Title: Mercurial Rhythm
Chapter: Eight
Rating: T
Summary: The Doctor, Rose and Jack stop on a planet for little bit of shopping but what starts out as an innocent expedition ends up being a trip full of a lot of interesting conversations…okay, someone else write my summary for me.
Pairings/Spoilers: The Doctor(9)/Rose and takes place just after The Doctor Dances

A/N: Thanks to saganamidreams for the betaing. Thanks to everyone for reviewing .

Chapter Eight

Rose suspected the TARDIS was deliberately making her search for the Doctor as difficult as possible. She checked the console room, the library, the kitchen, her room, wandered the corridors, opened every door she came across and found no trace of him. She was beginning to think he might have escaped to the market when it occurred to her there was one place she hadn't tried – his room.

Her nerve failed her and she'd decided to find Jack and tell him the deal was off when, rounding a corner, she found herself staring at the Doctor's bedroom door. It was closed.

It was always closed, she'd never seen inside.

This had irked her - every time she attempted to get inside he'd managed to find somewhere else they needed to be. It all seemed a bit unfair since he was quite happy to wander into her room, comfortable sitting on the end of her bed, knocking on her door in the morning and, on occasion, scrambling through her stuff looking for something or other.

She wavered momentarily and then, thinking of Jack, knocked on the door. The hard metal made a soft thudding noise as her knuckles struck it; she waited a few seconds before hitting it harder.

The Doctor answered, his face unreadable, bare-foot and without his jacket. All three were circumstances foreign to Rose and they stood staring at each other for several seconds longer than was needed.

"What?"

Rose jumped as his voice cut through the air, flat and empty, the warm tone normally present when he spoke to her utterly absent.

"Um, I need to talk to you. About Jack."

The ripple of darkness that washed over his face, coloring his eyes bluer in its wake, told her that perhaps Jack's worry wasn't completely unfounded. She hesitated for a moment, but then telling herself not to be so stupid, smiled and went to push past him.

Suddenly his hand was on her upper arm, but it was harsh and impersonal, pushing her away from him and out of the doorway. "No," he said rather more firmly than was necessary since his hand was speaking volumes.

As the Doctor's hand dropped, Rose stopped being confused and started being angry. "I just want to talk. And I thought it would be more comfortable in there than out here."

Glancing over his shoulder, the Doctor wondered which of his options was best. He knew what he'd seen, Jack was going after Rose and he was going after her fast and hard. She was an attractive woman and Jack was an attractive man; it was bound to happen. He just wished he hadn't seen it happen because he'd spent the night before convincing himself that when it did happen, he wouldn't see it and that he'd already have an excuse to kick Jack off the TARDIS. Possibly somewhere he'd be devoured by ravenous dogs. It was not supposed to happen over-night.

Now here was Rose, wanting to talk; explain herself, no doubt. Tell him that she had needs and she needed a boyfriend and Jack was nice enough, why didn't he approve, etc., etc., and so on and so forth. It was one thing when she collected pathetic strays like Adam, they had no future, no fixed place in Rose's affection, but Jack was different. He could see that already. Despite his galactic playboy image, there was something solid at his core. Something that could catch and hold Rose, putting her beyond his reach.

Well, he couldn't deal with it, not right now and definitely not with her looking like that and definitely not in his bedroom. It was taking every ounce of his considerable self-control not to shout at the sheer effrontery of the situation – to be on the verge of losing something he had only just realized it would kill him to lose.

Rose suddenly whacked him on the chest, exclaiming, "Hey! If you're just going to ignore me, I'll be off." Realizing he'd been silent for an unreasonable amount of time, and may in fact have screwed his eyes shut, he let out a frustrated sigh. She turned and began to walk away. He couldn't her go like this. If this was how their future was going to unfold, Jack and Rose becoming Jack-and-Rose, he'd hear her out.

He grabbed her arm again, with less care than he'd usually exhibit, and hauled her into his bedroom. He quickly came to the conclusion that perhaps he should have taken this conversation elsewhere. Rose was standing in the middle of his room, flushed and vulnerable, and he was suddenly grateful his hand was wrapped around her upper arm and not entwined with her own.

In pursuit of that distance he shoved her indelicately towards the chair. Before sitting down she swept the navy jumper tossed across it into her hands, kneading and rolling it in unconscious movements. He perched on the edge of his bed, deliberately ignoring the movements of her fingers and the effect it was having on him.

Determined to return a bit of his own game, Rose took her time gazing around the room. He really was very messy: jumpers casually discarded over floor and bed, amazing as she thought he only owned one; the sleek black sheets on the solid four poster bed messy and tangled; drawers with unidentifiable things poking out and the deep leather chair in which she was sitting. It was very masculine and surprisingly enough very him. Glancing upwards, still avoiding his gaze, an incredulous gasp escaped her.

Where the ceiling should have been was a swirl of lights and stars, like the pictures she'd seen of the Aurora Borealis. As she stared up at it, enraptured, the stars began to seem familiar; she was struck with a sudden certainty that this was the Northern Lights she was looking at.

The Doctor could go anywhere in space and time, collect beauty and wonder from anywhere, yet he still kept returning to the Earth. Drawn, for some unknown reason, to the human race. She wondered why. An inquiring cough brought her attention back to the object of her thoughts. Sitting on the edge of his bed as if he would launch himself forward at any moment, the Doctor was staring at her, communicating his exaggerated patience quite clearly.