There is no peace that I've found so far (Doctor/Rose); 1/1
Title: There is no peace that I've found so far
Pairing: Rose/Ten (Doctor Who)
Summary: It’s when he looks at her like that - like she’s the only thing that has ever mattered, that of all the numbers and facts and formulas swirling around in his genius head she’s the only one he cares about - that's when everything they’ve suffered seems almost worth it.
Rating: R (ish)
Spoilers: Post-The Stolen Earth, but really deviates from there.
Note: Ha. Just blame a sudden Blackpool rewatch for this one.
{-}
The final word in the final sentence you ever uttered to me was love
-snow patrol, make this go on forever
The rush of her heartbeat floods her ears. It takes her a long moment to distinguish it from the hum of the ship, coursing through her tense body through its cold metal hull. She swallows, once, just to hear another sound, and then twists her head to the side to take in the Doctor, her Doctor, lying prone on his back.
It all happened so fast. Seeing him again, running so fast and gleefully to meet him, to touch him like she has yearned to do since that day on the beach, and to prove that no matter what horrors the universe can throw at them they have this, they finally have this. Then a burst of light and the Doctor crumpling in pain, her own heart collapsing in on itself in shock and fear. Dragging him into the TARDIS, witnessing the regeneration failing, somehow, giving her a second chance with this incarnation, the one she wants so badly. Leaving the TARDIS, hearing Jack cry that the Daleks have triangulated their location. And suddenly being teleported or beamed or whatever the Dalek equivalent was onto the indomitable ship looming in the very centre of this unfamiliar portion of space. Into hell. The demonic creatures out there certainly facilitate that impression - with their cold metallic shells, deadly weaponry and robotic voices.
“Rose.”
The Doctor’s voice is hoarse and low, as if talking to himself rather than expecting an actual answer. She immediately shuffles forward, hands fluttering worriedly over his forehead.
“Shh. I’m here. It’s all right, I’m here.“
He cranes open his eyes, squinting at her in the dim amber light. “Thought maybe I dreamt you.” He sounds weak, still not entirely conscious, but his brow furrows as he concentrates on her, as if struggling to discern her from some ghostly vision. He’s so vulnerable this way, devoid of his usual zest and spirit.
A smile sweeps her face, wide and teary. “No, flesh and bone. That’s me.”
A groan emerges from his throat as he braces his hands against the floor, suit jacket fanning out under his body as he struggles into a sitting position. Her hands fly out, curving around to support him. “Careful, I think you’re still weak from… not-regenerating.”
He nods stubbornly, coughing a little, twisting his head around with familiar curiosity, though lacking its usual boyish enthusiasm.
“Where are we?”
“I dunno. The Daleks -- that big scary, human looking one - he told them to bring us in here after we got on board. I think they’re waitin’ for something.”
The Doctor’s jaw twitches, grimly. They’ve all had their share of experiences with the Daleks but his intimacy is something she will never hope to understand. “Waiting for what?”
The weight of the situation settles over them, and they slip into silence. In the quiet she feels the steady vibrations in the floor. They must be close to some kind of propulsion system - whatever drives these Dalek ships. One hand remains pressed carefully to the Doctor’s back as they both look around, taking in the cavernous ceiling, the eerie red walls, reminding her of the chambers of a human heart. But nothing about this place is human. Not even remotely.
The Doctor’s face is pinched and somber as he takes all of this in. It’s a grimness that ages him, one not entirely familiar. She wonders if it’s the situation or the years between them that have invited this more serious side of him, a side she wants to banish almost immediately, replace with a steady grin and the flurry of excited movement and chatter that define the Doctor she knows.
Even as she considers this he turns back to her, warmth returning to his eyes as he directs all of his concern on her.
“You all right?”
It’s when he looks at her like that - like she’s the only thing that has ever mattered, that of all the numbers and facts and formulas swirling around in his genius head she’s the only one he cares about - that's when everything they’ve suffered seems almost worth it.
“Don’t be stupid,” she says instantly, smoothing her hand down his arm. “I’m fine.” The coarse fabric clings to her, a moment, warm and stiff. “What about you?”
“Mmm, sore in the joints. Always happens after regenerating. Or, not regenerating as the case might be this time.” His words have taken on that old tendency to run away from him, and she almost smiles, but his mouth turns down again. “Jack, Donna?”
“I don’t know, I… I didn’t see what happened to them. I don’t know if they’re…”
“They’re fine. As long as they’re still valuable, they’re fine.
Despite the things she’s seen since they were together, the battles she’s fought, the aliens creatures she’s encountered, one word from him still eases some of the worry in her heart. She exhales, long and hard. She knew it would be no picnic when she found him again, bringing along her message of doom for the human race, but it seems so terribly unfair that their reunion has been stalled, that they weren’t even allowed a tiny intermission.
When she glances up, he’s staring at her, deep brown eyes fixated intently. Sometimes she thinks she idealised everything, that her memories slipped into the realm of fairytales and he couldn’t possibly have been as wonderful as she imagined. But it was only empty comfort, to dissuade her from the debilitating loss she’d suffered.
“In all this chaos I never did get a proper chance to say hello,” he murmurs.
She immediately flies into his arms, squeezing so tight she almost chokes on unshed tears, gladly swallowed in the wide circle of his embrace.
She rests her chin against his shoulder, twisting her body completely into his, nose brushing against the warm skin of his neck, smelling musky and male, like the aftershave he always said he never needed - Timelords have a naturally pleasant scent, he’d claimed. Rubbish, she told him. The familiarity of his warmth and his unique, comforting smell almost make her cry in relief but she holds it back, settling for a shaky sigh instead. “Always mortal danger with you, isn’t it? Some things never change.”
“Seems like you might be getting into a bit of that yourself.”
She smiles faintly against his shoulder. “You know. Fighting aliens. Not exactly like travelling all far reaches of space, but I’ve got moves now.”
“I’m sure you do,” he replies, and she can hear the grin in his voice.
They stay that way a while, crushed to one another, like one tiny movement would cause them to disintegrate, become atoms in the air. Her eyes flutter closed, and she savours the pull of his closeness with a burning lodged in her throat. If only they could stay like this, forever. If only imminent danger didn’t lurk just outside the corridor. If only they weren’t running on borrowed time.
Reluctantly, they pull out of their embrace, though she keeps her fingers splayed over his elbows, to reassure herself he is indeed, still there. A silence stretches between them, and lingering fondness threads through his eyes as he gazes at her, happily, as if in the midst of this horror he has been granted the most invaluable, precious gift.
“I’m so glad you’re the same,” she says, quietly, tracing the familiar plains of his face, because it’s a selfish wish but she came so far for him, and he just couldn’t change on her. Not yet.
His palm lifts, dancing lightly over her cheek, and then he falls back against the wall, delving into a pensive silence.
She waits, a few minutes at least, before asking the inevitable question.
“What are we going to do?”
He purses his lips, and it almost breaks her in two when he looks away, ashamed and frustrated. “I don’t know.”
“Hey.” Her brow crumples, and she strokes her fingers reassuringly over his arm, aching to see him so anxious. “We’ll figure this out.
“You don’t understand, Rose. It’s different. This is all so… After everything that happened, in the war…”
The futility in his voice tapers off, and he sighs deeply. She's never seen him so open to her before. He releases a ragged sigh, torment spilling forth, and it makes her hurt so much to know how much he has suffered, how long he has endured, adapted and survived - all because of those creatures out there, those horrible, twisted creatures.
“Tell me about something else,” he says quietly, turning his head to her like she can salve all his pain. “Tell me about you. About your life.”
“You really want to hear about that?”
“Of course.”
She pauses uncertainty, folding her arms back in her lap. “Um, I’ve got a little sister now. Molly.”
He tests the word, lips turning up pleasantly. “Molly.”
“She’s nearin’ three, and already chatters away. Doesn’t matter if anyone’s listening, she’ll keep right on going. And she’s so clever. Already draws these amazin’ pictures, puts me to shame. Mum hangs them on the fridge, every single one, until we have to start papering over them. Even then she refuses to take them down.”
“A little Rose,” he observes, vague amusement curling around his lips, and he props his head back against the wall to listen to her continue.
“Ha, I dunno, Mickey reckons she’s my exact opposite. Dark hair, dark eyes, doesn’t go bullying the other kids in the playground the way I did. That can only be a good thing.”
“I don’t think ending up like you would be a bad thing, Rose Tyler.”
The pride flooding his voice is unmistakable. It’s such a wistful comment it provokes a small grimace of regret from her, and she turns to him seriously. He looks so tired. So worn. Legs stretched out, hunched back against the wall of the ship. She’s never seen him looking so defeated.
“I wish she could meet you,” she says softly. She'd always thought of them as the Doctor's adopted family - all of them, her and Mickey and Mum - and to think that he’s no longer a part of that saddens her immensely.
He tilts his head, barely mustering a smile, because their future, if they should even have one beyond this, is still two universes apart.
Rose swallows back regret, because the burning in her throat is back. “I really missed you.”
The Doctor stares at her for a long time. “So did I.”
“And we will get out of this, Doctor. You know we will. You’ll come up with something brilliant last minute, just like you always do. And you’re not alone in this. You’ve got all of us. You’ve got me.”
She jumped across a hundred different universes to find him. She won’t let him go again.
Slowly, his fingers drift up over her face, curling up under her chin and resting there gently. He doesn’t voice an answer, seemingly buoyed by her faith in him, gratitude and adoration lighting the dark patches in his penetrating eyes.
It seems an eternity as they wait there, gazing at one another, considering everything they’ve lost, everything they might yet lose. She remains motionless, almost frozen, as he bends forward, almost thoughtful in his movement, melding his lips softly over hers.
It’s the kind of kiss she’s waited for her whole life. Her heart thunders now, and she welcomes it, the way it shudders in her chest, ballooned by awe and longing. His tongue sweeps out through her parted lips, tentative, even now, stroking hers, conveying such a mass of feeling she’s not entirely sure she can distinguish one from another. Her eyes flutter closed, and she sinks into his touch, lifting her hand up over his shoulder as his kiss becomes more intense and harried. It carries with it a hidden desperation he doesn’t even seem to notice. New life buzzes through her veins, life granted in the face of death and from the touch of this man, this wonderful being she loves more than she’s ever loved anything before.
His coarse fingers drift across the hair at her temple, stroking it back. Then they sink back, spreading out over the cold floor, and he shifts his palm to her side, bracing it by her shoulder.
She continues to respond to his kisses, breathless and surprised by the weight of his body over hers, the continued tinge of desperation. She wonders if she should stop him, if reassurance would be better served in words. But the end could be so close and she doesn’t want to, she just doesn’t want it to stop anymore.
His mouth graces over her cheek and she sighs, air rushing out between her teeth as she curves to meet the warmth of his palm, sliding up beneath her jacket and her shirt, smoothing over her taut abdomen.
There’s something so surreal about the moment. Time has become so relative over the last few weeks - jumping back and forth through gaps in the universe, struggling to find the right time, the right moment. It feels like she’s been searching for him forever, and suddenly everything has screeched to a halt. Here. With him.
Hands, surprisingly clumsy hands, reach out to wrestle with her belt buckle. It’s such a human nervousness and she curls her fingers over his, giving him a hand, breathing heavily as she tugs down her pants before unzipping his.
Who would have thought, even a Timelord could succumb to such a primal pleasure, such a desperate need for comfort.
He kisses her, again, a lengthy, open mouthed kiss to the curve of her jaw. The raw sensuality and need in the act incites a breathy moan from her. Their clothes feel like a rough and unnecessary hindrance between them and her skin itches with the need to have them gone and then there is nothing more but the feel of him sliding inside her, finally, and her head falling back on the floor. Oh God, she wants to cry, but lets her heels dig into the floor, stifling the words on an uneven sigh instead.
“Rose,” he murmurs, and her eyes peel open, just as he stares down at her, uncertainty filtering through the raw need, seeking something like reassurance. Her arms curve around his shoulders, clutching him tightly to her, until their foreheads are pressed together. She doesn’t know if that’s what he’s looking for, but it eases some of the tension in his frame, and he starts to move, slow and steady at first, stirring a feeling of deep joy within her.
Her breath rushes against his cheek and she melts against his thrusts, unable to stifle a low cry as she reaches towards her climax and he falls, exhaling hotly against her.
He turns his face against her neck and she strokes her fingers softly over the hair at the nape of his neck, feeling his fingers clutch at the fabric of her jacket at her side.
“We’ll figure this out,” she repeats, whispering into his hair. “Everything’s going to work out in the end. You’ll see. You'll see.”
He doesn't reply, but as he lies pressed against her, she thinks he might have been granted some much needed solace. She waits, patiently, because whatever he needs, whatever he decides, she'll be here.
{-}