As the Doctor walks the outskirts of the main festivities, his eyes dart across the party. Luau, he reminds himself. Saipha was a Polynesian colony, and one that kept a tight hold on their traditions. Flaming torches had been planted deep into the sand casting delightful, golden shadows on the participants. Delicious aromas wafted from the firepit. The band, Saiphan flutes aplenty, was just starting to hit its stride.
Rose should have been easy to spot, the only blonde in a sea of dark complexions, but he didn't see her anywhere. Toeing the sand a bit, he realizes that whether the lingering heat of the day, or the betrayal of his mangled nerves, he is feeling a bit warm. He shrugs off his suit jacket, and as an afterthought, his tie. "Oh, what the hell," he thinks, and slips off his trainers and socks as well.
As he makes his way into the crowd clad only in shirt sleeves and trousers, he feels uncannily exposed. Like everyone can see that he is a fraud. He shoves his hands in his pockets as protection.
Unexpectedly, the crowd parts slightly, and he sees her. She is clad in a simple white sundress, hair loose, a flower tucked behind her ear. Two Saiphan women are teaching her some dance steps, and Rose looks to be laughing with her fruitless efforts to move her hips quickly enough.
The moment to study her is brief. He is spotted, and she foots it in his direction, mirthfully plowing through the crowd to encircle him in a vicious hug. He recoils briefly with the sheer inertia of her launched embrace before finding his footing and leaning into her.
"You're back!" she breathes into his neck. "And after all of that bluster about not being back until morning."
Oh Rassilon, she feels like home. Home with very little air, but home all the same. Had she always hugged him this tightly? No matter. He'd asphyxiate before he'd release her.
But she is already letting go, sliding down his body to his feet. Her bare feet brush his. She looks down and back up at him with a squiggled eyebrow. "Where," she asks, "are your shoes?"
"Ah. Funny you should ask. Red Bellied Shoemonster. Attacked me in the woods. Barely made it out alive."
Her tongue catches between her teeth and she brushes her hands up and down his arms lightly. "Was said Shoemonster accompanied by a Suit-Jacket-Monster as well?"
"Why, yes. Yes, it was. They're often seen together, you know. It's an odd, but beautiful relationship. Symbiotic, really."
"So! Are we off then? How did things go? Did you get what you needed?"
Taking a breath, he evenly speaks his carefully prepared lie. "Nah, haven't left yet, actually. Got halfway to the TARDIS when I realized I had a desperate hankering for some pupus."
Grinning to cover, he locks eyes with her for the first time. It is almost his undoing. Her dark eyes melt his resolve. He wants to burst forth and tell her everything. Play it cool, he reminds himself. Cool and... what was his motivation again? Right. Hungry.
Their eyes still fixed on each other, Rose is silent, seemingly studying him. He feels his stomach lurch. Did he manage to put the right jumper on? Is he found out already?
"Earth to Rose? You there?" he jokes gently.
Blinking, she squints one last time and seems to rouse herself out of the fog. Cricking her head to the side, she smiles. "Sorry. There are so many possible jokes about pupus that I got a bit stuck trying to figure out which one to go with."
The adrenaline coursing through him leaves him no choice but to fill the space between them with talk. "Such a lovely word: pupu. Those little bursts of air that get to pop from the mouth. Shame about the homonym, really. Did you know it means 'precious and rare' in Cantonese and 'little bite' in Hawaiian? And then there's the alliteration value you get out of the infamous pupu platter. Pupu platter. Ooooh, I could say that all day long. It's just lovely on the tongue. Try it!" he directs.
"Pupu platter," Rose reluctantly trills, popping her 'p's. She laughs, and it's a brilliant sight to behold. Her head is thrown back, neck exposed, eyelashes pressed shut. He had forgotten how perfectly beautiful she is.
Recovering, she grins and beckons him towards the tables with food. "C'mon. Pupus and platters aside, you're going to love the food. Nearly everything has something to do with bananas."
From table to table she leads him, scooping up sauces and presenting him with little bites. He chews mindlessly, accepting what she gives him, gurgling loudly in what he hopes is an appreciative tone, and even once rubbing his belly to indicate content.
Earnestly, he tries to play his part, but all the while he can't stop looking at her, staring with a ferocity he thought he'd lost with his ninth self. He's forgotten so much about her subtle gestures and nervous twitches; how she moves with natural grace, how she radiates benevolence. Longing builds up behind his eyes with thunderous heat.
Suddenly, he can't help feeling relieved that she keeps his mouth filled, because everything he says seems trite. Between nibbles, he silently curses himself.
Don't squander this, he thinks sternly. You won't get another chance.
"Why can't you take me with you again?" Rose interjects suddenly.
Licking his fingers clean, he remembers an abbreviated version of this conversation from last time. "I told you, Rose, they aren't huge fans of the ladies on this planet. They kill all women. Gendercide is not a pretty thing."
"And, you're going there why again? For a boys' night out?"
"That's right. Grab a pint, watch some footie. Have to skip the strip club though, lest it end in mass murders."
She frowns, and he caves. "I already told you, Rose. I'm going there because it is the only place in all of time and space that produces a compatible TARDIS part now that my world is gone. These are organic components. I can't just jimmy something up with a paperclip and a bit of string."
"And I fancied you such a MacGyver," she deadpans.
He nudges her side a bit and softens his voice. " 'Sides, you always want to stick around for the parties. Weren't you desperate to stay only an hour ago? Look how lovely it is here, Rose."
"What if I promised to stay in the TARDIS?"
"Would you?"
"Would I promise? Or would I stay?"
"Either."
"Yes. Both." she insists.
He's tempted. He's so tempted to yield. To kidnap her: throw her over his shoulder, take her to the TARDIS, and make love to her for eternity in the safety of the vortex while the universe burns around them. A very small part of him tells himself that the universe has had a good go of it, and he's due.
"No," he sputters abruptly. "I'm sorry Rose, but you have to stay here."
"But Doctor," she says, tone even, trying to reason her way through, "What if you don't come back? I know you would never mean to, but accidents happen, y'know? How do I know that you'll be back tomorrow? I could be trapped here for months. Even years."
"Would that really be so bad, Rose? I mean look around you! Warm beaches, no more volcano issues looming - we made short work of that today. You could make a living weaving baskets and juggling fire. And think of the tan you'd get!"
She swats at him, part playful and part irritated. "Gor! Doctor, I mean it! If you're not going to let me come with you, I need to know you'll keep your promise. I need to know that when I wake up tomorrow you'll be here."
She's right, he realizes. Why hadn't he taken her with him? Or at least dropped her off at home before he left. He had been so pompous. Taken so many things with her for granted. There were so many things he would do differently if he had another go. Places he would have taken her. Things he would have told her.
Hands shoved in his pockets, he grits out, "I'll always come for you. No matter what happens. I promise." If she could sense the lie in his voice, he couldn't tell.
It was enough. Folding her arms with a bit of a "Humph", Rose relents, staring into the party. Side by side they stand, their backs to the sea.
"Rose."
"Hmm?"
"Dance?"
She turns to eye him suspiciously, her confusion evident. "What?"
"Dance, Rose? As in dance?" He grabs her hand and starts dragging her across the sand.
"I don't see a conga line forming anywhere, Doctor. There's nobody doing the twist. No can-can line or limbo pole." She suddenly looks horrified. "Oh God, don't tell me you want to hula..."
"And why not? I've got the hips for it!" Stopping suddenly at a spot in the center of the beach, the Doctor is careful to keep his voice light. "No hula. Just a nice dance. You and me. Moving to the music."
He smiles down at her and delights as she tries to make sense of his invitation. Seeing he is serious, she raises her hands up, clearly unsure about where to put them. "How do you want..." she murmurs the question.
"I don't know. Thought you were the expert on dancing."
She rolls her eyes, and opts to thread her right hand through his and place her left on his shoulder. "No wonder we don't do this. It's like the blind leading the blind here," she jokes.
He smiles and flexes the tips of his fingers into the small of her back. "Like an Ood leading an Ood," he echoes quietly, as he snuggles her a bit closer.
Her head snaps up. "What did you say?"
He realizes his error. Luckily, he makes a habit of making obscure references, so he just shakes his head.
They move gently, naturally, back and forth in time to the music. The flutes are just as lovely as he had hoped. He feels her begin to relax against him, her warmth pressing against his chest and side. All of his tension and worry falls away, and the rest of the luau melts away with it. Finally, it's just them: the Doctor and Rose.
She leans her head tentatively against his shoulder, and he pulls her closer, nestling his chin in the top of her hair. As close as he is, he can feel the buzzing of her surface thoughts radiating out to him. And like so many times before, he feels an overwhelming desire to taste her mind. Even just considering the possibility makes him sway with arousal.
After a while, she lifts her head to peer at him. "Hello," she says beatifically.
"Hello," he breathes back.
He can't help himself, he has to touch her face. Brushing her hair to the side, he reaches for the flower behind her ear. "What have you got here?" he says in that voice he keeps reserved for all things small and precious.
"That boy we saved gave it to me earlier."
Not releasing her, he turns it in his fingers to examine it. "Hyacinth Proclydia," he proclaims, "A beautiful specimen."
Still holding the flower up, his eyes pivot to Rose. "Now, you've placed it behind your right ear, which in the fine Saiphan tradition, tells all of the locals that you are available. Single and available, that is. But..."
He stops abruptly, gently snuggling the flower between her windswept hair and her left ear.
"...put it behind your left ear instead, and it's clear that you are..."
"..are?" breathes Rose.
"Left ear means you're taken." His eyes burn into hers, and there is no mistaking his intent.
With this admission, he feels her gulp slightly. In reaction, his hand tightens on her lower back, pulling her as close as he can get. His other hand is still sweeping her hair back from her face. He can't help but notice that their rhythmic sways have stilled, and they are standing unmoving in the sand. Rose's face is upturned and eyes are sparkling in the firelight.
He knows that she wants him to kiss her. And he desperately wants to do it for her. His body is reacting with almost hypnotic force to her slightly parted, moistened lips, and he finds himself drawing closer to her, his thrumming heartbeats reducing the sounding flutes to mere countermelody.
His lips brush against hers. Just the lightest of touches, but electricity is throttling his nervous system. And in the midst of this perfect moment, he sees her, in his mind's eye, losing grip of the handle and hurtling mercilessly towards the void.
God. The void.
It's just a flash, but it's enough. Enough to remind him that he can't go through with it. That he'll break the timeline if she asks the him she's traveling with too many new questions. And, not least of all, enough to remind him that he doesn't deserve this.
He snaps backwards quick as an elastic band, and makes bumbling excuses about having to leave, reminding her he'll be back in the morning. The look on her face is a bit frantic, but nowhere near surprised, and it rocks him to witness her lack of disappointment. He stumbles over the sand, which is suddenly extremely difficult to walk in, hurrying back to the bluff where his TARDIS is parked.
He realizes halfway there that she is following him. She calls out that she has his jacket and shoes and pleads with him to slow down. He has no choice but to ignore her. Anything else and he will break.