Touching Time 2/7
TITLE: Touching Time
CHARACTERS: Ten/Rose, nothing but Ten/Rose
RATING: Teen (Adultish for later chapters)
SPOILERS: Up to Idiots Lantern, but very nonspecifically
SUMMARY: You want talky, angsty, witty-banter Ten? You've got him. Now with 30% more romance and UST!
DISCLAIMER: Insert humorous note about how I don't own the characters nor make any money off them right here.
BETA: The lovely and talented jaradel , but at the end of the day any errors and all silliness are entirely my fault.
A/N: A sequel to Flowers on Air. Not vital to have read that, but references are made to the action in that story.
This Chapter: The quarantine begins.
Rose removed her rucksack, which had grown quite heavy, on to the clean white duvet that seemed to be the only feature in the room that was not smooth and hard and slightly shiny. The isolation chamber was not large, but she supposed it didn't really need to be. There was a small en suite near the front door, equipped with more varieties of toilet than she was completely comfortable with, and a table next to the bed with a glowing lamp on it. A video screen set in to the wall across from the bed blinked to life with a shifting pattern of lines and circles.
"Welcome to the Grand Catraxian Hotel and Anti-Gravity Spa. As you have arrived during the biennial spinal pox outbreak, we are happy to provide you with one of our safe and comfortable quarantine isolation chambers."
Rose sat on the bed and watched as a parade of images of all the things she could be doing at the spa were she not stuck in a small white box marched across, and the friendly voice continued. "For your comfort, species-appropriate nutrition pods can be found where indicated." A panel in the wall next to the door glowed a greenish hue and when Rose walked over and touched it, it slid open to reveal a few dozen identical brown pucks that looked disconcertingly like espresso pods.
"Well, that's psychic chefs out, then," she muttered to herself.
The voice from the screen continued, "Please avail yourself of our five hundred forms of multi-species entertainment. When your quarantine period has been completed, a hospitality droid will escort you to your rooms. And as always, enjoy your stay at the Grand Catraxian."
The screen blinked off. Four days of watching telly didn't seem that bad, even if the food looked like it came out of the bin behind Starbucks. She'd even had the foresight to bring a book in her rucksack, thinking that, while the Doctor's idea of fun may be to do everything available at one hundred miles an hour, she rather fancied sleeping late and sitting by a pool (did they have pools here, and much more importantly did the Doctor own swimming trunks?). As she began to unpack a few of her things, however, she started to hear a dull rhythmic thumping noise coming from the wall next to the bed.
Thump. Pause. Thump. Pause.
Was this it? The beginning of the probing or whatever the inevitable unpleasantness was that had set the Doctor off?
"You just try and probe me! I dare you," Rose muttered as she got up from the bed and took an alert stance.
Thump. Pause. Thump. Pause.
Rose searched her room and its walls for the source of the sound, but it was muffled and diffused, as if perhaps it was something happening in the room next to hers. Did they go down the line of rooms then? Was she next?
Thump. Pause. Thump. Pause. Crash. "Bollocks."
"Doctor?" Rose got up right next to the wall and tapped with a knuckle. "Doctor, is that you in there?"
"Yes," came a small, rather defeated-sounding, but familiar voice.
"What's all that racket? What're you doing?"
"Banging my head against the wall. And also dropping the lamp. But that second bit was more of an accident, really. Mostly." There was another muffled clatter from his side of the wall.
Rose began to root around in her rucksack for her personal items and book. "I don't know what you're so worked up about. Watch the telly. Read a book."
"I haven't got a book," came the forlorn little grumble.
She flopped back on to the pillows, her head right up next to the wall the Doctor's voice was coming through. "You haven't got anything to keep yourself busy?"
"Well, I didn't think I'd need anything. Was going to go windsurfing, wasn't I?"
"Hold on a minute, you didn't even pack a bag. What were you going to do for clothes, go back to the TARDIS every day?"
"I've got my suit," he said. "What's wrong with it? I'm quite fond of my suit." The Doctor's voice got a little bit louder, as if he'd discovered the sweet spot in the wall that would carry the sound most efficiently. Which, Rose thought, he probably had.
"I'm fond of your suit too, but you've only got the one." She got her manicure kit out of her toiletry bag and considered doing her nails. Traveling with the Doctor had been hell on her nails and it often seemed like a full time job keeping them up.
"They've got a laundry service, I was just going to send it out."
"Right, but what about while it's being cleaned," she said between swipes of her nail file. "You won't have anything to.... Oh."
She could almost hear his smirk through the wall. He could definitely hear her blush.
"Now, Rose, not all species are as hung up on covering themselves as 21st century humans are."
Rose regained her composure quickly, or at least pitched her voice so that it sounded like her composure had begin regained. "I should have known. So, you haven't got a book to read and you haven't got a change of clothes. And what'd they give you to eat, being an unknown species and all?"
"Doesn't really matter. I won't need to eat again until after the quarantine is up."
"Serious? No wonder you've been able to keep your girlish figure. I've got these rubbishy espresso-looking thingies," she pouted. She was struck by how much like a phone conversation this all was, like when she used to just sit on the phone for hours with Shireen or Mickey and talk about absolutely nothing. Was that how their relationship was going to settle, after the revelations of the desert? Back to just best mates? Girlfriends? She wasn't sure she could handle that.
"And I think you'll find that the hundreds of thousands of years it has taken Eurovision to make it this far from Earth has not improved it much."
"What?"
"Five hundred forms of multi-species entertainment," he said. "I hope you're not expecting a West Wing marathon."
She didn't know what she'd been expecting, and she wasn't about to admit her secret love for Eurovision to the Doctor (or to anyone else for that matter). "You're a ray of sunshine you are. I'm not the one who doesn't sleep, or eat, or have a change of clothes, or a book, or a pressing need for a French manicure. Maybe you could take these few days to do some thinking, hey?"
Her chipper attitude in the face of four days without him by her side was a complete act, but he was the one who needed to sort some things. She herself was perfectly clear on how she felt and what she wanted, though now that she had finally proposed he use his free time to make some important decisions, she immediately began to regret saying anything at all. Asking him to make a decision opened up the possibility of him making the wrong decision. The silence from the other side of the wall became deafening, and she tried without much luck to just concentrate on her cuticles. Long moments passed.
"I could, er, I'm sorry, what?"
Rose fell back in to the pillows and felt like she needed a damp washcloth for her brow. She took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and promptly lost her resolve. "Never mind. Nothing."
Really though, she couldn't continue to be the arbiter of good sense in this relationship for much longer. It was exhausting her, as if all the running and the world-saving and dodging exploding things were not exhausting enough. She trusted him implicitly, completely, in every other way. If she was in trouble, he would save her. If the Universe was in peril, he would find a way to fix it. If some poor innocent creature was dying, he would avenge it and make sure no one suffered like that again. No questions. No second thoughts. He was the Doctor, her Doctor, and he would always do the right thing. But a side of the Doctor that could not be completely trusted had been exposed. Clearly, he had no idea what to do with his emotions, his long centuries of memories, his dreams and fears (when he allowed himself to feel them), but that was one bit of danger from which Rose could not rescue him. She could provide distraction, wave herself around in front of him like a white flag, and so she had done, at first unwittingly and then quite consciously. People who met the Doctor these days may see before them a devil-may-care young rake, but she had met him when his demons lurked much closer to the surface. Changing every cell in his body had only made them appear different, not disappear.
Thump. Pause. Thump. Pause.
"Stop it, Doctor."
(To Chapter 3)
CHARACTERS: Ten/Rose, nothing but Ten/Rose
RATING: Teen (Adultish for later chapters)
SPOILERS: Up to Idiots Lantern, but very nonspecifically
SUMMARY: You want talky, angsty, witty-banter Ten? You've got him. Now with 30% more romance and UST!
DISCLAIMER: Insert humorous note about how I don't own the characters nor make any money off them right here.
BETA: The lovely and talented jaradel , but at the end of the day any errors and all silliness are entirely my fault.
A/N: A sequel to Flowers on Air. Not vital to have read that, but references are made to the action in that story.
This Chapter: The quarantine begins.
Rose removed her rucksack, which had grown quite heavy, on to the clean white duvet that seemed to be the only feature in the room that was not smooth and hard and slightly shiny. The isolation chamber was not large, but she supposed it didn't really need to be. There was a small en suite near the front door, equipped with more varieties of toilet than she was completely comfortable with, and a table next to the bed with a glowing lamp on it. A video screen set in to the wall across from the bed blinked to life with a shifting pattern of lines and circles.
"Welcome to the Grand Catraxian Hotel and Anti-Gravity Spa. As you have arrived during the biennial spinal pox outbreak, we are happy to provide you with one of our safe and comfortable quarantine isolation chambers."
Rose sat on the bed and watched as a parade of images of all the things she could be doing at the spa were she not stuck in a small white box marched across, and the friendly voice continued. "For your comfort, species-appropriate nutrition pods can be found where indicated." A panel in the wall next to the door glowed a greenish hue and when Rose walked over and touched it, it slid open to reveal a few dozen identical brown pucks that looked disconcertingly like espresso pods.
"Well, that's psychic chefs out, then," she muttered to herself.
The voice from the screen continued, "Please avail yourself of our five hundred forms of multi-species entertainment. When your quarantine period has been completed, a hospitality droid will escort you to your rooms. And as always, enjoy your stay at the Grand Catraxian."
The screen blinked off. Four days of watching telly didn't seem that bad, even if the food looked like it came out of the bin behind Starbucks. She'd even had the foresight to bring a book in her rucksack, thinking that, while the Doctor's idea of fun may be to do everything available at one hundred miles an hour, she rather fancied sleeping late and sitting by a pool (did they have pools here, and much more importantly did the Doctor own swimming trunks?). As she began to unpack a few of her things, however, she started to hear a dull rhythmic thumping noise coming from the wall next to the bed.
Thump. Pause. Thump. Pause.
Was this it? The beginning of the probing or whatever the inevitable unpleasantness was that had set the Doctor off?
"You just try and probe me! I dare you," Rose muttered as she got up from the bed and took an alert stance.
Thump. Pause. Thump. Pause.
Rose searched her room and its walls for the source of the sound, but it was muffled and diffused, as if perhaps it was something happening in the room next to hers. Did they go down the line of rooms then? Was she next?
Thump. Pause. Thump. Pause. Crash. "Bollocks."
"Doctor?" Rose got up right next to the wall and tapped with a knuckle. "Doctor, is that you in there?"
"Yes," came a small, rather defeated-sounding, but familiar voice.
"What's all that racket? What're you doing?"
"Banging my head against the wall. And also dropping the lamp. But that second bit was more of an accident, really. Mostly." There was another muffled clatter from his side of the wall.
Rose began to root around in her rucksack for her personal items and book. "I don't know what you're so worked up about. Watch the telly. Read a book."
"I haven't got a book," came the forlorn little grumble.
She flopped back on to the pillows, her head right up next to the wall the Doctor's voice was coming through. "You haven't got anything to keep yourself busy?"
"Well, I didn't think I'd need anything. Was going to go windsurfing, wasn't I?"
"Hold on a minute, you didn't even pack a bag. What were you going to do for clothes, go back to the TARDIS every day?"
"I've got my suit," he said. "What's wrong with it? I'm quite fond of my suit." The Doctor's voice got a little bit louder, as if he'd discovered the sweet spot in the wall that would carry the sound most efficiently. Which, Rose thought, he probably had.
"I'm fond of your suit too, but you've only got the one." She got her manicure kit out of her toiletry bag and considered doing her nails. Traveling with the Doctor had been hell on her nails and it often seemed like a full time job keeping them up.
"They've got a laundry service, I was just going to send it out."
"Right, but what about while it's being cleaned," she said between swipes of her nail file. "You won't have anything to.... Oh."
She could almost hear his smirk through the wall. He could definitely hear her blush.
"Now, Rose, not all species are as hung up on covering themselves as 21st century humans are."
Rose regained her composure quickly, or at least pitched her voice so that it sounded like her composure had begin regained. "I should have known. So, you haven't got a book to read and you haven't got a change of clothes. And what'd they give you to eat, being an unknown species and all?"
"Doesn't really matter. I won't need to eat again until after the quarantine is up."
"Serious? No wonder you've been able to keep your girlish figure. I've got these rubbishy espresso-looking thingies," she pouted. She was struck by how much like a phone conversation this all was, like when she used to just sit on the phone for hours with Shireen or Mickey and talk about absolutely nothing. Was that how their relationship was going to settle, after the revelations of the desert? Back to just best mates? Girlfriends? She wasn't sure she could handle that.
"And I think you'll find that the hundreds of thousands of years it has taken Eurovision to make it this far from Earth has not improved it much."
"What?"
"Five hundred forms of multi-species entertainment," he said. "I hope you're not expecting a West Wing marathon."
She didn't know what she'd been expecting, and she wasn't about to admit her secret love for Eurovision to the Doctor (or to anyone else for that matter). "You're a ray of sunshine you are. I'm not the one who doesn't sleep, or eat, or have a change of clothes, or a book, or a pressing need for a French manicure. Maybe you could take these few days to do some thinking, hey?"
Her chipper attitude in the face of four days without him by her side was a complete act, but he was the one who needed to sort some things. She herself was perfectly clear on how she felt and what she wanted, though now that she had finally proposed he use his free time to make some important decisions, she immediately began to regret saying anything at all. Asking him to make a decision opened up the possibility of him making the wrong decision. The silence from the other side of the wall became deafening, and she tried without much luck to just concentrate on her cuticles. Long moments passed.
"I could, er, I'm sorry, what?"
Rose fell back in to the pillows and felt like she needed a damp washcloth for her brow. She took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and promptly lost her resolve. "Never mind. Nothing."
Really though, she couldn't continue to be the arbiter of good sense in this relationship for much longer. It was exhausting her, as if all the running and the world-saving and dodging exploding things were not exhausting enough. She trusted him implicitly, completely, in every other way. If she was in trouble, he would save her. If the Universe was in peril, he would find a way to fix it. If some poor innocent creature was dying, he would avenge it and make sure no one suffered like that again. No questions. No second thoughts. He was the Doctor, her Doctor, and he would always do the right thing. But a side of the Doctor that could not be completely trusted had been exposed. Clearly, he had no idea what to do with his emotions, his long centuries of memories, his dreams and fears (when he allowed himself to feel them), but that was one bit of danger from which Rose could not rescue him. She could provide distraction, wave herself around in front of him like a white flag, and so she had done, at first unwittingly and then quite consciously. People who met the Doctor these days may see before them a devil-may-care young rake, but she had met him when his demons lurked much closer to the surface. Changing every cell in his body had only made them appear different, not disappear.
Thump. Pause. Thump. Pause.
"Stop it, Doctor."
(To Chapter 3)