Kiss and Run (Doctor Who fanfic) 1/1
Title: Kiss and Run (1/1)
Author: Sue DeNimme
Characters/Pairing: Ten plus Rose, Reinette, Jackie, Martha, Joan, Astrid, Donna, and Christina
Rating: PG
Spoilers: Various episodes throughout Ten's era
Word count: 1730
Summary: The Doctor had more onscreen kisses in his tenth incarnation than all his previous selves put together. What did he make of them?
Disclaimer: Doctor Who and its characters belong to the BBC.
My fanfic master list
The Doctor discovers early that his tenth body is made for kissing.
Not that he isn't familiar with this curious gesture, common as it is across so many humanoid cultures throughout time and space. However, it can mean many things, and in his case it has always meant goodbye.
But on New Earth, when Rose suddenly lunges for him, grips his head, and snogs him like it's going out of style, it leaves him frankly a bit dazed. All right, a lot dazed. And just a tad freaked out, if he's honest. Because while he's been aware for some time of her attraction to him, in his last body as well as this new-new one, this sort of thing is hardly characteristic of her. It's the first clue that something has happened during her inexplicably long trek to ward 26.
He tests her, and rather depressingly, his suspicions are confirmed. Possession. By Cassandra. Ecch. He's been snogged by Cassandra, of all people. Well, he supposes that if he'd been stuck as a trampoline for who knows how long, he might want to do that too, the moment he had the ability and opportunity.
And he can hardly blame her, really. He's not stupid, he's observed what physiognomic features and body types the majority of humanoids are most apt to be drawn to in a certain sort of way, and this new incarnation of his happens to have quite a lot of them. It's not like he planned it that way. Just a lucky throw of the regeneration dice.
Still, it takes hours to fade: the sensation of her fingers mussing his hair with desperate ferocity as she breathlessly pressed everything that she could possibly press against him. That, and the taste of her strawberry-flavoured lip gloss, which really isn't as pleasant to him as it probably was to Rose when she put it on, because he can detect the bitter metallic tang of the chemicals it was made from. Worse, though, is the sense of intrusion, not to mention the... disappointment... when he realises what's going on.
But anyway, Cassandra is the first. Or Rose is. He's not sure which one counts. Oh well. He'd prefer it to be Rose, so it's Rose.
The second likewise takes him by surprise. He's hardly had the time to assimilate the fact that Reinette was a little girl just a minute ago and now here she is a grown woman, a rather beautiful grown woman actually, eyeing him in a weird appraising sort of way, then suddenly, wham! She's on him like... like jam on toast, or something. She's got him pushed up against the same gorgeous fireplace he just stepped through, her lips devouring his, just as if -- well, as if she's been waiting years for this.
Almost before he knows he's doing it, his arms are around her and he's starting to kiss her back. He can't seem to pull away. She's the one who does so, flitting off and leaving him standing there looking very probably as if he's just had a whack to the back of the head with a mallet.
It's at least twenty-seven different kinds of wrong, this is. Not the sudden-aging thing, humans are like mayflies to him anyway. Not the hardly-knowing-her thing, either. It's the fact that he'd actually welcomed the chance to learn what it was like to participate in being kissed, in this body. He'd been too shocked to try it before, with Rose/Cassandra/whoever.
When he learns of Reinette's death, that she died waiting for him, he discovers exactly what this incarnation's worst downfall is. It's that his emotional volume switch now seems to be permanently stuck on high.
This could be bad. Dangerous, even. The foxiness, okay, that's a bit of a perk, he can't deny that, and the overall heightened sensitivity has its advantages, but this body seems to enjoy feeling things just a little bit too much. Which he now knows can lead to a vulnerability he might not be able to afford. He had a sample of that in his last body, and it was bad enough then. Now, he knows the precise frequency it takes to shatter his hearts.
He'd take that praxis-gas allergy his fifth self had had over this, any day. Sure, he'd looked silly having to wear a vegetable all the time, but at least he'd had a snack handy if required. Healthier than jelly babies, at any rate.
The next kiss is Rose again. And it's really, definitely Rose this time. Good. He can't feel it. Bad. Rose is all in all a wonderful companion, one of the best he's had, and he's (in love with) very fond of her, but her timing in this instance, what with Ida waiting for him and the mission ready to begin and all... it's just... oh, why couldn't she have done it before he had the space helmet on? But the gesture warms him anyway, and seals his determination to get them out of this mess he got them into, and he does in fact succeed in the end, so yes, it's a good thing.
Next is one he'd rather forget. Oh, for the days when it never particularly crossed his mind that his companions even had mothers. Not that Jackie's a bad sort, and it hurts less than the slapping did, but really.
Forward a bit. Now he's meeting marvellous Martha on the moon. (Nice alliteration, he'll have to remember that one.) This time he's the one who bends his head, takes hers between his hands, and plants one on her. Well, he explained in advance that it meant nothing and it was to save a thousand lives, didn't he? And from what he knows of her so far she seems like a clever, practical young woman. She'll realise that a handshake wouldn't have done, it had to be a kiss, because DNA traces adhere better and last longer when placed on moist surfaces such as inside the mouth. Of course she will.
Well... maybe she does, but still, the flirting in the TARDIS afterward is worrisome. Yet on the other hand it's too late, he's already invited her for a trip, the best way he knows to say thank you, and he can't just toss her out now, that seems rude. Being not-rude is a struggle for this incarnation; he really ought to make more of an effort for someone who after all has just saved his life. Besides, it'll be fine, it's only one trip.
Being a Time Lord is a pretty impressive thing, but sometimes it means he can be really impressively wrong, too.
Which is part of why his memories of being John Smith are not something he likes to dredge up. The other part is because of Joan. He remembers loving her, and being happy, and thinking that he could be with this human woman, and go on kissing her with his human lips, for the rest of their human lives. He also remembers his time sense kicking in and taunting him with cruel glimpses of what couldn't be. Staying in one place. No monsters, no running, just love and family and humanness. All the things he never even knew he could want for himself.
It's disappointing but hardly surprising that Joan wanted that life with John Smith, not a wandering one with the Doctor. He hopes she was happy in the end after all. He'd go and check on her, but he tells himself he wouldn't be welcome, which is probably true.
Astrid reminds him so much of how he was in his youth, restless, stuck at home watching the stars and yearning to stride among them. How can he resist? And her kiss is sweet and brave and full of hope, just like she is. It's a tradition, or so she claims. A token of luck, presumably. Only it turns out she was the one who needed it, and it fails her. So much for tradition.
The second time they kiss, it's too late for her.
If there's any woman he's ever known who he'd say was definitely the absolute last woman who would ever kiss him, it's Donna. An interesting reversal of how it was with Martha -- this time it's he who's on the receiving end of a very thorough but totally pragmatic and necessary liplock. Trust Donna to know exactly what would be a big enough shock to do the job.
"Don't get any ideas, spaceman," she threatens afterwards, and at that moment he loves her more than he's ever loved anybody. But he's far too smart to tell her that.
He does not, in fact, get any ideas, and that's the last time either of them mention it.
Then there's Christina. He'd begun to think he was almost getting to expect it, but she springs it on him and he gets to show her his whacked-by-a-mallet expression as well. Perhaps one might count it as revenge for the way he treated her stolen gold cup.
Time was when he'd have taken her with him, as he didn't get to do with Astrid. But not now. After losing Rose, after losing Martha, and most especially after losing Donna, he's done with companions. He'll settle for temporary allies instead. And that's what Christina is, despite her undeniable skills and bravery, despite whatever he'd said during the adventure, and despite whatever she might presume because of it.
Besides, those four knocks are looming, and he's going to be falling soon. He's not taking anyone with him when he goes.
Still, though... it might have been nice, standing in the TARDIS while he slowly turns into a firework, if there had been someone there to kiss goodbye.
~end
Author: Sue DeNimme
Characters/Pairing: Ten plus Rose, Reinette, Jackie, Martha, Joan, Astrid, Donna, and Christina
Rating: PG
Spoilers: Various episodes throughout Ten's era
Word count: 1730
Summary: The Doctor had more onscreen kisses in his tenth incarnation than all his previous selves put together. What did he make of them?
Disclaimer: Doctor Who and its characters belong to the BBC.
My fanfic master list
The Doctor discovers early that his tenth body is made for kissing.
Not that he isn't familiar with this curious gesture, common as it is across so many humanoid cultures throughout time and space. However, it can mean many things, and in his case it has always meant goodbye.
But on New Earth, when Rose suddenly lunges for him, grips his head, and snogs him like it's going out of style, it leaves him frankly a bit dazed. All right, a lot dazed. And just a tad freaked out, if he's honest. Because while he's been aware for some time of her attraction to him, in his last body as well as this new-new one, this sort of thing is hardly characteristic of her. It's the first clue that something has happened during her inexplicably long trek to ward 26.
He tests her, and rather depressingly, his suspicions are confirmed. Possession. By Cassandra. Ecch. He's been snogged by Cassandra, of all people. Well, he supposes that if he'd been stuck as a trampoline for who knows how long, he might want to do that too, the moment he had the ability and opportunity.
And he can hardly blame her, really. He's not stupid, he's observed what physiognomic features and body types the majority of humanoids are most apt to be drawn to in a certain sort of way, and this new incarnation of his happens to have quite a lot of them. It's not like he planned it that way. Just a lucky throw of the regeneration dice.
Still, it takes hours to fade: the sensation of her fingers mussing his hair with desperate ferocity as she breathlessly pressed everything that she could possibly press against him. That, and the taste of her strawberry-flavoured lip gloss, which really isn't as pleasant to him as it probably was to Rose when she put it on, because he can detect the bitter metallic tang of the chemicals it was made from. Worse, though, is the sense of intrusion, not to mention the... disappointment... when he realises what's going on.
But anyway, Cassandra is the first. Or Rose is. He's not sure which one counts. Oh well. He'd prefer it to be Rose, so it's Rose.
The second likewise takes him by surprise. He's hardly had the time to assimilate the fact that Reinette was a little girl just a minute ago and now here she is a grown woman, a rather beautiful grown woman actually, eyeing him in a weird appraising sort of way, then suddenly, wham! She's on him like... like jam on toast, or something. She's got him pushed up against the same gorgeous fireplace he just stepped through, her lips devouring his, just as if -- well, as if she's been waiting years for this.
Almost before he knows he's doing it, his arms are around her and he's starting to kiss her back. He can't seem to pull away. She's the one who does so, flitting off and leaving him standing there looking very probably as if he's just had a whack to the back of the head with a mallet.
It's at least twenty-seven different kinds of wrong, this is. Not the sudden-aging thing, humans are like mayflies to him anyway. Not the hardly-knowing-her thing, either. It's the fact that he'd actually welcomed the chance to learn what it was like to participate in being kissed, in this body. He'd been too shocked to try it before, with Rose/Cassandra/whoever.
When he learns of Reinette's death, that she died waiting for him, he discovers exactly what this incarnation's worst downfall is. It's that his emotional volume switch now seems to be permanently stuck on high.
This could be bad. Dangerous, even. The foxiness, okay, that's a bit of a perk, he can't deny that, and the overall heightened sensitivity has its advantages, but this body seems to enjoy feeling things just a little bit too much. Which he now knows can lead to a vulnerability he might not be able to afford. He had a sample of that in his last body, and it was bad enough then. Now, he knows the precise frequency it takes to shatter his hearts.
He'd take that praxis-gas allergy his fifth self had had over this, any day. Sure, he'd looked silly having to wear a vegetable all the time, but at least he'd had a snack handy if required. Healthier than jelly babies, at any rate.
The next kiss is Rose again. And it's really, definitely Rose this time. Good. He can't feel it. Bad. Rose is all in all a wonderful companion, one of the best he's had, and he's (in love with) very fond of her, but her timing in this instance, what with Ida waiting for him and the mission ready to begin and all... it's just... oh, why couldn't she have done it before he had the space helmet on? But the gesture warms him anyway, and seals his determination to get them out of this mess he got them into, and he does in fact succeed in the end, so yes, it's a good thing.
Next is one he'd rather forget. Oh, for the days when it never particularly crossed his mind that his companions even had mothers. Not that Jackie's a bad sort, and it hurts less than the slapping did, but really.
Forward a bit. Now he's meeting marvellous Martha on the moon. (Nice alliteration, he'll have to remember that one.) This time he's the one who bends his head, takes hers between his hands, and plants one on her. Well, he explained in advance that it meant nothing and it was to save a thousand lives, didn't he? And from what he knows of her so far she seems like a clever, practical young woman. She'll realise that a handshake wouldn't have done, it had to be a kiss, because DNA traces adhere better and last longer when placed on moist surfaces such as inside the mouth. Of course she will.
Well... maybe she does, but still, the flirting in the TARDIS afterward is worrisome. Yet on the other hand it's too late, he's already invited her for a trip, the best way he knows to say thank you, and he can't just toss her out now, that seems rude. Being not-rude is a struggle for this incarnation; he really ought to make more of an effort for someone who after all has just saved his life. Besides, it'll be fine, it's only one trip.
Being a Time Lord is a pretty impressive thing, but sometimes it means he can be really impressively wrong, too.
Which is part of why his memories of being John Smith are not something he likes to dredge up. The other part is because of Joan. He remembers loving her, and being happy, and thinking that he could be with this human woman, and go on kissing her with his human lips, for the rest of their human lives. He also remembers his time sense kicking in and taunting him with cruel glimpses of what couldn't be. Staying in one place. No monsters, no running, just love and family and humanness. All the things he never even knew he could want for himself.
It's disappointing but hardly surprising that Joan wanted that life with John Smith, not a wandering one with the Doctor. He hopes she was happy in the end after all. He'd go and check on her, but he tells himself he wouldn't be welcome, which is probably true.
Astrid reminds him so much of how he was in his youth, restless, stuck at home watching the stars and yearning to stride among them. How can he resist? And her kiss is sweet and brave and full of hope, just like she is. It's a tradition, or so she claims. A token of luck, presumably. Only it turns out she was the one who needed it, and it fails her. So much for tradition.
The second time they kiss, it's too late for her.
If there's any woman he's ever known who he'd say was definitely the absolute last woman who would ever kiss him, it's Donna. An interesting reversal of how it was with Martha -- this time it's he who's on the receiving end of a very thorough but totally pragmatic and necessary liplock. Trust Donna to know exactly what would be a big enough shock to do the job.
"Don't get any ideas, spaceman," she threatens afterwards, and at that moment he loves her more than he's ever loved anybody. But he's far too smart to tell her that.
He does not, in fact, get any ideas, and that's the last time either of them mention it.
Then there's Christina. He'd begun to think he was almost getting to expect it, but she springs it on him and he gets to show her his whacked-by-a-mallet expression as well. Perhaps one might count it as revenge for the way he treated her stolen gold cup.
Time was when he'd have taken her with him, as he didn't get to do with Astrid. But not now. After losing Rose, after losing Martha, and most especially after losing Donna, he's done with companions. He'll settle for temporary allies instead. And that's what Christina is, despite her undeniable skills and bravery, despite whatever he'd said during the adventure, and despite whatever she might presume because of it.
Besides, those four knocks are looming, and he's going to be falling soon. He's not taking anyone with him when he goes.
Still, though... it might have been nice, standing in the TARDIS while he slowly turns into a firework, if there had been someone there to kiss goodbye.
~end