Title: On The Still Path (2/?)
Rating: Currently T, will probably be bumped up to a M later on
Characters: Nine/Rose, Jack, various other original characters and aliens
Summary: Rose and the Doctor are stranded in Victorian England, taking the slow path while waiting for Jack to come back with the TARDIS.
Disclaimer: I don't own Doctor Who or any related spin-offs, characters, etc. They belong to the BBC and their respective creators. I still don't have my own Christopher Eccleston, but if anyone wants to time-share, drop me a note.
Author's Note: I had a bit of writer's block with this chapter, because I really wanted to rush to the fun parts (ahem) but obviously, a bit more exposition is required before we get to the, er, dancing. :D So I apologize for the delay, but hopefully this will whet your appetites while I get started on the next chapters.
Again, I apologize in advance if the historical details aren't as plausible as they should be, at least from a historian's point of view.
Reviews and constructive criticisms are appreciated, and cookies will be sent to the lovely people who take the effort to say hello. Well, virtual cookies anyway. And hugs! I give great hugs.
Rose awoke to see the unfamiliar light streaming from the window of her bedroom, muted by sheer muslin curtains. She rubbed her eyes and attempted to raise her head from the down pillows. The room was silent and still - the hum of the TARDIS was conspicuously absent, as was the gentle vibrations that indicated they were somewhere in the vortex. She took a deep breath and sat up straight, trying to remember. 1851. Little Grange. The Doctor. Escaping aliens.
Right then. Rose launched herself from the duvet and bedcovers just as there was a polite knock on the door and Abigail came in, carrying a breakfast tray and a pot of tea. Rose stared at her, flabbergasted. "You're... you're still here."
Abigail looked at her strangely as she set down the tray on a nearby table. "Well, yes, miss. Given that I'm to be working here until you leave, I will actually be coming in in the mornings and leaving after supper." She gave Rose a bright smile. "I'll leave you to your breakfast, miss. Just ring the bell when you're done and I'll get it for you." She indicated a small wooden handle hanging from an tasseled line that went all the way up to the ceiling.
"Oh, oh no, I can take the tray down myself."
"Miss, I don't know where you've travelled, but here in England, it's perfectly all right to let other people do things for you. It's my job, after all." Abigail nodded her head and left the room, the door clicking shut behind her.
Rose stared after her for a moment before trying to figure out what she really wanted to do. The room was small but tastefully furnished, and definitely bigger than her old pink-and-red bedroom back in London. The circular table in the middle of the room had a bright display of flowers in a ceramic vase, with her breakfast set down beside it. The wardrobe was to the left, tucked in a corner, with a full-length mirror beside it. There was a love seat beneath the window, and a small scrolling desk with some elegant-looking stationary and an inkpot and old-fashioned pens with sharp nibs arranged neatly on the surface. The walls were wood-panelled, like the rest of the house, and a warm rug in bright patterns covered most of the otherwise cold floorboards. Scientific paintings of flowers and leaves were framed and scattered all over the walls. Rose walked over to one of them, a pencil-and-watercolor rendering of bright orange-and-red flowers, the petals folded over to form a delicate bulb. Lilium pardalinium, the cursive script read at the bottom of the sketch. Lilies, then. But not any kind of lilies she'd ever seen. She traced a curious finger over the glass, wondering if the flowers were as alien as any of them.
"Panther lilies," said a familiar Northern voice in her ear. She jumped back, almost colliding with the Doctor's chest. He held out one hand to steady her, and she could feel his cool grip on her shoulder, her skin only separated from his by the thin cotton layer of her white nightdress. Carefully, she turned to face him, surprised that he was wearing workman's trousers, bracers, and a dark blue shirt, the sleeves carefully turned folded back, displaying his forearms. His eyes were alight, and he gave her a broad grin, his grip on her shoulders never wavering.
"Good morning," she said, trying not to blush. Rose had never seen him wear... well, so little clothing before. Usually he wore his leather jacket and jumpers like armour, and to see him without his usual clothes was, for lack of a better word, distracting. Of course, it didn't help that the first two buttons of his shirt were undone, exposing his collarbone and the tempting line of his neck; his pushed-back sleeves confirming that while the Doctor was never going to have the musculature of someone like Jack, his arms were strong and capable, the tanned skin covered with a light smattering of hair. Rose bit her lip, wondering how those arms would feel around her naked body -
"Are you all right, Rose?" His face changed from amused to concerned. "You look a bit flushed there."
"I, ah... right, well, just getting used to the, erm, air in the place."
The Doctor laughed. "Right, because your little human lungs can't process clean air. Need it all polluted and stuff." He stepped back, his hands leaving her shoulders, and moved towards the door. "Well, clean up then, and eat your breakfast. I'll see you downstairs. And no lazing about, mind you."
She gave him a smile and a half-hearted salute, willing for her heart rate to slow down. "Aye aye."
As soon as the door closed, Rose slumped to the floor. "What the heck's wrong with me?" she asked the empty room. If she was back in the TARDIS, the ship would pulse sympathetically; as it were, these walls only stared back at her, empty and lifeless. She took a deep breath, trying to puzzle out her own out-of-control emotions.
She was attracted to the Doctor. She already knew that. Quite possibly, she was already attracted to him even on Satellite One, when she'd seen him walk out with the tree, arm in arm, and felt her face turn sour. Even though he'd always been dismissive of her appearance, she knew there had been moments when he'd look at her with genuine delight and awe, his blue eyes glimmering. She'd considered her own reactions carefully - this was nothing like what she felt for Jimmy Stone, which was all fire and the rush of bodies, and the excitement, the illicitness of it all; neither was it like being with Mickey, good ol' dependable Mickey, whose heart she just broke in Cardiff. No, being with the Doctor was nothing like that - it ran deeper, like a secret river underneath the earth, a hidden patch of wildflowers on a open moor. She sighed. This was more troublesome than she thought.
Still, as the old saying goes, time and tide wait for no man. Or woman, in her case. Rose eyed the breakfast sitting at the table with interest, and decided to go about her day.
The Doctor stepped out into the messy yard and surveyed the place with a critical eye. In no way was his mind going to go back to the second bedroom upstairs and think about Rose, all flushed and pink, her hair a tangled halo around her head as she perused the paintings on the wall. In no way was he going to think about how the sunlight made her white nightgown diaphanous, so that he could see the curve of her breast when she raised her arm, the gentle slope of her waist -
No. Nope. Not a chance.
Dammit.
The two men that Abigail had brought in, cousins looking for work while the fields were fallow, were busy pulling up the weeds that had rioted among the bushes - Stephen and Joseph, if he remembered correctly. They were young, at least from his perspective, but perhaps a few years older than Rose. Still, he was glad for the company. Giving them a friendly nod, he picked up a hoe and started hacking away at the stubborn roots that anchored the weeds and brambles to the earth.
At least, if he couldn't control his train of thought, he could do something with his hands. It was a very old, ingrained habit - when in doubt, tinker. Since the TARDIS was still somewhere in the Vortex and he had no access to anything mechanical as of the moment, he figured he might as well do something useful. The Oncoming Storm did not sit around and twiddle his fingers over a girl.
Except... well, it wasn't just any girl. It was Rose. His Rose. He rolled his eyes even as the thoughts came unbidden in his mind. Any more of this sap and he was likely to slap himself silly. Time Lords did not pine after human girls.
But he'd always known Rose was different. That he was different - had the Time War never happened, he would've just been another rebel, wandering the stars. But he'd been asked to do things - terrible things, things he would never wish on his enemies, decisions that destroyed planets, possibilities, perhaps even the future. And he did them, because the alternative would've been worse. And Rose would never have even been born.
Maybe the slow path wasn't so bad. At least for now.
Just then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw her step out of the front door, the hem of her dress swishing softly across the wooden boards of the porch. She gave him a bright grin. "Maybe we could go into town today, Doctor," she said. "Y'know, explore and stuff?"
He nodded, wiping his hands on his trousers. "Let me just change, yeah?"
She raised an eyebrow. "I dunno, I like the look."
He laughed. "You got a thing for gardeners, then?"
"Perhaps a fantasy," she replied cheekily, her eyes sparkling despite the blush creeping across her cheeks.
He couldn't help it. A wide grin (Cocky, she thought, very cocky.) spread across his face. "Fantastic."
She tugged on the lapel of his coat as they strolled down the main street of what passed for the town centre of Little Grange. "I still like the leather," she said.
"So do I. But you know what they say - when in Rome, do what the Romans do."
"Always thought you just ignored history. Or worse, argued with it."
He raised an eyebrow at her. "I'll have you know. Rose Tyler, that I am a very good student of history."
"Only if there are explosions involved."
"And bananas."
"Bananas are very important for your health."
He nodded seriously. "Doctor's orders."
Rose burst out laughing. They walked arm in arm down the cobbled streets, the hustle and bustle of market day swirling around them like water streaming down a river. His companion hung on to his elbow as they wandered, occasionally pointing out things of interest, comparing the various stalls to other things they'd seen on their travels. Even when grounded on Earth, she could still find the wonder and joy in wherever they landed. (Well, except maybe that one time...) Admittedly, that was one of the many reasons the Doctor enjoyed taking Rose anywhere and everywhere - she made him take notice of things he'd never notice had he been alone.
Soon, though, he could see that she was having trouble walking in her shoes - ladies' shoes during the Victorian era were a lot more sensible, but still rather chafing, especially when one was used to wearing trainers and running for their lives. He still kept his boots, but he knew that she'd been dressing up according to their time period. And so, once he saw the sign for the Owl and Olive, he turned to her and said, "D'you want to go and get something to eat?"
Her grateful face said it all.
They entered the cool, dark room and was immediately given a small table at the corner of the pub. Despite the swelling crowd and the rather distinct smell of sewage beneath the strong scent of frying meat and the even stronger scent of too many bodies jumbled together in a too-small room, Rose and the Doctor were able to enjoy themselves.
"This is pretty good," Rose noted, swiping the last bit of fried potato from the Doctor's plate.
"Oi! That's mine," he complained, pulling his plate closer to him. "Keep your grubby hands to yourself."
"Whatever happened to sharing, Doctor?" she inquired, fluttering her lashes coyly.
"I'd have thought you're done eating chips after that incident on Velusia V."
"We-ell, so did I, but English chips aren't so bad." She chewed slowly, savouring the last morsels of her stolen treat. "Still tastes like home."
The Doctor smiled at her. "Like that old saying."
"Which one?"
"Home's where the heart is."
She glanced up at him sharply at his words. His blue eyes held hers, all of time and space swirling in its depths. Unconsciously, she bit the corner of her lip, worrying the sensitive flesh. He was trying to tell her something - something important. But... no, he wouldn't... would he? It was there, just behind his darkening gaze, like a shred of sunlight tearing through stormclouds.
But before she could respond, the Doctor had already turned away, going through the motions of settling their bill. Rose leaned back against her seat, her heart hammering in her chest. She'd been getting more and more of these moments lately - when he held her cheek at the church, asking her to say she was sorry; the moment his arms wrapped around her in a desperate hug just after the Dalek self-destructed in Van Statten's basement; his grip around her waist as he dipped her while dancing to Glen Miller. It was still quite difficult to read him: he'd run hot one moment, then cold the next, moving around her in orbit, near one moment, far the next. There were still so many layers to the Time Lord that she wasn't privy too; that she wanted to be privy too.
She watched his back as he spoke to the owner of the establishment, probably complimenting them on the food. His broad shoulders and tapered torso suited his coat well; it wasn't the familiar leather coat, but trust the Doctor to still wear some sort of dark coat as his armour against the world. She wondered what he looked like out of those clothes. She already had a glimpse of his lanky runner's body in this morning's get-up; curiously, her mind's eye wandered up the bare forearms he'd displayed earlier, the cords of muscle chasing each other beneath his flesh, cool underneath her touch. He'd have gorgeous shoulders - she'd seen their contours underneath his wool jumpers even before - and she wondered if he'd let her trace the outline of his neck and shoulders with her tongue -
"Rose?"
"...um?" She knew her cheeks had flushed pink again.
He held out his hand, the beginning of a mischievous grin hovering at the edge of his mouth.
Smug Time Lord, she thought to herself as she grasped his open palm and allowed him to help her up. She had a feeling that before their time was up, she was either going to significantly embarrass herself in front of the Doctor, or she'd be clocking up a lot of time becoming intimate with her fingers just to maintain a semblance of decorum while in his company. She took a deep breath as they made their way back to the town square to procure a coach and horse for the ride back to Stillwater.
Hopefully (and she was grasping at straws here already), perhaps - perhaps! - the Doctor was also feeling the same way.
/to be continued