Like the other stories in this 'verse, this was co-written and started out as a RP with my friend teamfreewillsamdeancas. Technically, it's my fault, since I reblogged a post on Tumblr as my DarkTen muse and tagged her Annabelle muse. Apparently my DarkTen muse ships them (but I don't, if that makes any sense). So this is basically us playing with the idea that they're in a secret relationship (because Dean would not be happy if he found out, even though Annabelle is twenty years old in this story).
Warnings: Dark Doctor (obviously). Some scenes are also potentially NSFW.
I also have a headcanon that whenever the Doctor is upset or otherwise emotionally aroused, he slips into Gallifreyan, Gaelic (either Irish or Scottish; he's not picky about which dialect he uses), or both languages sprinkled with English. In this case, it's mostly Scottish Gaelic. Oops. Sometimes he uses it as a term of endearment, but most of the time he does it to get away with saying crap he'd usually be called out on.
If you are a native Gaelic speaker and I messed up in any way, please let me know politely and I will correct it. The Irish Gaelic translations were found in the novel Morrigan's Cross by Nora Roberts; the Scottish Gaelic and translations were found on Am Faclair Beag.
The original starter was inspired by Evanescence's "Lose Control" off of the album The Open Door. Other music references crept in (I really can't help myself), and what with David Tennant being Scottish and all . . .
Lose Control
Chapter One
Can we play the game your way?
Can I really lose control?
~ "Lose Control" by Evanescence
Shadows spread throughout the room, coiled into corners and flickered on the walls. Warm light illuminated two solitary figures—one tall, lean, and male with spiky hair; the other shorter, athletic, curvy, and female with long hair and pale eyes.
"You're all mine now." The Doctor gripped Annabelle by the wrists. He flashed her a small, crooked smile. "As for the others in this house right now . . ." The smile became a twisted, lopsided grin. "'Mary had a lamb, its eyes black as coal. If we play very quiet, my lamb, Mary never has to know.'" He studied her through half-closed, hooded eyes.
A small smile crossed her lips but her hands placed on his chest kept him at bay. "Hey, you know my rules." He had known her since she was thirteen and knew better than to mess with her too much. Her now twenty year-old body was in the best shape it had ever been, but she kept a strict rule of not revealing herself to anyone until she was married which hadn't happened yet. "If you like it, then you better put a ring on it," she tried to joke.
He took a step back, released her wrists—if only for the sake of lightly trailing slender, teasing fingers up the bare skin of her forearms. Then one hand was at her shoulder, the other on her waist. "You should know me better than that by now, miurnin."
She kept her hands on his chest, though she allowed him to get a little closer. "I do. But you know me better too. I'm not giving myself away until I'm married. Besides Sam and Dean would find out and you know they wouldn't approve."
"Does it look like I care?" His voice was low, rough, more of a growl than anything. Dilated eyes roamed over her body before he leaned in, teeth nipping at the smooth skin on her neck. He'd leave a mark, possibly draw blood.
So? It's not like Dean can do anything about it. She's mine now, he thought, licking the salt and blood from her skin.
Annabelle drew in a shaky breath, but she placed a gentle kiss on his neck. "Doctor, you can do what you want, but our clothes stay on. And no wondering hands under the clothing either. I'll pull my gun on you if you make one wrong move." She always had kind of sounded like a cop taking part in a negotiation.
His lips twitched in a smile; he ducked his head in an almost sheepish manner. "Of course you would," he said, flashing her a boyish grin before averting his gaze again.
"Come on. We can watch a movie." She takes him downstairs and sits on the couch with him. She sits close with her head on his shoulder.
"And what movie is this, exactly?" the Doctor asked her, his eyelids briefly fluttering shut as he enjoyed the warmth of her human body.
"The Hobbit: An Unexpected Journey. If you'd rather watch something different, we can change it, love."
He stiffened, slid out from under her touch. "Don't call me that, nighneag," he muttered.
"Okay. Sorry, won't do it again." She sounded sincere and gave an apologetic look. Her grey eyes begged him to take her back into his arms. After all, they only had this time while they were around Sam and Dean. She didn't want to tell them about the relationship, not until she knew she could convince them that he was good to her.
"S'all right. I have a better idea." The Doctor stood slowly, held out his right hand. "Relationships . . . are a leap of faith, don't you think?" He paused. "Maybe it's time you jumped."
She took his hand and stood, but was apprehensive. "I want to know what I'm jumping into…"
The Doctor said nothing, just smiled a little and led her upstairs to her room.
It was dark inside, and he shut the door behind them. Before Annabelle could protest, her back was against the wall and his mouth was on hers—soft, gentle, tentative—before he drew back.
"C'mon, a ghrá," he murmured, "lose control just once."
Though she kissed him back, she shook her head. "I can't . . . I just can't give you everything. You know how I feel about this stuff."
I do; I just don't care, he thought. "Then we'll just take it slow," he said, moving in to kiss her again. This time he applied more pressure; his hands came up on either side of her, hemming her in.
He had no intention of taking it slow.
If I cut you down to a thing I can use, I fear there'll be nothing good left of you
"Slow…" Her arms gently wrapped around him, giving him ample time to push her away if he didn't want that. "Slow is good."
The Doctor smirked against her mouth, but it was gone instantly. "Mmm." His hands cupped her face; he tilted his head to the right, kissed her a few more times before pulling away. "Come to bed, miurneach," he coaxed her softly. His voice turned sad, almost pleading, broken: "Don't make me sleep alone."
"Okay." She kissed him once more then let him lead her to her bed, but still wouldn't let him go any farther than kissing her and holding her.
The Doctor waited until she was lying back on the mattress under the covers. Before joining her, he shrugged out of his regular jacket and suit shirt, which he tossed on the back of a chair. That left him in just a T-shirt, which soon joined the other discarded clothing.
Timelines snaked around him, showing all sorts of different possibilities, as he slipped under the covers with her, his body over hers (though he was careful to keep some space between them) as he pressed kisses to her skin—her forehead, mouth, throat.
"Easy, tiger." She slipped out from beneath him and lay on her side: a clear message to him. "Goodnight, Doctor. Sleep well."
Frustrated though he was, he bit back the irritated groan and instead held her close, her head resting on his bare shoulder. She wasn't Rose—could never be Rose—but she was the closest he'd had to a companion for a while. Annabelle had traveled with him off and on ever since she was fourteen.
Soon, the slow deep pattern of her breathing alerted him to the fact she was asleep. Being a Time Lord, he had no need for such a cycle—well, he did, but he didn't have to sleep nearly as often as humans.
Depending on which stage of the sleep cycle she was in, it would be so, so easy…
My cat is purring; it scratches my skin, he heard in his head as a smirk played around his mouth, so what is wrong with another sin?
She never slept deeply. She was always too paranoid, always ready for the next attack. In fact, the Doctor could feel a lump under the pillow that he was sure was an angel blade. She was also constantly armed. She had once been frisked in front of him. They found two guns and three knives on her personnel not to mention a pocket knife and extra-extra backup knife in her jacket pocket.
She didn't have her weapons anymore. He'd always been quick and clever with his hands, and it seemed he hadn't lost his talent for pick-pocketing. He'd stolen her knives and guns, stashed them in the bigger-on-the-inside pockets of his suit jacket—the same jacket that was currently slung over the back of a chair. The Doctor was fairly certain he could get rid of the angel blade under his pillow without her noticing, but that left him with the little problem of where to stash it afterward. Yes, he was still wearing his trousers—which also had inter-dimensional pockets—but he didn't fancy the thought of accidentally sticking himself.
The sound of a door opening and closing caught his attention; the sounds of footsteps creaking up wooden stairs and across floorboards reached his ears, and he tensed. A Gallifreyan oath escaped, muttered just under his breath.
Annabelle also woke and muttered a curse at the creaking floorboards. The footsteps were too close to do anything now other than sit up and try to look innocent—which she promptly did as the door opened and Dean peeked in.
"Hey, Annabelle, I was wondering—" He stopped short as he saw the Doctor's shirt and jacket. His eyes wandered around Annabelle and landed on the Doctor. "What the hell are you doing?!"
"It's not what it looks like, Dean, I swear!" Annabelle tried to explain quickly. "I couldn't sleep and you wouldn't wake up. We were talking. I guess I fell asleep and he just joined me out of convenience. The guest room is all the way across the house."
"Yeah? Explain that." He gestured at the bite mark the Doctor had left on her neck.
"What?!" She slapped her hand over it and rubbed it. "I uh I dunno. I might have scratched myself. I had nightmares. Bad ones."
"You, out of her room!" Dean threw the Doctor's shirt and jacket at him.
He snatched the shirt and jacket out of midair but didn't bother pulling them on. "If I don't? What are you going to do? Make me?" Almost reluctantly, he pulled on his shirt. "And she lied. It's exactly what it looks like."
Yes, he was deliberately pushing Dean's buttons, but it wasextremely entertaining riling the Winchester up.
Annabelle elbowed the Doctor in the chest.
"You slept with him?!" Dean was nearly yelling now.
"No! I slept next to him! My virginity is very much intact, thank you!"
Dean shifted his attention to the Doctor, who still hadn't moved from the bed. "Get movin', buddy!" he barked. "And it would be in your best interest to stay away from her, you hear me?!"
"All right, all right," the Doctor grumbled, slipping on his jacket but still making no move to get out from under the covers. "Don't get your knickers in a twist, luranain."
"Out!" Dean yelled.
Annabelle gave the Doctor a pleading look. "Just listen to him or it'll be worse than it has to be."
He rolled his eyes. "Fine." Within seconds, he was halfway across the room and facing Dean. Slipping into a gentle Scots burr, the Doctor told him, "You take the high road and I'll take the low road."
"Just get out," Dean said in a cold voice. He and Annabelle weren't seen for an hour. Annabelle made it a point to sit away from the Doctor and hide the bite mark with her hair.
The Time Lord shrugged and brushed past the hunter. Just inside the doorway, he paused and looked back at Annabelle. "Later, grádhàidh," he said, flashing her a toothy grin that had just a hint of tongue at the top of his lower incisors; his eyes were dark, hooded as they flicked over her body. Then he wheeled around and was gone.
Annabelle moved to follow him, but Dean held her back and started lecturing her on what happens when a hunter sees a nonhuman romantically.
The Doctor, once he was out of her room, leaned against the wall and listened to Dean's lecture with a smile tugging at his mouth.
Annabelle sighed dramatically and flopped back against her bed. "That's all based on Sam and Ruby. You're being ridiculous. He's not a bad guy. What's wrong with us dating?"
"Everything. Don't you want kids one day? He's not gonna have kids with you."
"The world isn't a place for kids right now anyway."
"Annabelle…"
"Dean."
Besides, we're not compatible, the Doctor thought. And that's definitely not going to happen.
The argument went on like that until Dean finally got frustrated with her.
"Fine, but don't come running back to us when he gets bored with you or you get too old," he said and left.
Annabelle stayed put staring at the ceiling. This was a bad idea, she thought and rubbed her temples in a circular motion.
The Doctor lingered in the doorway. "You okay, a stór?"
"Would you like it better if I lied and said yes? I should've made you go to your room."
The Doctor frowned slightly. "Those are terrible last words, you know," he joked, realizing too late that she wouldn't get the joke. He quickly changed the subject. "Dean wasn't speaking from personal experience, was he?" he asked with a smirk, a sly look in his eyes.
"In a way. He watched Ruby manipulate Sam into starting the apocalypse. He said breakfast is ready. You should go down before me. I have to do something before I go down."
That wasn't exactly what I meant. Instead, he shrugged. "Okay." He started to leave, then stopped and turned back. With a small smile he said sarcastically, "This is going to be fun."
"Just play nice for now. He's upset with me too."
"Oh, really? You think?" He didn't even try to hide the sarcasm. Then he wheeled around and walked downstairs, following his nose into the kitchen … and so he could talk to Dean.
Annabelle changed and covered the bite mark Dean had felt the need to point out with makeup and a Katniss style braid draped over her shoulder. Dean completely ignored the Doctor's presence. It was still early, but he already had a drink in his hand. Sam was trying to throw together a small meal for the four of them.
The Time Lord scratched the back of his head. "Are you sure you want that so early in the morning?" the Doctor asked Dean. Not that he really cared if the human made himself drunk—it was his choice—but Dean, while not always the most friendly person sober, had even looser inhibitions than normal when under the influence of alcohol. Well, either that or he became almost comatose.
"Yes. I'm sure. I don't need you to question me, thanks." Dean's voice was hostile. "Why don't you come sit down?" He gestured to the seat next to the one Annabelle usually sat in when they ate at the table, but there was nothing inviting about it.
"Okay." The Doctor took the invitation and sat down, mouth quirking up in a little smirk.
Dean didn't say anything else to him. The Doctor soon heard footsteps, and Annabelle came through the kitchen into the dining room frowning at the drink in Dean's hand and where the Doctor was seated. She took up a more neutral position and gestured to Dean's glass, "Mind if I get myself a glass?"
"Not like I can stop you," Dean mumbled.
Annabelle got herself a glass and took a long swig from the bottle at his tone before pouring a serving in the glass. It's gonna be a long day, she thought.
"I wouldn't do that if I were you, nighneag," the Doctor warned her. He shifted his attention over to the eldest Winchester brother. "Dean, were you planning on saying or doing something, or are you just going to be a dìomhan?"
"Annabelle does as she pleases," he paused and glared at the Doctor then added, "clearly."
Annabelle sat down and took another drink at the comment. "I'll be twenty one in two weeks; besides I've been drinking since I was thirteen. It numbs the pain."
"It also kills brain cells and plays merry hell with your liver," the Doctor muttered. Alcohol was also highly flammable, but he decided not to mention that. Raising his voice, he added, "And Dean, I wasn't talking about the drinking." A smug smile flickered on his lips.
Annabelle put her head on the table and groaned a little. Dean glared daggers at the Doctor.
"Like I said," he kept his voice tight and steady, "Annabelle does what she wants. I have no say in it."
The Doctor was up out of his seat in a flash, staring hard at Dean. "Tha thu cho breugach is a tha luchag bradach," he told Dean calmly, coolly.
"You got something to say to me? Say it in English, coward!"
Annabelle shot to her feet. The chair she had been sitting on shot out from beneath her and clattered to the ground ensuring that the attention turned to her. "Stop! Both of you! This is ridiculous!"
"You want to know what I called you, luranain?" He shifted his weight, took a step toward Dean and then retreated, mouth curved in a dark smile as he ran his tongue across the top row of teeth. "I'm not tellin'." Briefly, the Doctor wondered why he hadn't dropped the Scottish accent but shrugged the thought off. It wasn't important right now. "You do know how to use a dictionary, don't you?"
Backing away from Dean, he came up behind Annabelle, wrapped his arms around her and placed his mouth close to her ear. "Cha déid thu ás orm a ghràidh,"he murmured low, teeth gently catching on her earlobe before he released her.
Dean tensed at the Doctor being so near her. Annabelle turned and held the lapels of the Doctor's jacket in angry fists. The whiskey was unmistakable on her breath, but her anger had nothing to do with her drunken state.
"What the hell is wrong with you? This isn't helping, you ass!" she snapped.
Sam, at this point, decided that things had gone far enough and stepped in.
"What's going on here?"
"Annabelle found herself a new boyfriend." Dean spat the word.
"A-Annabelle . . .?"
"We weren't going to say anything because we knew this would happen. Or at least I did, but obviously, we failed at that." Her eyes never left the Doctor. "We should just get out of here. You've aggravated Dean enough."
"Yeah, all right," he agreed reluctantly after a long pause, scratching a small itch on the tip of his nose with his left hand. He walked past Dean, then stopped, unable to resist getting one last jab in. "So, Dean, are you always such a mac an Diabhail,or is it just when someone tries to get close to your nighneag?"
Annabelle shoved the Doctor to keep him going but looked back at the boys. "I'll call, okay? Just don't freak out anymore. You wouldn't react this way if I was with a human." With that, she turned and went straight to the TARDIS.
The Doctor started to follow her, then stopped just outside the doors and turned back slightly. "She's got a point, you know," he informed the Brothers Winchester casually. "You would prefer it if she was with a nice, normal human instead of me, eh?" He couldn't resist smirking just a little. "You two should know from experience that that doesn't work, considering how many of your human . . . friends . . . end up being murdered and all." The smirk faded; his eyes and expression took on a dark, somber light.
That was the last straw. Dean's fist connected with the Doctor's face, unable to hold back his rage any longer. "Get the hell out."
Sam, still shocked by the news of Annabelle and the Doctor's relationship, stared with wide eyes.
The Time Lord stumbled back, but caught himself quickly, wiped the blood from his mouth. "A mhic na galla!" he spat, glaring at Dean.
"Out!" Dean yelled pointing at the Police Box. "You son of a bitch! You have no right to come into my home and do what you've done! Get out!"
"'S ann ort a tha an deary-bhathais,Dean, thinking you can order me around. Na gabh ort gun I'll listen." As skinny and weak-looking as he was, the Doctor somehow managed to look down upon the broader, stronger (in appearance, anyway) human with a rather formidable glare.
Annabelle had grown impatient and came back out to see what was going on. Her voice in his ear was soft and persuading, but also had a bit of a warning tone. "Doctor, we should get going before he shoots you."
He said nothing, just shot Dean one last glare and slipped inside the TARDIS to join her, closed the door behind him. Then he was at the left side of the console, pulling at a lever and starting the dematerialization process, finishing with a flourish and grin as the Time Rotor glowed green-blue and started to move up and down.
"There ya go now. Are ya happy that he didn't shoot me?" he asked Annabelle, still in that Scots burr, looking over at her through one of the cables attached to the ceiling dome.
"Yes, very. I don't need any of the men who decide I'm decent company getting shot. Where are we gonna go now?"
"For now … nowhere. As it is, I've taken us out of the Vortex. We're drifting near the Scorpion Nebula. Go on; do whatever you want. I'll catch up to you later."
"Okay." She hugged him. "They'll warm up to you. Just give them time."
"Yeah. That'll happen," he said dryly. When hell freezes over.
She sighed and let go. "Just give it time." Then she left him there. She went back to her room and laid down thinking things over.
He stayed tinkering underneath the console until an hour had gone by. Then he stopped, replaced everything, and went to her room. Stopping just outside the door, he called her name softly: "Annabelle?"
She didn't reply. She had gotten lost in her own thoughts and wasn't ready to resurface just yet.
When she didn't reply, he opened the door and stepped inside, closing it behind him.
She closed her eyes pretending to sleep.
His senses adjusted easily to the darkness. Silently he made his way to the side of the bed, his ears pricked for the rhythm of her breathing, her heartbeat.
She wasn't sleeping: she was hiding.
We can't have that now, can we?he thought, shrugging out of his suit jacket and shirt and kicking off his Converse to reveal bare feet. Soon he was clad in only his pinstriped suit trousers.
"Cha déid thu ás orm. Never from me, a ghràidh," the Doctor growled quietly, lowering himself down next to her.
She rolled over so her back was to him. "Can we just talk or something later? I'm kinda drunk and pissy and generally unhappy at the moment."
He smirked. "I wasn't planning on talking."
"Don't care. Not in the mood. Please note that this is how we ended up in this mess in the first place not to mention you insulted both myself and my guardians in a foreign language. Google Translate is great, isn't it? Get out of my bed. Let me sort things out."
His teeth flashed white in the darkness, though his grin was that of a wolf. "You never want to use Google Translate. It's rubbish and gives you the totally incorrect translation more often than not. Besides…" He lightly trailed his right index finger over her shoulder, neck, cheek. "I could help with that—letting you sort things out."
She turned and shoved him away from her. "You could help by getting out of my sight. You're so frustrating sometimes, you know that?" She looked angry enough to do something stupid if he didn't back off at least for a bit.
"I've been told that on multiple occasions. Never did quite understand what was meant by it. As for getting out of your sight…" He grinned a crocodile grin. "I'd be only too happy to help you with that." His hands reached out for her again, found her temples. Diving into her mind, he pulled sleep forward and instantly felt her body relax.
Nightmares immediately started. The voices of those she couldn't save had never really stopped haunting her.
He leaned in. "The voices, the guilt . . . it never stops, does it?" he said softly. "It's always there, nagging like an itch in the back of your mind."
Her own voice inside of the nightmare was the reply he got: "It's not my fault! I tried! I tried to save you! I'm sorry! I'm sorry!"
"There's nothing you could have done to help."
But still the screams . . . No one had ever been able to stop them. God himself could tell her none of it was her fault, but her nightmares would always tell her different. There were so many voices; among them were Sam and Dean, the Doctor, even Castiel. Everyone she felt she ever wronged and it never stopped no matter how much she apologized and begged for their forgiveness.
"Please! Please! I'm sorry!"
"A' bhuidheach, na dig!" the Doctor muttered.
Before he could give himself a chance to reconsider what a potentially bad idea this was, he went back inside her mind . . .
. . . and fell straight into her nightmare.
Glossary
miurnin: Irish Gaelic term of endearment meaning "sweetheart" (alternate spelling: miurneach)
nighneag: Scottish Gaelic for "little girl"
a ghrá: Irish Gaelic term of endearment meaning "my love," "dear"
luranain: Scottish Gaelic for "pretty boy"
grádhàidh: Scottish Gaelic for "lover"
a stór: Irish Gaelic term of endearment meaning "my darling"
dìomhan: Scottish Gaelic for "bummer," "lazy sod," or "idle bastard"
tha thu cho breugach is a tha luchag bradach: Scottish Gaelic for "you are a lying bastard"
cha déid thu ás orm: Scottish Gaelic for "you won't get away from me/escape me!"
a ghràidh: Scottish Gaelic term of endearment; "my love," "my dear"
mac an Diabhail: Scottish Gaelic for "bastard"; as an exclamatory, it means "damn it!"
a mhic na galla!: Scottish Gaelic for "you son of a bitch!"
's ann ort a tha an deary-bhathais: Scottish Gaelic for "you've got some bloody cheek!"
na gabh ort gun…: Scottish Gaelic for "don't you dare"/"don't presume that…"
a' bhuidheach, na dig!: Scottish Gaelic for "Oh, don't make me sick!"