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PerfumeChapter Eight: Fragile
By Rhondda Lake

There was something simple and basic about the hot little hand entwined with his own. Although, at the moment, simple and basic was a level he was operating on. He did not remember who he was, or where, or what the soft, singing words were that came from her mouth. But he did know her. Rose. It was a flower, a delicious smelling blossom. She was his and he was hers, and it was all just as simple as that.

The other, the male, was a threat. Too perfect, pretty, all swagger and sex and seduction that imperilled his place with the female, with Rose. A threat must be met with an equal menace. Nothing would take her away from him. She was vital, a part of him, she was needed.

She was taking him someplace. He didn't care where. Where she led, he would follow.

The yellowish light of the hall they were walking down merged with green as she led him to the womb place. This was a heart, he could feel it, hear it. This was special. Like she was. She knew what she was doing.

"Do you know where you are yet? Do you remember? Do you know who I am?" He could understand some of the words now, they were penetrating the fog that had enveloped him.

"Rose." He offered her a smile. See, he knew her.

"That's right. I'm Rose. And you're the Doctor." She had stopped leading him. It was his turn to lead.

He advanced slowly, and she backed up a few steps until the railing caught her at the small of her back. She looked surprised and a little frightened. No, he didn't want her afraid.

He leaned over her, leaving go of her hand to take hold of the railing at either side of her. There was some sort of soft padding under one of his hands, and cool metal under the other. She seemed rather small as she arched back a bit, as if she though he would hurt her.

"Rose," he repeated as he leaned forward, drawn by the scent of her. Female and heat, flower and lust, the scent of fear did not belong. He had to send it away.

Slowly he bent down, inhaling the scent at her neck, at the sweet spot where her shoulder turned to vulnerable throat. He heard her breath hitch. He drew his cheek up, along her skin, feeling the warmth, the softness, the touch of her flesh against his. Up her neck, the side of her face. His lips brushed her ear, and he felt her shiver. That was not fear he smelled. He smiled.

"Mine." The word was a breath, a promise pressed to her ear, the curve of her cheek.

Small hands on his chest, not pushing, not pulling, not moving. This was right. This was meant to be.

He nuzzled along her cheek, felt her breath on his face, breathed her in. Inhaling with her every exhale. His lips gliding over hers, the barest touch. Now they both shivered.

His mouth covered hers as he pressed his body to her. He felt her heat as his mouth took possession, letting her know that she was his. Only his. And oh, she was fire to his ice, tasting of spice and sweetness and all things female. The kiss was hungry, and he tasted her moan, swallowing it into himself, feeling the sound wrap around his nerves. He felt her softness pressed against him. Delicious. He released her mouth so they could breathe, his mind going to other places he wanted to taste, to feel. He breathed in the little gasps of air she exhaled. He could smell her arousal as surely as she could feel his.

"Doctor, please," the plea was brushed against his lips, he knew that word. Please. He could please. He could take and give and be.

But other words were coming now. Faith, and trust, desire, and love, friend and soulmate.

Other words cutting through the haze in his mind. Time, courage, anchor, heat, strength, continuance, life, past, present, tempo, tide, turn, instant, TARDIS.

"TARDIS," he murmured, stepping back. She did not follow and stood there, looking at him with those confused eyes, doe soft and full of worry.

Rose. This was Rose, and he wanted her, needed her. His grip tightened on the railing even as he fought. This was Rose and he was scaring her. He was not supposed to do this. To touch her or taste her. This was Rose and he loved her. This was Rose and she was off limits.

He let go of the railing and stumbled back, almost falling, but for the Console desk that he had backed into.

"Rose?" He was almost pleading now. What was happening? He was not like this. He had control. He was a Time Lord and something had just stripped him of himself. And Rose had borne the brunt of it. Rose and … Jack.

His eyes widened. He had attacked Jack. His friend, the man who had been trying to protect Rose.

"I'm sorry." The words sounded small and empty in the face of the enormity of what had just happened. They were useless and empty things tumbling from his lips. But they were all he had right now.

"Doctor?" Her eyes were lighting with hope now. Joy and even love.

Oh no! Didn't the silly little girl understand?

"No." He held out his hand to ward her off. "Stay away. Something…" he tried to think, fought against the tendrils of feral lust and primitive longing. "I'm not right."

He leaned against the Console for support, seeking the TARDIS' comfort and reassurance. He felt her support in the back of his mind. But something was muffling the connection.

"Doctor, we're trying to help." Rose took a step towards him, even now so trusting and faithful.

He moved away, jumping back to place the Console between them. "No, Rose, stay away. I'm not safe."

She tilted her head, as if considering him. "You never were. But at least now you're more yourself. Do you know what happened? What's going on?"

"No. I don't know." The Doctor bowed his head. He was still not thinking clearly. He was better than before, but still… on edge. Something was stealing away his control. Stripping down his walls. Ethics, intellect, all were dissolving, leaving him bare and bleeding. He had gained some tentative control now, but for how long?

"You need to go check on Jack," he tried to sound decisive, in control. "Make sure he's alright. I'm going to the infirmary. Once I'm in there I want you, and Jack if he's up to it, to lock me in. Barricade the door."

Rose paled at this; the fear was back in her eyes. "No. You're okay now. And you wouldn't hurt…"

"Wouldn't hurt you? How's your arm?" He remembered his own possessive grip, "Jack? I would have killed him. Don't be a sentimental little fool. This isn't me. This is something dangerous. I am something dangerous. Go check on Jack and do as I say, this instant." He let the anger take him.

The fear was rising, but anger was better. He was having so much trouble controlling anything, his thoughts were getting stronger now, more his own. But not knowing what had happened meant it might happen again. He remembered, with perfect clarity what had happened while all control was gone.

Rose looked torn between doing as he said and some need to stay with him. Of course, she most likely thought if she left he might slip away again, have a relapse, or collapse.

He gripped the edge of the Console, hard, needing the strength the TARDIS leant him. He pinned her with his gaze, focused. "Go."

As she turned from him and ran back down the hallway, he didn't know if he was relieved or wanted to weep.

With slow, deliberate steps he made his way to the Infirmary. A lot of the smaller, handheld diagnostic tools were missing, but there were still plenty of other instruments and tools at hand.

His thoughts were still slow, but it was getting easier. Right, first he needed to run a blood scan.