Never Quite Normal

By: Jessa L'Rynn & Olfactory Ventriloquism

This work is a collaborative effort. If it had been just me, this story wouldn't be right at all, so big round of applause for my co-author, Olfactory Ventriloquism. -Jessa

Disclaimer: We don't own Doctor Who. We have abducted him and are trying to get him to sign himself over. OV and Liz planned to spend the week torturing the Doctor until he signed by playing rap music non-stop. Unfortunately, Jessa tried to kill everyone in the room before ten minutes were up. OV had to hold her down while trying to turn off the CD player with her nose.

Please note: This fic carries an M rating for a lot of very good reasons. Yes, this IS a warning.


Chapter 28:

When Joshua got back to his room after conditioning Bill to a Pavlovian cringe response to the sound of a Northern accent, he was completely delighted to find that his roommate was on the phone. Joshua snatched his own mobile, shook his head at the entirely too personal conversation he was inadvertently overhearing, and strode out in search of a modicum of privacy. He decided he'd leave Son a note just to give him the hint that the ears weren't the only reason Joshua could overhear everything.

Who knew? Maybe they could hold conversations in Chinese and drive the staff mad.

He slipped into the common room and found a large assortment of conversations taking place there as well, everything from the young punk rock-star bawling out his agent to Sherry sobbing at, apparently, her ex.

He went out the back door, strode across the grounds, found a likely looking tree, and hoisted himself up into the spreading branches. When he was very young, he used to climb this one particular tree behind the House he'd stayed in and watch the moon rise. Something in the light had always made that tree look silver, if he remembered.

He shook that from his head and settled onto a branch, leaning back against the trunk, and pushing the top number on his speed dial. In a very few moments, Rose answered, and everything was almost all right again.

They exchanged a few pleasantries, and then she asked, slowly, as if afraid he wouldn't answer, "What's it like there?"

He grinned. "Can't believe I'm paying for this. Shoulda just joined back up, the place is like barracks. Not the Officer's Quarters, either, mind."

"Oh, dear, that doesn't sound good."

He could just imagine her chewing on that lip and trying to hide a little grin. It warmed him right up. "Nah, s'fine. Uncle Alistair would love the paint, it'd bring back such fond memories. HQ was a dump, too, when they first set us up in it."

Now, she went ahead and laughed. "That's terrible."

"Ya get used to it," he said with a shrug. "I have a roommate called Son. He speaks Chinese and is currently having an argument with his daughter over something I have no desire to understand. So I came outside. Grounds are pretty, at least."

"They looked like they might be."

"Better view where you are, though," he added.

She snorted. "Dunno 'bout that, I'm on the bus."

"I mean it'd be a better view for me if I were where you are," he said, gently.

"Oh."

He loved the way her voice got that startled little gasp when he said the right thing. Would be better if he could see her pleased smile, though. Still, soon enough he'd come back to her.

"How's the headache?" she asked.

"Surprisingly gone, actually. Think Harry's tapering me off did the trick, you know?"

They talked enthusiastically about nothing in particular after that. He loved these conversations that soared and wandered and meandered all over the place. Rose seemed to enjoy them as much as he did, laughing at his quips, tossing lightning-fast clever rejoinders that even he wouldn't have believed her capable of when this whole thing started. She really was brilliant, his Rose.

When he told her he only had about two hours and they were almost up, she sighed and told him to call her the next time he had a chance.

"I'll call you every single day, Rose Tyler. Every time they let me have my mobile." He paused, considered. "If... you don't mind, do you?"

"Mind? Oh, Joshua, I love it when you call."

He grinned, satisfied. "Fantastic!" he announced.


Jackie Tyler didn't know what she'd expected from her daughter while that man was in rehab, but she was fairly certain this wasn't it. Or maybe it was, since any expectations she'd had were vague at best. But, either way, she didn't like it.

"And every night," she told Bev over a tumbler of gin, "she comes home, already on the phone to him."

"You should take it away. Gotta be running up a monstrous bill. Tell her it'll teach her responsibility or some such."

"Can't." Jackie returned morosely. "Got a new one after she got that job. S'giving her airs and graces, that shop is. But she pays her own bill. Even paid mine, once."

"Well, that's nice," Bev tried.

"I'd rather have a reason to keep her away from him and let this infatuation end than not pay a mobile bill," Jackie said bitterly, draining the glass before her. Bev stood and stretched.

"Lemme get us another, and you can tell me what she sees in 'im. Girl her age, I dunno..."

Bev's voice trailed off, but Jackie suspected she was still carrying on the conversation even as she walked away from it. They were, neither one of them, entirely steady on their feet anymore.

Jackie glanced darkly around the room. There was a group crowded around the bar, keeping Jenny quite busy. Bev was elbowing her way to the front. Everyone ought to know that the regulars had dibs here, and certainly that it wasn't wise to get between Jackie or Bev and their next round.

A new face caught her eye. He was young, not yet thirty, with spiky brown hair and green eyes. He also had a kind smile. Jackie knew this because he was currently smiling at her. She returned the smile with satisfaction.

Bev came back quickly, bearing fresh drinks, returning the harsh looks and words that came from those who she'd forced to wait longer for their drinks. Not one of them had any sense if they thought yelling was gonna keep Bev from doing what she wanted, honestly. No matter how mad this place got on Friday nights, anyone who'd ever been here before could tell them that.

The strange young man looked Jackie over, slowly, sipped his drink, licked his lips. Jackie smirked.

"So, tell me," Bev said, handing Jackie a new glass, "why do you hate him so much?" Jackie looked at her friend and then back to the stranger with beguiling eyes.

"You know what, Bev?" Jackie stood slightly unsteadily and downed her drink. "I don't even wanna think about him. I'll call you tomorrow." With that, she saunter-stumbled over to where the young man was waiting.


Calling hours were over. Even though Rose knew it would be quite sometime until Joshua slept, the hospital wouldn't allow them to continue to talk.

Alright, that wasn't fair, and Rose knew it. Joshua needed to try to get some sleep, and his roommate doubtless didn't share his insomnia. But she didn't want to hang up. Couldn't they understand that? She stared at the dark screen of her mobile before tapping it restlessly against the palm of her hand. Sighing heavily, Rose stood, her mind weary and blank, as though it had been switched off when her phone was.

The doorknob clicked skittishly in its socket as a hand, unsteady as a tightrope walker with an inner-ear infection, tried to grasp it. Rose stared as her mother stumbled, laughingly, in. The bloke Jackie was wrapped around couldn't be much older than Rose herself was. Rose didn't really want to know what some of the men Jackie brought home saw in her, but she did wish whatever it was would quit.

They breezed past Rose without noticing her, the smell of alcohol following them like an evil omen. Rose felt ill. When they began to make out on the couch, Rose found where her voice had secreted itself into protective custody and hauled it forward to testify.

"Mum, d'you mind?" she cried. The pair on the couch broke apart. Jackie had the nerve to smile at her.

"Hello, love," Jackie said happily. "Didn't know you were still up. This here is Evan. See you in the morning." Obviously, she expected Rose to totter off, but something in her balked.

"I can't believe you! Joshua's gone for six weeks and you decide to bring home someone barely older'n me and rub my face in it? Talk about being a hypocrite; he could be my brother and you call Joshua a pervert!" Jackie may have tried to say something, but Rose was too angry to stop and listen. "And in the living room? You know, I'm gonna have to look at that sofa tomorrow. Why can't you go to your room, or, better yet, his place!"

Rose had done a good job of keeping Jackie quiet as long as she had, but nothing could hold back her mum when under attack. Jackie stood, glowering at her daughter.

"How dare you!" she began. Self-righteous indignation poured off her in a preposterous deluge. "I find someone willing to pay me a little attention, and you try to make it about you, make it bad. I sacrificed a lot raising you. The only reason I haven't had a proper boyfriend since your dad died is because I was too busy taking care of you!"

"No, Mum, don't kid yourself. The reason you haven't had a proper boyfriend is because you couldn't keep one! You paraded this string of men in front of me and never had one more'n a month. Don't you dare put that on me!" Rose spun away angrily, unable to even look at her mother. "You know what? Go ahead and have your little tryst on the couch. I won't stay here and spoil the mood." She pivoted on her heel, her hands clenched into fists, and stormed out the front door, making sure to slam it hard behind her.

She wasn't immediately sure what refuge she could seek. She glanced down at the mobile still clutched in her hand and forced herself to relax her grip. Oh, she wanted to call Joshua. This would all be better if she could hear his voice. She needed his arms to wrap their cool strength around her. She tried to rub some of the tension out of her neck, and her fingers caught on a chain.

Rose knew where she was going to go.


The flat was dark and still. The air hadn't become stale yet, because the a/c kept it circulating, but it gave the impression of a forest in winter, waiting for life and warmth to return. A flicked switch brought light and evidence of the life that had inhabited this cell.

Rose surveyed the mess that had been left. Joshua had likely forgotten it. She didn't blame him; he'd had more important things to worry about. They'd been too concerned about making arrangements for the few minutes they'd been here the last time, after the night he'd ended up going home with her, the last night he'd darkened the door of the pub. John had been the one to get his things from here for him and John always seemed unwilling to move a single thing that belonged to Joshua unless he was specifically asked.

Outrage and fury gave way to restlessness and pain. She also felt a bit useless, but she wasn't about to admit to that. In fact, she wasn't going to allow it. Her spine stiffened a little at that thought. There was plenty she could do, and a challenge lay before her.

It would do Joshua no good to come back to his flat and have a chaotic reminder of what he was trying to leave behind him. She set to with a will, righting chairs, returning cushions to the sofa, stacking books that should be returned to the shelves. Since she didn't know his organization scheme, she placed them in neat piles on the coffee table. She reassembled the book case - it was just all the shelves were off. She found the remote to the telly in an odd vase by the corner of the sofa. She found the picture of him with his aunt and uncle face down under the edge of the sofa, along with a mangled packet of crisps and, oddly enough, an empty butter dish.

The kitchen was the textbook definition of mess, counters smeared with jelly and strewn with parts from a…blender? Well, whatever appliance it had once been, it was scrap metal now. She may not be an engineer, but she knew that gears weren't supposed to be bent like that. The toaster was, inexplicably, in the middle of the floor. There were more empty whiskey bottles than she liked to count sitting out on the table, so she black-bagged them all and set them out for the collection. A furious energy had overtaken her, and the room was soon ready to appear in a housekeeping magazine.

The piano room only required some papers to be straightened. There she found more drawings, of landscapes and flowers and some sort of Escher-esque box.

The bedroom didn't seem to need any help.

It was the bathroom that floored her. Nothing was out of place, particularly, although there was a flannel glued by dried soap to the middle of the floor. The mirror was what got her. A list of twenty things was scrawled across it in magic marker, labeled in the same square lettering he used on the sheet music all those weeks ago, "Reasons to Quit Drinking". It took her a moment to realize that Joshua's handwriting was easier to read with practice.

Wilson had been right, if this list was anything to go by. Her name was five of the reasons, all by itself, the last time in oversized capital letters. She was mentioned, directly or otherwise, another five times.

Unable to decide whether or not he would want her to erase it, Rose left the room, determined to call Doris the next day. The novelty of the list and the wonder it inspired carried her through the motions of changing into a pair of his pajama bottoms and a t-shirt from his drawers, deciding she would do some laundry for him before he came back so he wouldn't be put out. There was no way she was going home tonight. She curled up on the edge of the bed, surprised by how very faint the smell of him was on the sheets. He had likely washed them not long before leaving. Her body was exhausted from labor, her soul lacerated by her mother's cutting words, but her mind kept running.

Quickly, the fears rushed in. The mirror meant nothing because everything could change. And he was gone, so very far away, and she needed him. He would learn, while in Springwood, that he didn't need her. Didn't need anyone.

Her sobs sounded softly through the apartment, pattering down the hall, strumming along the piano strings, bouncing off the tiles of the kitchen and echoing in the bathroom where they audibly defied the list that tried to burn through them, reading:

1. Rose

2. Stop seeing double. One annoyed Harry or John is too many.

3. Can show Rose the stars better if I can see which is which.

4. Stop being sick all the time.

5. Because it isn't attractive. And doesn't feel good, either.

6. Rose

7. Not very manly to be sobbing in my whiskey all the time.

8. Nor is it attractive.

9. Rose

10. It would make Aunt Doris and Uncle Alistair feel better.

11. Slim possibility of dreams making some sense if clear-headed when awakened by them.

12. Or not, but maybe there'd be less if I didn't pass out as much.

13. Rose likes to dance.

14. Balance is better, for dancing and etc., when sober.

15. Rose

16. Losing memories I want to keep, too.

17. Hangover headache feels like my brain's being pushed through a sieve.

18. Kublah Khan is not Coleridge's best work, as I might have mentioned.

19. Stop having conversations with laptop. Or not, but there might be fewer witnesses.

20. ROSE

Though the list proved ineffective, eventually sleep stopped her tears.


A light pierced the darkness, carving its message into Rose's brain. It was three in the morning. She'd spent hours cleaning the flat after the argument with her mum, but Rose still couldn't sleep. She'd only been asleep for half an hour when she woke again. While dreaming, she'd found and burrowed into the place where Joshua usually slept. He must sleep in the same spot each night, which was why she hadn't been able to smell him well before.

Now, he seemed to surround her. Each breath brought him inside her even as it accentuated his absence. He soothed her senses even as he thrummed her mind into a state of almost frenzied alertness. Which was why she was awake now, glaring at the display screen that told her she'd barely fallen asleep before waking again.

Joshua's scent had fuelled a dream that had shoved her into wakefulness, aroused. She lay where he did, needing sleep, needing peace, needing him. Putting the phone back on the bedside table, Rose rolled onto her back, shifting restlessly but still smothered with him.

She tried to capture that feeling of tiredness from before and drag it into her brain, but it dodged her every trap. Her body and mind were brought alive by his presence. Without thinking, her hand started tracing circles on her stomach, spiraling downwards. She became aware of it only when her fingers met the waist band of the borrowed sleep pants. She stopped and flushed with embarrassment. It was probably a bad thing to do, but she needed this. No, she needed him, but this would have to tide her over, like CPR until she could be hooked up to life support.

Resolving to wash his sheets before he came home, Rose took a deep breath, filling her lungs with him, and plunged her fingers down into her knickers. She teased her finger along what corny romance novels called "nether lips." The dream which had begun this had left her damp, so she dipped her fingers in for lubrication and began to rub her clit.

Soft strokes along its length became short flicks across the base as calm breathing gave way to panting. This was not about love, or want, or sex; it wasn't even about need. This was about release. Rose needed to be released from the loss and the pain and the fear and the emptiness.

So there was nothing gentle in her touch. One hand mercilessly toyed with her clit while the other pinched and pulled and tweaked her nipples before skimming down her stomach, sliding along the sensitive skin of her thighs and driving two fingers into her opening. She twisted her fingers as she thrust, never allowing her nerve endings to become accustomed to a pattern, seeking the oblivion that would come with release. Her other hand was now circling her clit savagely with the pad of her middle finger.

Rose forced her oxygen seeking lungs to allow her to breathe in deeply the air that was redolent of his scent. She came quietly.

"Joshua," she whispered as her hips arched off the bed, her muscles at last shedding their tension. For a moment, she thought he was with her, bringing peace. "I love you," she told his phantom before slipping into hard earned oblivion.