Disclaimer: Doctor Who is in no way, shape, or form, mine.
Note: Written for challenge 45 at then_theres_us. The challenge was to write a story around a place. In this case: Kathmandu.
still there are four seasons
When he wore leather, it was one his favorite places on planet Earth. They ate cake on Freak Street at a shop like a hole in the wall. (Here, he said, had been hippies and hashish and Hendrix. Also, Cat Stevens, worth mentioning, despite the problems of alliteration.)
In Durbar Square they toured the temples like winged layer cakes. The Doctor pointed out the residence of the Kumari Devi but Rose was a bit lightheaded in the heat. In the shadow of a tall temple, she got a red tikka stamped on her forehead by a phony holy man. The Doctor laughed and casually pointed out the pornographic art decorating the struts of a temple. As a distraction from embarrassment, his methods left something to be desired.
(She told him so with indignation but her dry tone broke on the word 'desire' and the effect was ruined completely.)
So instead she called her mother, told her they were on Earth but not planning a visit home. Jackie insisted on speaking to the Doctor directly.
Rose was sorry later when the night grew cold and she sat alone in the guesthouse's garden. But then the Doctor showed up with a pot of the best tea she'd ever tasted and swallowed her chilled hands between his palms while they talked in forgiving voices and she leaned into his chest to listen to his hearts.
When he wore a brown suit and Chuck Taylor's, he thought the city was like a film set. He pulled her down alleys to doorways only as tall as her shoulders behind which lay hidden courtyards and small, private gods. He showed her images, hundreds of years old, carved discretely into walls that now bordered gutters. He led her under flocks of bright prayer flags that sent their hopes to heaven on the breeze.
He exclaimed over everything like he'd never seen it before. He seemed half-convinced he'd round a corner and find the edge of it all and there would be a cameraman and set of lights.
That time they made the trek to Everest Basecamp. He insisted on going on foot.
Every day the air was colder and thinner (but the tea, at least, was always exceptional). Rose bruised her hips on cots of plywood and shivered too badly to sleep. On the fourth night, he crawled awkwardly into her sleeping bag. On the fifth night they both admitted they were wearing too many layers for heat sharing to do any good. (That same night he blushed red when Rose reminded him of temple struts and they admitted effective heating had only been an excuse and they realized cots and sleeping bags made things awkward as did six days without a shower.)
At Gorak Shep, the stars came out and the air felt cold and solid in their throats as their mouths fell open in wonder.
Back in the city they had cake on the highest rooftop.
That night, clothes were shed and moans were swallowed and a mother was called right in the middle. (The best their combined intellects could figure was Rose's mobile, programmed to her voice, had discerned the command to call 'home' from the syllables of 'oh,' 'my,' and 'god' or some combination thereof.
Jackie was less upset than they'd anticipated. "That man loves you with his whole heart," she said like it was self-evident. (Rose didn't remind her that he had two.)
When he wore empty space and left gaps in conversations, Rose tried not to see only the ugly sides of the city. She was at a loss what to do for the skinny boys who grabbed her hands and begged for money or food. She'd seen the same boys stumbling in alleys, inhaling deep drags from bags of glue.
She sat on rooftop cafes and nursed cups of tea in tall glasses that sat in her stomach like rocks if she so much as sipped. She did her best not to call her mother every night.
In Durbar square she caught sight that time of the Kumari Devi as the little girl peered out of a decorative window. As a young child, the girl had been chosen for fearlessness and physical perfection, she'd walked amongst masked men and animals heads unafraid. She'd identified the personal effects of her previous incarnations. Until she became a woman she was revered as a goddess. When she bled the goddess went out of her and she came back down.
The girl's face was in shadow but something told Rose they were sisters.
She browsed the shops, bought a shirt that said 'Free Tibet,' and sat in a restaurant behind a bookstore. It was vegan. There was no cake on the menu.
In a sunken-floored shop full of prayer beads, the old proprietor bought her tea and talked about the mountains. He told her about prayer wheels, and prayer beads, and prayer flags and how they all said the same prayer. Om Mani Padme Hum.
He told her about the carved stones on the mountain trails that were monuments to the dead. Those stones also prayed.
In the square by his shop, she circled the shine and turned the wheels and spun her beads.
Something inside her began to unwind. She walked on, reciting the prayer, releasing it to heaven, slow and steady as a beating heart.
When he wore blue he let her show him the city. She pulled him through packed streets and shook her head at insistent vendors. She led him down sloping streets and places that had become sacred. He grinned when she insisted he rub luck out of copper coins nailed to a block of wood on a wall and laughed when she failed to duck a mock holy man and earned herself another tikka.
On the way back from a neighboring town, their taxi had to avoid a road blockade and a burning car. In Durbar Square, they nearly walked straight into a political rally. They retreated up the steep steps of a convenient temple and watched the speaker pound the podium to exuberant applause from the audience.
Rose couldn't understand a word being said but the Doctor looked on with interest. (Until Rose leaned back and noticed the temple struts. She elbowed him in the ribs and pointed. They both craned their necks to look up, getting new ideas.)
Always a bit too cautious in the one regard, he insisted that they call Jackie and ask after the children.
Their last night, they drink tea on the highest roof top in the city. He's smuggled up a piece of cake from Freak Street (where it's inarguably best). His fingers are still sticky when she takes his hand and presses it over her heart. She's always just had the one and she's always loved him with all of it.