A/N: this one takes place about a year and half after my fic Being Human. Also this does venture into some M territory
Scars
Sometimes when she sleeps, he counts her scars. There's a jagged one, about an inch long, on her upper arm that he knows happened in the years they were separated. There's a small one just at her hairline that he's pretty sure was there before, but easily hidden by her hair. A matching set on her knees, one on the bottom of her right foot, and an obvious scrape on her left elbow he assumes is from a childhood tumble.
He catalogues them. He hypothesizes about how she got them, but he doesn't ask.
/
It's after eleven pm when he gets to the hospital. His tie is long since discarded and he was in such a rush he didn't even bother to grab his jacket. His jaw is set and when he sees Jake and Pete in the hallway his teeth clench. Jake steps toward him, mouth open, head shaking with silent apologies. Before he gets a word out, the Doctor fists Jake's shirt and has him up against wall.
"What the hell happen? You were supposed to watch out for her? Where were you?"
The questions rush out if him, while Pete's fingers dig into his arm. Jake stares at him in a way that clearly says he can still very much be The Oncoming Storm. All he can think of is the little kiss he barely registered as she left for the weevil run with Jake. He was so caught up in the translation he had almost cracked, that he only muttered a see you at home.
"We...we got separated. Just for a minute and I couldn't get..."
"Let him go, Doctor. She's going to be fine. Just came out of surgery."
Pete pulls him to the opposite wall and then waves off the security and nurses gathering around them. Pete holds him there, explaining how Jackie's in with her now, while they get a room ready for her. He keeps saying she's all right; she's going to be all right. The Doctor stops fighting and slumps into a plastic chair. He leans forward and buries his face in hands.
She's all right. She's all right. She's all right.
"What the bleeding hell is going on out here?" He hears Jackie holler. "Oh."
A beat later he feels Jackie beside him. Then her arm is around his back and her free hand squeezes his bicep.
"It's all right, love. She'll be all right. Dr. Harper said. Just take some time is all," Jackie says, her voice clogged from her since dried tears.
He feels her head on his shoulder while she makes circles against his back.
/
Rose is pale and small in the hospital bed with fresh stitches above her left eyebrow. The left side of her face is a slew of yellows and purples. Her shoulder is wrapped in ice to ease the inflammation from where it was dislocated. And while he can't see it, he's very aware of the healing stab wound that nicked her liver.
He sits with his elbow on the edge of her bed, chin in his palm. He counts: upper arm, hairline, foot, knees, elbow, brow, side, shoulder. Upper arm, hairline, foot, knees, elbow, brow, side, shoulder.
/
A few days later he's behind her, a hand on her hip, as he follows her upstairs to their bedroom. She walks stiffly and he imagines she can feel the pull on her stitches with each movement. Once there, she eases on to her back, on top of the covers, and still in the grey yoga pants and T-shirt he'd brought for her that morning at the hospital.
He slips her flip-flops off and tosses them to the floor. He sits on the edge and places her bare feet in his lap. His fingers and thumb knead the boney flesh, circling gently up, down, side to side. He just barely swipes his thumb along the scar on the bottom of her foot and feels her flinch. He immediately looks up for her eyes.
"Tickles," she says.
"Sorry."
"It's okay."
He looks down at the scar again. It's such an odd place for one.
"How did you get this?"
"Oh, uh, I guess I was about thirteen. Mum had gotten enough money so me and Mickey could go on this beach trip with some kids from school. I went out for a swim and when I came out there was this trail of blood behind me. Must've stepped on a rock or bottle or something. Didn't even feel it happen."
"I bet Jackie was livid."
"You don't know the half of it."
"I don't know, she was rather terrifying the first time I brought you home from the TARDIS," he says with a lopsided grin. "So, I guess we'll need to invest in some water shoes if we ever take a beach vacation, then."
She shrugs a little and fingers the hem of her shirt.
"Never have cared much for the beach since then."
His smile fades and then he slips her feet back on the bed, muttering how she should rest. He leaves her and goes to put on the kettle.
/
He's inside her. Finally. All these days wasted healing with only kisses and overly careful hugs are finally over. He's overcome by the tight slickness of her and just stills there, eyes closed. He revels in how her muscles contract around him and how her hips impatiently shift beneath him. Her fingers dig into the flesh where his back and buttocks meet and he can't not move. He thrusts over and over and over, and feels that spring coil tighter and tighter. He knows she feels it too by her increased murmurs and the way her hips shift against his more erratically. So close, so close, so close. And then it breaks as he feels her muffled gasp against his shoulder. As soon as they each catch their breath, she falls asleep on said shoulder.
But he can't sleep. Too many hormones and endorphins buzzing in this human body that he still can't quite get used to. So, he counts: upper arm, hairline, foot, knees, elbow, brow, side, shoulder.
/
They lay belly to belly and nose to nose. He pulls her as close as possible with a hand on her bare hip and then leans in for a right proper snog. She hums and places a hand on his one heart.
"You are insatiable," she says.
They've already had one robust shag in the bright morning sun. Not to mention last night.
"Me? What about you?"
He looks indignant for 8.2 seconds, but her face brightens with that tongue-in-cheek smile. He kisses her brow and then notices again the scar there on her hairline. He lets one forefinger brush against it while he studies it, but then her brow furrows as she tries to look up at it.
"How'd this happen?" He asks.
Her hand shoots up to the scar as if to camouflage it. But then she circles her arm around his waist and hides her face in his neck.
"It's stupid, really."
"Oh, I don't that."
He feels her swallow and then the distinct sound of her licking her lips.
"Will you tell me something?" She asks. "Something you're not proud of. Embarrassed by even?"
"Oh, Rose, that's a long list."
"Just one. Please?"
He sighs and filters through all the horrible, vile, cowardly things he's done. He thinks about all the times he ran - from love, responsibility, expectations, while his legs and feet shift restlessly against the sheets.
"I um, well, the last time I ever spoke to my son, I had a son. Two actually and a daughter. We fought. Of course at that time it's what we always did. About the war and how we should or shouldn't be involved. Hours before Gallifrey was destroyed we had the biggest fight ever. He called me a coward. I told him he was too young and blood thirsty to understand. That was the last thing I ever said to him."
He swallows and lets out a shaky breath against her hair. Her arms tighten around him and her lips brush his neck. If only there was such a thing as second chances. Though he supposes he's gotten one - this human life in this body that shouldn't even exist. She shifts then so they are eyes to eye again and then feels her hand on his jaw.
"I'm sorry."
"Not your fault."
"You miss them?"
"Oh, yes. I try not to think about it, but sometimes...you know. But you make it better."
She presses a light kiss to his lips and the settles her head down. Her hand slips from his jaw to his collar bone, her thumb swiping back and forth.
"You remember that bloke I left school for?"
"Yes."
"So, I caught him cheating, yeah? And we had this screaming match in his flat. Neighbors were yelling at us, threatening to call the police. It was awful. He got so mad he hit me. Hard. Hard enough to knock me off balance. I spun and fell forward. Hit my head on the corner of this glass coffee table. That's how I got that scar."
He tightens his hand on her and nuzzles her forehead.
"That's for him to be ashamed of. Not you."
"Yeah. Most of me knows that, but all the things I gave up for him. I should have known better."
"We all think that though, don't we? But the truth is we don't know better until we do."
She gives him a crooked smile. Her brow furrows.
"Did you get that from a fortune cookie or something?"
"Malvarian truth nugget actually. Brilliant things and tasty."
She laughs, even though her eyes are watery. Sad for him maybe and for herself. But then she's kissing him and the rest of the morning is lost in tangled sheets and panted breaths.
/
When the Doctor sleeps he dreams of planets bursting and boiling. He dreams of Gallifrey and his children running in fields of purple grass, tumbling onto him. Of abandoned companions and granddaughters banging on the TARDIS door while he sets in coordinates. He dreams of levers slipping and of a blonde girl falling through the void into nothingness.
But then she's there, stroking his side as he wakes too, and nothing matters but right now. Right here. Now when he counts as she sleeps, it's the stories they've told each other and the things he still wants to show her.