Paris
Title: Paris
Characters: The Ninth Doctor and Rose Tyler
Pairing: Nine/Rose
Genre: Er, Angst/Comfort/Romance… ish
Rating: R though it’s not terribly explicit as I’m still self-conscious about writing Doctor Who smut xD
Author’s Note: I was planning to work on a completely different fic but then I got this idea in my head and it wouldn’t go away. I’d been thinking about how fantastic having season four Rose running into Nine could be but couldn’t find very many fics about that so I decided to make my own and I’m actually rather pleased with it.
He’ll say later on that he never gets to have that 2 AM, waiting for a taxi moment and while in the literal sense that is true, right now he’s about to have the closest he’ll get and oh he’ll think it good enough, even better really. The slow path and domestics isn’t for him. There won’t really be a reason for him to sort of lie to the couple except for the fact that he is the Doctor and sometimes the Doctor lies because often enough that’s easier than trying to explain the truth.
He’s in Paris. He landed a few centuries off and even a couple planets from what he intended but it doesn’t much matter at this point. Besides, the TARDIS had alerted him to some sort of strange signal and that’s probably why he’s here. The energy signal he’d picked up didn’t belong in this time and place.
It’s probably nothing anyways, just some Time Agent. They’re always screwing things up after all. He’s not going to pick up their mess. He’s not here for that. He’s… well really he’s here because there’s not really anywhere else he needs to be. He’s been drifting, running from one danger to another. He used to take joy in his successes but lately it just doesn’t compare and a part of him has a death wish, the permanent kind, and is disappointed every time he manages to escape. He shoves his hands into his pockets and turns down a narrow road just as a woman in a blue leather jacket stumbles out of the nearest alley.
He briefly thinks that perhaps she ought to be wearing red since her gaze is fixated on the graffiti that covers an old stone wall. He squashes the fanciful notion. There’s got to be a logical reason for her to be so concerned by the words méchant loup. She whips around and he hears her breath hitch when she sees him. Before he has time to fully register the catalog of emotions that flicker across her face in that moment she run at him full speed and thrown her arms around him as she all but crashed into him.
He stiffens as he staggers back a step. Once he’s regained his balance he pushes her back a step. There are a million things he thinks he should say. He isn’t whoever she thinks he is. He can’t help her. He’s the one she ought to be running from, not a message on a wall. “You make a habit of stumbling around alleys an’ throwing yourself at the first person to walk by then?” It isn’t what he means to say and it comes off less gruff than he intended.
It earns him a watery laugh and mumbled apology. “Maybe it’s just you,” she replies and something in her eyes makes him think this is supposed to be an inside joke between the two of them.
“Not really the sort to go around hugging anyone, me,” he replies. He does not ask if he is supposed to recognize her. He doesn’t have the strength to hope for some brighter future with this blonde and he knows he doesn’t deserve it anyways.
Her smile fades slightly, doesn’t reach her eyes anymore and it bothers him more than he thinks it should to recognize that haunted look that begins to replace it. She looks young, not a child, but not as old as her eyes. “Maybe one day,” she murmurs, almost too quiet for him to hear but the words send his mind racing. He wants to ask but he doesn’t dare. Her hand slips into his as though it’s the most normal thing in the world. “And I suppose you’re not the sort to end up kissing complete strangers either?” The teasing tone is back and she catches her tongue between her teeth as she grins at him.
“Might do,” he says though he meant to tell her no. He means to warn her off. He’s been known to do a lot of things but that isn’t high on the list and the ones that are would scare her off without a doubt but before he can emend his statement she’s kissing him. It isn’t the innocent teasing kiss he’d expected. It’s desperate and forceful. She’s clinging to his lapels and steadfastly ignoring his lack of response until he has backed her against the wall and kisses back just as hard. He loses himself to the sensation and it is the first time since the Time War that his entire focus hasn’t been on the pain and emptiness. None of that is gone, not by a long shot, but it is the first flicker of hope he’s allowed himself.
He presses tighter against her and he’s dimly aware that he’s gripping her hip hard enough to leave a bruise but she’s not objecting and he isn’t sure he could stop himself if he tried. He’s not entirely sure when it happens but they end up in the alley, her back pressed against the graffiti’d wall and her legs wrapped around his waist as he buries himself in her. She doesn’t speak as she fixes her clothes and despite his vast knowledge of countless languages he can’t think of anything worth saying either.
There’s already a bruise forming on her neck and he notices a slight trickle of blood from a bite mark on her shoulder that causes her to wince as she pulls her jacket back into place. He’s reminded that he’s not much better off by the scratch of his woolen jumper against the scratch marks down his back. Her hand comes up to his cheek, forcing him to meet her gaze. Her hair is tousled and her lips swollen and split from too rough kisses. Her eyes are what startle him though, filled impossibly with understanding and forgiveness and somehow he can’t help but believe it. She draws him close again and kisses him but it’s not like before. It’s overwhelmingly loving. He doesn’t understand how that could be but there is no other way to describe it.
When they finally break apart her eyes are bright with unshed tears. “Everyone deserves a second chance,” she tells him fiercely. All he can do is nod because he finds himself believing her.
He’s never been one for goodbyes but he’s a bit startled that she doesn’t seem to be either. “Who are you?” he asks as she turns back farther into the alley to leave. She stops and walks back to him and slips her hand into his again.
“Just remember what I said, yeah?”
“Not the sort to forget, me,” he replies.
“I’m sorry. I’ve stayed too long. And I’m sure you’ve got your own running to do… It’s going to be fantastic,” she adds as she squeezes his hand before suddenly letting go and stepping back. He doesn’t watch her go. He isn’t surprised when he looks up and she has disappeared. He’s grinning as he heads back to the TARDIS, ready for his next adventure.