The walk to the hut is awkward at best. There's no sound between the two of them except the soft padding of his trainers, and the swishing of Rose's skirt. He is alternating between thinking furiously about how he will get through to her, and taking long, sideways glances at her to try to assess her frame of mind.
He curses the delicate balancing act he's taken on. He only has so long to hint at their future. Too much revealed, and the course of the future will be altered in unpredictable ways. Perhaps universe-ending ways. Too little said, and he'll be...alone.
Not over an hour ago, given this choice as an abstraction, he would have definitively chosen the lonely path. He'd lived it already and survived, after all. But just under an hour ago, he held her again. Kissed her. Oh Rassilon, he wanted to do it again.
They've arrived. He races in first and does a quick scan to make sure it's safe. It's perfunctory, of course. Saipha's one of the safest places in the universe. But after what she's just been through, perhaps some reassurance is necessary. "All clear," he says, and gives her a militant nod.
Without making eye contact, she marches straight for the door of her room, and turns in the doorway. "Good night, Doctor," she says curtly.
Panic strikes his brain, and pours forth from his mouth. "So soon? I was thinking we could relax a bit before bed. You know, sit, and have a talk? A little chitchat? Or something? Nothing like a good talk to unwind you after a long day, right?"
"No offense Doctor, but my throat is hoarse from screaming, and I'm completely exhausted."
"Your throat hurts? Ooh! You should let me make you some tea with honey. Nothing like tea with honey for a sore throat." Without waiting to hear her response, he rushes into the adjacent kitchen and begins to fling open cupboards. Rose watches him disappear from view and winces as she hears a huge crashing sound coming from the kitchen as pots and pans clatter to the ground.
"It's okay!" she hears him shout from a distance. "Tea's coming. Won't be a minute." Crashing sounds again, followed by the squealing of a tea pot. "There's no honey. Do you want sugar?"
Before Rose has a chance to respond, the Doctor reappears with two steaming cups.
"Doctor..." Rose warns, "The tea looks lovely, but I really think I just need to go to bed."
"Oh," he says. He sets down the tea and wracks his brain for ways to get her to stay. He decides to try to project crestfallen, a look he's finally perfected in this body. It's not hard to fake. He has very real inspiration. If she walks out of that door, she might be walking out of his life.
After a few moments, he sneaks his eyes up to see if it's working. It is. He suddenly feels a bit shameful for manipulating her.
"Are you okay, Doctor?" she says with sudden curiosity. "Did something happen to you on that planet?"
"Planet? No. Well. Not really. No, the planet was fine." Misdirection is key here. He's almost hooked her.
"It's just, you seem a little jumpy." She's walking towards him now.
He affects a distracted air. He thinks he remembers this doing the trick before. "Hmmmm?" he intones and looks disinterested.
She peers at him through squinted eyes for a moment. Should he have been human, his cheeks would have been burning at her examination. He's a big faker. He's always been a big faker. And it's always seemed like she can see right through him.
"C'mon", she finally says, and offers her hand. He accepts it wordlessly. She leads him to her room. "Let's get some rest."
He curses inwardly. Even the mysterious brooding act didn't draw her curiosity enough to distract her from bed. She must be really tired.
In mute exhaustion, Rose sheds her shoes and flops down lazily onto their sleeping apparatus. The Doctor meanwhile, clings to the corner, hands deep in pockets, slung forward on the balls of his feet a bit.
"What's wrong?" she whines through heavily lidded eyes, her voice already beginning to slur slightly. "We've shared a bed before."
"Rose," he gestures loopily, "it's a hammock."
"Industrial-strength hammock," she replies, bouncing slightly for emphasis. "C'mon. It'll hold us both."
He's feeling quite ruffled. Engaging Rose in some playful pillow talk in a nice king size bed hadn't sounded so terrible a few moments ago. Not that snuggling with her in the tight grip of this small hammock sounds bad per se. But she's lying there, golden hair splayed wide across the netting, brown eyes reflecting light in the darkness, and she is irresistible. And irresistible to the Doctor is usually a very bad thing. It is, quite often, a compromise to productivity. And he needs productivity right now. There is work to be done -preventing work.
But he cannot think of an alternative. There is little chance he will rouse her out of bed now; he is very familiar with how cranky Rose gets when pushed out of near-sleep. And he cannot leave and reject her. There isn't time. He must commit now.
In that moment, Rose shoves the enveloping rope edges over to make room for him. With a huge swallow, he quickly sheds his trainers and climbs in next to her.
Gravity forces them close. And the hammock rocks with the displaced momentum he's introduced. First to the side where she presses against him, creating a light firm pressure that sends tingles all throughout his body. Then to the side where he is falling, helplessly, against her. Hoping he doesn't crush her. Wanting so badly to crush her.
He lies stiffly for a moment, staring at the ceiling. But then she slides a knee lightly over his leg, and he can feel her breath on his neck. "G'night, Doctor," she mutters.
He can sense the moment she's out. It's nearly instantaneous. The active thought patterns he can usually feel buzzing against his skin stabilize into shimmering waves. "Sweet dreams, Rose," he whispers.
Between the rock of the hammock and the hypnotic lull of her dreams, he finds himself drifting off. His last conscious thought is that there might have been something he'd forgotten to do.
The next thing he knows, he's sharply awoken by a brittle sound on the window.
He gently works his way free from the hammock, careful not to rouse Rose, which as a phrase offers delightful alliteration, but is also easier said than done. She stirs, but he pushes the hammock gently to rock her back to sleep. She stills. Genius things, swings. Works with infants, works with Rose.
He looks out the window and dimly cut against the moonlight, he sees the other Rose readying another barrage of pebbles. She steadies herself when she sees him in the window and he gestures that he's coming out.
Her foot is tapping with a faint annoyance when he meets her out in front of their thatched hut.
"Where have you been? I was watching from the cliff, and you never came back to the beach," she whispers impaitently.
"You tied her up and locked her in a closet for three hours. She wasn't really in the mood for me to wine her and dine her. We came back here instead and sort of..."
She raises one eyebrow. "Sort of what?"
"Fell asleep."
Rose let out something resembling a half laugh and half cough. "Not exactly the moves I was hoping you'd put on her. What about the paradox? Are we in the clear?"
The Doctor doesn't need a moment to consult the timeline. "Not remotely, no. I need more time."
"We don't have more time," she hisses. "That's just it. That's what I'm trying to tell you. We've got a serious prob---"
Her sentence is interrupted by the unmistakable sound of someone whistling. A happy tune. Borderline frivolous.
Their eyes meet. "I know that whistle," whispers the Doctor. Both of them freeze to the spot as they see the Doctor -- the past Doctor -- come swinging around the corner. He's looking down, and doesn't seem to notice them in the shadows.
Rose grips the Doctor's hand tightly. It's about that time. "Run!" she chokes out.
They are flying across the beach until they are safe in more tightly enclosed jungle. Running across sand is not easy, and despite the Doctor's binary vascular system, he's breathing a bit heavily. Or perhaps that's just the thrill of running with Rose again.
"I tried to tell you! What are we going to do? He's going inside the hut! We've got to stall him somehow."
"Stall him. Right. Excellent idea." blurts the Doctor. His eyes are darting back and forth as his brain seeks out inspiration. None is forthcoming. Perhaps something in his pockets will light a needed spark. He shoves his hands in deeply and immediately comes out with...
"Psychic paper!" he shouts, a little too loudly. Rose looks startled, but he's got his sonic in the other hand, and sets himself to his task, teeth gritting in the stressed position he gets when he's pressed by time. Finished, he flips the sonic up and looks back towards the hut.
The other Doctor has paused. He reaches for his psychic paper, flips it open briefly, and then turns back towards town. Rose and the Doctor let out the breaths they've been holding for ages.
"What'd you do?" she asks.
"Sent him a message on the psychic paper. Said somebody in town needed help. He'll go investigate before he comes back." He turns back to her. "Two me's in one place, Rose. This is bad. Very bad."
"Is it? I thought it would be okay. Special Time Lord capabilities and such."
"Only when they are different me's. When it's the same body, I'm subject to the same paradox laws you are."
Rose looks panicked for a moment but quickly regroups. "Will he know you're here?"
He shakes his head no. "I knew I'd be crossing my own timeline. So I put a transtemporal stabilizer on the TARDIS just in case."
"English, please?"
"I've cloaked the TARDIS. He won't accidentally detect her."
"Right. What about your psychic Time Lord thingy?"
He looks sidelong at her with a great, dangerous smile. "I'll have you know all of my Time Lord 'thingys' are in perfect working order, thank you."
She blushes a smidge. So sweetly. Then it's quickly back to business. "Not that. Will he be able to feel you. Up here." She taps her head to indicate what she's talking about.
"I can shield myself to some extent. Shouldn't set off any warning bells unless we get into close proximity."
"So we're safe for the time being?" she says, head cocked. He knows that look. Rose has an idea brewing. He loves that look.
"Should be, yup. Besides the massive paradox we're sitting astride, of course."
"Well, there's that," she says smugly.
"So what's the plan then? Call your Saiphan friends and get them to pull a broom closet sequel on my doppleganger?"
"Mmmmm...." she says dreamily. "Have I ever told you how much I love to see you all tied up?" Her eyes get a bit hazy and he can smell her pheremones flare. Minx.
"But seriously, it's too risky," she continues. "The Saiphans don't have any high-technology restraints, and you're far too crafty. You'd conquer the closet easily and be on the loose in no time."
All of this stroking of the Doctor's ego is a little too much. She thinks he's crafty and wants to see him tied up?
She catches his dreamy look and hits him playfully. "Stay with me here. No one's getting tied up if we can't get out of this."
"Since when did you get so focused?" he retorts. "You used to be great at mixing flirting with adventure."
"It's gotten a little more challenging since you've started flirting back." The hand that hit him hasn't left his shoulder and slowly reaches up to touch his cheek.
"I always flirted back," he maintains as he reaches one of his arms around to cup the small of her back.
"Not like this you didn't."
With her cradled in his arms, he's suddenly overwhelmed. With fear. Fear that this isn't destined to work. "Rose...I have to tell you..." He pauses too long, and Rose takes the opportunity to spin her plot.
"There'll be time for that later Doctor. Let's do this: I'll go into town and meet up with old you. I'll pitch a fit and demand a shopping day in reciprocation for his ditching me to go get that TARDIS part. You get the old me and make her understand that she needs to come back here."
The old switch-er-oo. It's a good plan. Except... "Small problem: I'll know you're not you."
"You didn't last night," she says with some amusement.
Damn. She's right. "Fair enough," he concedes.
"Right. I'll try to stall him as long as I can. But we left at sunset that night and went back to London. So I'm guessing we can't go past sunset without the paradox exploding on us."
"Meet at the TARDIS at sunset?"
Rose nods solemnly and turns from the Doctor to go find his counterpart. Twelve hours, she tells herself, until I either get eaten by a Reaper, or start a life with the Doctor. Not quite what I had in mind.
Her thoughts are interrupted by an urgent sound. "Rose," she hears from behind her. She turns back and he jogs up to her.
Before she can ask him what's wrong or scan his face to guess at it, he's pulled her close. His eyes are burning hot with a steely resolve. Such is the strength of their fire that it shocks her cold when he closes them, dips down, and kisses her.
She had certainly attempted to snog him senseless earlier that evening, but he swiftly put an end to that. So she thinks it might be safe to say that this is their first kiss. His lips are shy and slow as they press against her own. Even a little tentative. But also immediately intoxicating.
It is over quickly, too quickly, and he releases her mouth and furiously pulls her against him in a possessive embrace she is all too familiar with.
"Good luck," he whispers.
And with a sudden twist, he is gone, jogging lankily back toward the hut.
"You too," she calls after his swiftly diminishing form, before commanding her wobbly legs to start towards town.