A/N: Holy cow, you all are wonderful and fantastic people. I've also gotten a lot of Matt/Clara love. I think they are cute together. Also as you have all likely guessed, he's married to River of course. I just want to make this clear. I love River, she's awesome so whatever happens with her in this story. *If anything.* Does not reflect how I feel about her character. This chapter is NSFW! Smut ahead. I just wanted to give the warning if you wish to skip it, it's close to the end of the chapter. I have been so crazy busy. I've been wanting to get this chapter up sooner, and respond to all the amazing reviewers. Thank you. If I don't get to you, it doesn't mean I don't appreciate you all. Lets be honest, Reviews really help brighten a persons day. Good or bad. Enjoy!
"I nearly died. I'm not kidding. I was at the pearly gates. I saw the face of God."
Like a kid that just been released after getting his appendix removed, we offer Rory whatever he wanted for dinner.
He answered, without hesitation, Strax. It's an American style burger place with really big booth tables that I've never been to before. When we walked in, the proprietor greeted us and showed great interest in Rory's thickly bandaged wrist.
"Did you really?" Strax sets another basket of fries in the center of the table.
"Well…" Rory smiles, reaching with his uninjured hand for fries, "No. No to the dying bit. But I did see the face of God."
"Jesus," I say, quietly.
"One in the same, right? Kind of? Sort of?" Rory shrugs, then says to Strax, "Your cook makes the best burgers I've ever eaten, by the way."
"Yes, she's got a gift," he says, chest puffing proudly, before checking cherry Coke levels one last time.
"Is it going to be a big scar, do you think, Rory?" Clara asks, swirling the straw in her milk shake.
"Probably. But, Alonzo said that the doctor who did my stitches is one of the best. Dr. Jones. She's really hot, but," he winks at Clara, "I think if someones stitching your arm closed you don't really want them distracted by captivating conversation, right?"
"It's a shame that Doctor Mccrimmon wasn't there. Unbelievably good looking, that man," Amy says, taking the cherry from her Coke and dropping it into Rory's.
"Isn't he an OB/GYN?" Rory asks.
"Well… sure."
"You just like him because he's Scottish too…" Rory shakes his head.
"Mccrimmon? Why does that name sound familiar" I grab napkins.
"Jamie's father is the chief of medicine," David answers. I look at him, he's been awfully quiet sitting next to me, and he adds, "He used to talk about it. A lot, when I was working there."
"You worked at the hospital?" Amy asked, "I didn't know that you're a Doctor."
"Well, I am. Sort of. I mean. I'm still a Doctor, I just don't work at the hospital much anymore." David respond seemingly nervous about the question.
"Why did you quit?" Rory asks taking a bite from his burger.
"He didn't really quit," Matt said grinning sheepishly at his Brother. "He left with some bloke to 'find' himself, then when he got himself into trouble he called me to bail him out."
"You didn't 'bail' me out of anything, and I came back because I was tired of listening to you whine about how horrible your life was becoming with River."
I think all the blood drained from Matt's face. It's almost as pale as Rory's on the ride to the Hospital, he fidgets in his seat beside Clara. He doesn't want to look at her, but she's staring at him. Maybe there's a chance for Clara yet? Matt seems like a good guy, and Clara needs someone good.
"Right then, you've made your point," Matt mumbles and is now more interested in the fries on his plate than anything else.
David snorts shaking his head. Even mad he's adorable.
"Well that wasn't awkward at all," Rory laughs leaning against Amy nuzzling her neck.
He's in much higher spirits than I would be if it had been me bleeding profusely and getting stitched up. I'd also mostly likely just want to be taken home so that I could burrow under the covers and watch TV and dwell on my own mortality. But, I obviously border on recluse-like tendencies sometimes… so… there's that.
David's quiet now, Matt and Clara are talking in quietly amongst themselves, and I can't make out what they're saying.
Rory had been quite insistent that they at least join us for a meal. I'm trying to convince myself that his quietness isn't a bad sign and just that, really, it's been tough to get a word in edgewise for any of us with Rory going on, and on…
"You know what movie I just re-watched the other day when I should have been working? Jaws," his hair is down and tucked behind his ears... and a little bloody. There is blood everywhere. Thank god
Strax is empty except for us. It's just not normal for people to go walking around lightly but thoroughly splattered in blood.
"Scar stories!" he says, as Strax brings another round of Cokes, "Let's hear them! Around the table… your Best Of!"
"Like that scene in Chasing Amy?" Amy asks, re-tucking some of his bloody hair with a grimace.
"Yeah. Which was an homage of the scene in Jaws."
"But sexual."
"Yes. Oh… do you want to do sexual scar-"
"No," I cut him off.
Out of the corner or my eye, I see David smirk before taking a bite.
There is a swipe of mustard on his hand, and I have a mad vivid flash of leaning over and just licking it off. I really like mustard. Spicy Brown Mustard. I'd put it on everything if I could. I... I just really like mustard.
"I'll go first. This aside," Rory lifts his wrist, then lowers it, and lifts his bloody t-shirt, "Open heart surgery, when I was a kid."
The scar is faint, but long. I didn't even notice it before. He lowers his shirt, then looks at Amy expectantly. There's a fair amount of appreciative nodding around the table.
"Hmmm…" she thinks, squinting into the middle distance, "Oh!" She pulls the shoulder of her borrowed sweater down her shoulder, revealing a puckered mark, "Eighth Grade. P.E. This disgusting little boy shot me in the shoulder with an arrow during archery. Hurt like a bitch. Clara?"
"Oh… I don't really have anything that exciting," she looks down at herself, then lifts the heel of her hand, "I broke a mirror. A very old, very expensive mirror. Cut my hand trying to put it back together. It bled and bled."
"Did you ever put it back together?" Amy asks, eyebrow arching.
"No… it was impossible," she sighs.
We all look at Matt, he runs his fingers through his floppy hair holding it flat. There's a long scar along his hairline, then disappears into his hair. It looked really bad, I don't even want to think how far it goes.
"It happened at school, I was about six David pushed me off the climber."
"I did not, I was nowhere near you when that happened you git."
Matt laughs it seems to like teasing David, it reminds me a lot of Tony and I when we argue. But Tony has never lied to just piss me off before.
"Rose?"
Dog scar. Totally go with that one again.
Then I feel my face go red. Because… less than twenty-four hours ago, we were on the roof, and
David touched it.
This has been a big twenty-four hours.
I lower my pant leg, but not before feeling David's body heat next to me, on suddenly my exposed skin.
I look at Rory, who waggles his eyebrows at me quickly before looking at David.
"David?"
I swallow.
Oh, god. Too personal. Godammit, Rory! I know you're… I know that something's going on in that bloody head of yours… but-
He's incredibly still for a painful couple of seconds, then, keeping his gaze locked on Rory as if accepting a challenge he wipes his hands with a napkin before unbuttoning two shirt buttons, pulling the neck of his shirt far enough to show the back of his shoulder.
His beautiful, warm, smooth shoulder… and of course there are scars there that I've never seen before… so… close… they are everywhere…
He twists in the booth.
"What is that?" Rory leans forward, smiling softly at me.
"My Brother Chris stabbed me in the back," David says, flatly.
"What?!" Amy crawls forward to look closer, "With a knife?"
He laughs, "Pair of scissors. We were kids. We played... rough in our house."
He shifts back, re-buttons, and finishes his burger. Smirking at Matt who snorted in response.
OoO
"I'm cold," I hear Rory's teeth chattering. I normally have layers to spare, but not today.
We're standing at the curb waiting for Clara and to bring her car around, Matt took off early, something about his wife, while Amy and David wait for Strax to wrap up leftovers. He threw in some 'extra' leftovers on the house.
I put my arm around his shoulders instead. He's shivering.
It's not that cold.
"You okay?"
"Huh? Yeah. Totally fine." Liar. "So… he came to the ER, huh?"
"He did."
He smiles up at me. Shit, he looks tired.
"I'm glad. Wingman Rule Number Five; Everything is an Opportunity. Including the Emergency Room."
"I had a panic attack."
"Smooth, Rose. And, hey, I appreciate the concern but there was no need to get apoplexic about me."
I laugh, "Yeah…"
"But… he stayed?"
I nod.
"You are very warm."
"I know."
Clara pulls up just about the same time the door opens behind us.
We turn together. David's carrying two large plastic grocery bags. He hands one to me, which I take as
Amy pulls Rory against herself.
"You coming, David?" Rory asks, turning to look over Amy's shoulder as they walk to the car.
"No. I, uh, I live nearby," he looks at me, "calling it an early night."
"Okay. Night."
"Night. Glad you didn't… die."
Rory laughs, and the two of them disappear into the backseat.
"Hey-"
"Well-"
We talk at the same time. Adorable.
"Thanks. For… coming?" I rub the back of my neck with my free hand.
"Sure. Yeah. No… I mean… I was really worried when you messaged. I thought…" he shrugs, "I'm just glad you're alright."
"Good."
Good...
But… tomorrow is Thursday! Thursday-Special Thursday.
"I'll… uh… see you."
"Yeah. And, hey… you know, text me when you want to… if you still want to…"
Picture. He wants to take my picture. With his camera. And my face.
"I… yeah, I will."
"Okay. Well," he ducks his head and shifts the bag a little.
"Night."
I want to hug him. Or... no. I want to kiss him. Kiss him stupid. But... I'm not that mental. Right? And anyway, after someone sees you have a panic attack, certainly that puts you at the level of hugging goodbye, right? Hugging is reasonable.
But there's all that equipment.
And three sets of endearingly over-involved eyes no doubt glued to us.
I lift my hand.
Or, rather, my hand lifts itself.
I can see it moving.
I have no control over it.
Arm!
I pat his shoulder.
Pat. Pat. Pat.
Three times.
Awkward as shit.
He looks at my hand.
"Sorry," I turn, "Night, David."
Inside, sitting in the front seat. Clara's car smells like cake. We sit in total silence.
He turns and starts walking home, his face lit from beneath by his phone.
And then… gone.
"Oh, Rosie," Amy says sadly, leaning forward as much as she can with Rory's legs over hers, "The upside is that he keeps coming back for more of… whatever the hell it is that you're doing."
OoO
We put away the leftovers, and then sit around at Rory's place. The three of them are on the bed. I sit in his office chair. That bed… I'm not ready to come in direct contact with it again. Amy is combing her fingers through his hair while the rest of us pick through a little pile of Halloween candy he's acquired somewhere.
Clara yawns.
We should get going.
I've got… Jimmy.
And work in the morning.
But mostly, there's a good-Samaritan version of Jimmy sleeping on my couch.
"I think-"
There's a knock at the door.
Amy gets up and opens it.
It's Alonzo.
"Oh. Hey."
"Hey."
I glance at Clara, who ignores me and is staring openly at Alonzo who, admittedly, is really wearing those scrubs.
"Clara," I clear my throat and stand, "I think… I'm really tired."
"What? Oh, yes. I'm sure." She gives Rory a quick hug, drawing his attention from Alonzo and I, Amy standing in the doorway with a start.
"Feel better, Rory."
"I think I will, yeah."
We go to the door.
Amy looks at Rory.
"I guess I'll-"
"No. Please," I've not been seduced by Rory. I've witnessed various stages of his seduction of others, out in the field. I've observed it. I'm standing next to Amy as he's lying there, leaning back on the pillows, legs spread, bandaged wrist lying across his belly… as he looks at her first, and then at Alonzo, who is standing on the other side of me… I feel something like seduction-whiplash, "stay."
It's pretty intense. I blush. How does he do that?
Amy smiles, "You need two people to take care of you tonight, Tiger?"
Alonzo's coat is coming off.
"I'm wounded," he smiles, lifting his wrist.
"Okay, Clara, time to go!" I push her gently.
"But-"
"It's past our bedtime."
"Oh. Oh! All right…" she lets me guide her out, begrudgingly, looking back until the door closes with a soft click behind us.
OoO
It's a really quiet morning.
Kind of weirdly quiet, actually.
Harkness' is… empty.
Rory's not even here. Rory's always here.
Did the Rapture happen?
I mean, okay… I know that's stupid. But… I think about it.
There is literally no one in the shop.
No one outside on the street.
No one at the bus stop across the street.
No one.
I go over to Rory's table and wipe it down, again, even though nothing's even touched it since the last time I did this five minutes ago.
Rapture? Zombie outbreak? Everyone's fled to nuclear bomb shelters and no one told me about the bomb and I'm about to turn into a mutant?
I'm going to go with the last one.
Because, definitely, I'm going to be the one that turns into a mutant.
I watch red and orange leaves blow across the empty sidewalk through the window.
Am I 'I am Legend'?
Oh, god. I do have a dog.
Oh, god, no! It doesn't end well for the dog! Mickey!
I don't want to be 'I Am Legend'-
The door opens.
I just about have a heart attack.
"David! Where is everybody?"
He's breathing heavy, standing there in the doorway and, fuck, he's beautiful with the morning light behind him. How does a person have skin that perfect in real life?
He pulls the strap of his messenger bag over his head in a fluid motion and walks towards me, dropping the bag on the way.
"Shut up," he growls, backing me up against the table, "Just stop talking."
"I-"
He grabs my jaw, hard, his fingers hot and rough.
Oh fuck.
He pushes himself between my legs, his hips between my thighs.
"You talk too fucking much," he's holding my face level with his and, I can't breathe, studying me with brown eyes blown dark, like a wolf. His breath is hot and sweet, and I can taste him as I breathe.
"Dav-"
He pulls me, hard, and his mouth efficiently shuts me up. He guides my head, fingers strong and winding tight in my hair, and it hurts.
Don't stop.
God… his lips are perfect.
His tongue…
I'm shaking.
His tongue brushes, hot and wet, across my bottom lip. I gasp into his mouth as his teeth close, hard.
I'm dying. My heart—
I'm just going to keel over.
Wait, what are we doing?!
His hands drop to my hips, pulling me closer to him, and, fuck, he's there against me. Hard.
I don't care what we're doing. Please don't stop, please-
I haven't forgotten what he felt like, before, in Rory's bed. He's powerful. His whole body. Tight. Hard.
Fuck. He's…
Hard. So hard. I'm so-
He pulls away from me, and we both gasp, pant. He's untying the bow at the front of my apron.
His fingers are fucking gorgeous.
I want them.
I want them everywhere.
He pulls hard, and I'm untied. He lifts the neck over my head, catching my ears.
He smiles.
Wolf.
I grab his hand, and he looks at me his eyes are black… do I look like that, too? I feel hot. I'm sure I'm red. I don't fucking care.
He moans, beautiful, as I close my lips around two of his fingers and suck, and curl my tongue around them, between them.
He tastes like espresso. It's in his skin.
He's pulling my belt free with his other hand. Rough. Hungry.
The entire center of my being is right there, right below his hand. I just need him to-
"Ahh!" his finger slip inside me, and I curl forward, hands braced on his shoulders. He's hot under my hands, against my skin, through his shirt.
His thumb rubs gentle circles around my clit, I thrust my hips into his palm, trying hard not to cry out
"Fuck, Rose," his voice is raw, and deep. He speaks Latin with that voice. That's his Latin voice. Latin and my name.
I smile against him, and close my eyes, and he strokes me, his other hand sliding up under my shirt, his fingers wet from my mouth.
"David- ah!"
"Touch me," he gasps, "I want you… I want you to."
"Rose?"
What?!
"Please."
He's begging but not asking.
My hands shake, but I find his belt. It's just like mine.
"ROSE?!"
"Please, rose…" his voice is deep, and… accented.
Scottish.
I pull back. I look at him.
"This isn't really happening, is it?"
He brings both hands up to my face, cupping my jaw gently. I can smell myself on his fingers.
"No."
"Rose? Are you okay?"
Well, fuck.
I open my eyes.
I'm in bed, flat on my back, one hand down my knickers, the other stroking my breast.
Perfect.
"Rose?"
"I'm fine!"
"Are you," I can hear him on the other side of the door, "you were… I thought you were ill."
Jimmy Stone, cock-blocking me even in my sleep.
I swallow, "M'fine!"
"Er… I thought it was a nightmare. You used to… you used to have them."
And there goes the mood.
He's right. I did have them. And I'd wake him up. And he'd hold on to me until I fell asleep again.
I stand up, pointlessly adjusting my knickers and pajama bottoms, then limp towards the door.
I open it.
He's standing there in the dark.
Mickey squeezes past me and jumps up on him, paws on his thighs. Jimmy scratches his wide head but looks at me.
"I'm fine. Really."
"I could hear you from the couch. I was worried."
He smells like he took a shower. I imagine he would, after trying to clean blood out of upholstery.
Blood. I'd stood in a really hot shower scrubbing with a new loofah for about twenty minutes when I got home, just to make sure I got it all off.
He's wearing sweatpants and a white t-shirt and he kind of glows in the dark.
I can't help but think that, he's not stupid we were together for years, he must still know the difference between happy moans and sad moans…
Unless my happy-moans actually do sound like sad-moans.
That would be… what if they do? I'd never know. They sound fine to me.
"It wasn't a nightmare. Just a… dream."
"Oh. Sorry, then. Sorry I… woke you."
He's wearing the locket. It's small, dark against the t-shirt. Not clunky… very thin and very gold, just like it always was. He's always worn it. It was his sister's.
I remember it. I remember tasting that weird metal tang when I'd kiss his neck, feeling the chain with my lips…
I realize that he's looking at my chest. I'm wearing the shirt David gave me, It's black and very tight fitting across my chest. And this suddenly becomes incredibly familiar and incredibly uncomfortable.
"Right, well…" I start close the door.
"Right. Uh."
Mickey stays with him. That traitor!
"Goodnight, Jim."
He smiles as the door closes.
Okay. I need to get him out of the house… tomorrow. There's no getting around that.
I'll call mum on a break… she'll be… delighted.
I lay back down, spreading out across the whole bed now that Mister Mickey has vacated his half.
He needs to go because I'm starting to not hate him, and maybe I should.
But that's the last thing I need right now.