Thanks goes to TuiYLa, without whom this chapter would probably never have been written.
Songs used are Def Leppard's "Desert Song", "Fractured Love", and "Armageddon It"; Pat Benatar's "Walking in the Underground"; and Billie Piper's "Day and Night". Like in the first chapter, the ending verses are from Def Leppard's "Blood Runs Cold." I'm also working on a third chapter for this, but that third chapter will be the last one.
He didn't care.
The Doctor found that he really didn't care that he might have hurt her as he sat outside Rose's room, back against the wall, and listened to her soft crying.
He'd only been enjoying what was his. She had, too—her body had, at least. He'd smelled her arousal, felt her heated flesh, relished the taste of her juices as he sucked them from his fingers.
Already he knew that having her once wouldn't be enough—it never could be enough. Just once and he was hooked on her: his obsession, his drug.
If the Time Lords could see him now . . . Well, there was a reason he'd been exiled, a reason his own people called him the Bringer of Darkness, the Oncoming Storm. (Technically, that was the Daleks, but the name still applied.)
Gradually, he became aware that the sounds of crying had been replaced with running water. He considered joining her, and a smirk played around his lips at the thought. Even now he was still half-hard, and his mental image of a glistening wet Rose wasn't helping matters.
As quickly as the thought entered his mind, he dismissed it. No, he would resort to his old pattern of letting her think everything back to normal—as normal as it ever was with them—before he claimed her again. He'd done it before he'd taken her, after all.
If he wanted, he could easily alter her memories so that she'd consented.
Or not. The Doctor wasn't human, and maybe it was time Rose was reminded of that.
A cold smile quirked on his lips. He rose to his feet, made his way to his bedroom.
He needed more clothes than the robe he was currently wearing if he was to convince Rose that this had just been a nightmare, after all.
-oOo-
Rose stepped under the shower spray, forced the muscles in her body to relax as the heat stung her skin. The water was so hot it felt like fire.
Purifying fire.
She needed to feel clean.
Rose scrubbed at her body until her skin felt raw, but even that wasn't enough. So she slid down the wall, pulled her knees up to her chest, and buried her face in the little ball she'd created, letting the hot water wash over her until she couldn't see through the surrounding steam.
That was okay. She didn't want to. If it fogged up enough, maybe he wouldn't find her.
Her eye stung, but they were so dry there were no more tears left to cry.
Surely she would wake up to find this had just been a dream.
The Doctor she'd known would never have . . .
Raped me, she silently finished.
That couldn't have been him. It just couldn't. Even in his old body he wouldn't have forced himself on her.
Wouldn't he? a little voice in her head piped up.
She closed her eyes, shook her head.
Rose may have been in there for minutes or an hour; eventually she shut off the water, roughly toweled herself off, and—not knowing what else to do—slipped into pajamas and curled up in bed. It took fifteen minutes for her to fall into a fitful sleep.
Please let this all have been a dream.
If all this was a dream, it had just turned into a nightmare.
-oOo-
"Rose?" The Doctor's voice roused her sometime later. When her vision cleared, she saw that he was standing in her open doorway wearing his brown suit. "You okay? I heard you cry out." The concern in his voice seemed genuine.
"Nightmare," she answered, running a hand through hair that was slightly damp.
She didn't want to dwell on what that meant, nor on the throbbing between her legs.
"Want to talk about it?" he asked, taking a step into her room.
"No." She shrank back instinctively, briefly wondered why she didn't want him touching her, and felt a strange sense of déjà vu. Then she remembered: She'd reacted the same way in the library only a few days ago.
Had it been only a few days? Sometimes it seemed like she had been back on the TARDIS for weeks.
"Okay." To her relief, he backed off, closed the door.
She didn't see the triumphant smirk on his face, the cold glee in his eyes.
-oOo-
As he closed the door to Rose's room, the Doctor couldn't stop his mouth turning up in a triumphant smirk at her answer. There was a sense of relief that she thought it had been a nightmare; after all, she had been sleeping, dreaming of him—he'd glanced into her mind—when he had joined her in bed.
He decided to give Rose some space for now, let her prepare herself for the day. There weren't any trips planned; much like before, he was content to wander about his ship, let the TARDIS float in the Vortex.
It was also convenient for him to check up on Rose, make sure his companion didn't stray too far from his possessive, watchful eye.
The Doctor had already lost Rose to the parallel universe once, then nearly had her burned at the stake when she wandered off. He was not taking any chances at losing her again.
He'd told her as much. No, she could never leave him.
She'd promised, after all.
"How long are you going to stay with me?"
"Forever."
He'd make sure of that.
As for right now, what did he want to do? He didn't feel like tinkering with the TARDIS. The idea of curling up by the fireplace with a good book was appealing more and more to him.
The Doctor's smirk widened. He knew just the book to read.
Minutes later, he was lounging in one of the chairs by the library fireplace, one of Rose's handwritten journals in his hands. After he'd taken care of Donna, Lance, and the Empress of the Racnoss, he'd gone into Rose's room—partly so he could feel close to her, partly so he could always something of hers close by—and he'd taken not only her purple shirt but this journal as well. Her thoughts on the time just after he'd regenerated were very interesting, though whenever some bloke named Jimmy Stone—apparently the boyfriend she'd had when she was sixteen—was mentioned, he frowned in anger and snarled at the book.
The only reason Stone was currently alive was because the Doctor hadn't known he'd existed. Rose never mentioned him, and he'd never asked. He hadn't wanted to know.
That had changed. He doubted Jimmy had. To be honest, the Doctor preferred Mickey the idiot to this bloke, the way Rose described him.
Something must be wrong if he preferred the tin dog.
He gave his head a quick shake to clear it, flipped to the entry she'd written after the Madame de Pompadour incident. His eyebrows shot up after reading a few lines. Well, he hadn't known Rose had been that jealous. Besides, Reinette had been nothing to him, a mere distraction for his growing, intense, feelings for Rose. And— She hadn't really wanted to do that to him, had she? He nearly winced, just thinking about it.
Where was his companion, anyway? Surely she must be dressed by now.
"Doctor?" he heard her ask, as if right on cue.
He lifted his head and saw her standing in the doorway. "Over here," he called, fighting back a smile when he saw how stiffly she was moving. A twinge of guilt nudged at him; he shoved it down.
"What are you reading?" she asked him.
"Oh, just something I picked up."
Rose came around his chair, peered over his shoulder. "That almost looks like—"
The Doctor slammed the leather-bound book shut before she could have a good look at the writing within.
She snatched it out of his hands, opened the front cover. He stood, twisted around to face her as her eyes widened.
"You read my diary?!" she demanded, shocked.
The Doctor shrugged. "It's my ship. I didn't see a problem with going into your room while you were in the parallel universe—and it was sitting out there in the open. It wasn't like I searched through your dresser; even I'm not that rude. If it was buried, I wouldn't have touched it." He smirked, ran hooded eyes over her body. "Besides, the thought of you as a horny teenager . . ." The tip of his tongue darted out, wet his lips. His hooded gaze darkened further, and he stepped closer to her.
Rose paled, nervously stepped back. The journal slipped from her hands to crash on the floor. He bent down, picked it up, and reached out to give it to her when he saw that she was making for the door.
"Oh no, you don't," he growled under his breath, sending a mental command to the TARDIS.
The door vanished before Rose could reach it. She froze, whirled around to face him. Rose wasn't scared, not yet, but she was nervous—he could almost taste it.
"You dropped this," he said instead, holding out the journal.
She took it, but she wouldn't meet his eyes. "Is that it, or can I go now?"
"No." As he stared her down, some part of him screamed Look at me! It was dangerous, this need. It reminded him that while he may walk among humans and interact with them, he would never be one of them. He was woven throughout their history: a myth, a legend. He'd never let himself get too close to one, but Rose had somehow broken down all his barriers, stolen his hearts, and become a constant presence in his mind.
Not even Charley had been like this, and he had loved her back in his eighth body.
What was it about Rose, this pink-and-yellow human shopgirl from London that made her so irresistible to him, a Time Lord, the last of his kind? What was it?
Her breathing had become shallower, faster; his eyes flicked to hers, relished the anxiety bordering on fear he saw there.
"What do you want from me?" Her voice was a rattling hiss, and his mouth twitched.
"Nothing," he said insincerely. The Doctor swept a critical eye over her, reached inside his jacket pocket for the sonic screwdriver. "You're hurt, aren't you, Rose? Let me help."
Her teeth caught and worked at her lower lip. Then she nodded her consent. He saw the unspoken question in her eyes—"How do you know?"—but the Doctor said nothing as he adjusted the settings and aimed the sonic. Seconds later the tension in her body eased, and he allowed himself the faintest hint of a smile as he pocketed the screwdriver.
He wanted her whole and well when he took her again, after all. It wouldn't do to further damage his Rose, especially not when she was wary of him. No, he wouldn't push her too far too soon.
Still, how much trouble could she find on a night out with some of her old crowd? Just one short three-hour trip back home, then back in the TARDIS. If he tracked her, maybe put on those handcuffs he'd used on Margaret the Slitheen, perhaps . . .
Not now, though. Later, maybe. Say, a couple of days later.
On second thought . . .
"How come you never told me about this Jimmy Stone bloke?" he asked suddenly.
Rose jumped, startled at both the question and his quietly menacing tone. "You never asked. Besides, you'd forgotten all about Mickey the first time you met him."
The Doctor gritted his teeth. "That was different. You never told me about Stone. Why?"
Rose glared at him. "You must have figured out why after reading that; it doesn't take a genius, Doctor."
"Exactly my point. Why. Didn't. You. Tell. Me?"
"Because I wanted to forget about him, put him behind me! I didn't want him chucked into a nebula or sucked into a black hole!"
He considered it, fought the urge to smile at the mental image. Now that she'd mentioned it . . . What came out of his mouth instead was "Was he another one of your pretty boys?" Something inside him bristled and snarled, snapping its jaws. He didn't like the thought of even Mickey or Jack touching his Rose, but the thought of another man hurting her, one he'd never known, had the beast raging inside him, straining to be released. Its snarls and growls rose to a roar pounding in his ears, and he almost missed Rose's sharp reply: "What's it to you, Doctor? I'd put him behind me until you brought him up—after going through my journal."
Now it was the Doctor's turn to break eye contact. "You can leave now, if you want—explore a little. Or you can stay in here with me. . ." He tried to voice it like a suggestion, but it came out more like an order—and has his voice always sounded that low, that . . . sensual? No wonder Martha had fallen for him when he hadn't even been trying to seduce her.
Rassilon, what was it about Rose Tyler that turned him into this? He'd given up his ninth life to save her, and his tenth had been born out of love for her. Even now, he loved her in his own twisted way.
Not that he would ever admit it—but he had in a way last night. Well, last night for his human passenger, anyway. Time was relative in the TARDIS.
Rose nodded, backed up against the wall . . . and stepped out into the hallway. He'd been so focused on her that he hadn't noticed his ship had replaced the door. She turned, walked down the corridor, and he noticed that she was trying hard not to break into a run.
Once she was out of his sight, she did.
He considered running after her, then decided against it. His ship would let him know where she was, so he could find her later if he desired.
And oh, he desired.
-oOo-
Rose ran down the corridor, her head spinning, not caring where she ended up. She'd been kidding herself that last night had been a nightmare and she knew it. Yet she'd wanted to believe it, and so she had.
More than that, the Doctor had wanted her to believe it had been a nightmare. Lately, it didn't feel as though she knew him anymore. What was going on with him? Before, he would never have kept her inside the TARDIS and the Vortex; would never have stolen her journal; would never have murdered another person in front of her; would never have raped her.
The way he'd looked at her when he mentioned picturing her as a teenager . . . It sent chills down her spine, and not just because he'd read her private thoughts. She'd felt like prey waiting to be devoured, and everything about that look, that smirk, screamed sex.
That smirk shouldn't even be legal.
She still couldn't believe he'd actually said that. It was so out of character for him . . .
Unless he wasn't the Doctor at all. Maybe he was possessed or under the influence of some sort of drug or something. Yes, that had to be it. Because if it wasn't . . . No, she didn't want to even consider that possibility.
So she ran, slowing only when she felt she was far enough from him to be safe—as safe as she could be inside his ship.
Rose felt as if she were caught in a dream where she was running in a maze—and there was no way out. Right now nothing was as it seemed, and she was fighting to see through a haze that refused to lift.
For the second time, she realized the Doctor had no intention of letting her leave the TARDIS without his supervision, if at all; that she was a prisoner in the one place she had called home for two years—the only place where she'd felt safe.
"Never gonna let you go."
His words from last night played in her head. Rose shuddered, felt ice trickle down her spine.
Oh, God, how was she going to get out of this? Maybe if she could figure out what was wrong with the Doctor . . .
Rose breathed in, trying to calm down, and took in her surroundings properly for the first time. She was standing in front of a TARDIS-blue door, one she'd never really noticed before, but she knew instinctively that this had to be the Doctor's room.
The trickling of ice water down her back became a torrent as she reached out for the side panel that would open the door. While some part of her wanted to see what his room was like, another part wanted to run away. If the Doctor found her in his room . . .
But then, he'd been inside her room, gone through her personal possessions . . .
Next thing Rose knew, she was looking inside his room, standing just past the doorway. The walls and floor were dark blue, the bed a contrast of off-white. Rose didn't see any signs of a dresser or a desk, but then, why would the Doctor have either? He already had a wardrobe room, and he spent most of his thinking time underneath the console.
A hint of pink-and-purple caught her eye and she swung her head back to where she'd seen it. That looked like . . .
Rose strode forward, picked up her shirt from the floor on the right side of the bed. What was her shirt doing in here, near his—?
The shirt dropped from her hands as if it had burned her. She shook her head, trying to dislodge the thought from her brain, but it wouldn't leave. Nausea welled up in her stomach, tightened her airway. Suddenly the walls seemed to be closing in. She had to get out, get out before he—
"What are you doing in here?"
Heart in her throat, Rose slowly turned on the spot, knowing who would be there and dreading his reaction. They were the only two people on the TARDIS; who else could it be?
She'd never been truly scared of the Doctor while she'd been traveling with him—except maybe when they had encountered that Dalek in Van Statten's museum—but now . . . Even after everything she'd seen, all the aliens she'd faced . . . None of them were as terrifying as the Doctor. He was the biggest monster of them all. She knew that now as she watched him watching her, standing there leaning in the doorway with his arms crossed, something predatory in his gaze as he stared at her.
Oh, she was in so, so much trouble . . .
-oOo-
The Doctor uncrossed his arms, slipped his hands in his pockets, and straightened, movements graceful in the way a big cat is when stalking prey as he slowly advanced toward her. "Well, Rose?" He could tell she was startled, at a loss for words, and the scent of her fear was intoxicating to him. "What are you doing here?"
Her eyes flicked to the bed, to the shirt balled on the mattress, to him. "I . . . um . . . I was just . . ."
"Exploring?" he suggested, raising an eyebrow.
She seized on the out he was giving her, nodding swiftly, unable to hide the relief in her eyes. "Yeah. I've never seen this room before. Not that I was expecting to; it's your room, but . . . Doctor, what's my shirt doing in here?"
"What's it look like it's doing in here?" he countered, resisting the temptation to take her on the bed he rarely used. It was too soon for her, and he was still hoping to convince her that last night had been a nightmare. However, if she was questioning him about her shirt, her journal . . .
Rose's golden-brown eyes met his, narrowed. "I'm guessing you went through my dresser as well?" she accused. "Why else would it be in here?"
The Doctor shook his head, fought back an irritated growl. "Right after I said good-bye to you after we were cut off, some redhead in a wedding dress appeared in the console room. She started yelling at me, found your shirt—which was draped on a strut or the railing or something—and used it to ask me if I'd abducted you as well. I grabbed it back from her, explained it was yours, and afterwards . . . I must have put it in one of my pockets or something then took it out and left it in here as soon as I'd left Donna with her family."
Her mouth formed a silent Oh. He wasn't done yet.
"But losing you, Rose, did you have any idea what that did to me?"
"I—"
"What is it about you? Before meeting you, I'd never gotten close to a human, never been invited into their family, never been tempted to go the domestic route. And when you . . . left . . ." He broke off with a growl, wheeled away from her, his fingers ruffling his hair until it looked as though he'd gotten in the way of an electrical current.
Rose didn't stick around to hear him finish. She darted past him and raced for the door, taking a right as soon as she was in the corridor.
No matter. He could easily find her again. Just not yet. He would wait a few hours before taking her to the Powell Estate for a night out with her old clubbing mates. As for while she was out, well, he had plans of his own for the evening.
-oOo-
Hours later, Rose wandered into the console room to find him reclining on the yellow chair with his hands laced behind his head and eyes half-closed. With slow movements, he rose to his feet, eyed the monitor. He asked her, "How do you feel about a trip back home to visit your old mates? What were their names, Keisha and Shareen?"
He didn't pretend to be an expert in human facial expressions, but he thought Rose seemed almost caught off guard. She faltered over her words, but she was finally able to say, "But I'm supposed to be dead. Remember?"
The Doctor shrugged her concern off. "Just tell them they made a mistake identifying the body. It's wouldn't be the first time your law enforcement's mucked up an ID." A slow grin crept across his face. "Besides, it'll do you some good to hang out with your friends, catch up, get some fresh air, go clubbing. How about Friday at seven p.m. on June 8, 2007?"
Her teeth worked at her lower lip as she thought it over, and the action nearly drove him mad. Then she nodded. "Okay. And what about you, Doctor? What are you going to do?"
"Oh, I'll figure out something," he said, entering the coordinates for the Powell Estate, hands working at the controls. He averted his head so she wouldn't see the excitement, the anticipation, the odd gleam in his eyes. The Doctor knew she was starting to regain her suspicions about him, and okay, maybe his strange behavior had tipped her off. 'Course, he had killed two people in front of her, yelled at her, stalked her in his own ship, gone through her things, taken her . . .
A twinge of guilt nudged at him again, along with voices of his past incarnations: his seventh and ninth approved; the others didn't. He shoved the guilt down and snarled, Shut it and get lost! at his former selves.
The TARDIS settled with a thump moments later. He stepped back from the console, a pleased smile on his face "I did it. Give the man a medal! Earth, Powell Estate, London 2007. Well, go on, then," he said to Rose. "Don't want to keep you waiting."
She gave him a nervous, hesitant smile before heading down the ramp out the police box doors and into the night. Seconds later her head appeared back in the doorway. "No way! We're right outside Keisha's flat! How did you—?"
"Remember the whole incident with the water hive and that 'feast of the drowned'?"
Rose frowned at him. "'Course I do. I was walking caviar for an eel the size of a Chihuahua!"
"Yeah, well, I happened to memorize her address. Are you going to go see her or not?"
Rose backed out. "All right, all right, I'm going!" She shut the door behind her. The Doctor stood in silence for a moment, listening, and grinned when he heard Keisha's excited scream of "Oh my God! Rose! Shareen, you've gotta come see who's here!" He couldn't resist opening the TARDIS door enough for him to see Rose being yanked into the main room of the flat, one of the girls with dark skin—Keisha—while the other had pale skin and flaming red hair-that must be Shareen. Well, at least Rose was in capable hands for the evening.
His grin faded. If his plan was going to work, he needed a change of clothes.
He didn't want Rose out of his sight for too long, after all, and since he was going to follow her, he didn't want his regular choice of clothing to give him away. But before ducking into the wardrobe room, he turned on the monitor so that the door to Keisha's flat was visible. While flicking on the screen, his other hand triggered the sound system. As he disappeared into the depths of the TARDIS, the music followed him.
"Dark and dirty, like you've never seen. A mind so twisted with thoughts so unclean. My heart is racing, all tattered and torn. I stand here naked as the day I was born.
"Only the lonely will stand. I'm holding the world in my hand. I got to believe. . . ."
Isn't that the truth? the Doctor thought wryly. Now that he was inside his ship's extensive wardrobe, he eyed the choices in front of him critically. What did the human males of this time period wear to clubs?
Eventually he settled on a pair of black jeans, a dark gray T-shirt, and, on a perverse whim, the black leather jacket of his previous life. It hung loosely on his bony frame, but after checking himself out in the mirror, he decided he liked the look. Maybe he should change the color scheme of his suits to black, gray, and red.
He stowed the TARDIS key, sonic screwdriver, and psychic paper in his jacket pocket and was ready for a night out on the club scene.
The song had switched to a new track, one that started with a jungle-type drum beat and dark guitar solo: "I'm caught in a dream. Sometimes it ain't what it seems. I'm all in a daze. Can't fight my way out of this maze. I'm looking for cues. I'm wanting a change in the rules. I'm locked in a cage acting out on the wrong stage. Don't want your sympathy—no, no, no. Don't need the third degree—no, no, no. Just got to break away and scream. I'm caught in a dream.
"I've stood at the edge and I'm looking down, caught in the danger zone. I feel like a king that has lost his crown, and now I stand here alone.
"Don't want your sympathy, no. Don't need the third degree, no. Just got to break away and scream. . . ."
The Doctor left the TARDIS—which was parked a few yards off from the flat—and followed Rose and her mates. He kept far enough back that Rose didn't notice him, but he could care less about Keisha and Shareen—he wasn't even sure if Keisha would recognize him.
It took them ten minutes to walk to the nearest club even though he was certain it had taken the human girls several minutes to even dress up for a night out. He rolled his eyes, remembering how long Rose sometimes took in the TARDIS. If she wore less makeup, it wouldn't be as much of a problem. But that was beside the point. Already the Doctor could hear music blasting from the building, some rock song that sounded suspiciously like "Pour Some Sugar on Me." It made sense, he supposed, considering both "Sugar" and "Excitable" were basically every stripper's theme song.
Rose and the girls joined the small crowd milling outside the entrance. The Doctor slipped into the queue directly in front of them, flashed the psychic paper at the guard, and indicated the girls behind him. "They're with me," he said in a Scottish accent; he didn't want Rose recognizing him, at least, not yet.
He could feel her eyes boring into him—had she recognized the voice as the one he'd used at the Torchwood Estate?—but the bouncer let them in and the Doctor slipped away into the crowd before Rose could say anything to him.
"Pour Some Sugar on Me" changed to "Armageddon It" as the Doctor meandered through the crowd, making his way to a shadowy portion of the wall where he could observe Rose without being disturbed. Neon strobe lights flashed over the darkened room, the floor, casting wild, dancing shadows everywhere.
"Y'better come inside when you're ready to, but no chance if you don't wanna dance. You like your four-letter words when you're ready to, but then you won't cos you know that you can. You got it, but are you getting it? . . ."
Rose, Keisha, and Shareen were already moving to the music, and his greedy, possessive gaze locked on his pink-and-yellow girl. She'd left her dyed-blonde hair loose tonight, he noticed, and the flashing lights sent sparks off her red sequined halter top. Her legs were covered by black leather; his fingers itched to peel them away from her skin.
Who knew this body had a fetish for black and red clothing, especially if there was leather involved?
"They're solid leather all the way through. Someone's got one hell of a fetish." His words to Martha about the Slab came back to him, and he smiled at the memory.
His smile faded, face darkening as another bloke came a bit too close to Rose for his liking. Gritting his teeth, the Doctor wove swiftly through the mass of bodies, not caring if he bumped into anyone on his way to intercept the potential threat.
Much to his relief, the bloke asked Shareen to dance, and she went off with him. Keisha left soon after to pounce on a guy she'd had her eye on. That left Rose by herself, but her eyes were closed as she danced, letting the beat fill her and take her away.
He loved watching her when she was like this, just letting go and being, well, Rose.
"Armageddon It" faded as he came up behind her—had it really been four minutes already? A new song came on, a pop tune from 2000, it sounded like.
"All of the day, all of the night, you do the things that make me feel so right . . ."
He slipped a cool hand under her halter, rested it possessively on her stomach, while his other hand slid down her hip, resting on her thigh. She gasped in surprise. He silenced her with "Easy, love" and a nuzzling kiss to the warm, soft skin of her throat.
She tensed, tried to move away from him, and he pulled her back against him.
"You're not leaving me just yet," he murmured, mouth moving up to her ear. "Dance with me, Rose. Please."
". . . It just ain't the same when you're away. You are my inspiration. I'm hanging on to every word you say cos you are my motivation. . . ."
Gradually the tension eased out of her and she relaxed against him. "Doctor?" she asked, voice shaky.
"'Course, love. Unless you were expecting someone else . . ."
"No. It's just, your voice . . ."
"What about it?"
"It's just . . . different."
". . . The only time I think of you is every day and all night through. Whenever I breathe, you're on my mind. . . ."
"Good different or bad different?" He hadn't realized he was still using the Scottish accent. As close as they were, he felt her shiver, heard the slight moan as he moved against her. A line from a poem ran through his mind: "Will you step into my parlour?" said the Spider to the Fly.
"Why are you asking?"
"You're the one who likes it," he pointed out, and he suddenly placed the current singer's voice. "Rose, this wouldn't happen to be you singing, would it?"
"No."
He could smell the lie. "Don't lie to me."
". . . I need you tonight, but you're not around. I need to hear your voice, baby. Something feels strange; there's not a single sound. . . ."
"Okay, maybe."
His mouth found the line of her shoulder; then the skin beneath her neck, between her shoulder blades. A satisfied smile curved his lips as he felt the tremor run through her. "It wouldn't be about me, would it?" His thumb, the one on her stomach, stroked the flat skin soothingly. He resisted the temptation to slide his hand up further, explore her body in a way he hadn't the night before, but only just.
There would be time for that later.
". . . Cos the only time I think of you is every day and all night through. Whenever I breathe, you're on my mind. Every day and night, babe. . . ."
She turned her head, brought one hand up to rest on his thick mess of brown hair. He straightened, nearly purred with contentment.
Then she abruptly pulled away from him, and he silently protested at the loss. Rose turned to face him, her brown eyes blazing. He tensed, remembering what had happened to him the last time she'd been this angry with him.
"You bastard," she hissed, shoving hard against his chest. If he'd been human, the force of her shove would have him stumbling; as it was, he took a couple steps back.
Annoyance glinted in his eyes. "My parents were married, thank you very much." He stepped forward, reached out for her. "Rose, come—"
She backed out of his reach, then began running through the crowd, away from him.
His eyes narrowed and he started to follow her. She wouldn't run away from him again, not after what happened last time. He wouldn't allow it.
". . . Gotta let me know when you're coming home—when you're coming home. . . ."
He didn't care if he shoved some of the humans out of the way as he wove swiftly through the crowd after Rose. The Doctor had already forgotten about Keisha and Shareen, but if they held him up he would not be responsible for the consequences.
Eventually he burst out into the cool night after Rose. She turned once she left the club, began walking in the opposite direction from whence they'd came.
He was vaguely aware that the music had changed, this time starting with a sax solo. "Cold sweat, sweat it out in the land of the midnight sun. Walk it off, sort it out, figure out what you're running from. . . ." A bit slow for a club, but he could question the DJ's choice of music later. A better Pat Benatar song would have been "Heartbreaker," "Hit Me with Your Best Shot," "Love is a Battlefield," "Shadows of the Night" or "Invincible." It wasn't up to him, and why was he even thinking about this when he should be focusing on Rose? Yes, it was only a stray thought, but he was irritated with himself for even letting it cross his frankly brilliant Time Lord mind.
Rose was only a couple feet ahead of him and walking quickly. Jealousy raged when he saw the looks she was receiving from a group of males across the street, head the catcalls and wolf-whistles. Rose gave then a passing glance then stopped dead and did a classic double-take.
The Doctor caught up to her, rested a reassuring hand on her upper back. "What is it?" he murmured, narrowed eyes already searching for whatever had spooked her. Even now he wanted to protect her from any outside threat. Or maybe he wanted to keep her away from any potential rival—look what had happened with Adam and Jack, after all.
"Jimmy," she breathed, pulse racing with apprehension and a little bit of fear. Her skin went cold against his hand.
"Where?" he asked sharply. His eyes homed in on the pack across the street. "Who?"
One of the men peeled away from the group and walked toward them. The Doctor knew instantly that this was Stone even before Rose backed up into him. Almost reflexively, the Doctor wrapped his arms around her, his embrace at once protective and territorial. Something inside him preened at the thought that even after what he'd done to her, she would still turn to him to help her, to keep her safe if she felt she needed it.
As Jimmy came closer, the Doctor could see that yes, he could be defined as another one of Rose's pretty boys. Stone was about 5' 6"; had short black hair and green eyes; and was well-built, as if he lifted weights or did some boxing on the side. He had the build for it, whereas this tenth body for the Time Lord had the lean build of a distance runner or a dancer. If the Doctor had to guess at Jimmy's age, he would say the human was a few years older than Rose—age twenty-four or twenty-five.
"I thought he'd moved," the Doctor murmured to Rose softly.
"Guess not," she replied in an almost strangled voice. "Let's go, Doctor."
Too late, he thought as Stone finished crossing the street, a cruel light in his eyes as he took in the scene before him. When he spoke, however, it was not to Rose but to the Doctor. "Isn't she a bit young for you?"
The Doctor bit back a laugh. If only you knew. Instead he said coldly, "What's it to you?" He tightened his grip on Rose's shoulders, subtly positioned her so she was behind him.
Stone avoided the question, flicked his gaze to Rose. "You're looking good, Rose. How long's it been? Five years?"
"If I wanted to find you, I would have. Now leave me alone." Rose slipped past the Doctor, started to walk by Stone. She froze when her ex grabbed her upper arm, his grip tight enough to bruise the skin.
The Doctor forced down a growl and reacted quickly. In the next two seconds, Rose was free and the Time Lord had Stone pinned by the collar and up against the wall of the nearest building.
"Hey! Who do you—"
The Doctor leaned in close, cold fury simmering off him. "The only reason you're still alive," he said quietly, menacingly, "is because I didn't know you existed until today. If you ever try to contact Rose again, if you even think about finding her, I will track you down and I will kill you. Understand?"
Stone wasn't smart enough to look scared. More's the pity. "What's a skinny strip of nothing like you going to do?"
"Use your imagination." He tightened his hold on Stone's neck, gradually increasing the pressure on his trachea until the human was choking for breath. Then the Doctor eased up on the pressure. "Next time, I won't bother with a warning. You get only one, and that was it."
Now Stone looked worried, the Doctor noted with grim satisfaction. He stepped back, releasing the human; and went back to Rose, slipping a possessive arm around her.
Stone didn't give them any trouble after that.
-oOo-
Rose kept stealing glances at the Doctor, trying to puzzle out what had happened to him. What was up with the change in his clothes, especially the jacket belonging to his old self?
It wasn't just the clothing. He'd been acting strange—well, stranger than normal—ever since she'd returned to him.
Her throat closed off as she remembered last night, and she fought back a wave of nausea. How had she allowed him to touch her back in the club? She'd known it was him in the queue: She would recognize that lean frame and black leather jacket anywhere. As for his voice, that Scottish accent he used did things to her. And when they'd been dancing together, caught up as she was in the spell woven by lights and heat and music, Rose had been unable to stop her body from responding to his touch, his kiss, the feel of him against her.
Even after what he'd done to her, she still wanted him—or her body did, anyway.
God, what did that say about her?
The thought terrified her, chilled her.
Rose was so lost in her thoughts that she didn't realize where he was taking her, only that they'd walked past the nightclub.
Keisha and Shareen—would they be mad at her for bailing on them? Or would they have even noticed her absence? It had been months since she'd last seen them, after all, and even then her and Keisha had already started to drift apart.
She still couldn't believe that Keisha and Mickey . . . The thought of her best friend shagging her ex was so wrong that she couldn't accept it. Even though Mickey had tried explaining, Rose had shrugged him off before he could say anything more than nothing happened.
Thinking about that reminded her of another row they'd had back in Cardiff, when her, the Doctor, and Captain Jack—yes, okay, and Mickey—had to deal with Margaret the Slitheen and her and Mickey had gone for a walk, just to talk. It had escalated from there.
That Cardiff memory had her thinking about Captain Jack. If they could find him, maybe he could help her figure out exactly what was wrong with the Doctor, if he was under an evil influence or something.
But even if he was possessed, surely Rose would have seen something, noticed something out of place that shouldn't be on the TARDIS—a portable Kandrona ray or whatever.
Mentally, she rolled her eyes. Mickey had left too many Animorphs books lying around when they were younger, and yes, he'd convinced her to read a few of them. Even though she knew aliens were real, she'd yet to come across any Arn, Taxxons, Hork-Bajir, Yeerks, or Andalites in her travels.
Maybe she should ask the Doctor about it. Then again, maybe not. For all she knew, that was in a parallel universe or alternate timeline or something, and she wasn't keen on the idea of having a parasitic alien slug in her brain. Besides, with the way the Doctor was acting, he'd probably let her be infested.
. . . And her mind was running away with her again. Rose shook her head to clear it, and finally noticed the dark blue shape of the TARDIS, the lettering along the top glowing yellow in the night.
She stopped dead in her tracks, missed the Doctor's questioning look. She couldn't go back in there, she just couldn't . . .
"Rose?"
She heard his voice, but it was as if from underwater.
"Rose." His voice was firmer now; his hold around her waist tightened as he led her to the door of his ship, his home . . . her prison. "Come on."
This time, he wouldn't let her leave. Her blood ran cold at the thought.
What was he planning for her?
-oOo-
The Doctor closed the doors behind them and shed his jacket as he walked up the metal ramp, slinging it over the nearest coral strut. It felt strange wearing jeans with a T-shirt instead of his usual suit, but he could deal with it for a little longer. Besides, his last body had worn nothing but what he had on now.
Rose, the instant he let go of her waist, retreated to the opposite side of the console room—as far away from him as she could get. He frowned, trying to understand her reaction. How much had she heard of what he'd said to Jimmy Stone? Even so, that couldn't be the only reason she was acting so skittish around him.
"Rose, what's wrong?"
She glared at him, body trembling. "Like you don't know," she hissed. "You raped me, Doctor!"
He shrugged carelessly. "That's not how I see it. You wanted me—still do." He came around the console, moved closer to her. "Don't even bother denying it."
She stumbled back from him, fear in her eyes. Something in him clenched at seeing that. He didn't want her scared of him, not now, not ever. Whatever she may think, he still loved her. In his own twisted Time Lord way, yes, but he did love her. And yet . . . something else in him loved seeing that terror in her whiskey-colored eyes.
She turned, fled down the corridors to her room. The Doctor waited a few heartbeats before following at a leisurely pace. He had just rounded the corner that led to her room when he heard the door slam. A minute later, his ears picked up the sound of running water—she must be drawing a bath. Odd. Well, she had worked up a sweat while dancing, but he suspected that wasn't the only reason. As he came closer, the Doctor smelled scented bubble bath, remembered that she would sometimes soak after a particularly dangerous adventure to relax and soothe any aching muscles. She shouldn't be sore at all—he'd taken care of that—so that probably meant...
Suddenly he realized the sound of water had stopped and gentle splashing sounds were emanating from the smaller room. He was outside Rose's room by now, and he quietly entered.
It was dark, but his eyes easily adjusted. A thin beam of gold light revealed the outline of the bathroom door, but he decided to wait a few more minutes before interrupting. His resolve, however, was sorely tested when his ears caught her moans of pleasure and contentment. Instantly a wet, naked Rose filled his mind's eye, her lips parted and eyes closed as she enjoyed the hot water and floating bubbles. Desire snaked through his veins, quickened his hearts, but he tamped it down. That was not what he wanted tonight—at least, not yet.
When he'd calculated that five minutes had passed, he rose from the edge of her bed, headed for the golden outline of her bathroom door. He slipped silently inside, closed the door behind him, and only then let himself take her in.
Rose's eyes flew open. Startled, she instinctively shrank back, hands drawing the mounds of bubbles closer to grant her cover. "What're you—"
"Ssshhh," he silenced her, taking a step closer. He leaned one hip against the counter, hooded eyes resting on her face. "You didn't think I was going to leave you alone for long, were you, Rose? You're so danger-prone, even for a human. Anything can happen."
Her light-brown eyes blazed. "Get out!" A bottle of hair product arced through the air toward him.
He caught it easily, set it on the counter. "No." There was ice in his voice but heat in his eyes.
Panic flashed in Rose's eyes; then it was gone. "Something's wrong, Doctor. We can take you to Jack. Maybe he can—"
She broke off when he knelt down, braced his hands on the edge of the tub, and thrust his face close to hers. In a low growl he said, "There's nothing wrong with me."
"I don't believe that. Neither would Jack."
"Forget about him," the Doctor hissed. His fingertips dug into the ceramic edge as his grip tightened. He heard her heart rate speed up, and his eyes dropped from her face to what he could see of her body underneath the water. His gaze lingered on the dark patch between her thighs, her stomach, what little he could see of her breasts, before he brought it back to her face.
"Wh—" she began. He cut her off.
"Like I didn't see you looking at him when we first met," he said scathingly, voice low, "wanting to wrap your legs around him like a bitch in heat." One hand slid into the water, glided across her skin.
Rose pulled away, out of his reach. "I never touched Jack," she insisted. "He never tried anything with me, not after I introduced him to you. Jack's like a brother to me; you know that. What's wrong with you? Every time he's mentioned you avoid checking in on him or you flinch."
The Doctor bit back a growl. "I can't stand being around him. He's a mistake, a living fixed point in time and space." His hand trailed up her side, rested on the swell of her left breast. "He works for Torchwood, Rose."
Shock flared in her eyes even as she slapped his hand away. "Don't touch me!" she yelped. Then, as his words sank in, she shook her head. "No. He—"
The Doctor pulled his hand from the water, let the bubble residue rinse off. "Forget about him," he repeated in a low growl. Heated eyes swept over her in one last, lingering look. Then he abruptly stood and whirled around, practically gliding away from her.
He left her shattered, feeling as if the world was falling apart around her.
So?
She was his now. He'd made sure of it.
A tiny smile played on his lips as he remembered the scene in the club, the feeling of being inside her.
Rose would come to him, he knew.
She always did.
From you love was kind
Resolved, left scarred and blind
Wasted and naked in the wings
Denying twist of fate
Demanding heaven's gate
Lying in wait above the wind
Strung out as the night comes calling
Your halo of thorns is falling. . . .