Chapter Three : Cause and Effect
The Doctor couldn't quite stop grinning to himself as he carried an unconscious Rose through the TARDIS corridors. Rose Tyler... fainting! His grin grew unreasonably wide. Oh she'd never live it down -- not if he had anything to do with it. He planned to roll this one out at Christmas parties.
He reached Rose's room, putting his back to the door he pushed it open and carried Rose inside, crossing to the bed and carefully depositing her down onto it. He pulled off her trainers and was just about to leave her when he stopped suddenly. Rose's top had ridden up slightly and the waist of her jeans just skimmed underneath where the brazen heart sat. For some reason he couldn't look away from it.
He swallowed hard, telling himself that he should probably take a closer look -- just in case; he was a Doctor after all. He sat down on the edge of the bed, his hand moving to sit gently at Rose's hip. He waited a second, then his fingers slowly traced the outline of the heart. Rose made a soft unintelligible sound. His eyes darted to Rose's face, and he was relieved to see that her eyes were still closed. He returned his attention to the heart shaped tattoo.
What had she been thinking? His fingers stroked the delicate outline. It was pretty, he'd give her that -- although he'd never admit it to her face. Oh no, he was sticking with full on disapproval to her face. But on the inside...
The Doctor stared at the deep crimson of the heart and thought that he should actually be going now. Let Rose come round in her own good time rather than... why couldn't he look away from it? Well no, that wasn't strictly true; he could look away from the tattoo, but when he did he found his eyes trailing over Rose's body, taking in every detail of her sleeping form. How her hair had fallen over the crisp white pillow. How her lips were oh so slightly parted -- almost in invitation. How her top was twisted up a little too high. How soft and warm her skin was where his hand lay. He stroked the peach soft skin at the waistband of her jeans... not even aware that his fingers were moving lower, slipping under the edge of the denim, exploring uncharted skin. Rose moaned and her hips arched up as if into a lovers body.
That did it. That snapped him back to reality. He shot away from the bed and didn't stop until his back slammed into the far wall, ending his ricochet from her. He stared at Rose as though she was a language he couldn't translate. Nothing made sense. He shook his head, attempting to clear the fog from his thoughts. His brain tried to re-boot, tried to understand, but all he knew was that he wanted her. Wanted Rose. His Rose. His -- he would make her his.
He could feel the heat in his body, his hearts were beating faster than was normal. Even standing on the other side of the room, it was all he could do not to return to her side and... He closed his eyes for a second to try to regain control of his senses, but the images of what he wanted to do to Rose were there in glorious technicolour. He groaned out loud and opened his eyes, but his gaze could only settle upon the sleeping temptation before him.
This wasn't normal. He knew normal - he could control normal. He had controling normal down to a fine art. But no, this, whatever the hell this was, was opening up locks and smashing down doors. It was pulling down every wall he'd built around his desire ever since Rose had come on board the TARDIS. This was not normal.
He tried to fight it, tried to remember what she was to him. Rose. Human. Friend. Companion. Hands held tight, running.
But it was strong. Perhaps stronger than he was.
What she could be. What he wanted her to be. Rose. Lover. Mate. His. Bodies twisting together, breathless.
He felt consumed with need, desire. Even though all he was doing was standing looking at her, it took all his strength to turn and walk out of the room, yet somehow he managed it.
Something was wrong and he knew he had to figure it out quickly, or when Rose woke up he wasn't sure he'd be responsible for his actions.
He made his way back to the med bay to look over Rose's test results again. He had to have missed something.
oOo
Distance it seemed did not only 'make the heart grow fonder', it also made the mind think clearer; or at least it did in the case of whatever had been affecting the Doctor. It seemed the further he got from Rose -- the more doors and corridors he put between them -- the less fevered his thinking was. By the time he'd reached the med bay he was back to his normal self, fully able to control his feelings for Rose. His own master one more, he put his reckless emotions back inside a box hidden deep within himself. Back where they belonged, back where he'd thought he'd had them safely tucked away, and slammed the lid down.
He turned to face the screen that still bore the table of readings he'd taken from Rose. His eyes narrowed, the sour taste of anger twisting in his stomach. He did not enjoy being turned into a puppet, especially when he could not see who or what was pulling the strings.
He dragged a chair up to the screen and took his seat, his arms folding stubbornly arcoss his chest as he set the monitor with a cold gaze. He carefully studied each read out and compared them with what he already knew of Rose's genetic patterns.
Chromosomes, check. Double helix, check. White cells, red cells, blood group, check, check, check. Clutching at proverbial straws he even made sure that the chemicals in Rose's hair colour were the same as ever. They were. Everything was the same. Everything that was supposed to be there was there. He didn't understand, something had to have...
He stared at the screen. Blinked. He saw it. He really couldn't understand how he had missed it before. His mouth went dry and he licked his lips. Questions were now answers. His stomach tightened into a knot. He couldn't look away from the screen.
It should not be there. It did not belong. It was not part of Rose.
Give the man in the leather jacket a cupie doll.
His thoughts became crisp, cold, clear, like a winter morning. He reached within himself and carefully turned a key... locking the box.
At least now he knew what he was up against.
