Author's Note: So sorry for not updating in so long. I plead end of semester stress and a bout of pneumonia, the after effects of which are still lingering. The good news is that I've managed to get ahead! I have three more chapters done and will be posting them all in a much more timely manner than this last one. Also, I'm looking for a beta—I really want to make this fiction all that I think it can be. How does one find a beta?
This whole episode was fun to write. I sincerely hope you enjoy it and I can't wait to hear what you think. Thank-you to my followers and to those of you who have taken the time to let me know what you think—it really makes my day to get your reviews and I hope you'll continue to write to me with your comments, concerns, and suggestions!
I hope everyone had happy holidays and ate lots of sweets and I wish the same for the upcoming New Year! I hope your cups are refilled often and that your resolutions will come true. 3
-AMouse
Rose and the Doctor spent the next three weeks of her recovery fanatically reading the rest of the Harry Potter series, even going into Rose's future to wait in a line in full Hogwarts paraphernalia the night before the release of the final book.
By the fourth week the Doctor had become fidgety. He was physically aching for adventure—a concert, a tyrannical government, an alien in a human skin suit, anything. Rose was in a similar state and had no sympathy to spare him. She'd been out of bed for two weeks and her bruises were all but gone. Her bones were all healed and the Doctor had given her exercises to strengthen the bones in her left hand. Mercifully he'd told her she'd have full mobility in it again. From a medical perspective she was perfectly able to resume her usual pursuits, so Rose didn't understand why the Doctor was so reluctant to give them the adventure they both so desperately craved, and she was currently telling him so for the fourth time that day.
It was the sixth night of their fourth week without danger and they'd dressed up as Luna Lovegood and Neville Longbottom and were standing out in the late night chill in a long time, awaiting entrance to the premiere of the eighth Harry Potter movie. The Doctor was expertly avoiding answering her questions, which never worked anymore because Rose had come a long way since her first trip—she'd gone from "failing hullabaloo" to acing deflection 101.
Still, he wouldn't budge, so when the queue finally started shuffling forward signaling the opened cinema doors, she tipped her head back to the sky, closed her eyes tight, and groaned at his stubbornness, totally missing the quick flush that ignited on his freckled face. His eyes dilated and he turned away from her for a total of three seconds to get control of himself. By the time she'd finished her irritated theatrics he was looking back at her calmly with an unimpressed expression on his face. He laced their fingers and led them inside the cinema to join the bustling crowd.
The Doctor hadn't climbed into Rose's bed again since the night of her nightmare and neither of them had mentioned it ever again—just one more thing to add to long list of things unmentionable. Something had been bothering the Doctor for weeks though, and try as he might he could not move past it.
She had been so terrified, more so than he'd ever seen her. And she hadn't been dreaming about the Daleks, or the Cybermen, or the Beast that predicted she'd die in battle. At least he didn't think so. No. Because she'd said the name "Jimmy"… cried it really… she'd begged. He hadn't done anything with the information. He wanted to respect her privacy, but it was becoming increasingly hard when every time he closed his own eyes all he could see was Rose hitting a white wall, or Rose begging someone named Jimmy to stop. 'Stop what?'
It had been a combined total of six weeks before they made their way to modern day London again. They'd gone with the intention of emptying out Jackie's flat, but the Doctor had landed six months too late. When they got to the flat, it had already been cleaned out and a new family had moved in.
"All I'm saying Doctor is that it wouldn't kill ya to double check the date every once in a while."
"I'll have you know I always double check the date; the TARDIS changes it."
"You can't have it both ways, you know. Either you pilot her and you're bad at it, or she pilots herself and you aren't, in fact, the designated driver at all."
He replied by sticking out his tongue. She countered.
"Come on then," he said to her, offering his fightin' hand. "Let's go get some chips. After that, we can take her back six months and clear out a room in the TARDIS for all the boxes… I almost don't want to get this over with…Rassilon knows what sorts of—of things your mother kept."
She batted his arm playfully when he mock shivered. "Hush you!"
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It was growing dark by the time they'd left the chippy and begun walking hand-in-hand down the busy London streets. Rose stopped suddenly, her face screwed up in confusion. Dropping the Doctor's hand and holding out both of hers as if in the middle of a jumping jack, she looked at him inquiringly.
"It feels weird here, don't you think?"
He took a step toward her, but felt nothing. Shaking his head, he took another step so their toes were almost touching. His own face screwed up. "What is that," he said to himself. "Plasma coils, in London? I don't know why I'm surprised. Good job noticing them Rose, they're weak here, another step to the left and you'd never feel them at all."
He looked at her curiously for a moment then took a step past her—then another, and another. "They get stronger, see Rose? The closer to this building we get the stronger they are…I wonder what's inside?"
"It's a hospital. That's Royal Hope Hospital," she told him, chewing worriedly on her lower lip. He lost his train of thought for a moment.
"A hospital… right… well—I'd say we'd better check in," he said, beginning to lead her by the hand in the direction of the main doors. "Actually you'd better check in. I have two hearts, it wouldn't do get dissected before the fun starts, would it," he stopped then, concern replacing the excitement on his features. "Hold on, are you ready for this? Because you can go back to the TA—"
"NO! I mean, yeah, I'm ready; definitely. Yes," she interrupted him.
She'd been ready for weeks for even a little bit of excitement, and if he continued to coddle her, she and the TARDIS might just decide they're better off without the 'designated driver' after all. "Okay then, let's go," the Doctor sighed in resignation and started swinging their coupled hands between them as they took off again.
Realistically the Doctor had nothing to worry about; Rose's injuries were entirely healed. It would take equipment from the 28th century at the earliest to see that the breaks were as recent as they were—that didn't stop him from nervously fidgeting. Taking Rose to all eight Harry Potter movie premiers was one thing, but it was too soon for her to be in danger like this, he was sure of it.
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Rose had faked stomach cramps while the Doctor filled out paperwork and attempted to keep a straight face. 'How can she have such a brilliant poker face and absolutely no concept of acting?'
"Rose Tyler" had gone missing: presumed dead at the Battle of Canary Wharf six months ago, so when asked about her marital status the Doctor slipped biodampers on their fingers to avoid resurrecting Rose, and so he'd be able to stay with her.
When they'd been called back for a preliminary examination by an elderly nurse with a constant grimace, the Doctor had resolved himself to play the part of doting newlywed, telling himself not to enjoy it too much…up until the point when the nurse had asked if there was any chance of pregnancy. He'd been about to speak up when Rose had said, "It's possible. We've only been trying for a couple of months though."
He'd started floundering and couldn't seem to gain control of himself. Luckily the nurse was focused entirely on Rose. When she finally left them, he'd turned to face her calmly. "So, dear… I hadn't realized we were expecting."
She rolled her eyes. "We aren't. I said we'd been trying. It'd look weird if we said there was no chance at all, considering we're "married." Plus this way they don't just look me over and give me some stomach pills."
"That—that's actually a brilliant plan. Okay, but we're naming it Alonso."
"What if it's a girl," asked Rose, tolerantly.
He gave her the 'dribbled-on-your-shirt' look that she and Sarah Jane had bonded over last year. "Still Alonso."
Rose, as it turned out, had been right to suggest possible pregnancy. Tests were run and after midnight they had all come back negative. She was admitted for overnight observation, and the Doctor was permitted to stay because he'd pretended to be asleep and Rose had said some nonsense about him having insomnia, "so please don't wake him."
Once all attention was diverted from the duo the Doctor yawned theatrically and stretched his arms above his head. "What a lovely nap."
"Shut up," she quipped. "Don't you have some investigating to do, or something?"
He took a moment to study her; she looked tiny, curled up on the hospital bed. She'd lost weight and muscle mass during her recovery but he'd grown so used to seeing her every day he hadn't really taken notice before now—her cheeks were just a little too hollow, her shoulders and collar bone protruding just a little too much.
Her eyes were still just as bright though, like whiskey, or butterscotch. He hated seeing her on this bed after all the time she'd already spent in her own.
His throat closed up on him and he swallowed repeatedly against the sensation. He had the sudden, overwhelming need to escape from their little curtained enclosure. "Right…welll, guess I'd better get going then," the teasing smile left Rose's face, the Doctor felt terrible for his quick dismissal. "I'll bring round some chips on my way back. You should try to get some sleep, it's late."
"I woke up six hours ago," she pointed out.
"Afternoon nap, then," he smiled cheekily as he turned on his heel and darted between the parted curtains.
Rose had been traveling with him for over two years, and if the Doctor had prided himself on one thing, it was that he knew Rose Tyler. But the last few weeks had shown him that maybe he didn't know her as completely as he had assumed.
This did not sit well with the Doctor. Puzzles were not meant to go unfinished, and if she was still a mystery to him then she needed to be solved. Since when had she been so good at hiding things? Since he'd taught her to shield her mind—before that even? Rose had never been predictable, he had long since given up expecting her to react as the rest of the species of her time period did; in fact, it was one of the reasons he'd first been interested in asking her to join him.
Most people ask questions, and then feel overwhelmed by the answers. Rose said "okay." She said okay when she stepped into a bigger on the inside time traveling spaceship. She said okay when that spaceship was sentient—believed it even, and treated the TARDIS as she would any other living creature from then on. When she had been standing on that platform with him in leather, it had been with interest and mild amusement; she hadn't become overwhelmed until she'd seen Cassandra, and that was most likely his fault; he'd led her to believe there were no humans left in the universe. She had run off because she'd seen a flap of skin call itself a human and realized that she was the only human left. She had felt like him—he was ashamed to admit that had been exactly what he'd wanted…for someone to know what it felt like to be him.
But something about this felt different. This was more than unpredictability; it had never once occurred to the Doctor until the last few weeks, but while he had begun to slowly rely upon Rose for a multitude of things, from listening nonjudgmentally to the nightmares of his past, to finding where the TARDIS hid the last jar of marmalade, Rose had never confided in the Doctor on much more than a superficial basis before. He knew her dad had died when she was young and that her mum had been a wonderful parent—even if sometimes she drank too much or brought home too many of the wrong type of bloke—he knew her favorite color, her best friends growing up, that she'd dropped out of school, that she liked Johnny Cash and loved Audrey Hepburn movies. Those were all facts. They were stats on the backs of trading cards; there was no emotion behind them, there were no secrets or fears. He'd arrogantly assumed that because she was young and human that that was all there was, nothing deeper. Now every time he looks at her all he can see is how wrong he was… and he hates to be wrong. There is still so much there that he hadn't been bothered to think about, and why hadn't she ever said? The Doctor had always known his relationship with Rose was one-sided, and doomed to remain so… but he had been wrong… turns out they've both been withholding things.
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Rose didn't sleep a wink after the Doctor had left to investigate. She'd counted the ceiling tiles, counted sheep, counted Daleks, but try as she did, she just could not make herself tired.
Instead Rose lay in bed, her eyes closed, and she tried to focus on her surroundings. Rose had begun to do this even before she had remembered opening the heart of the TARDIS; slowly, it had become instinctual to her. Then, through a series of dreams, her memories had slowly begun returning to her. She still couldn't remember everything, but she knew enough to know her dreams were not dreams. Sometimes at night, her memories would continue to seep through.
Eyes closed, Rose focused on the worn cotton sheets around her, trying to make out the individual scratch of each thread, but being unsuccessful. Her cubicle was the last on the left, closest to the nurses' station and the set of heavy double doors. To her left sat her own heart monitor, beeping rhythmically, to her right were the heart monitors of two other patients, both most likely asleep, the beeping was their individual monitors was just slightly out of sync with the other.
The floors and walls had been baptized in bleach and antiseptic. It coated every surface and coagulated in the air. Rose could smell it, when she breathed in deeply through her mouth she could almost taste the chemicals on her tongue, sweet and bitter and burning her throat slightly when she swallowed; the taste remained on her tongue for some time.
There was the occasional scurrying back and forth by the nurses, and at some point a janitor had gone sauntering by, pushing a trolley in front of him as he went about his business. Rose had lost track of time. Immersed deeply in the world around her, she had entered a kind of meditative state.
Her mind was so deeply focused that she could feel the pulse of the TARDIS's consciousness even at this distance (three miles, her brain supplied automatically); the old girl was humming at her happily, joyously, in fact. She allowed the TARDIS's mental presence to caress her own, almost losing her concentration when the feeling was so familiar, but then the old girl pushed a quick series of mental freeze frames across her mind like the shutter of a camera, each accompanied by a series of emotions – the TARDIS's feelings, Rose realized.
First she saw herself, nineteen, frozen mid-swing, hanging from a chain with the Nestene Consciousness bubbling below her. She felt hope for the Doctor's future. Then she saw the Doctor, his glacial eyes focused disparagingly on the floor, his hands fisted, and Rose could feel the Doctor's humility through his bond with the TARDIS—it felt foreign to him—and the TARDIS's hope flared. 'I also travel in time,' she'd reminded her thief.
She saw herself in a beautiful red dress. Rose had accepted that the TARDIS was alive and allowed her to pick the dress herself; she felt the TARDIS's thankfulness and content.
Then she was standing in the control room with her mum, the Doctor, and Mickey. Her mum's mouth was frozen open in horror. This was right after she'd first seen the dimensionally transcendental time ship and it felt like a family gathering.
She felt the old girl's humor over the jealousy Adam's short time as a companion had caused the Doctor; worry when the Doctor brought a sobbing Rose back home to the ship when she'd made the impulsive decision to save her dad and had to watch him die anyway.
The TARDIS had much to communicate about Captain Jack. Her feelings ranged from fond exasperation, to bemusement, to empathy, to loss. She missed Jack as much as Rose.
Interestingly, when the old girl focused on their trip to modern day Cardiff, Rose felt the sense of mutual ownership. The TARDIS considered them a pack (Rose tried and failed to suppress a mental snort at the old girl's description), and Rose was their leader. She was the balancing force which kept them all together and existing in harmony: the tin dog that she inspired to become a man, the conman that for her became a hero, the obsolete type 40 TARDIS, a relic that ran away from home with her thief, and the outcast, an old mad man who found a cornered she-wolf and took her by the hand—he showed her the stars and she gave him a den and a pack.
Finally, Rose saw gold. It shined behind her closed eyelids so sharply she thought she would cut herself on the color. It swirled and eddied, it cascaded to and fro in waves and ripples and multitudes of varying pigments of silver and gold and bronze. It crept from the still image the TARDIS had sent her and smoky tendrils of golden dust melted into the corners of her mind. Rose became the gold and the smoke and the dust; she remembered having this dream before—no, not a dream. This had happened. She had seen this before. Once upon a time Rose Tyler had opened up the heart of the TARDIS and she had looked inside. She'd seen time, not as the Time Lords had seen it – through the schism – she had seen it all rushing past her at once. And she hadn't acted to abuse her knowledge or shape outcomes to fit her own selfish desires. Time had given her an impossible gift. She hadn't burned.
Rose could see how foolish she and the Doctor were to have ever thought a wolf could run wild through eternity without eternity touching her. She was steeped in time, it rolled aromatically off her skin with every rush of wind. How could he not smell it too? It was overwhelming. Like the Cybermen and Daleks had been coated in the Void, like Artron Energy attaches itself to time travelers, the Vortex had seeped into Rose's skin; her flesh prickled at the sensation, and behind her closed eyes Rose and the TARDIS could see how the golden coils of time connected one heart to the other. So long as the TARDIS was there to act as a conductor, the Vortex would be a part of Rose until the day she died. Like medallions given to heroes for their acts of valor, it would serve as an invisible symbol of her devotion to Time's Champion.
She was pulled away from the TARDIS forcefully by an insistent shaking. "Mrs. Smith! Mrs. Smith! Wake up, ma'am," said a young nurse.
Rose opened her eyes slowly and gave the doe-eyed brunette girl a disoriented "Wha'?"
"Your heart rate was skyrocketing. You must have been having a bad dream—do you remember?"
"No," she half-lied. Rose remembered the TARDIS communicating with her with pictures. She remembered the deep feeling of oneness between herself and the old girl…then everything was gold and she was a wolf. But her dream hadn't been bad…had it even been a dream? It was fading now. "Not really. It wasn't a bad dream though. I was a wolf and I was running through the stars, I think. It was beautiful."
The nurse smiled shyly. "Sorry to've woken you, Mrs. Smith, but your heart was racing so quick 'n I thought—"
"S'okay. Really. What time is it?"
"Oh, nearly five in the morning. Sun will be rising soon and morning rounds will be starting shortly, too."
Rose looked around. "Have you seen my husband?"
She nodded, a deep burgundy blush blooming out from the apples of her cheeks. "He said he didn't want to wake you with his snoring so he went to have a kip in the empty waiting area," she said. "Popped back in about an hour ago, but you must have been asleep. He left pretty quickly—said something about bananas and tea and then he was off again. He keeps popping back in every twenty minutes or so to see if you've woken but he doesn't stay. Not one to sit still is he," the nurse – Claire, her nametag said – laughed. The color on her cheeks had grown less pronounced.
Rose gave a fond chuckle. "No. He's not."
Rose and the nurse exchanged pleasantries for a few more minutes before she left to get back to her duties and then Rose was back to counting the tiles on the ceiling. Luckily it wasn't long before the Doctor had pushed aside the curtain and peaked in to find her awake and sitting up.
Much to Rose's confusion, the moment the Doctor realized she was awake, he dropped his head and refused to make eye contact. Even as he parted the curtains and took a seat in the chair beside her bed, the conversation was awkward and he wouldn't meet her eyes.
At 5:45 in the morning the curtain was pushed aside again. Unlike the Doctor's quiet peaking in, this man seemed unconcerned with whether or not she may have been resting.
"Now then, Mr. Smith, Mrs. Smith, a very good morning to you. How are you today?" Said the doctor as he nodded his head in greeting to John Smith and looked his patient up and down.
"Uh, not so bad… still a bit… you know… Blah," Mrs. Smith finished. Mr. Smith covered his mouth to hide a cough.
"Mrs. Rose Smith, admitted yesterday with severe abdominal pains. Jones, why don't you see what you can find? Amaze me."
"That wasn't very clever, running around outside, was it?" The pretty black woman frowned at the Doctor as she stepped toward Rose and prepared to begin her examination. She huffed on the end of her stethoscope to warm it up.
The Doctor tipped his head to the side in confusion. "Sorry?"
"On Chancery Street this morning. You came up to me and took your tie off."
"Really?" He looked to Rose and asked, "What did I do that for?" The blonde shrugged her shoulders and gave her "husband" a why-are-you-asking-me face.
"I don't know," said the pretty medical student. "You just did."
"Not me. I was here, pacing the halls all night. Ask the nurses."
"Well, that's weird, cause it looked like you. Have you got a brother?"
"No, not any more. Just me." 'And Rose.'
The medical student continued to look at the Doctor in silence, apparently unaware of what she was doing, until he began to fidget uncomfortably. "As time passes and I grow ever more infirm and weary, Miss Jones."
"Sorry. Right," she shook her head clear and put the now cold stethoscope onto Rose's chest to listen to her lungs. Rose could feel the chilly metal through the thin hospital gown she'd been forced to don.
Mr. Stoker, unhappy with his student's slow pace, scoffed from his place behind her. "I weep for further generations. Are you having trouble locating the heart, Miss Jones?"
"I was listening to her lungs as well." She turned back to the woman on the bed. "Any chance of pregnancy?"
Mr. Stoker cut Rose off before she could get out a full syllable. "Had you not rather failed basic techniques by not consulting first with the patient's chart, you would have seen that pregnancy had been considered and the blood work had come back negative."
He picked up the chart at the end of her bed and received a visible electric shock, making him gasp and drop the chart onto the end of the bed. Multiple students spoke over one another, having experienced a similar shock.
"That's only to be expected," Mr. Stoker said. "There's a thunderstorm moving in and lightning is a form of static electricity, as was first proven by - anyone?"
"Benjamin Franklin," Rose and the Doctor said together and then looked at each other, the Doctor in shock, and Rose with a tiny smirk on her otherwise stoic face.
"Correct!" Mr. Stoker exclaimed.
The Doctor recovered quickly. "My mate Ben, that was a day and a half," he told Rose. "I got rope burns off that kite, and then I got soaked…"
"Quite..."
"... and then I got electrocuted." By the end of his story Mr. Stoker looked thoroughly convinced he was insane, and some of his students were shifting awkwardly as well. Not wanted him to be carted away in a restraints, but too amused to come up with a solution to the problem he'd just created for them, she burst into laughter. "You—you're barking," she said when her laughter had ebbed into chuckles. The Doctor smiled back at her.
"Moving on," Stoker said, whispering aside to his students as they left the couple alone. "I thought for a moment we'd have to call in psychiatrics."
Once they were gone the Doctor turned to his blonde companion with an eyebrow raised. "Benjamin Franklin?"
"What about him," she asked, confused.
"You said Benjamin Franklin."
The confused smile began to drain off her face as she realized where he may be going with his line of questioning. "That was the answer."
Not realizing he was about to choke on his foot, he said, "I know. But how did you know that?"
Her face ignited in bright red from anger, but more from embarrassment. 'Is that really what he thinks of me?' She didn't say anything for a long time, half waiting for him to realize his mistake and apologize; maybe to tell her he didn't mean it the way it sounded. But mostly just to get control of herself so she could answer him rationally. Two years ago, when she first started traveling with him, she'd been irrational and too quick to react—so had he. But one of them needed to be mature and she knew it wasn't likely to be him. Responsible, yes; mature, never.
He was still waiting for an answer, so with a deep, calming breath, Rose told him. "Because I went to school until I was sixteen, Doctor. And I read. And it's common knowledge."
The Doctor shrugged his shoulders like he had decided to believe her, but after a few minutes even he was unable to ignore the tension that had worked its way between them. He made some excuses about doing more searching and left her once more.
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He'd left Rose about a quarter of an hour ago on the pretense of more investigating, but really he'd just needed a reprieve from the strain that had suddenly fallen between them. He assumed he'd done or said something he shouldn't have, but didn't know what.
Two years ago, Rose would have gotten angry and yelled at him. She would have told him exactly what he'd done wrong. Recently though she'd gained a new control over her emotions, specifically her temper. She didn't rage at him anymore. She looked hurt or disappointed and then she moved on. He missed the yelling; she always looked beautiful when she was angry, if a little bit dangerous. His ninth self often thought about what it would be like to see that passion focused on pleasure instead of rage. His ninth self thought about that a lot. He does too, if he's being honest with himself.
The Doctor takes a deep breath and forces thoughts of an angry, flushed Rose from his mind. 'Concentrate. Time and a place…time and a place…time an…d…and it's raining up. Bollox!'
Sprinting back down the hall as fast as he can, he collides with the wall just outside the doors to Rose's wing when he can't take the turn at his velocity, but he pushes himself back off the wall with momentum in the direction of her bed, roughing swinging the divider to the side and looking into her quickly sit herself up straight in her bed and meet his panicked eyes with her startled face.
He had been in such a hurry he hadn't engaged his respiratory bypass system and was consequently heaving and out of breath. If Rose's startled eyes were any indication, he must look half wild.
"What is it?!" she asked.
"It's raining the wrong way," he half shouted, and Rose's previously panicked face contorted in confusion. Just then the hospital convulsed and Rose's body was jolted from the bed and to the floor.
Before he even realized what he was doing, his body had reacted; he dove for her. Reaching her just as her back and side thudded against the linoleum of the floor, he instinctually stretched out so their eyes were lined up, noses millimeters apart, her body was tucked as safely as he could manage in between his own as he hovered over her in a protective arch on his knees and elbows.
Her IV drip, which had been giving her saline all night, had been pulled from her arm during her fall, but he knew aside from the small dot of blood it had left behind and some small bruising from hitting the floor, she was fine.
The Doctor fared worse. The metal rack holding the heart monitor and saline solution shook from the plasma coils and fell cuttingly against his right shoulder blade, making him close his eyes and hiss in pain. The empty breakfast tray that had been sitting on the swiveling table top at the end of her bed had also crashed to the floor near his feet, and he'd reacted by drawing his knees in closer to Rose's body, effectively pinning her against him by his knees to her hips.
Seconds later, as the quakes drew to a close, the Doctor realized what he had done and the position he'd placed them both in. He went pale and his eyes took on the expression of a startled fawn and his whole body froze. He was afraid to move, lest she realize that he hadn't been unfazed by their close proximity.
Thinking quickly, he cut her off just as she was about to start speaking (no doubt to tell him that he was still on top of her). "Right, that was close. Wellll," he said, standing quickly and turning his back to her in one lightning quick fluid motion. "You'd better change into your street clothes and trainers."
He pulled the curtains he'd wretched apart back together to give her privacy, staying inside with her, but keeping his back to her. She didn't say a word as she went about gathering her clothes, which he appreciated, until he began to hear the rustling of fabric behind him. In the silence, it was easy to imagine exactly what she was doing behind his back: Untying her flimsy hospital gown…sliding it off her shoulders, laying it on the bed…rummaging through her bag for her dark denim skinny jeans…sliding them up her legs and jumping up and down a couple of time, swiveling her hips to get them up those last few inches so they'll rest snugly against her hips and buttoning them…reaching back into her bag for her blouse…
"Soooo," the Doctor said loudly. He was afraid if he didn't find a distraction he'd choke on his own saliva.
If anything had come across the Doctor just then they'd turn tail and run away as fast as possible, in terror. It was all he could do to speak gruffly, his self-control was in such shreds at Rose's feet. He was staring daggers at the drapes before him, his pupils so dilated it was nearly impossible to tell if there was any white in his eyes. There was a trickled of sweat on his brow, and he was using every ounce of will he had left to remain turned away from her, and to stop from adjusting himself—that would not help him right now.
He took deep breaths until he felt like he was back in control of himself, sending a 'Thank Rassilon' to the universe that he was a Time Lord and not a human with uncontrollable hormones. The tension left his shoulders and his eyes returned to normal. He wiped his forehead with his shirtsleeve.
"Sooo," she replied a second later. "You can turn around now Doctor, I'm dressed."
He turned around and came face to bum. Rose was indeed dressed. She was also bent over sliding on her remaining shoe, the yellow high tops he'd surprised her with last week.
He flushed red, but now he wasn't riding an adrenaline high. He was in control of himself and quickly reasserted control over his body before she could finish slipping her shoe on and turn around.
"Okay, ready?" He asked once she was facing him. She answered with a happy nod.
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"It's real. It's really real. Hold on!" The Doctor hears the familiar voice of the medical student that had attended Rose during morning rounds.
"Don't! We'll lose all the air!"
"But they're not exactly air tight." Miss Jones says again. "If the air was going to get sucked out it would have happened straight away, but it didn't. So how come?"
The Doctor gave Rose, who had also paused to listen to the medical student, a cheeky grin, then shoved the drapes out of the way with a dramatic flourish. From the corner of his eye he saw his Rose roll her eyes at his theatrics. 'Is it my fault that I like to make an entrance?'
"Very good point! Brilliant, in fact. What was your name?"
"Martha."
"And it was Jones, wasn't it?" The woman nods. "Well then, Martha Jones, the question is, how are we still breathing?"
"We can't be!"
"Obviously we are so don't waste my time." He dismisses the panicking girl. "Martha, what have we got? Is there a balcony on this floor, or a veranda, or...?"
"By the patients' lounge, yeah."
"Fancy going out?"
"Okay."
"We might die."
"We might not."
"Good! C'mon. Not her, she'd hold us up," he tells the girls, pointing at the crying medical student being embraced and whispered to by Rose.
Neither of the two paid him any attention, which he realized once he reached the doors and turned to see that while Martha had faithfully followed him, Rose was still talking quietly to a now seemingly placated and nodding Swales.
"Rose?! Are you coming?"
The blonde gave one last quick squeeze to the other girl's upper arm and caught up with him.
"We're on a bit of a time crunch here, you know. You're wasting time," he chastised sulkily.
She turned and hissed at him as they continued on. "This is impossible just as outside her realm of possibility as a box bigger on the inside was for me on the day we met, or as impossible as orbiting around a black hole was to you a couple months ago."
That brought him up short. He was doing what he'd recently criticized Donna for doing, only thinking of the little picture—the immediate problem—the hospital is on the moon. But this situation had caused backlash that would need to be dealt with too. Mass panic. Hysteria.
Not to mention he was being rude again. "You're right," he said, suitably chastised. "Sorry."
She smiled at him and took his hand as they reached the double doors of the patients' balcony. They shared a look that seemed to say, "Are you ready?"
And together they pushed open the doors.