2.5 The Girl In The Fireplace
Once she'd separated from Mickey, Rose went to her room and sagged onto the floor, leaning against a wall. She didn't know what to do. She wanted to go to the Doctor. Whether to see if he was okay or to scream at him, she wasn't sure. She was feeling rather conflicted about it, if she was honest with herself.
She'd known the Doctor was pulling away from her. She had felt it in their conversation last night. A corner had been turned somewhere, and she wasn't entirely sure why. She'd thought, perhaps, that it was because of the stark reminder he'd received that she was aging, and that she wouldn't be with him forever. She hated that something so outside of her control could come between them, but on some level she could sympathize. She'd watched him die. She would understand if he couldn't bear it. After all, she wouldn't be back. So if he had to protect his heart, well then… she didn't think it would help, honestly, but she wouldn't begrudge him the effort. At least, she would try not to.
Mind you, she hadn't necessarily been willing to give up on him right away. That was why she'd been so touchy feely with Mickey all day. It was terrible of her, she knew, but she'd thought that perhaps if the Doctor saw his plan to "distract" Rose with Mickey's presence seeming to be effective, he might second guess its wisdom. He'd always been a bit jealous and territorial. Maybe a little nudge would help.
But then… then he'd left her behind for Reinette Poisson, Madame du Pompadour herself. A woman whom he had seen advance from childhood to adulthood within the span of a few hours. He'd spent mere minutes with her over the course of her life and yet had run after her with barely a thought and no way back.
Rose understood in theory, of course. Timelines. Fixed points. Things that had to happen, and the Doctor being the only one left to make sure that they did. If that had been it, she might not have been so hurt.
Five and a half hours had changed that, however. Five and a half hours of waiting, only to be immediately left behind again with no explanation. And then for him to come back seeming so incredibly sad when Reinette was gone. In mourning for a woman he had barely known, but who had still been the reason that Rose was left behind. Rose, whom he had assured that she was different. Who he had promised could spend her life with with him.
She wanted to hate Reinette, but she couldn't. The woman had been clever, and brave, and even seeing what the Doctor obviously meant to Rose had treated her as a comrade rather than a rival. She had known what it was to wait for the Doctor. It was the Doctor she couldn't understand. Why would he run from her, only to take up with someone who he had to have known had even less time to share with him?
He'd seemed so heartbroken. She wanted, so much, to comfort him, to help ease his pain. He was her best friend, and she wanted to be there for him. But at the same time, she didn't know if she could face him. Not right now.
A soft knock at her door told her that the decision had been taken out of her hands.
"Come in, Doctor," she called, closing her eyes and leaning her head back against the wall. She heard the door creak open, and then the gentle pad of sneakered footsteps against the carpeting. A moment later, she heard the slide of fabric on plaster as the Doctor slid down the wall to sit next to her. She could feel the slight warmth of his body, near her but not touching. They sat silently, eyes closed, just existing together. Then, Rose let her right hand drop from her knee to the ground between them, a silent offering of comfort. Almost immediately, she felt his fingers intertwine with hers.
"I had a plan to get back," the Doctor spoke quietly from next to her. "I want you to know that. I would never have gone without knowing I could get back. I wouldn't have abandoned you. It would have taken me awhile linearly, but in your timeline, I never planned to be gone more than an hour, tops. I was going to wait for a former incarnation of mine to stop by Versailles and hitch a lift with him. I didn't have time to explain before I jumped. I'm sorry."
Rose felt a tear trickle down her cheek, but tried to ignore it. "I'm sorry she died," she said quietly, valiantly keeping a waver from her voice. "I know you cared about her."
The Doctor sighed. "I'm sorry, too. She was an exceptional woman. She deserved better. I let her down; I told her I'd come back for her, and I didn't." He squeezed Rose's fingers, causing her to open her eyes and turn her head to look at him. "But I didn't care about her, not the way you're thinking. I got a bit swept away for a moment, but it wasn't real. It wasn't this." He squeezed her fingers again for emphasis.
"I let myself get caught up in an infatuation because I wanted a distraction," the Doctor continued, looking away from Rose again, gazing out into the room, his voice full of self recrimination. Rose kept her eyes on him, unable to tear her eyes from his sad, beautiful face. "Seeing Sarah Jane reminded me how quickly humans age; how little time I have with you. I thought by pulling back I could protect myself. I thought, with Reinette… I thought I could convince myself I cared less for you if I allowed myself to be enticed by her. Didn't work," he said with a sardonic little laugh. "It just made it worse. Her life was like watching a firefly flicker and die. And all I could think was that some day that will be you, and no amount of careful distancing will keep it from breaking my hearts."
Tears were flowing freely down Rose's face now, and she had had to look away from him. She bit her lip to keep from sobbing, and used her free hand to scrub tears from her face. She couldn't keep her shoulders from shaking.
"Oh Rose," the Doctor said, turning to her, his voice distraught, "I'm so sorry." His hand dropped hers and his arms came around her, pulling her onto his lap. This tenderness proved to be her undoing, and Rose curled into his chest, sobbing openly. The Doctor held her tightly, rubbing circles on her back and rocking her, murmuring his apologies.
"I thought you left me," Rose sobbed; "I thought you didn't want me anymore. I didn't know if you were coming back."
"Rose, look at me," the Doctor commanded softly, using two fingers to tilt her chin up. Reluctantly, Rose looked up, her reddened, tear-filled eyes meeting his remorseful brown ones. "I will always, ALWAYS come back for you," he promised her. "Do you believe me?"
Rose sniffled and nodded, not trusting her voice. The Doctor took her tear stained face is in hands, kissing her forehead, and then her cheek, and then her lips. Closing her eyes, Rose let a few lingering tears course over her cheeks as she wrapped her hands behind his neck, kissing him back.
It started slow; soft, comforting presses of lips, but as Rose's need for reassurance and the Doctor's need for forgiveness took over, the kiss became harder, fiercer; hands tangled in hair and lips and tongues claiming ownership. As the Doctor's hands slid down Rose's sides, tracing down her rib cage to her hips, he pulled back.
"Rose, can I… please, I need to…"
Rose nodded, unsure of what she was agreeing to but knowing that whatever it was he needed, she would give it to him. Always. The Doctor stood smoothly, scooping Rose up with him and carrying her to her bed, where he gently laid her down. He removed her shoes as well as his own before sliding up next to her, pulling her close and kissing her again, his hand skating down her side, caressing her, learning her shape with new hands.
Soon, Rose felt his fingers at the button of her jeans. She must have stiffened slightly, because the Doctor pulled back and met her eyes.
"Is this okay?" He asked. Rose bit her lip and nodded. Relief showed in the Doctor's eyes as he lowered his mouth to hers again, continuing to kiss her leisurely while and he neatly undressed her, pulling back only to pull her top over her head. He released her mouth again to slide down her body, kissing softly and slowly along her bared stomach as he pulled her jeans and knickers down in one go, leaving her completely naked.
Removing his jacket and tie, the Doctor lay down next to her again, gently stroking every inch of skin he could reach, following his hands with his mouth. He begged her forgiveness and acceptance with every brush of his long fingers, pledged his devotion with every caress of his lips. His tongue flicked out to taste her collarbone, her breast, her hip. Slowly and worshipfully the Doctor explored Rose's body, and she let him, her hands stroking his hair but making no move to undress him further, understanding somehow that this was what he needed; what they both needed.
By the time the Doctor had settled between her legs, Rose was somehow both completely relaxed and on fire. When his agile tongue parted her, tasting her need and groaning in relief at reaching his goal, she was already hypersensitive. As the Doctor's tongue began to flick rapidly at her clit, seeking comfort in her release, Rose grasped the bedsheets in her hands and repeated his name like a prayer.
It wasn't long before Rose's hips arched off the bed as she swore and saw fireworks behind her eyelids. Rather that stopping, the Doctor slowed his motions, allowing her to ride out the waves of pleasure before beginning to build them back up again. This time he increased the sensations, pairing a slower massage of his tongue with a gentle thrusting of one and then two fingers into her heated core, telling the story of his devotion through actions where he could not with words. When her second climax came, it wasn't with an explosion like the first, but with the gentle insistence and inevitability of a wave cresting.
When the aftershocks had ceased, the Doctor slowly made his way back up a Rose's body, reversing his previous path, tracing soft patterns with his fingertips and punctuating them with soft kisses. When he reached her face again, Rose reached up and pulled him down to her, his forehead resting against hers.
"Thank you," she whispered.
"Thank you," her replied, pulling her to him and placing a kiss on her forehead before pulling the covers up over her naked form. Rose intended to ask if she could return the favor, but between the stress of the day and the intoxicating release she had just experienced, she was drifting off to sleep before she could form the words.
When Rose woke the next morning, for the first time, she found the Doctor still curled around her, his fingers entwined with hers.
