridiculously lame, even to Rose. “I needed to...clear my head.”
“Because being outside had clouded it?” John snapped at her and then stilled. “I’m sorry,” he apologised softly. “I didn’t mean to raise my voice to you.”
Rose considered shaking him by the shoulders until he did it again. God knows she felt like she deserved to be yelled at right now - she’d mucked everything right up. Instead, John just sat there on their bed looking miserable and small.
“John...” she moved across the room and sat beside him gingerly but he turned his face away from her with a deep frown. Rose flinched at the snub and then sat very still, uncertain as to what to do next, what to say. “I’m sorry.” she finally mumbled.
“Don’t,” he stood suddenly, moving to the desk and rearranging the papers on it as though his life depended on it. “Please don’t. It simply isn’t fair of you to apologise to me. You must know how guilty it makes me feel.”
“Guilty?” Rose echoed blankly. Why would John be feeling guilty?
“I always knew it would be...difficult.” John admitted, abandoning his papers and bracing himself against the edge of the desk momentarily. “Having such a young wife...” turning back to her he fixed Rose with a surprisingly intense gaze. “...a beautiful wife. I never dreamed...”
Abruptly he turned back to his desk and began lining up writing utensils with shaking hands, re-arranging stacks of paper and reference books.
“At times you are wild,” he admitted and even from where she was sitting she could see his cheeks flushing. “You can be so exciting, so outrageous. And then quite without warning you become coy, flighty...you’re still so young.” He stopped short and turned to her, a book still absently clutched in one hand. “I fear...I am afraid that I am too old for you. The dusty historian and the beautiful young girl.”
“Oh come off it,” Rose began, scoffing at him. “You’re not that old...”
“But I feel it,” he insisted, taking his place beside her again on the bed. “And I also quite often feel as though you’re...well, frightened of me.”
“Frightened?” Rose let loose a laugh that startled John so much that he actually jumped. “You don’t scare me John! Why would you think-?”
“Yes I do.” John interrupted simply. “I love you. And that terrifies you for reasons that I simply cannot fathom.”
Rose’s heart stumbled in her chest. It was the first time that John had openly used those three particular words to describe his feelings for her and she simply wasn’t prepared for her reaction to them. Ridiculously, she felt close to tears, as though it were a deathbed confession and not uttered in their shared bed chamber, on their marital bed.
“That’s why you asked me to read to you all those times I presume?” John said and his voice wasn’t angry at all, but gentle with concern. “Why you always had some excuse ready to make me stop if I grew too amorous? You were afraid of the way I touched you.”
As he spoke, John shifted a little closer and then placed his hand on her thigh. Rose suddenly found she couldn’t breathe properly. “I-”
“You were afraid of the way I wanted you,” John continued in a soft, low voice. Rose watched, mesmerised, as his fingers gently brushed the skin of her leg through the thin fabric of her nightdress. Her whole mouth was dry and she had to swallow hard to moisten it again. “You needn’t have been afraid Rose - I would never dream of hurting you.”
“I know,” she said hurriedly, trying desperately to stop her voice from hitching as she spoke but he was still touching her and the sensation was halfway between arousing and excruciatingly ticklish and she was finding it difficult to focus on anything other than how much those two particular feelings lent themselves to each other. “Really. But...”
“And I must admit I think it ludicrous,” John said, his voice soft and full of pain. “That I should not go to bed with my wife because she is afraid of me.”
“It’s not...” Rose tried very hard to ignore the way his fingers were still brushing against her leg. He just wasn’t getting it and she couldn’t very well tell him outright. She began to stammer. “I-I don’t...I mean - oh god,” she blurted, body tensing, ready to bolt again. “I don’t think I can do this John.”
“We used to be so very happy,” he said softly, either not hearing her or just ignoring her. “Before we were married - do you remember?”
“John...” Rose began bleakly.
“Has so much changed between us?” he wondered aloud. “I just can’t think what possible ill I could have done you to turn your love to scorn...”
“God now you think you’re bloody Shakespeare!” Rose exploded, the force of her words propelling her onto her feet. She resisted the urge, while she was on them, to run from him again. At this stage it wouldn’t achieve anything - she just had to stick through whatever came next. “I don’t hate you alright?” she managed. “I just...I can’t.”
John was silent for a moment and when he spoke again his voice was hollow. “Is it the guns again?”
For a fleeting moment Rose considered lying, but found herself shaking her head instead. She always had been an awful liar. And after the way she’d treated Jenny earlier she couldn’t bring herself to be so cold to John when he was so obviously hurting and confused by her rejection.
“That’s not your fault.” She said, eyes downcast.
“Then why?” he said bleakly, pushing himself up to stand beside her. Rose turned to face him and immediately softened when she saw just how miserable he looked. “Do you not want me?”
“I...it’s not...” she shook her head, tears suddenly spilling over her lower lids and rolling down her cheeks. “I can’t do this because it’s not real John.”
“How can you tell me that what I feel for you isn’t real?” he looked even more upset now and Rose felt her guilt intensify like a knife twist in the gut.
“But it’s not!” she insisted, sobs twisting her voice now. “Look I-I just...I don’t want you to regret anything we do together alright?”
John stared at her disbelievingly. “How could I ever regret loving you?” he pressed a hand to her cheek and she couldn’t help but lean into his touch. “Rose,” he said warmly and heat flooded through her. “My precious Rose. You are everything to me.”
“S’just words,” Rose whispered as John tenderly thumbed the tears from her sodden cheek. “They don’t mean anything.”
John said nothing at first, simply cradled her face and wiped her tears away even as more came.
“Then if you will not let me use words,” he decided. “I shall just have to show you instead.”
He leant down, tilting his head the better to meet his lips to hers. Their noses bumped together gently regardless, but that certainly didn’t stop him from deepening the kiss. Nor did it stop him from caressing her hair, her neck, her shoulders...
Not one to be swept off her feet by mere kisses, Rose was surprised to feel her knees wobble underneath her as he gently tugged her body flush against his own. She already knew from experience that John was an excellent kisser, but he had left behind his usual chasteness for a firmer assertion that soon had her relinquishing to him and returning in kind.
“Oh!” she gasped aloud into his mouth and he halted the kiss immediately but didn’t slacken his grip on her, hands pressed against her upper back the better to hold her to him.
“Please,” he said softly, breath puffing against her skin. “Please...Rose...I promise I’ll be gentle, so gentle...”
As he spoke, his hands moved back around to her front and began slowly undoing the buttons at the neck of her thin nightdress. Rose didn’t try to stop him, merely breathed raggedly as he paused to slide the fabric off her shoulders, baring her to him inch by inch.
“Oh but you’re beautiful!” he breathed reverently, surveying the skin that he had revealed in the soft, golden light from the lamps. Rose felt her body flood with warmth even as her heart clenched with cold fear. “So beautiful...”
“We-we can’t!” she whispered, taking hold of his wrists, a futile gesture really being as her nightdress was almost completely off now. John’s dark eyes drank her in lovingly as he gently prised her hands away from his wrists. Her nightgown fell to the floor and Rose swallowed and shut her eyes momentarily, tears threatening again. “John,” she whimpered. “Please.”
“Don’t be afraid,” he reassured her, caressing her skin with the back of one hand and making her shiver with anticipation. Astonished, she realised that she was actually physically trembling - from want or fear she couldn’t tell. “I won’t hurt you.”
When Rose finally dared to meet his gaze she found it so tender that she felt her knees wobble all over again. What the hell was wrong with her? Since when had she become some swoony Jane Austen heroine? What had happened to Rose Tyler, destroyer of the Daleks, twenty-first century woman and time traveller extraordinaire?
But then John kissed her again and she forgot to be disgusted with herself as she felt a totally unexpected and very daring slide of his tongue against her lips. Unthinkingly, she opened her mouth to his and their kiss became suddenly messy. Gasping at her forwardness, John allowed himself to be pushed backwards towards the bed but once there he extricated himself from her embrace in order to dispose of his pyjamas.
Rose tried to help him with the buttons on his shirt, her fingers numb with acceptance, but he refused to relinquish that control to her either and soon enough he was laying her down on the bed with a reverence that brought tears to her eyes.
Rose was certainly no blushing virgin but she had never been treated like this before, as though she was the most precious woman in the whole world. She was used to clumsy rough and tumble, not barely-there caresses and sweet nothings in her ear.
“Beautiful,” John whispered, tracing the lines of her body as he admired her. “Oh beautiful...”
Rose didn’t dare look at him and so when she felt his naked hip touch hers briefly she couldn’t help but gasp out loud. She felt him moving over her carefully, then his lips at her ear, his warm hand against her side.
“Rose,” he whispered roughly in her ear and she shivered, all over goose pimples at the possessive tone in his voice. It was like every fantasy she’d ever had about the Doctor and yet it wasn’t anywhere near right. As soon as she’d had the thought however, John moaned softly in her ear and she really couldn’t stop the soft keening noise she gave him in answer. “Ohhh...my Rose.”
“D-” Rose began to stammer, her breath hiccupping as his warm weight pressed down invitingly against her body, as his hand hushed from her waist to find purchase at her hip. She was worrying still about the Doctor and what he would think of her, was beginning to panic about contraceptives and accidental pregnancies (oh god what if she ended up pregnant? He’d leave her at home for sure) but she was too far gone now to stop.
How on Earth could she possibly stop this now?
“D-D-oh god please!”
John hushed her, fingers splayed delicately over the jut of her pelvic bone, the swell of flesh at her hip, the smoothness of the skin there. “Do you want this?”
Ignoring the wash of cold fear that even now was making her insides feel like they were shrivelling up, Rose licked her lips and blurted out her assent.
Yes. Yes she wanted this. She wanted him.
John sighed, truly content, and his hand left her hip and slipped instead between their bodies.
“I love you.”
Rose cried out softly at his touch and then gasped his name. “J-John!”
And from that moment on, he needed no further encouragement.
~*~
She had finally reached one of the doors without obstruction but it wouldn’t yield to hand nor key. Crying out in frustration she beat at it with her palms awhile before pressing herself right up against it, the whole length of her body flush with the surface of the door.
There was only silence from the other side.
“Doctor?” she cried out, afraid. “Doctor!”
When his voice came she thought she might collapse with relief.
That was, until she realised what he was saying.
“Not time yet Rose,” he whispered through the keyhole. “Not time.”
She recoiled from the locked door but she could still hear him regardless, whispering to her, the same three words over and over again.
“Not time yet, not time. Not time, not time yet, not time.”
“Not time yet,” a second voice joined in and she turned to see John standing sadly there, in pinstripes one second and tweed the next. He flickered a little, like static as he did so. Reaching for her, he cupped her cheek in his palm apologetically. “Not time yet Rose, not time.”
As she looked up at him the laces of her corset drew in tight and then released with a sound like an elastic band snapping. Her clothes fell away, leaving her in nothing but her own skin.
“Not time yet.” John shook his head at her sadly and this time, this dream, his voice was his own as he put his arms around her and embraced her. “Not time. Not time. Not time.”
Rose leant into the welcome warmth of him, suppressing a quiet sob as she closed her eyes against her tears.
The watch in her hand tick-tick-tick-tick-ticked at double the speed but the hands were spinning backwards.
From the other side of the door the Doctor tapped his fingertips as he waited, a soft pitter-ta-pat, pitter-ta-pat...
Rose opened her eyes slowly, blinking against the dull light of a grey sky morning. The rain had started again during the early hours of the morning and the patter of it against the windows had now woken her, fingers twitching where they gripped her pillow as tight as she had held John in her dream.
John.
The previous night’s events came back to her in a great rush of memory and she was suddenly a lot more awake as she wriggled around to face him.
He was asleep, deeply so, and Rose marvelled at how peaceful he looked. She’d rarely seen the Doctor in such a relaxed state before unless he was unconscious. The very few times she’d seen him sleeping he’d been quick to wake and even quicker to say that he’d only been meditating or he’d just shut his eyes for a moment, just a catnap really, so he could recharge the batteries so to speak.
But John slept deep with no inhibitions and so she was free to look, to think, to feel. God, feel. After the previous night there were so many things she was sure she should be feeling - guilty, awkward, maybe even a little disgusted with herself. What she was actually feeling though honestly surprised her.
Last night every caress she had bestowed upon John had felt like a betrayal and when she lay in his arms afterwards, even with her skin warm and her body sated, her insides had just felt cold and awful. She’d then spent a good portion of time crying her eyes out and trying desperately not to let on. She wasn’t fool enough to believe that she could possibly pass them off as tears of happiness. These were cold, bitter tears for something that she would have gladly given to the Doctor and instead now belonged to an interloper with his face.
At least that’s how she’d felt at the time.
A night of fitful dreams full of endless corridors of locked doors and John pulling her away whenever she thought she might have been close to the Doctor and now she was reaching out to John’s freckled cheek without the slightest inhibition. When she finally touched him she felt not guilt or fear, but warmth from the inside out and she had to wonder where exactly this sudden feeling of comfort had come from. It wasn’t like sex was some magic catalyst that made you fall in love overnight, but what she was feeling right now was certainly more than just an afterglow.
Then again it had been an exceptionally long time since she had done...well that with anyone. At times it had definitely been more than a little uncomfortable but John had not entirely surprised her by being a caring and considerate lover - always backing off if he felt he was being too rough with her and encouraging her with gentle whispers and soft touches until she finally came apart in his embrace.
She wouldn’t deny that she had enjoyed the physical side, in a way. But being with John was so much like what she had imagined it might be like to be with the Doctor that it had also been painful at times. The physical sensation of his narrow hips pressed against hers, his brilliant hair tickling her every time he bent his head to touch his lips to her skin... And then there were the words that had come from his mouth as he moved with her.
They were all John, those sweet nothings - whispered adulations of love that would’ve made any other man she’d ever met blush furiously.
The Doctor had never, would never say those things to her and at times she had honestly wished that John would just shut up and stop ruining it for her.
Not exactly the nicest reaction in the world but that was honestly how she had felt. Thus the crying and the weird recurring dream she’d fallen back into every time she closed her eyes. Idly she wondered if it wasn’t the dreams that had changed her, because really, what else could it be? Right now everything just felt...right.
It just felt so natural to be in his arms, to be able to breathe and share each breath with him. Never mind whether he was the Doctor or John Smith or some strange mix of the two - right here and now she felt comfortable, safe.
Loved.
Oh there was still a tiny bit of guilt overshadowing all of the good feelings of course, but she couldn’t help what had already been done could she? In the end she hadn’t really had much of a choice. She felt a flutter of uncertainty as to what the Doctor might think of that particular assumption when he woke up but just as quickly found herself comforted by her mother’s words. Jackie had been right when she’d said he’d forgive her anything. Especially, she thought, if she’d done it with the intention of keeping him safe.
He’d understand. He’d just have to. It wasn’t like she’d chosen to be John’s wife.
And speaking of John, the poor man only had another month or so left to live. Didn’t he deserve to spend it properly with the woman he loved? Because he did - love her that was. She had given up on the idea that his feelings for her might have been fabricated a while back now. He cared too deeply and genuinely for Rose and her wellbeing for her to believe otherwise.
How much of this affection came from the Doctor she didn’t know and she found that she didn’t much care either. What she did know was that she was only just beginning to realise that despite her feelings for the Doctor she very much cared for John as well. Although she couldn’t let John live the rest of his life out with her she could give him something to make his existence worthwhile in the meantime.
Snuggling into him carefully, Rose breathed in deep as John stirred. Still half asleep himself he began to cuddle her back instinctively and for a moment she half expected him to speak, to mumble that he loved her or say good morning or any other myriad of things.
Thankfully he didn’t say a word. Instead he pressed a clumsy kiss to her eyebrow and gently stroked her skin as he relaxed back into sleep again.
Rose relaxed and let her eyes drift shut too.
Maybe, she decided as she fell back into sleep, some things just were what they were.
And who was she to question them when they felt right?
Chapter Six ->