Chapter Four:

Her name was Rose.

It had been stuttered, escaping red lips in broken strands of sound. Voice rich, soft like her namesake, and the scent of a sweet perfume dragged its way across his senses. It was intoxicating, and it took all he had to tell her to run, to run for her life- to get away from the building, the danger.

Away from him.

It had been a total coincidence when he had found her again, watched as her brown eyes met his and her lips, those rosy lips parted just so in surprise, before closing in suspicion.

There was no coincidence when he asked her to come with him.

There was luck when she declined.

What was he thinking? He couldn't have a companion. No matter how brave, no matter how ungodly stupid as to fight an alien and save one at the same time. No matter how her eyes sparkled like sunlight catching tree sap on a bright morning. No matter how the scent of flowers, of roses leached off her and into him, into his head and into his veins- pumping through his hearts and crawling into every single cell in his body. No matter how his pulse had raced, seeing the sweat shine across her skin, how all he could think of was running, having her by his side with her skin slick with water vapour, the salt practically crystallising on his tongue for all he could taste it. No. It was luck when she declined his offer.

Lucky for her.

But he was never one for luck. It was need, pure selfish want when he returned, a desperate plea leaving his lips. He never asked twice. He could feel his past regenerations shuddering throughout the cosmos. Him, begging a human to travel with him. Well. It would be the least horrifying thing for them to be disturbed about, were it possible for them to know. After all. His hands were stained. The kind of spot that never washed out, the kind that haunted him, not dissimilar to that of Lady Macbeth. Guilt crawling its way through his mind when he could fight no longer. His hands were stained, but they were steady. And it was this steadiness he carried, clutched close to his chest as he opened the TARDIS door wide, as he almost leant in to the vibrant warmth of Rose as she ran past, ran to him. Ran into his home. And if he had any say about it, her home.

This was wrong. He knew it. Could feel it as he stared into the lost look on the boy's face. The boy she had just left, standing on the pavement. Felt it still as he closed the TARDIS door, as though the boy's - Mickey, the back of his mind supplied. Mickey was what she had called him- gaze could reach him still. He was a monster. Old and far too disturbed, too ruined to be allowing this girl, this young innocent girl into his life. He had killed people. Innocent people. People like her.

And he had liked it. He had liked the feel of their bones beneath his hands, the desperate look in their eyes, the smell of fear and adrenaline permeating through their skin, into his. Had liked the way their pulse went from racing to nothing against his own, had liked the way their breath left in a final gas-

"Doctor?"

The words are quiet- voice dry and he can hear the way she wets her lips, every nerve screaming of apprehension and it's all he can do to not cry out because he barely knows her but he can already tell if she leaves now he won't be able to handle it and if he can't handle it he doesn't know- but yes he does- what he'd do and-

"Doctor."

Somewhere in his mind, he can hear the concern, understand its meaning. She's not worried about him, she's worried for him. He can feel the burn in his lungs, telling him that whilst he doesn't have to, his respiratory bypass system would last him a while, he should breathe. He should let the air flow throw his lungs and stream back out but he can't. The sheer thought of her leaving claws at his mind and yes, he gets it, understands this is bad. He's only known her for mere hours but the same force that drove him to return, to ask twice, is pushing on his mind telling him that if he screws this up she'll leave-he won't smell that sweet scent anymore, won't see her amber eyes and hear her voice anymore and then where will he be-

"Doctor!"

A touch on his shoulder, and his lungs fill with air.

His pulse slows.

His eyes open- when had he closed them? - and he can see her face, swimming in its clarity before him, alight with concern. He can feel a slight stinging in his palms, and its then that he realises his hands had been clenched, nails digging into soft flesh. Now he knows it's there, he can smell the blood, the bitter smell of iron filtering through his nose. His breathing is fast, but even, and he can feel it gradually getting slower, his body calming down. Her skin burns over his jacket, through his other layers, and it's almost as though her hand's imprinting itself into his shoulder.

Her breathe flutters over his face, hot and wet and so human that it almost hurtles him into another fit. Of what emotion he couldn't have said. All he knows is that it's too much, it's all too much.

It feels strange, to hear that name echo from her lips.

Doctor.

He hadn't acted like one in a very long time.

He hadn't acted like him in a very long time.

It was said that war changed you. And what had it done to him? Made him a killer. A killer in war and a killer out of it. A murderer was a far cry from the doctor he had been.

And yet…

And yet this girl. This human rose, so pink and yellow and sweet. She called him Doctor. She had held his hand, so warm and soft in his. She had saved him, unknowingly saved the planet in the process.

She thinks you're a good man.

His hand reaches up, finding itself placed on her own, and if he thought the feeling of her hand through his clothing burned, it's nothing compared to the pure heat he feels against his own skin. His eyes lock with hers, and he can see the way her mascara clumps her eyelashes together. Can see how the heavy pencil in her eyebrows defines their shape against her pale complexion. But most of all he sees the trust in those amber depths. The concern radiating from her whole being as she curls herself around him. And he knows.

He's going to do everything in his power to keep her thinking that he is.

He's going to be the Doctor.

For her.

Authors note:

So. It's been a long long while. Uh. I have many reasons, and yet, none at all. Basically I started this story like halfway through year 11, and I just graduated high school a few months ago, and finished my final exams earlier this month. So the year has been stressful and full of homework and assessments and in it all I kinda lost motivation. Having to do creative writing for English in exam conditions kinda made it hard to write for fun. Also worked on some original stuff ( A play of mine was actually put on at the local theatre so that was amazing, and I'm working on a small film with some friends at the moment) so all in all I've been busy and this just slipped away from me. But it was always on my mind. Just every time I tried to write it, it would come out wrong and not right and I went through so many drafts of this chapter. And then like three days ago I wrote this, and I was actually really happy with it. That's why it's a bit short. I trusted my instincts, and it felt like it had reached a natural end of the chapter, so I stopped. However, the next one is already being started while I'm on a roll so yeah. That one will be much longer. This is just a bridging piece I guess. So. Uh. Very very sorry for the wait, it was never meant to happen like that. I don't like abandoning stories (sorry if anyone's read Defective. I swear I still love that concept, I just really fucked it up as a young writer and I've been trying to rewrite it to my satisfaction for the past year and a half) so honestly I will probably still be writing this story when I'm thirty. HOWEVER, I awesomely have a ton of free time now that schools over to work on my writing, so I may get a lot more done than I could imagine. I doubt anyone still reads this thing. But if you do, REIVIEW. It gives me happiness and motivation. On that note, thanks to Millie. Falcon for reviewing semi recently. That actually spawned many drafts that eventually led to this. Thanks to anyone reading this, btw. Love you. And seriously. Review. Even if it's just to tell me you hate me and wish me a place in hell.