Author's Notes: Prompt from develish1 on Bad Wolf Rising, to write a fic based on an exquisite piece of fan art by the-untempered-prism, entitled Briar Rose, that may be found at Deviant Art dot com.
For some reason, I tend to write fluff when I'm stressed out of my mind. Not too sure how that works. Also, have you noticed that you can almost always tell which season is in my DVD player?
The bower was lit by golden candlelight, and the air was redolent with the scent of roses. The fairest Rose of them all lay slumbering in a soft, silken gown, and the Doctor was captivated by her loveliness. He leaned ever closer, knowing that the only way to wake her was True Love's Kiss…
The Doctor's eyes snapped open as his head dipped forward at an uncomfortable angle. He sighed quietly. Just a silly dream, brought on by the string of silly movies chosen by the woman in his arms. He'd wake her in a moment, and check that she was alert and responsive. The small cuts and abrasions had been easily cleaned up with a dermal regenerator, and a cast from a hospital several centuries in Rose's future would have her wrist sorted, well, just about now, actually, but the bump on the head still required the old fashioned check to make sure that the patient would wake easily.
The reality of his Rose, sprawled across his lap here in his library was far more enticing to him than any image his addled subconscious had cobbled together from The Princess Bride and far too many Disney princess movies and daft romances…although, that one about time travel - Kate and Leopold, wasn't it? - that one had been a bit clever. And he definitely liked the ending. He didn't care that Rose's hair was mussed, or that her jeans were ripped through both knees, or that his superior senses could detect a tinge of sweat on her. To him, these weren't imperfections, they were testimonies to her incredible bravery and compassion.
The depth of his attachment to her after his regeneration had been astonishing - and more than a little terrifying. The way she'd been able to pull him out of a regeneration coma with a whispered plea for help, and his own scream of "Give her back to me!" hurled with barely restrained fury at the one who'd dared invade her mind and body. The way it felt to hold her in his arms when he pulled her away from a giant, slobbering werewolf, or whatever other form of jeopardy she'd managed to get herself into the path of. The way it felt to hold her now.
It had taken a chance encounter with Sarah Jane to remind him just how badly his hearts would be broken when he lost her. He'd tried to put a bit of distance between them, really he had, inviting Sarah Jane along, and then accepting Mickey's company. Sarah Jane had been wise enough to know that her place was on Earth now, and he never let on that he'd overheard her whispered offer of support to Rose. And Mickey was off in the parallel universe now, fighting the good fight. There was a time when the Doctor would never have dreamed the young man had it in him.
He glanced up, vaguely noting Belle and her prince waltzing across the screen. A fraction of his mind absently admired the artwork of the film - the myriad of fine details, and the reflections of the dancers on the marble floor. He was no fairy tale prince - never had been - but Rose…Rose was lovelier in his eyes than any princess, imaginary or…historical. He'd hurt her, back in France. He certainly hadn't meant to, and in a way, that made it even worse, to hurt someone he held so dear through carelessness and thoughtlessness. He didn't deserve her.
And…Rose shifted slightly in his arms. He really needed to wake her, make sure she was all right. A cold finger of guilt wormed its way through his guts as he took yet another long look at the state she was in. Yes, she was safe now, and yes, she would be fine, but still…he could have lost her. Again. He needed to be more careful, needed to remember that she had one single, fragile human life. He didn't ever want to lose the feeling of her hand in his.
"Rose," he murmured into her hair.
Her only reply was a drowsy little 'mmm' sound as she shifted again, and his lips, which had been intending to press a gentle kiss to her forehead, brushed her lips instead. OK, that was it - no more fairy tales aboard his TARDIS! The Doctor's face flamed, imagining the reaction of his most recent self to such behavior.
Rose grinned up at him, her brown eyes sparkling mischievously.
"How are you feeling?" he finally managed to splutter.
"Comfy," she replied cheekily.
"How's the wrist?" the Doctor asked, trying to regain control of the conversation, as well as his runaway emotions and…other things.
"Stiff," she complained, holding up the cast.
"Riiiight, well let's see if you're ready for that to come off." He scanned her arm with the sonic, humming happily at the results. He tapped a button on the cast and it popped open.
Rose wiggled her fingers, wincing slightly.
The Doctor took her hand gently between his own, carefully manipulating her hand and wrist. Impulsively, he raised her hand to his lips and pressed a soft kiss to the inside of her wrist. "Better?"
"Yeah," Rose replied, breathlessly.
"D'you want to go back to your room?"
"S'nice in here. We could watch another film."
"Rose Tyler, you've been sleeping through most of them!"
She shrugged slightly against his chest. "I've been having nice dreams."
"Such as?" the Doctor asked, a bit hoarsely.
Rose flushed a lovely shade of pink. She looked down, then slowly up at him through her lashes. "I, er…might have dreamed that I was Sleeping Beauty, and you were my prince."
"What, with a castle, with towers and roses and all that?"
Rose nodded, her eyes wide. "Reality's better, though," she decided, laying her cheek back against his rumpled shirt front.
"It is, indeed," the Doctor agreed, resting his chin on top of her head, and tightening his arms around her.