AN: Well, I know it's been a while since I've really written anything. I've dabbled with a sequel to Privacy (I'm currently stuck on page five...) and have started the next chapter for Spaceship, but just...I'm stuck. Know what gets me unstuck? Reviews. grin Okay, so maybe not, but they are really encouraging. I love it when I get notifications in my mailbox that you've added one of my stories to your favorites list, but, I'll admit: I get just a teensy bit sad when I see that no one's reviewed it.
So, what do you think of this one? How could I make it better, other than not having written it at 2am before bed? Also, would anyone be interested in looking over what I've got written for this other story, and giving me suggestions on how to make it better? Let me know, either in a review (oh, sneaky trick, eh?) or send me a message through the site. Thanks!
He was dead.
Well, he wasn't now: not really. But he had been. One minute he had been standing there in the church, trying to protect the lot of them from their certain doom—the one that she had so thoughtlessly caused—and the next, he was on his way to being digested. It had been that simple. She was looking right at him, and then merely the space where he stood. Just like that.
The TARDIS almost seemed too cold, a little bit empty. It was almost like there had been something that hadn't been returned when it reappeared, but she couldn't quite put her finger on it. Instead of even trying, Rose slipped her feet over the edge of the bed, shivering when they touched the chilly ground. She wrapped her blanket around her shoulders and padded out of her room. She didn't really have any particular destination in mind, though maybe she could try to go to the kitchen, make a nice bit of tea. That could warm her—it always had, after all. But then again, she wasn't really in the mood for tea: she'd always hated how her mother was forever waving a cup at her, insisting she drink up.
Sometimes she feared she'd float away in a giant sea of tea, never to be seen again.
Rose suppressed the slight giggle at the mental image and turned around, intending to go back to her room. When she realized exactly what had happened as she stood there imagining herself clutching onto the lid of a teapot, she could do nothing but laugh. Living on the TARDIS had its occupational hazards, so to speak, and the tendency of the ship to rearrange herself was one of them. Rose leaned against the wall, studying the doors around her and trying to get her bearings. As much as she would have liked to say she was, she still wasn't quite familiar with the setup of the ship, but after several moments (and a few muttered swear words), she had headed off again.
And after a few more moments, Rose began to realize that she had been pretty much completely wrong. She sighed and decided to keep walking—what else was there to do, after all? She was far from tired, and even if she did get back to sleep before the Doctor was up and banging things around in the TARDIS, those big..time bacteria would be lurking there, just beyond her eyelids. She rubbed her eyes, shaking her head. She had come so close to losing him that day, and the worst part, she was beginning to realize, was that that was the part that bothered her the most. She had watched her father die the very same day, but she was already dealing with that,was already filing it away into the back bits of her mind. If her silly nightmares were any indication, she had yet to learn to function normally with the memory of losing her Doctor.
Rose reached the end of a corridor, and discovered that she'd been standing there with her hand on the knob for quite a bit longer than she'd realized. Well, at least she was finally back at her own room, right? It was probably safer to just stay in her bed—maybe curl up with one of those books she'd nicked from the library—than wander aimlessly around the TARDIS. She sighed with relief and pushed the door open slowly.
The first thing she noticed was the smell. This was not the smell of lingering shampoo and perfume from her showers, the light scent from the strange but beautiful alien flowers that had inexplicably kept their beauty for this long. It was darker, earthier. She smelled leather and some sort of oil, and dirt—the good dirt: the kind you play with when you're a child out digging a hole to the other side of the world—and, under all that, a very familiar, almost after-shave sort of smell. Quite obviously this was not her bedroom. At the same time, however, Rose couldn't bring herself to turn around and leave. This room smelled, wholly and completely, of the Doctor—smelled the way it felt to be enfolded in his arms, or have her fingers laced through his as they ran for their lives in that musty basement. It was, without question, a good smell. Rose leaned carefully against the doorway, breathing deeply, telling herself all the while that it would just be one more minute, that she would leave soon, without having awoken the Doctor, and all would be fine.
But then, of course, she heard movement from his bed, heard the rustling of the sheets and blankets against his body, and she froze. She knew exactly when he'd woken up, too—could feel his eyes searching through the darkness to find her. "Rose?" he mumbled hoarsely, and, of course, she felt bad for having woken him up. After all, he'd been digested tonight: surely that required some replenishment of his energy. "Is something wrong? Are you lost again? I don't know why the TARDIS insists on being like this at night." He sat up, rubbing first his eyes, and then the back of his head, and stretched. "Come on, let's find your room. I won't have you sleeping on the couch again. You have a perfectly fantastic room here on board, and I'll be damned if my ship won't let you use it." He stood up now, and had come towards her in the dark. His hand, warm and somehow soft with sleep, found her elbow, sending a pleasant tingle down her body.
"Did it hurt?" she asked quietly. Confusion made the Doctor stop and look at her, still rather groggy, even in the dim lights from the corridors next to them.
"Did what hurt?" he asked, obviously studying her face to decide whether she was sleepwalking. The very idea of sleepwalking in the TARDIS scared the hell right out of Rose, but she let the thought slip away surprisingly easily.
"When you got...killed, or...eaten, or...I dunno...kidnapped, I mean," she amended, pulling her elbow away from his touch so he'd know she was serious about this. She heard him laugh quietly, tiredly, in the darkness, and he headed back into his bed. After several moments' hesitation, Rose finally followed him over, joining him on the other side. There was something vaguely uncomfortable, Rose discovered, about laying in this man's bed, but at the same time, something else (something stronger) felt perfectly normal, as though she were somehow...welcome here, as opposed to just tolerated. She soon realized that the Doctor seemed to hope that she'd just forget about her question, and propped herself up on her elbow. "So...did it?"
The man had stretched out on his back, arms crossed behind his head, and now turned to look at her. She didn't recognize the expression in his eyes—some sort of cross between guilt, pity, and...deception of some sort. She did know, however, that she didn't much care for that expression at all. Nervously, hesitantly, she reached out one hand to touch his cheek lightly, and followed his jawline down his neck, letting her fingertips trail away as she reached his chest. He grabbed her wrist and held it loosely in his hand, long fingers curling around her skin. When he looked up at her again, his expression was now one of shame.
"Did it hurt to watch your dad die, Rose?" he asked gently, pointedly. "I should never have agreed to that, never in a hundred thousand million years." He laughed, humorlessly. "And then some. I am so very sorry for that, Rose, and for everything that you had to see that day..." Even in the dark, Rose could see the telltale flash of realization that crossed his face, and she knew she'd been discovered, sort of. "Is that why you're always up and wandering about?" he asked, sitting up slightly now, to get a better look at her. "I thought that was just how you...were."
She shook her head, feeling rather silly, and looked away. He growled, a fierce, frustrated noise, and Rose bit her lip, wishing she'd thought about the books in her room before she'd gotten up and traveled all over the ship. After a few more moments, the Doctor released one final puff of frustration and flopped back down onto the bed. She closed her eyes, and felt him pull his blanket up over her, tucking it carefully around her and under her chin. She grinned and opened one eye to look at him. "How long are you keeping me tied up here in your bed, Doctor?" she asked, adding a teasing but suggestive edge to her voice. He just smiled at her.
"Long enough for you to get enough sleep, Rose Tyler," he replied. "You've been looking a little run down lately."
"Oi!" Rose exclaimed, moving to sit up in at least-somewhat-mock-indignation. "You're one to talk, Mister I've-seen-the-birth-and-deaths-of-thousands-of-galaxies."
The Doctor merely smiled and patted her shoulder, pressing her gently back down to the mattress. "You know I was joking," he said calmly. "Old men like me..guess we just lose our senses of humor as we age..." She could hear the smile in his voice, even as her eyelids grew heavier.
"I was kidding too," she said, her voice somewhat slurred by the sleep that was quickly overtaking her, tucked safely into this little cocoon of Doctor-scent. "You don't look a day over five hundred..."