A/N: Big hairy spoilers for Journey's End... you have been warned.
Rose closed her eyes and let the warm spray of the shower pound over her face and head, before turning around and letting the water centre on her lower back
Rose closed her eyes and let the warm spray of the shower pound over her face and head, before turning around and letting the water centre on her lower back. Days of travel coupled with the chaos of transdimensional travel over the past weeks had left her body as bent and as hard as a pretzel. She pressed a temple against the cold tile of the shower and sighed. Her body felt like a hollow shell after what had happened… after he left.
He'd whispered in her ear the words that he couldn't say (why couldn't he say them?), and she kissed him… hard. But it still didn't feel like him, and when she heard the engines of the TARDIS as it dematerialized, she pulled away praying that it was all a dream and the one whose lips were pressed against hers was the one she wanted. He had approached her from behind, gently weaving his fingers in hers, and she looked into his eyes – so familiar, but still those of a stranger.
They had walked hand in hand to the nearest town, and rented a car. Jackie drove as Rose leaned against his chest, his jacket still smelling of ozone, smoke, and ever so slightly of the TARDIS. Funny, she caught herself thinking, she'd never seen him wear that jacket before. She'd never seen him before, she reminded herself as she listened to his single heart beat as he slept slumped against the window. Her Doctor didn't sleep, at least when she was looking, and her Doctor had two hearts, not just one. Her Doctor wasn't him.
She and John Smith sat in near silence on the plane, touching shoulder to shoulder but no more. At some point on the flight he had decided that he would just be John Smith, and that "the Doctor" and any other name that went with it should be lost to the mists of time. What little he said to Rose sounded lost and hollow. Nine hundred years of memories trapped in a body only days old and all too human, and his only life line sat tensely next to him wondering if she really wanted him or not. He knew who she wanted, but he was rapidly discovering that he didn't want to be who she wanted.
Rose stepped out of the shower, toweled herself off, and slipped into a pair of soft flannel pyjamas. The Tyler house was huge and sprawling, with everyone able to have a space of their own with all the privacy they wanted. But as Rose walked into her bedroom, she found the notion of John Smith, the man with her Doctor's face and memories, being in the same house as she very unsettling. It made her feel trapped, as if she couldn't leave her room for fear of running into him. She was so desperate to feel something for him, but terrified that glance after glance after glance produced not even the slightest spark of affection. She sat on her bed and hugged her knees against her chest, wondering what to do next.
John sat on an unfamiliar bed, his unfamiliar body clothed in unfamiliar pyjamas. He looked around his unfamiliar room. He imagined it may have been Mickey Smith's at some point, and winced at the memory of him that was his but wasn't. He had to remind himself that he'd only met Mickey Smith once, and briefly. He wondered if this is how Mickey felt when Rose had met the Doctor – knowing that he wanted her, but she wanted someone else. Truth was, he was the one who was able to say the words. Not the Doctor, him, John Smith. He was the one who told her, and even sitting here abandoned and facing a life that would be only a fraction of the 900 years he could remember, he truly meant it.
The door to John's room slowly opened, and Rose padded in and quietly closed the door behind her. She stared at him, sitting on the bed, and he stared back. Neither knowing what to do, neither truly knowing the other as they felt they were meant to. John watched as a look of determination grew on Rose's face. A look that had gotten her through Daleks, Slitheen, and Cybermen. With this look Rose moved towards the bed until she and John were nearly touching. There they stayed, feeling each other's presence, the warmth between their bodies, the tension. John moved first, pulling Rose's hips towards him, until she was straddled over his lap. She bent forward, kissing him tentatively at first, and then harder as she felt him respond beneath her.
John ran his hands up her back underneath her shirt, and then down again, slipping under her waistband and pulling her tighter to him, swelling under the pressure. Nine hundred years of memories and such acts of intimacy were so distant – so many years of joy, pain, and changing faces, even his own, between then and now. His mind drifted back to Bad Wolf Bay, and Rose – whose mouth was hot upon his, and whose blond hair brushed and tickled at his face – asking him… them… what had he said last time they… her and the Doctor… had stood there. It was he that said it, in the end. He that had been able to lay his soul bare to her… not the Doctor. It was he that wanted Rose Tyler, mind, body, and soul. John Smith loved Rose, not the Doctor.
John leaned back, pulling Rose with him as she began to rhythmically press herself against him, and his hands wandered under the front of her shirt this time, gently stroking and caressing her under the soft flannel. His hands drifted down again, stretching the front of her waistband to brush the soft damp curls between her legs, eliciting a gasp in response. Rose withdrew slightly and stared into his eyes. There was more there than he could decipher, fear, desire, desperation, determination… everything but what he had hoped to see. Still, even as she rolled off of him, she continued to pull him over top of her. Soon, she was shimmying out of her pajama bottoms, and wrapping her legs around him.
Rose pressed her bare self against John in response to his arousal, desperate to feel something beyond just the physical. He continued to kiss her mouth, her face, her neck, as he rocked against her almost pensively. As if somewhere in his mind amidst all the sensation he was still unsure. She felt shocked for a moment as she was left on the bed alone, but just as suddenly as he was gone, he was back again, naked and on top of her. She gripped his shoulders and pressed herself up towards him as he teased her nipples through the fabric of her pyjama top and kissed her throat. She felt him between her legs, brushing against her, increasing the suspense. Finally, when she thought she could stand her emotionless arousal no longer, he entered her. She let out a small cry as she felt him inside her. It hurt. Despite how ready her body told her she was, her mind and her heart weren't. John stopped and looked down at her - worried. "Are you okay?" he asked, his voice strained and husky. Rose nodded quickly, and drew him into another kiss, pushing against him, encouraging him to continue.
Rose felt John begin to move inside her, every thrust against her tense screaming muscles burning. Despite the discomfort, she moved with him, waiting for the desire to swell up inside her, waiting for her body to override her mind. It wasn't as though she hadn't done this before. Not long after she was trapped in this world, she and Mickey had shared a loveless night of passion, but she had felt so much more than this. Perhaps it had been her grief over losing the Doctor, perhaps his face in her mind had been enough for her to summon up those feelings for Mickey Smith. But John Smith wore the Doctor's face like an indelible mask, and it was hard to mourn a man who's face you were staring into. Even still, Rose desperately searched for those feelings within her.
Rose wasn't sure if she was relaxing, or just becoming more accustomed to the discomfort, but as John grunted and strained within her, she thought she felt a small spark of love in her heart for him. Just as quickly as the sensation started, it was replaced with the fire of anger. It was profoundly unfair that the Doctor had left her with this man… this complete stranger. As if it was going to make things better. As if it were some sort of fair trade for putting her back in a dimension where she didn't belong. All she could feel was this man thrusting inside her, and she desperately wanted to feel something more. She cried out in frustration instead of ecstasy, striking at John's shoulders, tears coming instead of climax.
John's heart sank, and he slid off of her, nuzzling his face in her hair, wiping away her tears. Tears pricked at his own eyes and he whispered in her ear "Rose, I'm sorry, I am so sorry." But just when he thought she was going to push him away, she clung to him sobbing. He drew a blanket over them, and wrapped his arms around her as her sobs shuddered against him. He whispered quietly into her ear, told her what he wanted out of this life, how incredibly frightened he was, and most of all how sorry he was for losing the one man in the universe that she truly and deeply loved. Her crying quieted, and she curled against his warmth, letting his whispers wash over her.
Rose's mind began to wander and sleep tugged at her eyelids and John continued to whisper comfortingly to her. She thought of all the time she had spent looking for the Doctor, and everything she'd missed in this world while doing so. Just as she started to drift off to sleep, she caught herself sighing contentedly, as if there were no other place she'd rather be, laying in John Smith's arms… in this world… for now.