He sits by his office window, fingers playing upon the leather face of the journal in his lap. He said to Rose that he'd never keep anything from her, with an earnest honesty that made her chuckle. The Doctor did keep a diary, but only scribbled in it from time to time, never doted upon it daily or anything. Rose had then taken his and explained she loved how was being so determined as to be not like the Doctor, to be more open about how he felt -but that despite that, they each had their secret thoughts and feelings.
She had picked up two leather journals when on a shopping trip, on for each of them. His, she had laughed, had to be deep blue one. Not quiet TARDIS-blue, but it would suffice. But, with a pang as he held it clasped in his hand, he recalled another journal. River's.
Still. Having been bitter and full of stormy thoughts, he'd taken to the pen quite quickly, jotting down hasty thoughts. Turned out that it really did it hlp, and so reflecting on it all was so much easier now.
He wasn't sure whether it was irony that he was in a similar situation to those months back in 1913. But with the exception of the Family, sinister scarecrow minions, and his idiot human self. Regardless of him seeing a bit of Rose in Joan, the fact he's been caught up romancing her whilst Martha suffered still filled him with guilt. Even though he'd been powerless to do anything -even though it had been him doing it.
And that was why he vowed there wouldn't be a repeat of that. He wouldn't be reticent in expressing his affections for Rose anymore.
That was said once he'd thought over their being together -stuck here, he'd said. He really had thought over his, well, thoughts and realized this was a blessing. Even if his sire hadn't given it properly.
After his funny spell in the hotel, it was like a window had been opened somewhere. He felt...enlightened, almost.
And a few days Pete made it to them -and the ride to the Zeppelin port in Bergen wasn't all unpleasant. That Time Lord part of him longed for space, for freedom, and being cooped up in a dusty jeep for a few hours made him more than a little uncomfortable. Rose's gentle touches to his arm, and the feel of her fingers wraps around his slightly cooler ones helped him make it through.
The journey by zeppelin made him aware of the disadvantages to a human body; it -or rather his brain- decided the puttering of a flying motion was one it couldn't stand. He spent the majority of the flight cooped up in tiny toilet cubicle, groaning pitifully as his stomach protested and roiled.
Later, all exhausted, sandy -and him smelling quite frankly awful- made it through the towering mansion doors. The little boy that was Tony finally awoke to the 'not-Doctor' -disappointed to find that he no longer possessed the 'mwagical blue box' that his sister had told him. But the tyke soon brightened up when he realized the Doctor would be with them permanently.
Forever.
Days then passed, with their relationship bumbling along with a frustrating sameness.
Then it was two weeks since they had been there. Pete developed all the necessary documents- effectively creating a back story for him; in his mid-thirties, bit of a maverick (ran away from home, no siblings) and several doctorates. With those qualifications...well, Jackie had, with a look, suggested he find his way and start providing for himself.
The Doctor (who was, to his relief, still the Doctor...) soon secured a position at Coventry University, who were in need of an experienced lecturer and research leader. Eagerly he immersed himself in the work, grateful for something to do. Somewhere to use his knowledge for good. And he did enjoy it; he felt like he belonged.
And among humans who were intelligent, resourceful. The sort of humans who earned his respect, and made him like Earth so much. It was nice to put his technobabble-prone mouth to good use, without any eyes glazing over.
It was almost as if he was among his own kind. The other half of him.
But, really, he was just burying his head in the sand. Using work to avoid the tension between him and Rose. All the while, building and building, with every glance, or subtle touch.
It was driving him crazy. The Doctor had felt like this to some extent, but he'd been able to control it, hide it. This Doctor couldn't be more awful at disguising such things. Damn this body.
And then there were the emotions. Bloody, convoluted emotions. One moment he was enjoying a happy moment with Rose, the next he was snapping at her for some reason.
She said she understood, but there was hurt clear on her features.
And so he just employed the ignore technique; desperately tried to. He was unravelling inside, everything taut like strings on a bow.
With one careless movement, they would snap.
One evening, he did.
He was like fire and ice, thunder and lightening. One minute so peaceful, then restless, pacing tightly.
One word from here, and he rushed like a storm. There was no stopping him.
And with fire, if you were n't careful, you could get burnt easily.
Lightening never strikes the same place twice, but, very rarely, you could just b the unfortunate one in that spot.
Ice was unforgiving; like water, it could give or take. Make you or break you.
She was shocked, yes, overwhelmed, but saw it coming. Had seen his muscles bunched with tension, posture rigid. He flinched when she laid a hand on his shoulder, then his chest. Implored him with her eyes.
She was the Bad Wolf. She had the power to tame the Storm.
He needs you. That's very me.
She could heal him.
And she now understood the Doctor's words, and respected his reason for leaving them.
It was just a matter of time.
She could - and would -give him that.
Hm...not sure about this. Sort of got away from me, and there are elements that make it...I don't know. Just different? lol