The Dread of Tomorrow and Yesterday – Chapter 64
A/N: Okay, so, this is the second prequel chapter. Hopefully you all enjoy!
The song that goes with this chapter is Straight for the Knife by Sia.
Replies to Reviews: As always, I've put them at the end.
Warnings: Sexual Content, Racism, Attempted Rape, Language etc.
Straight for the Knife
The time finally came when she had the chance to scream.
But it wasn't what she was expecting.
It all started with John, who stormed in one morning, without a care for who may be in the rooms, looking the complete opposite of the dapper, put together gentleman that he usually portrayed. Of course, it was only Rhea, who didn't care at all about propriety (hello, had you met her?) and she simply put her book down and raised her eyebrows at John.
"What's the matter?" She asked, carefully, staring at the way his eyebrows were drawn in anger.
"You would not believe what Matron just told me." John hissed, his eyes dark with anger.
Rhea sighed and jumped to her feet. "Whatever it is, I'm sure I'm not gonna like it. Why don't you tell me, honey?" She offered.
"Your lady's maid is out of control." John snapped.
Rhea swept a curl out of her face and regarded him, silently. Whatever it is that he thought Martha had done had obviously turned him incredibly agitated.
"You might want to explain a bit further." Rhea said, coolly, a familiar protectiveness over Martha rising in her and warming her chest. Martha was at a disadvantageous position, here in 1913, even more disadvantageous than her. At least Rhea had the security of being John's wife. All Martha had was the fact that she was playing the part of Rhea's lady's maid. She'd be damned if anything happened to Martha on her watch.
"Matron informed me that she caught Martha flinging herself shamelessly at the Headmaster." John snapped, red splotches in his cheeks.
"What are you talking about?" Rhea said, coldly. "That has to be the stupidest thing I've ever heard of. Plus, I've seen the Headmaster and believe me, Martha could do much better." She smirked.
John looked at her, reproachfully. "Rhea, you should mind your manners. He is the Headmaster, and according to Matron, she witnessed it with her own two eyes. Are you calling her a liar?" He crossed his arms over his chest.
"Yes." Rhea nodded and ignored the way that jealousy sparked inside of her at the thought of him believing Joan Redfern over her. She was his wife, god damnit. Not that she wanted to be, but it was the principle of the thing. Men should trust their wives over bitchy nurses, right? "Are you sure Nurse Redfern saw what she thought she was seeing?"
John scowled at the carefree way that Rhea was taking his concerns. "I swore to the Headmaster when we first came here that Martha was not promiscuous."
Rhea laughed at the thought. "And she's not! How can you say she's being promiscuous?"
"She threw herself at the Headmaster!" John protested. "That is the very definition of promiscuity."
Rhea chuckled. "Believe me, it isn't." She murmured, knowingly. She paused. "Did you talk to Martha about this?"
John nodded, furiously, the vein in his temple thumping furiously. "I did. And she had the nerve to question me! Me!" John cried out, outraged. "As if the altercation with the science teacher would somehow excuse her sordid behaviour-"
"Wait," Rhea held up a hand to silence him. "What altercation with the science teacher? What are you talking about?" She asked, narrowing her eyes at him.
"Well," John rubbed the back of his neck, sheepishly. "I did not want to worry you with the details, you see, and I was sure you would understand-"
"Spit it out, John!" She snapped.
"There was a misunderstanding between the science teacher and Martha, apparently. As a life scientist, he was naturally interested in the development of the human species and he had never had the chance to study a Negro female." John began and Rhea had to stop herself from hitting him at his casual racism. "He asked my permission to study Martha to determine the extent of her intelligence and other matters. I do believe that Martha took undue offence when Mister Phillips asked her to disrobe. I reprimanded her for her impertinence, but-"
"Wait." Rhea's voice turned ice cold. Her shoulders tensed and she stood to her full height, which was not much, but her anger was clear on her face and it partly terrified John. "He asked her to disrobe? And you reprimanded her for getting angry? Are you drunk? Or so dense that you can't see how horrible that is?" She snarled.
"He meant no carnal interest. Martha is a servant and a black. Why would he be interested in her?"
Rhea rolled her eyes. "Oh, yeah, because no white man has ever taken advantage of the poor, young black woman." She growled, sarcastically.
"Rhea," John began, slowly, as if he were talking to a small child and Rhea had the immediate urge to punch him in the face and see him bleed. "Mister Phillips is a naturalist and he has never had the opportunity to inspect a Negro female in a scientific capacity. He wished to examine Martha, make notes according to the established studies. He was determined to correct misconceptions about her race."
"Her race!" Rhea shrieked. "Her race! Do you hear yourself?" She snapped. "We all belong to the same race, you nimrod. It's called the human race." She snarled.
"Madam, I will not tolerate you yelling at me like a fishwife." John snapped, showing her the first instance of anger since the moment they had arrived in 1913. Even the Doctor had never acted towards her like this. For a brief and terrifying moment, she was reminded of her ex-husband and even took an unwilling, wary step back, half in concern of what he would do. It was 1913, he could hit her if he wanted to and she didn't know if she had it in her to fight him back. "You are my wife and you will show me respect."
"I'd rather go to hell." John opened his mouth to argue. "No, seriously, I would rather burn in hell than deal with any of your patriarchal, misogynistic bullshit for a moment longer." Rhea said, flatly, and he swelled with anger. "Why didn't you tell me any of this was happening? She's my lady's maid. If the stupid science teacher wanted anything, he should come to me, not you." She said, coldly.
John rolled his eyes. "Darling, if I consent, it is the same as you consenting." He said, reproachfully.
Rhea scowled at him. "What if we disagree?" She smiled, viciously.
"It does not matter. I already gave my reply to Mister Phillips." John smirked.
"Anyway, what did Martha do?" Rhea waved off.
"She, of course, took great offence and stormed into my classroom, yelling and abusing me as if I were some tavern drunkard and not her master." John shook his head, as if he could not believe what he was saying.
"Okay, you are not her master." Rhea snapped.
"Nevertheless," John shot her a warning glare. "Mister Phillips' actions were nothing but honourable. This is not the Indies or Liverpool, for God's sake, wife. She is a handsome woman enough for her race, but he would not touch her."
"Are you insane? Martha's damn well gorgeous, but that's beside the point." Rhea shook her head. She took a step closer to the Doctor. "According to you, we've been married for six years, husband, yet your knowledge on this particular subject seems to be lacking, so let me enlighten you about something. When a man tells a woman to disrobe and pulls a line like he wants to examine her for the purposes of science, he wants to fuck her."
"Madam!" John exclaimed, scandalised by her vulgar language.
"Oh, please, you've heard worse from me." Rhea waved off. She walked forwards until she was standing right in front of John. She tugged at his tie and leaned up to look him in the eye. "Tell me something, if it were I in Martha's position and one of your colleagues asked me to disrobe for the purposes of scientific inspection, what would you do?"
"I would tear his eyes out. You are my wife." John said, coldly, the jealousy eating at him.
"But the same things that you just said about Martha apply to me too, don't they?" Rhea raised an eyebrow. "I mean, I'm not remotely white. Why would you think Mister Phillips would want me in a 'carnal' sense and not Martha?"
"Because you are my wife." John said, finally. "And Martha is my servant."
"No, Martha is my friend, John. The only damn friend I have in this place." Rhea said, coldly. "She was deeply offended by what you did and you will go and apologise to Martha because what you did was sick and wrong and if it were me, I would never forgive you for pimping me out."
"I will not apologise to her!" John crossed his arms over his chest. "She disparaged my character, insulted me, I should dismiss her, immediately."
"If you do," Rhea smirked. "I will go with her." She said, finally. "And never come back. This place is hell enough without Martha here with me."
John stared at her, stunned. He felt pain strike him in his hearts – heart, why would he have more than one heart? – at the thought of her leaving him. She was his wife. She belonged with him. "You would not dare."
"I would, if you dismissed Martha." Rhea said, coolly. Her shoulders slumped. "I don't want to do that, honey." She said, quietly. "But remember what I said, all of those things you said about Martha apply to me as well and you wouldn't stand for it if it were me, don't stand for it about Martha. She's my friend and she's loyal to us." She crooned, cupping his jaw in her hand.
"Very well." John gritted his teeth. "I will apologise to her, out of my love for you." Rhea grimaced. "But what of this seduction of the Headmaster? You cannot excuse that."
"I refuse to take the Matron's word for it." Rhea snarled. "I know Martha and she would never do anything like that. I will deal with it, and please tell Joan Redfern to keep her nose out of other people's business."
"Rhea-" John sighed as if he were about to reprimand her but she shook her head.
"I swear to God, John, if that woman gets involved in my business again, I don't even know what I'll do." She snapped.
"Your jealousy is adorable, my darling." John said, sweetly, leaning down to kiss her forehead, lovingly.
"I am not jealous and Martha wouldn't do something like this. There's something else going on and I'll get to the bottom of it, don't worry." Rhea said, reassuringly.
"Very well." John nodded. "I trust your judgement."
He leaned down to kiss her on the lips but she stepped back, dodging him before he could.
"Hey, you didn't think you could treat me like some stupid old housewife who has nothing better to do but to wait on you hand on foot, insult my friend and conspire to have her taken advantage of by a creep disguised as a science teacher, and still get to kiss this beautiful mouth, did you?" Rhea raised an eyebrow.
John looked at her as if she were the strangest thing in the world. "But-" His eyes were wild and confused.
"Ha, I'd rather jump in a well than let you touch me right now." She snapped, spun on her heel and walked away.
"Did you bring me tea, Dr Quinn? That's so sweet." Rhea smirked.
"Oh, shut up." Martha growled and dropped the plate on the table, making sure that she didn't spill a drop.
"Hey, you okay, honey?" Rhea asked, worriedly, seeing the downtrodden expression on her friend's face.
"Yeah, I'm fine, Rhea, why?" Martha asked, her smile weak on her face.
"Well, I talked to John and he told a few interesting things that have been going on here that you didn't tell me about." Rhea said, flatly. "Don't worry, I gave him hell about what the creepy science teacher did to you. I'm still not speaking to him. What a jerk. Don't worry, I'll give the Doctor a piece of my mind when he comes back to us." She shook her head. "Who does he think he is?" She raged. "Treating you like some fucking prostitute waiting to be peddled to the nearest buyer. He's lucky I still let him go with all of his body parts intact." She muttered.
"You don't believe that whole Headmaster thing, do you?" Martha asked, hesitantly.
"Are you insane, who do you take me for?" Rhea asked, incredulously. "It's you, Martha. You're fucking gorgeous, not to mention the fact that the Headmaster is as old as freaking Methuselah." Rhea quietened. "You wanna tell me what happened?" She asked, slowly.
Martha sank back down on the sofa, haphazardly. It was then the sunlight shone on her from the window and Rhea could see exactly what Martha had been hiding from her and exactly what had happened between Martha and the Headmaster. It was like rage coiled in the pit of her stomach and rose, ensnaring her heart and making her blood boil and burn. Her fists clenched and turned white with the force of her grip, her nails drawing blood as they dug into her palm. She could feel her teeth grinding and she felt that familiar urge to draw blood, to kill rising in her all over again, much like it had when she had seen Nurse Redfern in her rooms with her hands on John's hair. It was like a wave of fury that encompassed her and threatened to never let her go. She could feel herself ache to draw the Headmaster's blood, to see him dead at her feet, his blood pooling around him. Men like him deserved to die. It was practically written in stone.
"Show me your face." Even Rhea was surprised at how dead her tone was.
"What-what are you talking about?" Martha stammered, turning her face to the side so that she could no longer see the cheek in question.
"Your face. There's a bruise on your cheekbone, Dr Quinn. You wanna explain that?" Rhea asked, carefully, standing up and looking down on her.
"It's… it's nothing, Rhea, I swear." Martha said, quickly, looking down.
"I'm not your fucking mistress, Martha, don't look down when I'm talking to you." Rhea snapped. "I'm your friend, first and foremost, then I'm this ridiculous 20th century housewife." She tugged at her dress. "I even threatened to leave John if he tried to dismiss you, Martha, doesn't that show you how important you are to me?" She asked, quietly.
"I know, it's just…" Martha's face fell and she looked ashamed. "You're you, and I didn't want you to be disappointed in me."
"Tell me what happened." Rhea said in a voice that brook no argument.
"Well, he's been making all of these moves on me for awhile. I even asked to swap tasks with a friend of mine, Jenny, so that I wouldn't have to clean his rooms. Finally, this morning, he cornered me in one of the back passages only the servants use and he pinned me against the wall." A spark of absolute fury lit up Rhea's green eyes. "He, well… he tried to pull my dress up and he groped my breasts a little." She fell silent, biting her lip.
"Then, what happened?"
"Well, one of the footmen happened to be passing by and he pulled the Headmaster off me and told me to leave. And I did. I didn't think… I didn't think anyone saw what happened." Martha whispered, feeling tears come to her eyes.
Rhea ran her hands through her hair, fisting her fingers in the dark strands. "You should have told me." She said, roughly. "I know I've started to teach you how to fight. Why didn't you take him down?" She asked, curiously. "I know I've taught you enough to take care of him."
"I-I just froze." Martha stammered, burying her face in her hands. "It was like my hands just wouldn't work."
Rhea clucked her tongue and knelt in front of the distraught, younger woman. She brushed a few of Martha's straight locks away from her face and placed her fingers under her chin to tilt her head upwards, so that she could look Martha in the eye.
"It's not your fault." Rhea said, earnestly. "I understand why you froze." Her gaze turned wistful and reminiscent. "I've done it myself. The first person is always the hardest. Being in that position, it's hard to keep your head on straight." She whispered. She gestured to the red mark on Martha's dark cheek, a faint handprint branded onto her skin. "He hit you, I'm guessing." Her tone turned angry once again.
Martha nodded. "When I wouldn't stop struggling."
Rhea nodded. "He'll die, I promise." She swore and her voice was a vow of violence as she stood up, ready to inflict pain on the Headmaster at a moment's notice.
Martha's eyes widened. She stood up, grabbing onto Rhea's wrist before she could storm out of the room. "No, wait! You can't do that!" Martha protested.
"What, why not?" Rhea raised an eyebrow. "He tried to rape you, Martha." She said, coldly. "This is not the time to be defending him. Let me go and hurt him." She said.
"Look, he won't make a move again, now that he knows that John knows about it and that people have seen him." Martha said, earnestly. "We're only here for a little longer. I can deal with it."
"Are you insane?" Rhea snapped. "You shouldn't have to deal with it. The man's a bastard and he deserves to die for what he tried to do to you." She quietened, her anger dissipating, but still smouldering low in her stomach. "Do you know my story, Martha?" She asked, gently.
"Bits and pieces." Martha shrugged, staring at her, warily. "I've kind of put them together in some semblance of a narrative, but I'm not sure if I'm right."
"What do you think happened to me?" Rhea asked, curiously.
"Well, you mentioned that you were married. You have a problem with drugs, like you said when we met Shakespeare. You told me that you were in a hospital bed in 2008, considering suicide. I think your husband abused you and possibly even drugged you. He was the reason that you were in that hospital bed and considering suicide." Martha said, staring at her with unfathomable eyes.
Rhea raised an eyebrow. "Wow, you're good." She said, proudly. "And you're pretty much right, but he wasn't the sole reason I was in that hospital bed." She murmured, averting her eyes from Martha, having the strength to talk about what had happened to her, but not having the strength to look her in the eye. "My husband and I had quite the complicated relationship. There were times when I could see what had drawn me to him in the first place, that if he had just let me in, if he stopped being such a sick, twisted bastard, I could have more than I already did. We could have actually built something good. But then, there was the rest of my married life, like now, where I felt nothing but complete and utter hatred for the man who tore me apart and put me back together again." She murmured.
"You loved him." Martha whispered, like it was the strangest thing she had ever heard.
Rhea took a deep breath. "I loved him." She confessed. "Don't get me wrong, if he was here, standing in front of me, right now, I'd beat the shit out of him. The things he did to me… they went past abuse. I would kill him. I've dreamt of it so many times." She admitted. "But I loved him. It was a toxic, unhealthy love, but I loved him." She mused. "And I can't forget all those times I had with him, before we got married, before I realised what a monster he really was. Even after. And no one can take that away from me, what it meant to have someone… to love someone like that. Not even him." She murmured.
Rhea sighed.
"My husband wasn't a nice man, in fact, he was pretty much as evil as a human being could be. I do have a problem with drugs, Martha, because Damian used every possible chance he had to use them against me. For a while, I didn't know what was real and what wasn't. Whether it was a dream or reality, I couldn't tell you. I would wake up in my own fluids, surrounded by people whom I didn't even know, with my husband standing there looking so pleased at his wife's humiliation and degradation, and I wouldn't even know how I got there in the first place. He didn't just abuse me, but rape would be a too kind word to define what exactly he did to me." She laughed, harshly, even though it wasn't even remotely funny. "I won't – I can't – go into details because the thought of reliving all of those events, even in my memories, makes me sick to my stomach, but I know what it's like to live in constant fear of someone. And I don't want that for you, temporary though it may be."
Martha looked shaken, as if the truth of what had happened to her was far worse than what she had expected. "What… I mean… what happened to him?" She asked, trembling.
"He's rotting behind bars for all of the hell he put me through." It was a pleased and vicious smile that adorned Rhea's face. "I wish he were dead, but you don't always get what you want. Sometimes you just have to make do."
It was then and there that Martha could see that, for all of the guidance and quiet comfort that Rhea offered her and green eyes that seemed to know exactly what she was thinking, Rhea had shattered, a bright beautiful innocence that was broken by loss and pain and betrayal. Her husband had dimmed her once indomitable light and Martha wondered what it would have been like to meet that Rhea, beautiful, strong, full of light and hope and wonder.
"Don't hurt the Headmaster." Martha pleaded, quietly. "I don't want to cause any more trouble and we'll be out of here soon. When the Doctor comes back, I'll give him hell for what he put me through, but for now, leave the Headmaster alone."
"Are you sure?" Rhea asked, carefully.
"Yes."
"Fine, but he's my next victim when the Doctor comes back." Rhea said, finally.
Her arms came around Martha, who experienced her first comforting and loving touch in the three months they had been stuck here, and Martha, willingly, sank into her embrace, grateful for the soothing hand that stroked her hair, like a mother would a child.
When night-time fell, Rhea was sitting at the vanity, brushing her curls out, when she heard the door open from behind her.
"Oh, no, you don't." Rhea snapped, rounding on John.
John smiled, gently. "We had a spat, my love. That would not excuse me from leaving you in the night."
"Yeah, well, I'm not over our 'spat', so you can sleep on the couch." Rhea smirked.
John raised an eyebrow. "I refuse to leave you alone at night, Rhea." He said, determinedly.
"Oh, I'm sorry, does it look like I'm giving you an option here?" She asked, her hands on her hip.
John growled, lowly. "There's only so far you can keep pushing this, Rhea."
Rhea snorted. "Yeah, we'll see. Now, if you don't mind, I'd like to go and sleep in this unbelievably large bed on my own." She smirked, triumphantly, before unceremoniously shoving him out the door and closing it right in his stunned face.
"Don't tell me you're still angry." John huffed, walking into the lounge to find his porridge cooling on the table, while Rhea absentmindedly read a book on the chaise, her legs tucked beneath her thighs.
Rhea looked at him, her face devoid of emotion. "I'm still angry." She deadpanned.
John's face twisted with fury and his hand smacked down on the table with great force such that the table shook.
"Enough, Rhea! Alright, I've had enough!" He said, warningly.
Rhea slid to her feet, a picture of careful stoicism. "Yeah, well, so have I." She said, defiantly. "I've had enough of all your carefree prejudice and I've had enough of you thinking that you don't have to be held responsible for bigoted, chauvinistic bullshit that you keep sermonising."
"This isn't about Martha!" John roared. "This is about us, and how you've been keeping me at arm's length since we got here."
Rhea threw her hands up in the air. "Oh, great, here we go. You know, you always change the subject when I try and point some fault in the whole I'm-John-Smith-and-I'm-just-this-perfect-specimen-of-imperialism bit." She said, accusingly.
"I'm changing the subject?" John asked, incredulously. "All you do every time I bring this up is change the subject." He argued.
"That's because you're overreacting." Rhea said, plainly, moving out of the chaise and pushing past him.
"I'm-I'm overreacting?" John snapped. "Are you mad? You sneak out during the day, you're distracted and erratic and we haven't made love since before we arrived in Farringham, and you think I'm overreacting?" He asked, incredulously.
Rhea rolled her eyes. "God, you know, everything is sex with you." She said, accusingly. "Is it so hard to believe that a marriage can't survive without sex?"
Although, what's the point of getting married if you don't get good sex out of the deal? I mean, there has to be some perk to tying yourself down to one person for the rest of your life.
"Don't make this out to be some sordid relationship, where I expect you to lie with me because I am your husband." John shot back. "I have never treated you as if you aren't worth more than your place in my bed."
"Really?" Rhea raised an eyebrow. "Because you're sure acting like it."
"And I'm the one overreacting." John scoffed. "You don't even realise that you are ruining everything!" He growled.
That stung. She was trying her hardest with what had been provided to her. It wasn't her fault that the Doctor had shoved her into something that was out of her depth. She was made to kill, to hurt. Give her an enemy and she can work wonders. But ask her to play nursemaid to a Time Lord wanting a vacation, that was too much to ask.
This was not her fault.
"Oh, please, the only accusation you've been able to level against me is that we haven't been having enough sex to satisfy your obviously over-developed libido. And how my behaviour outside the bedroom is symptomatic of my not having sex with you." She snorted. "You're five minutes short of accusing me of cheating on you." There was a telling pause. "Oh, my God." She said, slowly. "Don't tell me you're thinking that I'm cheating on you." She snapped, as if it were the most ridiculous thing she had ever heard of.
John shifted, uneasily.
"You know, I swear, it's every man's signature move. 'Oh, my wife isn't having sex with me; she must be getting it from someone else'." Rhea said, mockingly.
She may be many things, committed more sins that most people. But she was no adulteress. Not even when her husband was the stuff nightmares were made of and would have deserved it if she had gone out and screwed every man who was kind to her had she ever taken that step. To hear John (fake husband or not) think that of her so easily, it not sitting well with her was an understatement.
"People are talking." He said, defensively. "It is not my fault that you didn't realise that actions have consequences." He said, pointedly.
"You're being an idiot." Rhea said, slowly, almost mockingly. "And I don't really care what people think. If you knew me as well as you claim to know me, you would know that." She said, sharply. "Unless, of course, you've been pretending to be a kind, thoughtful husband so I'll have sex with you." She taunted.
John looked hurt by her accusation. "How could you think that?" He asked, distressed.
"Well, your response to me not having sex with you is that 'people are talking'." She said, slyly. "I guess 'I'm bleeding like a stuck pig over here' ceased to be good enough excuse." Her voice was dry.
John scowled. "I have always been… considerate… of your ladies' days." He said, uneasily.
"You're missing the point," Rhea waved off. "And 'ladies' days', seriously?" She asked, teasingly.
"So, what is the point?" John asked, scathingly.
"That sex is obviously a significant part of our marriage and it's not exactly healthy to base our happiness on whether or not we lie together." She said, loftily.
John threw his hands up in the air. "And here it begins. Everything turns into some social commentary with you. It can never be about fixing our problems; you always have to point out something glaring with society in your I-know-better-than-everyone-else tone. You always go off on some tangent, and our problems get forgotten."
Rhea rolled her eyes. "You're the only one who thinks that we have a problem, John." She said, pointedly. "I'm not the one that picked a fight with you over something you don't even have a right to be angry over. Do you even remember why we started arguing in the first place? Or did you latch onto this so that you could voice your concerns about our diminishing copulation?" She asked, coldly. "If I remember correctly, I was angry at you – and had therefore banished you to sleep on the chaise – because you did something so unbelievably cruel and insensitive, even for a man of this time. Because you had the nerve to stand there and censure Martha – a girl who is under our protection – for defending herself. Because you defended a man who attacked her, and you blamed her as if it's her fault the headmaster is a sick and twisted bastard. But, of course, how could anyone accuse such an upstanding white male of something so disgusting? Because it's always our fault, isn't it? It's never you. It's never that there's just something inside you men that makes you wrong, that you could think forcing a woman into something like that is acceptable. It's always us. We asked for it. We did something to you. We made you feel this way. No proper white woman would make you feel this way. No, we ruined you with our heathen ways and looks and lust. We are the monsters, not you."
By the end of her rant, her chest was tight and there was blood roaring in her ears and honestly, she felt as though any moment she was going to be sick.
"For the love of-" John muttered under his breath, before stalking over to her and gripping her by the arms. He was in close enough to see the flecks of gold in her moss-green eyes. He pulled her close and curled her fingers into her air, pressing her head into his chest. "Hush, now," He murmured, stroking her hair. "I… apologise." He said, grudgingly. "I didn't realise that this situation, and my behaviour had upset you so. I shall endeavour not to do it again." He said, formally.
It made her laugh despite the thickness in her throat.
"Nice apology." She whispered, hating herself for the weakness and how much she loved his hand in her hair.
John shrugged. "I can be understanding from time to time." He said, teasingly. He led her over to the chaise and sat her down, with him alongside her. "Would you like me to get you a glass of water?" He asked, worriedly.
She shook her head. "I'll be fine. Just give me a minute." She said, reassuringly.
There was an awkward pause.
"Do you truly believe I am like those men?" He asked, quietly. "Like… well, him."
There was no need to guess who him was.
"No." She replied, firmly, looking straight ahead instead of directly at him. "No, you're not. You could never be." She confessed, roughly.
His fingers made to thread through hers, but she flinched and pulled her hand back, instead twisting it nervously with the other on her lap. She ignored the look of hurt that flew onto his face.
His sigh was heavy.
"Tell me now that there is nothing wrong with us." He said, lowly. "Tell me that this isn't all there is."
"There is nothing wrong with us." Rhea tipped her head up to look at him, defiantly. "And this is all that can ever be."
This was it. This was the end of her rope. She couldn't do more than this. And it was unfair to ask more of her.
John scowled and leaned down, pressing her lips to hers forcefully. She surprised herself by not reacting to the kiss at all. She just stood there and allowed him to do as he wished.
When he pulled back, he stared at her as if he had never seen before, and dragged his hand over his face.
"How you believe there is nothing wrong here is beyond me." He growled.
"Why? Because I didn't want to respond to your attempt to prove your masculinity." Rhea shot back.
"You uncaring, impudent, temperamental harpy-" John snarled, his face devastated by her mockery.
Suddenly, he leaned down and crushed his lips against hers, forcefully. And what would you know, the second kiss was just too much for her. Not to mention, everything she had revealed in a moment of emotional strain. Everything inside her had just given away, and she was left raw and hurt and she just needed something. Why couldn't the Doctor – in any form – be that something? Before, it was as if she was being pulled taut, stretched beyond her limits, and now, all resistance had crumpled inside of her and she was left longing for something she didn't have a right to, but desperately wanted. Even for a moment.
Fuck it, I'm done with being the saint here.
Her hands, which had hung limply at her sides the last time he had tried something of this nature, moved up to wind themselves in his hair, her nails digging into her scalp. She moved her lips against his more insistently and whimpered against his mouth, hearing him groan against hers. She finally let him take whatever he wanted from her mouth, pressing herself against his body, shamelessly.
He finally broke away from her, the need to breath overwhelming him for the moment. He ran his tongue over his red lips, an action that made Rhea whimper like some hormone-ridden teenager and rub her thighs together.
"What are you-" John began until Rhea placed a finger on his lips.
"No. No." She ordered. "No more talking. I can't do this anymore. I've decided something." She whispered, breathlessly, in his ear, as her fingers trailed down his chest.
"And what exactly is that?" John's voice was a low rumble that echoed throughout her entire being.
She tipped her head back, aching for his lips to be on her throat. "I'm so damn sick of standing in my own way." She purred.
She stood up, suddenly, and brushed past him, grabbing his wrist on the way and dragging him in the direction of the bedroom.
John looked guilty and shamefaced. "Rhea, if you are only doing this so I will-"
Rhea covered his mouth with her hand. "… Shut up." She said, finally, pulling him into the bedroom and shoving him onto the bed.
She crawled onto the bed where he was sprawled and slid over his body so that she was straddling him, her legs on either side of his hips as she sat on his lap. She stared down at him and the picture he made. Hair mussed, eyes bright, lips red, tie skewed.
Rhea hummed in appreciation. "Well, aren't you just a picture?" She growled, her eyes smouldering, possessiveness over John – the Doctor – cementing itself in her mind. If she had her way, she would never let him go after this moment.
Alas, she never got her way.
John growled. Her mouth was soft, needy and perfect and he couldn't help but want to kiss her all the time. Rhea's lips dragged across his cheek and she pressed her mouth, firmly, against his, teasing his lips apart with her tongue, seeking entry, desperate for him in a way that she would later curse herself for. Perhaps the intense conversation they had just had, or the fact that she had been denying herself these impulses since the moment she first met the Doctor, but Rhea ached for the Doctor with a consuming desperation that she had never experienced in regard to a man before.
Suddenly, it was as if a switch had been turned on in both of them, their kisses becoming more frantic and insistent with every time their mouths fused together. Desire rushed at Rhea, filling her blood, and she yanked tighter on his hair, pressing herself against him, trying to get as close to him as possible. John groaned against his mouth, his hands reaching to the back of dress to tear the fabric, the buttons ripping from their holes as if they were nothing but paper. Before Rhea could marvel at John's strength, his hands had already started on the laces on the back of her corset. He managed to make quick work of the ties and threw her corset into some corner of the room, much to Rhea's surprise, who laughed. He revealed her chemise, which ended at her thighs, and marvelled at her choice not to wear petticoats or stockings or any of the garments that made 1913 living so much harder than it had to be. He raised his scandalised eyes to question her on her choice, but her lips crushed against his, sweetly, preventing any further speech.
John dragged his mouth from his lips, kissing down the side of her neck, making her tip her head back and her hands sink into his hair. With every hot, sweet kiss, Rhea felt as if pure molten heat rushed faster and faster through her veins. Her whole body was drowning, seething and liquefying in her desire for him. When his mouth sucked at her pulse point, she gasped, her fingers twining deeper into his thick, brown locks, cursing the Doctor's oral fixation.
Damn, if sex with him feels this good, why the hell didn't I do it before?
He laved the flesh of her neck with enthusiasm, while his fingers deftly removed the chemise, sliding it over her body in one smooth swoop. He balked at the scrap of lace between her thighs, which constituted the extent of her undergarments, feeling the flush rise in his cheek at the thought of his wife wearing only this under her dress. He tore it off without a further thought and she laughed, tipping her head back and exposing the elegant length of her neck, littered with bruises from his mouth. By now, she could feel nothing but cool air on her naked skin.
"Well, this is really unfair, honey." She purred. "I mean, here I am, naked in your lap, and you're still completely dressed." She pouted, rocking down onto his length, making him gasp into her skin, much to her pleasure.
"Well, you'd better remedy that." He rumbled, his lips returning to her neck, determined to leave a few more marks of ownership on her caramel skin.
Rhea began to unbutton his shirt, one button at a time, before her impatience overtook all of her senses and she simply ripped at the seams, leaving it in tatters on the bedspread, much to John's amusement and shock. He had never seen his wife so wanton and desperate in his arms, but it was a lovely respite from the coldness she had directed towards him since they had arrived in Farringham. It was as if all of their problems could be satisfied with a good romp in the sheets.
John's hands danced across the caramel-coloured, supple flesh of her bare breasts, making her cry out and arch her back for more contact. Rhea, a little aghast at how easy she had managed to lose control, pressed against John's chest and shoved him down on the bed, making him lie down while she straddled him from above. Rhea felt something start to coil in her stomach, lightening her, at the way John's eyes seemed almost reverent when they explored the curves of her body, in a way that made Rhea question whether she could chalk this up to burgeoning sexual tension that inevitably exploded into hot animal sex.
The focus with which his eyes raked over her body made the ache between her thighs, which was already practically unbearable, even more intense. Suddenly, he flipped her over, sliding on top of her body, which gave her ample room to undo his belt and throw it somewhere off the bed. Her legs slid up his until her feet curved around his hip, and shoved down his dress pants as if they were no problem at all. She hooked two fingers in each end of the white shorts that she supposed acted as boxers for John and pushed them down the length of his body, letting him toss away the garment with his foot like an afterthought.
This action left them both bare and unassuming in each other's arms. Rhea's hands slid up, so that they were curving around his bicep, her eyes suddenly soft and a little wary of what she would see in his eyes once he saw the length of her body in a much better light. Familiar insecurities rushed at her, almost blinding her, and she wondered if her body was good enough for him. She wasn't the tallest of girls, and she was curvier than most. She had large breasts, which she knew was a plus point for her, and wide hips, which some men found enticing in some motherhood complex kind of way, but she wasn't sure about John. She also took the time to look over the Doctor's body in a way she had never seen before. He was slim and tall and moderately muscled. His legs and arms were skinny, but she found them oddly endearing. She glanced between their bodies and she blushed for the first time in ages, finding herself entirely pleased with what she found.
Oh, this is going to be such a fun night. He can do so much with that thing.
John propped himself up on his elbows, his hands stroking the curve of her breasts, just to tease her, his fingers flicking at her nipples until they hardened in his hands, taut and aching.
"Oh… fuck." Rhea cursed, her legs spreading out of reflex.
She slid her thighs against his hips, which had found a nice groove to settle into between her thighs, and her cunt grinded against the skin of his stomach, as he smirked to himself for the reactions he brought out in her. John's fingertips trailed down her sides, finally resting on her hips, which he gripped onto. He thrust his own against hers, rocking the length of his cock against the wet flesh of her cunt, making her cry out his name, her nails raking down his back.
He leaned down and urged her legs open, baring her to his dark, intent gaze. On further inspection of her face, Rhea was not ashamed at all to be seen this exposed. She had been in this very position with a number of men that it was a nice respite to finally be in bed with a man who actually cared for her. He reached out and delicately, stroked the soft, wet flesh with his fingertips. He smiled, proudly, when he heard her breath hitch as she pushed back into his butterflying fingers, knowing that when he pulled back, she would find his fingers wet.
"John, please." Rhea begged – a first for her –, placing all of her want and need into those two words.
"Not just yet, my love." John answered, grinning into the skin of her stomach.
He wanted to explore her much further. He wanted to touch her and taste her and remind her exactly how good they were together. But there was no time for that now. There would be time for that later. Tonight was all about making Rhea remember who exactly was her husband and what exactly she could come home to.
With one thrust, he sank into her, forcefully.
Rhea shrieked. "Fuck!" She screamed.
She surged forwards, gripping him by the shoulders and tugging down, her lips slanting against his, as he muffled her moans. Her mind was absolute chaos with the swirl of all of her thoughts. A mix of this is heaven and how could I have denied myself this and he's a fucking sex god. She dug her nails into his back, the only purchase she could find, and John leaned down, biting down on the juncture of her shoulder and her neck, the pain making her groan and sparking a gush of wetness to leak from her.
John wrapped his arms, tightly, around her body and held her close, desperate to know that she was safe and with him always. He kissed her temple as he slammed inside of her, overwhelmed by how hot and wet and tight she was.
"Oh, please, more, oh, God, please, John, keep going." Rhea muttered, furiously, and with another thrust, she shrieked again. "Fuck, you're entirely too good at this." She panted.
"I love that sound, my beautiful Rhea. Make it again." John demanded, roughly.
Suddenly, Rhea was too overwhelmed with everything that was happening. She gripped onto his shoulders and tossed him to the side, sliding on top of him, and straddling him all over again. She may have given into John's seduction, but that didn't mean she was willing to let go of every single inch of her control up to him.
"Don't stop." She snapped at John.
"Oh, I won't." John snarled, his words a dark and filthy promise that made Rhea even more wet for him that she already was.
Her hips rolled and undulated against his, thrusting down with intensity. Her hands were splayed across his chest, her nails digging into his skin. His hips raised to meet every single one of her thrusts down. She never thought she would ever feel this full, her body seemed to be stretched and filled to its very limits.
She arched her back and sank down, feeling herself tremble as her orgasm approached. John's hand moved down to circle her clit, his pressure skilled and perfect, and she wondered exactly where he learnt how to do this. His stroking was in rhythm with his thrusts and her hips. His voice was gruff in her ear as he brought her to the edge.
She suddenly came hard, suddenly and silently, convulsing around him, sparks lighting up behind her eyes and her toes curling against the sheets. She felt her limbs seize up and her body tremble as the rush of her orgasm chilled and heated her blood at exactly the same. Her hands sought purchase and she dug into her hair, twisting and tugging at the strands until her orgasm left her bones.
However, John's hand never slowed, continuing to stroke, while his hips continued to thrust, making her bite back a scream. All she could do to regain some of the control she had lost was to lean down and stroke where they were joined, making him thrust harshly against her, as he shook, violently, joining her in that oblivion she had caused through their love-making.
Rhea laughed, breathily, and she fell off him, falling back down against the bed. Her hands sought the sheets and she pulled it up over their bodies, the coolness of the sheets contrasting against the heated flesh of their sore and sated bodies.
"Well, that was nice." Rhea grinned and felt as though vodka would make his moment even better.
"That is an interesting way of putting it." John agreed, reaching out and pulling Rhea into his body.
Rhea would have struggled if she hadn't known that it would give her away. It would start a whole bunch of questions and he would ask her if she had only slept with him to assuage his suspicions about her fidelity. And she would have to answer him and she had no answer for him. She knew that the easiest thing for her would be to deny that the sex meant anything to her and that it was an itch she had that desperately needed to be scratched and John – the Doctor – was a viable option. But after going there with the Doctor, she wasn't sure she could come back from that. She cared for the Doctor. She did. But she was determined to never feel anything like that for a man ever again. And her common sense won out over her heart most of the time.
"I had thought that you were afraid that I would judge you for what happened with your ex-fiancé." John said, hesitantly.
Rhea frowned, feeling his skin slide against hers, and felt the touch somewhat soothing. "What do you mean?" She asked, carefully, and was almost afraid to find out.
What the hell happened between fake Sunehri and the mysterious ex-fiancé?
"I am aware that it happened six years ago, but I know it still irks at you sometimes. You know that I never blamed you for what happened all those years ago, Rhea. I know it was not your fault." John said, slowly and earnestly.
"Can you please not sideline the issue and just say it?" She pleaded.
"Your ex-fiancé forced himself on you."
Of course he did. Rhea thought, dryly. So, Damian's the ex-fiancé in this story. Well, I suppose he had to be the villain. I wish he was just an ex-fiancé in real life, honey. Unfortunately, I'm afraid he was much more than that.
"He intended to ruin you so that you have no other course but to marry him."
She didn't know how to tell him that he had ruined her, just not in the way he thought she was. She had already been ruined in that way even before she met Damian. Her virtue was lost at sixteen in the back of some jock idiot's car, in a haze of alcohol and pain. She didn't imagine he would like to know all the gory details. If he was expecting a virgin on his wedding night, he got here a little too late. She was pretty much a high-class prostitute at this point with the number of men and women she'd fucked unashamedly. Damian was just the man who tore her into pieces and used her for his own benefit. Fucking was the least he did to her.
She was the equivalent of a whore in 1913.
"But I swore to you that none of that mattered to me and that holds true today. I love you and you never need my forgiveness for what happened with him because you don't need it. You are my wife and that will never change no matter what opinion you have of yourself. I do not love you less for not coming to me untouched." John said, earnestly, one of his hands coming to cup her cheek and the other sliding around her waist.
"Well, he sounds like a total jerk." Rhea sighed.
Understatement of the year.
John frowned. "You know, sometimes, I truly do not understand your strange American language." He nuzzled his face into her dark curls. "And you know I don't particularly like it when you trivialise your trauma." He said, crossly.
Rhea laughed to herself and rested her head in the crook of his arm.
For her, nowadays, sex was never about love or comfort or feelings of any kind. It was stress relief, because feelings made you weak and weak got you killed.
But, damn, what a way to go. Rhea thought, smiling wryly to herself.
She could get used to those stupid feelings if the Doctor was the one in her bed.
A/N: So, here we are. I don't have a very long author's note for this chapter because I'd rather hear all of your opinions. Rhea finally succumbed to the deliciousness that is the Doctor (AKA John Smith). Hope you all liked the sex scene and I promise so many more to come. I hope you liked the bonding between Martha and Rhea, the mini-fights between John and Rhea, and the discussion of racism in 1913. I feel like Rhea would be the best person to stand up for Martha in that situation because she's not white herself and she knows what racism feels like. Rhea had a great opportunity to go off at John and she was just waiting for that opportunity. And I felt like, with John and fake Sunehri being married for six years, John would find it weird that they weren't have sex anymore and he would jump to the conclusion that Rhea was cheating on him.
Rhea still has a long way to go because she's not completely defined her feelings for the Doctor yet. Was this a one-time thing? No. Will it happen again? Yes. Soon? Yes. Are they a couple? Not a traditional one. Will they properly get together soon? Maybe.
Hopefully, you all liked the chapter and don't forget to review.
Reviews:
xXImperfectionXx7: Thank you so much! Hopefully you liked this chapter too!
6jayc6: Actually, honestly, I have a love-hate relationship with the story too. The downside of trying to write a realistic relationship between the Doctor and Rhea is that, with everything that's happened to her, I don't know how easily she'd fall into a relationship with him. I do like her conflict, I'm like you, the emotion can be get pretty intense, especially when Rhea gets into one of her I-hate-myself moods. Rhea's quite volatile when it comes to the infidelity issue. It's not that she doesn't trust the Doctor as such (although there is an element of it) and she does understand that the Doctor doesn't necessarily perceive the flirting in a romantic way because he's so oblivious, but it's more her a little wary because of her experience with her ex. I hated Nurse Redfern too, so it was kind of easy to cast her as the villain. Not to mention, she's kind of a racist and Rhea's so unashamedly ethnic that she would rub her the wrong way anyway. As far as I know, there shouldn't be any actual adultery in the story. Like I said, the Doctor doesn't really perceive flirting as flirting, but I'm sure he'd know if someone actually made a proper move on him and he'd shut it down. 10, I think is someone we would have to be afraid of though, because I feel like he knows more about the whole romance-sex angle and chooses to ignore it, whereas 11 is just completely oblivious to it all. So, I wouldn't worry too much about Amy as a threat. But I don't want to give too much away about The Girl in the Fireplace, cause it'll be pretty exciting. Anyway, I hope you can bring yourself to read those chapters because the emotional aftermath should be worth it. Unfortunately, it can't all be happy times and good sex. But I'm so glad you're pulling through so far. I know it can be a rollercoaster and I really appreciate you telling me how you feel. It's nice to know I'm not the only one who feels that way.
NicoleR85: Thank you so much! Yeah, as you can probably tell, I'm not a huge fan of Joan, and it was pretty therapeutic to write Rhea throwing her out. As for the turning point, well, I won't spoil this chapter for you, if you haven't read it yet haha.
djmegamouth: Hm, that is pretty interesting. I guess we'll have to wait and see for what happens in Bad Wolf/The Parting of the Ways. And I do love it too when Rhea goes all badass and trigger-happy.