Author's Note: So I recently became a Whovian - this stupid show has taken over my life. Anyway, I have no idea where this idea came from, but I hope it doesn't completely suck. Anyway, I may have written a part - or parts - after having a beer or two, so ... yeah. Let me know what you think!
Spoilers: None. Set sometime in season one.
Disclaimer: The show and characters absolutely belong to me. Also, I have Agents trained in beheadings, and ravens of death.
"You really aren't going to tell me where we're going?"
"Humans – you lot, so impatient."
"Oi!"
Rose tried to glare at him, but there was a familiar gleam of excitement in the Doctor's eyes that made it very hard to be stern. His excitement was always hard to resist, but she was doubly grateful to see it today; the Doctor had been rather moody and withdrawn the last few days, and all her attempts to draw him out of himself had fallen short of the mark.
Until today.
She'd just finished her breakfast when the Doctor had called for her to join him at the console – "and be quick about it, would you, I don't want to lose the light!" – and she'd tried very hard not to run to him. Much to her curiosity, he had refused to tell her where they were going.
"But why the secrecy?" she asked.
"What, you don't like surprises?"
She could feel her smile widening; Rose wasn't sure what pleased her more, the idea that the Doctor had taken it upon himself to surprise her, or the undeniable excitement that came from knowing that she had no idea where they were going.
"Don't worry – we're here."
"Where's here? And when?"
The Doctor waggled his eyebrows and held out his hand, which she took happily.
"Fancy an adventure, Rose?"
"Thought you'd never ask."
He'd spent longer than he was willing to admit trying to figure out the perfect place to take her, but his effort had – was still – paying off. Beside him, one tiny hand wrapped completely in his larger one, Rose Tyler was staring at her surroundings in wonderment.
"It's … they're … everything is so beautiful!"
Traxa Nine was a peaceful planet, mostly covered in forests of a remarkable genus of tree that sprouted purple leaves made of flawless glass. The city was a spider web of tree houses built high above the ground, each building connected to the other by long bridges of expertly woven grass that felt like silk.
The Doctor had been very careful to land them here just before dusk.
Rose didn't know where to look first; of all the planets that she had seen so far, this one was by far the most astonishing. Three suns in various stages of setting hung in the sky above them; at least, she thought they were suns. She couldn't be certain, really, and their varying colors didn't make guessing any easier: one was white, one orange, and the other a pale purple, like lavender. They were standing in a wide clearing with a perfect view of … well, everything.
"I think I could stay here forever," she breathed quietly.
"You are welcome to," a new voice answered.
Rose spun to find the speaker, her hand slipping out of the Doctor's. The person … creature … alien she found herself suddenly facing stole her breath and temporarily arrested her thoughts. In retrospect, she shouldn't have been surprised to find that such beautiful creatures inhabited such a beautiful planet. The alien before her was a mixture of rabbit and human: long, lithe legs; a decidedly curvy figure; a human face with a petite nose that turned up ever so slightly; obsidian hair set against fair skin and emerald eyes; and a very large, furry set of ears that stood straight up. More impressive – more beautiful, even – than the combination of all of those features was the presence of what she could only guess were massive wings, iridescent and folded in against the creature's – woman's? – back.
"Hello, Doctor," the woman greeted. "You have been gone a while."
"Rose, I'd like you to meet Viera; she's a glass singer. Viera, this is Rose Tyler."
Viera kissed her first two fingers, touched her forehead with them and then swept them outward; uncertain of how to respond, Rose simply mimicked the motion. Viera smiled benevolently, and Rose felt a sense of relief, as if she had passed some sort of test.
"What's a glass singer?" Rose queried.
"We guide the leaves."
Her confusion must have shown on her face because Viera gave her a knowing grin and continued.
"The trees have their own songs; we listen, and show them how to be."
Unfortunately, that explanation left Rose just as confused as she had been before. Viera didn't seem to notice, however, for she had turned to say something to the Doctor. Rose wasn't listening; instead, she was trying to wrestle a growing sense of unease. Standing in the middle of the clearing, surrounded as she was by such impossible beauty, the woman in her was starting to feel decidedly inferior. Rose had struggled with her own insecurities – who hadn't? – but she had never thought of herself as particularly ugly. Now … standing in this place, how could she be anything but? How could the Doctor find anything beautiful or remarkable in her silly existence when there were peoples and places like this in the universe? She had only just realized that she wanted him to find her beautiful; she wanted him to see her as more than another human, more than a silly girl. She wanted him to want her, and now … well, how could he?
"Dusk is falling; I must go. You are welcome to stay, little Rose, if you wish. Farewell."
"Goodbye," she just managed to answer.
Viera unfurled those magnificent wings – even more breathtaking now that they were fully displayed – and lifted gracefully into the air.
"What was she?" Rose asked the Doctor when they were alone.
"Viera is a Traxan; one of the Elders, in fact."
"Elder?"
"She's nearly four hundred years old. Enough of that, though; the Fall is starting."
"The Fall?" she repeated.
The Doctor just gave her that wide, cheeky grin and turned his face to the sky. Rose followed suit and was surprised to find that a rather striking change had occurred in the last few minutes: the suns seemed to be setting in order, rather than in tandem. The orange one sat the lowest in the sky, the white one a little above it; the purple one looked like it hadn't moved much at all. Ribbons of color were streaking across the sky, rippling as if caught in a summer breeze; they reminded Rose of the Aurora Borealis, but with more striking colors.
As she watched, tiny specks of something she didn't recognize began to fill the air, descending slowly in lazy patterns. Whatever they were, they caught the dying light as they fell and broke it into tiny prisms that burst into the air like individual rainbows; there was no way to tell now what color the sky was originally, because it was filled with a dizzying myriad of colors.
Motion beside her drew her gaze away from the sky: the Doctor extended one leather clad arm into the air just above her and seemed to pluck at something she couldn't see. When he brought his hand back down, it was closed into a fist. Smiling, he brought his hand to her face; she smiled in response and reached out automatically, pulling his fingers back gently with her own to reveal his prize: a tiny flake of shaved purple glass, gleaming and perfect in the twilight.
"It looks like a snowflake."
"Every day, when the suns begin to set, the heat liquefies …"
"Don't," she interrupted him. "Don't explain it – just let it be beautiful."
She was still looking at the perfect flake in his hand, so she didn't see the reaction that her words warranted. The Doctor's eyes slid away from his hand and alighted on her, his remarkable companion; the mystery he had yet to solve.
Rose had always been beautiful to him, but seeing her there, radiant in the fading light of three suns, he knew that he had been undone.
He wasn't sure what possessed him, but he turned away from her suddenly, flake still in hand, and bent to pull up several strands of the long grass at his feet. He shushed her protest automatically and concentrated on braiding the grass strands the way Viera had taught him all those years ago; they were soft and thin, tucking together as if they'd always been waiting to be intertwined.
When he finally turned back to her, his hands were threatening to shake and betray the nervousness that had set upon him. He ignored it – and the look Rose was giving him – and motioned for her to turn around. Luckily, she did so without argument.
Two familiar arms descended around her; fingers grazed the skin at her collarbone as something slid onto her neck and she reached up automatically to pull her hair to one side. Rose glanced down: the purple flake had been attached to a thin strand of colorless grass and fashioned into a necklace.
Rose's heart expanded in her chest. She felt overwhelmed in the best way possible: everything, from the beauty around her, to the realization that the Doctor was standing so close that she could feel his body heat through her clothes, made her feel like she was about to explode.
She turned and buried her face in his chest, the smell of leather and the faintest hint of cologne filling her nose as she took a deep breath. His arms closed around her, binding her against him in a way that was comforting and safe and – dare she say? – the smallest bit possessive. Both hearts beat steadily beneath her cheek.
"Rose?"
Her name was a rumble in his chest, and it was too much. The events of the day compounded against one another, cementing a thought that she had only just started to entertain. Rose pulled away from the Doctor just enough to look up into his face – that wonderful face with those clear blue eyes – and didn't know if she was excited or afraid.
Perhaps by some act of providence, they found themselves moving at the same time; she reached up just as he was leaning down, and their lips met in a collision that was forceful despite its outward gentility. He could feel her fervor like an undercurrent; the electricity in her kiss threatened to ignite him. His thoughts, the world around him, everything was lost to him but the feel of Rose's lips pressed against his.
When they finally pulled away, he wasn't sure who had moved first; he suddenly found himself looking down into Rose's flustered face, her cheeks tinged a very becoming pink. His senses returning, it occurred to him how tightly he was holding her against his chest; he let go reluctantly, but couldn't resist folding one of her hands into his.
Smiling broadly, heart thundering wildly against her ribcage, Rose tugged his hand and headed into the forest.