007 Confessions
Nine/Rose, Ten/Rose
He is nice to look at, she supposes, in a firm, severe sort of way. From her place across from him she can admire the flint he has for eyes and the wires that frame his flesh and face. There is such a stiff posture about him – a frame held down by time and shackled by pain. So much pain.
In odd moments she dreams about stroking unyielding marble until it gave like sand. He is cold, she knows, but it wouldn't take much for him to warm.
This new him is attractive, she can give. Watching him while he sleeps, with the tree lights splashing patterns across his ivory skin and the blankets making funny little runes about his thin frame, she can see the start of a boyish, endearing sort of charm.
Her mother walks in on her, extra blankets folded over her arms. She smiled upon seeing her daughter's face, and winked in a conspiratorial way. "He did get himself a handsome face, didn't he?"
Rose blushed, and snatched her hand away from the edges of his form. "I s'pose," she mumbled.
Jackie raised a brow. "I know I raised my daughter to have better taste," she teased.
The blush intensified. "Yes. I guess he's a little hansome."
But just a very little.