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Careful Surrender (7/16)

Tenth Doctor/Rose Tyler Rating: T Words: 6738 Summary: Shaken after the events on Sanctuary Base of Krop Tor and haunted by the memory of losing each other, the Doctor and Rose are driven into each others' arms. As they begin to tear down the meticulously constructed walls the Doctor has built around their relationship, he is forced to confront the reasons he put them up in the first place. His reluctance to reveal the demons of his past stifles his attempts to open up to her, but he soon realizes his greatest fear is losing her before he finds a way to show her what she means to him. The pair walk a tenuous line on the threshold of emotional and physical intimacy, and though tension runs high and their frustration intensifies, neither of them is entirely prepared for what may happen once they travel beyond the boundaries of friendship. Warnings: none. Disclaimer: Doctor Who (c) BBC. Author's notes: This chapter was painstaking to edit - something about it just wasn't working for me, and after doing everything I could eventually I gave up. But I'd like to give a big thanks to cariadgair for the advice, it truly did help! Though, I still feel like this is a weak chapter compared to its successors. I'm going to strive to have chapter 8 up within a day or so to make up for it. Hang with me guys, they've got to hit every possible speed bump before they can cross the finish line, so to speak. Much love to you all. Read it on AO3 or Links to previous chapters

“S’pose I should have phoned first,” Rose sighed as she leaned against the wall next to him. He’d realized in a matter of seconds Jackie wasn’t in the Tylers’ cramped flat, but he’d watched silently as Rose emerged from the last room she decided to check (her own) and joined him in the hall where he lingered, certain she didn’t want him following at her heels. She seemed more disappointed than he’d expected; he guessed she had truly been looking forward to seeing her as an escape from all the madness he’d brought about within a day. The sore lack of communication, the tango drunk on sugar and salty air, the persistent spike of hormones in her circulation that he’d inadvertently provoked, the heated row, and the psychic onslaught… to name a few.

“Well, we could… stay for a bit. See if she turns up,” he offered.

“‘M sure she will. She hardly goes out for dinner,” she replied, agreeable to his idea. “But what are we gonna do ‘til she gets back?” she asked, turning towards him and fidgeting with his sleeve.

He could only choke in response and he cleared his throat several times to cover it. He might have managed a few ‘ums’ in between, but couldn’t be sure. He was certain she wasn’t purposefully putting on an air of seduction, but the way her voice had quieted since they entered the empty flat, combined with the dim lighting in the hall, produced that effect nonetheless. Before she could unwittingly entice him to pin her against the wall and actualize one of his many long-suppressed fantasies, he pulled his eyes away from her frame and concentrated on the opposite wall. His hands buried themselves in his pockets as he struggled to think of something they could do that didn’t involve a wall, a bed, or the couch within his line of sight. But Rose’s painfully accurate accusation regarding teasing still stung in his ears, and soon she was scoffing at his blatant discomfort.

“Doctor, calm down,” she said, annoyed. “We could always make my mum dinner. ‘M not very hungry, but I’m sure she will be.”

It was something he never would have agreed to a year ago. And, truthfully, he wasn’t all that hungry, either. Well, not for food anyway. But really, he had to get used to these close proximity activities. They were just as often alone together in the TARDIS as they were venturing about time and space. Where had all his self-control gone, anyway? He was vaguely aware he would be tearing down painstakingly constructed walls the last few days as they danced and kissed and shared a bed (or couch), but he didn’t anticipate it being so impossible for him to reconstruct those walls to even a fraction of their original height. He was like a helpless moth blundering through smoky air, fighting uselessly to keep away from the warmth and light of the summer campfire that blazed wherever Rose stood. And yet, cooking dinner (which was something they often did in the TARDIS anyway, though she has considerably more advanced technology to facilitate the process), and perhaps spending a bit more time around her mother than he fancied, was hardly anything to ask of him. Not when he was already holding back so much from her that he could quite literally kick himself.

“Oh, alright then,” he said with exaggerated resignation she hoped she could recognize wasn’t authentic. “But what are we gonna cook?” he asked, raising his voice from their cautious whispering and rolling his head to the side to look at her again.

“I dunno,” she shrugged, eyeing him tentatively, the hand on his sleeve pulling back to timidly cover her mouth. He broke the awkwardness without hesitation.

“Well, let’s go and see, shall we?” he raised his eyebrows playfully and turned abruptly on his heels to stride for the kitchen, knowing she would follow once he had indicated some level of enthusiasm for the task. He opened the refrigerator to find a half a jar of pickles, a container of takeaway, a liter of soda, assorted condiments, a jug of expired milk, and a questionable pack of hot dogs. He frowned just as he felt Rose approach from behind him. She wrapped her arms around his waist as she peered around him to inspect the contents herself.

“Well, that’s no good,” she remarked almost instantly.

“No,” he agreed somberly, letting go of the door and allowing it to shut itself, opening the door to the freezer instead. Some chocolate ice cream, waffles, and a handful of single-serve frozen pizzas. He let that door shut closely upon the first.

“Yeah, this happens sometimes,” she said, loosening her arms from around him as he turned to face her. “She puts off shoppin’ until the last minute. ‘S probably where she is now.”

“Well,” he began, hands tracing down her arms until his fingers naturally twined with hers. Holding hands didn’t send him into a sudden and fierce desperation for her like kissing did: it was innocent, something they’d always done since the day they met. He scanned the countertops for anything promising, but found them as barren as the cold storage.

“We could always make the frozen pizzas.” He tried to seem amenable in case that was something she was accustomed to, but his expression must have betrayed his distaste for the idea. Rose was laughing as soon as the words left his mouth.

“’M sorry, Doctor, do we not adequately cater to your very sophisticated palate?” she asked, a playful smirk negating the feigned offense in her tone.

“Ooo, I’m afraid not,” he answered, equally light.

She laughed slightly, but the sound and the accompanying smile quickly faded as they were overtaken by a rather large yawn.

“Sleepy?” he teased, though in truth he had been waiting for her to show signs of crashing since they stepped outside the TARDIS. If his calculations were correct (which they seldom weren’t), she’d been awake for sixteen hours already.

“Oi, it’s been an eventful day.” Yes, and on top of that, it had been an eventful day. But he’d slept more the past two nights than he had in months, so he couldn’t say he felt quite the same. Earlier, he’d been too wound up from their snogging and her frustration with him to even consider resting his eyes, but their argument and what little he’d had a chance to show her on their walk were a bit of a weight off his shoulders. He was more than ready to settle into something soft for the night, so long as it was nestled next to Rose Tyler.

“I know,” he breathed, rubbing his thumbs in soothing circles over her palms as he acknowledged the truth of her statement. “I’m a bit knackered myself.”

“Thought you wouldn’t be able to sleep tonight?” she asked, throwing his earlier statement back in his face.

“Well,” he started, second-guessing whether he should reveal his motivating factor. “Maybe not to sleep, exactly. But, well, the past few nights, with you… they’ve been nice.” Nice? Did he have to sound so daft at crucial moments like these? “Thought maybe you’d like to capitalize on some more time with my cuddling skills… if you want. I promise, no teasing,” he added, pressing one of their linked hands over his chest to seal his oath. She bit her bottom lip in an attempt to hide her smile, humming softly as she deliberated his proposal.

“Well, we could always… come back in a few days. My mum’s probably busy anyway. Lots of groceries to buy, apparently. We could… head back to the TARDIS now?” she asked, raising one eyebrow suggestively. Well, that was quick.

“Think we’ll have to. You definitely need your sleep.” He couldn’t bring himself to feel guilty when she was the one who suggested leaving prematurely.

It was at precisely the moment they made to walk out of the front door that Jackie walked into it. With groceries. A lot of groceries. A few brown paper bags tumbled into the hallway in her surprise and joy to see Rose. And that happiness seemed to carry over to her treatment of the Doctor himself – she didn’t quip at him like she normally did or steal less-than-friendly glances at him from across the hall. He smiled and nodded his way through her greetings and acknowledged it was a pleasure to see her, as well.

Jackie mentioned something about a meat-centered dish she planned to make for herself, and was intent on rambling through a list of options for dinner she could prepare when he interrupted her, insisting she leave the food preparation to Rose and himself. This was met with resistance, of course, and accusing him of insulting her cooking, but he used his most mollifying tone to explain he only meant she should relax, and that he and Rose had planned to cook before she arrived. She settled for finding something to watch on telly in the next room while they set to work.

Rose helped him put away any temperature-sensitive items while they brainstormed briefly based on the newly available selection, before deciding on fettucine alfredo with chicken (on Rose’s insistence) and broccoli (on his insistence).

“Iron, Rose. You could do with some more in your diet,” he argued as he heated the butter and half-and-half (he hoped it would suffice in place of heavy cream) over a saucepan. “And fiber. You want to end up with diverticulosis?” Perhaps he was a bit dramatic on that last bit. But was it really an ulterior motive that he wanted Rose to keep up optimal health?

“Oi! Doctor, don’t lecture me. ‘M not even hungry, I’ll eat maybe five bites of this. Blimey, we ate a salad for lunch!” He set up a second tray next to the one she was using to cut up said broccoli so he could dice up the chicken while the dairy-based fats did their simmering.

“Well, anyway, your mum will like it, trust me,” he said, taking a different approach. She sighed in exasperation.

“Well, I hope so,” she sighed, dubious of his statement.

“I think it was Julia Child that once said ‘butter makes everything better.’ She’s definitely right about that.”

“I happen to know that’s not true,” Rose quipped.

“It is true! Give me one good example of something that doesn’t taste better with a pat of butter.” She deliberated a moment, though the green florets continued to break off from the stem from under her knife.

“How ‘bout… bananas?”

“No, I think you’re forgetting about bananas foster. Banana slices covered in caramelized sugar and butter,” he drew out the word for emphasis. “First served by a French chef in 1951 at his New Orleans restaurant. Excellent dessert. Especially over ice cream. Vanilla. Maybe chocolate – ”

“Okay, turkey,” she interrupted his caramel-filled daydream.

“C’mon, Rose, people baste their Christmas turkeys with butter all the time.”

“Apples?”

“Apple pie. Loads of butter in pie crust. Though personally I prefer the Dutch variety with the crumbles on top… still, the crumbles are generally made of butter and brown sugar.”

“Chocolate?”

“Chip cookies!” he completed her thought, somehow on a roll with quick responses. “Plenty of butter in cookies.”

“Cereal,” she ventured, frustration growing in her tone. That one threw him a bit.

“Cereal… cereal, cereal, cereal… Rice! Those marshmallow bars with the rice cereal, what are they called? Had one from a coffee shop once. Molto bene! Much better than plain rice cereal, if you ask me.”

“They’re called rice crispy treats. I think. I mean, ’s named after the cereal.” She huffed an irritated breath as she moved on to the last stalk of broccoli.

“Well? Anything else?” he asked, placing the finished chicken cutlets into a pan and turning his head to her.

“No,” she grumbled, avoiding his gaze.

“See? It’s like I said, butter makes everything better.”

“Wow, think it’s your greatest victory ever,” she said quietly, dripping with attitude. She faced her task as she rolled her eyes dramatically but he caught it.

“Oh, Rose! C’mon, I was only trying to get you to smile.” With a small pout he pleaded for her forgiveness as she turned to him on completing the chopping, hoping she wasn’t truly upset, but she only glared at him.

“Aw, Rose,” he drawled as he leaned over to her slowly, locking her gaze with a tiny grin, trying his best to break her. That failing, he stepped closer to brush his nose across hers a couple times, careful not to bring his sullied hands with him, pleading for her to love him even with his insistence on being right in trivial matters. To his delight, a smile broke from the edges of her lips despite how she tried to keep them sealed into a hard line.

“Okay, fine,” she said with a light laugh he returned. “Now wash those hands, you’ve got dead poultry on ‘em.”

“Well, you could have put it nicer, but you make a good point.” After he washed up he set to work sautéing the chicken and broccoli while Rose got the pasta boiling, and they took turns stirring the thickening cream-colored sauce. Once everything was coming together, he added some authentic parmigiano (and was impressed Jackie had bought the pricey cheese to begin with) to the alfredo until it seemed roughly the amount he estimated would provide the salty, tangy kick he was looking for. He dipped his index finger straight into the pan for a taste to see if it was an appropriate amount, but as soon as his finger was on his tongue, Rose interjected.

“Oi, Doctor!” she berated him before lowering her voice to just above a whisper. “That kind of stuff is alright back at the TARDIS, but my mum’s eatin’ this. Sure she wouldn’t appreciate you puttin’ your hands in everything.”

“Rose, what else could I do?” he replied only after sucking the sauce off his finger and deciding it, was indeed, the right amount of cheese. “Metal would throw off the taste. I can’t have utensils interfering. I have a very precise method for these things.”

“Well, guess what, Doctor?” she snarked as she reached into a nearby drawer. “That’s why we have wooden spoons.” She waved the large brown spoon in front of his face with a mocking smile. “See, look?” she continued, dipping the spoon into the saucepan until a fraction of it was coated with the yellowish cream. She blew on it lightly before bringing it to her lips to taste. “Simple. And tasty, too. Nice work on that sauce.”

“Hmm. Bettter than metal, I’ll give you that, but… there’s that annoying lignocellulose aftertaste.” His expression was one of disgust as he tossed it into the sink dramatically as soon as she handed it to him. “I’m telling you, finger’s the best way to go for tasting purposes. Well, provided you’ve washed. Which I have. Here.” Dipping his finger a second time into the sauce, he held it a couple inches from her lips. “Try it again.” Her eyes watched his carefully before she budged a centimeter, making sure he wasn’t joking or beginning to worry if he was mad, he couldn’t tell. But she closed her lips over the tip of his butter-coated finger, quickly sucking off most of the sauce he had scooped up, and swirling her tongue around it to lap up the rest. Even when no sauce could have remained detectable to her, she didn’t release him, instead pulling the whole digit into her mouth, sucking harder as she dragged her tongue along its length, as though reveling in the taste of his skin more than the alfredo sauce, and a second later her mouth was gone.

“Yeah. Does taste better.” Casual. As though she hadn’t just quite unfairly tantalized him.

“Yes, like I said,” attempting a similar cadence of nonchalance and closing his mouth, which had unknowingly fallen slightly open as he stared stupidly after her mouth, pining after the tongue behind it. He started combining the ingredients from their separate cooking vessels into the large saucepan they’d used for the noodles while Rose drifted to the sink to get a head start on the dishes.

In only a couple minutes they were at the table with Jackie. He nodded along in surprise and offered condolences as she retold the story about Elton, as he wasn’t supposed to have known about the incident. It was strange to be reminded of it when it seemed ages had passed between him and Rose since they’d seen the light-bulb-headed bloke. Shortly following that tale was the usual prodding of what they’d been up to, laced with implications he’d been taking advantage of her, as she had been suspicious of since the day she met him and slapped him across the face. It was always a bit of a wake-up call to keep his imagination in check, whenever she grilled him on their whereabouts and activities since the last time they met. They told her most of the truth, only lying by omission regarding near-death experiences (most notably the one he couldn’t believe was only days before) and the quite recent near-shagging experiences.

He was particularly wary not to let on that he and Rose had now or would have anytime in the foreseeable future a physical relationship. Without technically consulting Rose about it, he barred himself from holding her hand, resting his arm over her shoulder, and certainly kissing her, regardless of how benign he personally perceived said activities. Showing any indication their relationship had advanced since the last time they visited the flat would be a mistake. Surely Jackie still wouldn’t trust him to fill the position as Rose’s boyfriend, and he shuddered at the mere thought of the teenage-reminiscent word being applied to him in his nine-centuries-plus of life. Now certainly wasn’t the time to give her the freedom to imagine all the ways the pedo-alien could ravish her daughter in the coming months in his big, empty, alien ship.

When they’d finished eating, or more accurately for the pair of them, picked at the chicken and white noodles, Jackie offered to clean up. Rose thanked her, but the Doctor suggested it was about time they headed back, as it was nearly nine in the evening.

“We’ve got a bit of a walk. And an early trip tomorrow,” he explained, though they hadn’t actually discussed a thing about the following day’s journey.

“Oh, no,” she replied, despondent. “Can’t you stay the night, sweetheart?” she turned her attention to Rose, whose eyelids were drooping lazily as she rested her head in her hands over the table. “Look at you, you’re knackered.”

“Uhm… well,” she wavered, looking from her mum and back to him a couple times, though he could offer no secretive insights as they had no point of contact at the moment.

“Sure, I s’pose.” The Doctor’s eyes widened in surprise, expecting anything but for her to accept the invitation. “What d’you think, Doctor? Ready to turn in for the night?” She addressed him now, and didn’t seem to be joking. Jackie crossed her arms and waited for his response, her stare threatening to explode him on the spot. He stamped out the panic that her gaze kindled and blurted out the only solution that popped into his mind.

“Oh, uhm… that’s fine, Rose, I’ll just… head back to the TARDIS. I’ll park her out front first thing in the morning.”

“Suit, yourself, Doctor,” Jackie said as she spun around to walk into the kitchen, leaving him and Rose alone in the small dining room, just out of sight from the kitchen sink. “Glad you’re staying, Rose,” she added from several feet inside.

Rose threw her hands up in confusion as her mum disappeared from view, angrily mouthing What? He threw his hands in just as irritated a fashion and mouthed the same word back, and they proceeded to carry out a non-conversation of cryptic hand signals and snarled breaths before he decided they weren’t getting anywhere. He double-checked Jackie was out of sight and placed a hand on her cheek and met her eyes.

What’d you say yes for? he asked loud and clear in her mind.

She flinched at the unexpectedness of the unspoken question, and scowled at him to remind him she could neither respond in kind nor aloud. He sighed, recalculating the best yes or no question to ask. He didn’t want to lose her for the night, nor did he want to waltz into her bedroom with her with Jackie’s eyes burning a hole into his back from behind them. Then it occurred to him.

You have a window in your bedroom? He asked. She nodded slowly. Check it in five minutes. She hesitantly nodded a second time, though still clearly upset with him. Shouldn’t it be the other way around? A simple no to her mum, just this once. Didn’t she want to spend the night with him, after all? She seemed to have changed her mind about keeping away from him earlier. Being reduced to sneaking around wasn’t a pleasant prospect.

“Right, then, goodnight, Jackie,” he called into the kitchen.

“Night, Doctor. Thanks for cookin’.”

He motioned furiously to Rose’s bedroom door with his head as he walked past her to the hall leading to the front door. He snatched his coat from off the rack on his way out, and shut the door unusually loudly to ensure Jackie would have heard.

He knew the location of her room from the inside; he only had to determine its position from outside the building and find a means to reach it. With luck, he found it was situated along the vertical fire escape route down the building. He galloped down the stairs and made for the towering black grating hanging along the structure, as it didn’t connect to the main stairwell, and made short work of the distance to the ladder, thankful he was rather tall this time around. On reaching the correct floor, he crouched out of sight from passersby, waiting for a signal from her that he was clear to climb through.

After two minutes, he sat against the metal fencing to take pressure off his feet. After ten, he was counting the holes in the grating beneath him. After thirty-six minutes had passed, the idea of actually walking back to the TARDIS grew in its appeal as the chill of night nipped at his hands and face. It would have been worse for Rose, had she accompanied him back to the TARDIS tonight as originally planned; he was better at maintaining body temperature. But uncomfortable, nonetheless, without running or other physical activity to generate some metabolic heat. Absently he played a game of catch with himself and the sonic, trying to maximize the number of flips he could make before he caught it again. Why hadn’t she tapped on the glass, opened the shades a crack, anything? Was Jackie in her room with her? Had she fallen asleep at the dining room table?

It was after forty-two minutes he heard the heavy scrape of the old window against the frame, striking against the silence of the empty alley. He was on his feet immediately at the sound, watching as the curtains were drawn to the side until the window thudded against the end of the frame.

“Doctor?” Rose whispered, invisible in the blackness of the room, the street lamps below not shining sufficient light through the window to illuminate her face. He stepped to the window and pushed his nose against the screen until he could just make out her silhouette, only a few inches from the other side.

“What took you so long?” he whispered back. “And why are all the lights off?”

“My mum thinks I’m asleep. She wouldn’t stop askin’ me questions. Now get in before I change my mind.” Her tone was cross despite the muted volume. He didn’t respond, aware that no concerns of hers could be addressed while he was still bereft of the ability to touch or even properly see her. With a quick wave of the sonic in a line through the middle of the screen, he hoped the fluttering sound wasn’t as noisy to humans as it was to him, his other hand catching the top half as it fell from the bottom immediately. Both pieces in hand, he climbed nimbly over the windowsill and swiftly replaced the broken halves, melding them back together just as easily before running his hand along the path of the repair to ensure no evidence of forced entry remained. He ran the sonic along the top and bottom of the window frame, fixing small dents and evening out the metal before closing it much more quietly than it had opened.

The light curtains swished closed as he whirled around, his eyes quickly adjusting to the lower level of light in the room. He identified the only sources as a faint bluish glow coming from an alarm clock on the nightstand, and a thin golden strip shining from under the door. The only sounds were the rustle of sheets on Rose’s bed and the whispers of newscasters down the hall. Jackie was still awake, then. Suddenly he was treading on eggshells, instantly paranoid that she would burst into the room and expose his dishonesty.

Rose was easy to make out, sitting upright in her bed under the cover of a quilt, waiting. His desire to hold and comfort her quickly won out over his fear of her mother. He shrugged out of his coat, cringing a bit before rolling it up and placing it under her bed in case of an emergency, then unbuttoned his jacket and slipped off his shoes so they could join the coat. Loosening his tie, he released a couple buttons at his neck before sitting carefully on the sheets, minimizing the squeak of the springs. Rose flung the bunched-up quilt over him as he swung his legs up, and he turned on his side to lie facing her, propped up on his elbow.

“Doctor, what was that all about?” she asked quietly.

“What?” he asked, confused. “You’d rather I left on the shoes and the coat?”

“Not that,” she answered too loudly. She paused as they both stilled and listened to ensure no footsteps prodded towards the outside of her door, and when she continued it was in a careful whisper. “I mean how you could barely even look at me once we left the kitchen.”

“’Course I could,” he retaliated, eyebrows pulling together as the meaning of her words escaped him as it often did. His first working interpretation was that somehow she thought he suddenly ceased to find her attractive.

“No. I mean,” she sighed heavily and let her arm fall from holding her up, her head sinking into her pillow until only one darkened eye looked back at him. “I think you overdid it with tryin’ not to let on about what’s happened with us.”

Right. Well, that might have been his third interpretation if he’d been given more time to think it over. He didn’t think he’d made it obvious he was aiming for a platonic environment, but again he was forgetting Rose’s gift for perception. He pinched the bridge of his nose, horrified to realize he must have been setting a record for how many times I can disappoint Rose in a day?

“You’re makin’ it weird. I don’t want this to be weird. If you’re uncomfortable with – ”

“No,” he interrupted as firmly as possible with the volume restrictions in place. “That’s not it. It’s just… your mum. I already feel like she can’t stand the sight of me.”

“Well, she’s not your biggest fan, I’ll give you that. But she doesn’t hate you. Mostly I think she’s just jealous, ‘cause she wants me back here with her.”

“But if she found out about – ”

“The kissing? Doctor, my mum already thinks we’re shaggin’. She has for a long time. Every time she gets me alone she has another chat with me. ‘S always ‘are you being safe, Rose?’” She ended with an impersonation of Jackie that was quite uncanny.

“Well, didn’t you tell her we haven’t?” he asked, unsure why he was so shocked and ill-at-ease at Rose’s disclosure.

“Doesn’t believe me. I mean, y’know what blokes are like. And we’re alone and together almost all the time. ‘S only natural she would assume that, I s’pose.”

“I think you’re forgetting the word human. I know what human blokes are like. I don’t share their utter lack of self-control.”

“Don’t you, though?” she raised her eyebrow at him. He ignored the implications behind her question.

“Just let me point out something. Us. In your bed. Now. Not shagging. Case in point.” Well, not if the universe went according to his plan. He attempted to ignore the impulsive urge to close the space between them, to throw caution to the wind and simply allow whatever happened to happen. But his pact to lead them there eventually was cemented in his mind already; and he knew his course of action could never be so impetuous. He had to keep it together.

“Point taken,” she mumbled, pulling the blanket up to her neck as her eyes drifted closed. “Well, next time, don’t. It didn’t feel nice.” Silence hung between them as the Doctor struggled with indecision. He still didn’t feel comfortable displaying affection in front of Jackie, or most humans he knew, to be honest. But learning he’d offended Rose was both a surprise and a blow to the chest. He was so not right for her. Why did she even put up with all his unreasonable and frustrating antics? Months ago, he might have believed she still only tolerated his unpleasant habits for the benefits of traveling, but he was painfully aware now of how much she cared for him, despite how it contradicted reason. He ached to give her everything she wanted, and needed, from him, every day for the rest of her life, but he doubted his ability. Eloquence was all but lost to him whenever she, however justifiably, questioned him about the nature of their relationship.

“I’m sorry,” he breathed. And it was a weak and unsatisfactory reply in all regards. He hadn’t even agreed not to do so in the future. He didn’t want to think about the future right now, not when he’d just brought all his recurring fears upon himself. As much to comfort himself as to console her, he slid closer until his arms could reach around her to pull her against him, her waist and chest meeting his own. His nose brushed through her hair, reveling in her scent, as hers nuzzled into the exposed skin at his collarbone where he’d loosened his tie.

“You’re forgiven,” she breathed. Rose. Only Rose would. He didn’t even forgive himself. Her lips pressed to the sensitive skin at his throat for a moment, creating a fresh wave of heat that his racing hearts propelled through his body. “Knew there was a reason I liked these open,” she murmured, lips ghosting across his skin as she spoke. He chuckled in response and couldn’t stop from smiling widely into the darkness. She lay quietly curled against him for a few minutes before breaking the silence with a question.

“What did you look like, before I met you?”

As soon as they’d stepped back in the TARDIS together the day of the Sycorax invasion, after certain rulers were overthrown and Christmas dinner shared, she’d bombarded him with an onslaught of questions about regeneration. He’d never had the chance to explain the ‘dodgy process’ prior to it or in the direct aftermath, so it made sense she was still confused, curious.

“How many times have you changed?” was her first inquiry, standing awkwardly too far away from him, still nervous about sharing close proximity with a body she’d only been familiar with for scarcely a day.

“Nine,” he had lied, purposefully omitting the inclusion of the incarnation born in battle. “You met my ninth incarnation, this is my tenth.”

“Would you like detailed explanations, or are you just eager for another screening inside my head?”

“Maybe,” she mumbled, like he’d somehow shot her down with his question. In his mind he intended to execute it with a completely different inflection, like he was thrilled she wanted more, but somehow he supposed it’d come out wrong.

“Well, I dunno, are you sure? It won’t be a bit odd? I haven’t always turned out this young, mind.” In fact, a handful of times he’d turned out looking old enough to be her grandfather, and it wasn’t like he’d gotten any younger since.

“Yeah, ‘m sure. I don’t care. Can you show me?”

“Hmm…” he hedged, playing up his only minor qualms to seem like he was torn with uncertainty. Truth be told, in a younger body, he felt young. Physically at least, he didn’t feel 903; that was just in his head. They wouldn’t be any less compatible if she knew he mightn’t always have been just the right brand of slim and foxy to suit her tastes. What mattered was who they both were at the present, or that’s what he quickly persuaded himself.

“Please?” she whispered, exactly the word he was waiting to hear. He could never be too certain that learning more and more distinctly alien facts about him was something she actively wanted, not just something she endured and might make her uncomfortable. A few snippets here and there certainly had when they’d first started traveling together, like the news about his age, or that he could harvest chemical information with his tongue, or that his internal body temperature was twenty degrees below that of a healthy human.

“But your skin feels – I dunno! It doesn’t feel colder than mine!” she’d yelled back at him in shock when he’d revealed one bit of Gallifreyan physiology trivia too many in the same day when she’d only joined him two weeks earlier.

“Yeah, I said ‘in-ternal,’” he’d retorted, Northern accent thick as ever. “On the outside, I feel just like you. Rose, it’s not that strange. It’s like humans, just… the opposite. You’re thirty-seven inside, but most of your skin isn’t. Well, except for all the places you can stick a thermometer!” And he’d laughed at himself, unable to be perturbed by her surprise when he was still too excited to have her excellent company.

“Blimey, ‘s there anything else I ought to know? You got two stomachs or something?” she’d asked it sarcastically, but with his gob of course he’d answered.

“Nope! Got two hearts though!” And he’d beamed at her but she’d just gaped at him, unable to process anything further.

“Where’s the sudden curiosity coming from?” he asked, pulling himself back to the moment.

“I dunno, just… feel like it’s something I should know. God knows my mum’s shown you pictures of me when I was younger.”

“Well, not sure if that’s quite the same.”

“Oh, ‘s close enough,” she insisted. “I think the one from the toilet’s embarassin’ enough for eight lifetimes, anyway.” He fought back laughter even then as he recalled the photograph in question, one Jackie’d barely skimmed over as he sat on the couch next to her, all leather and stoicism as he tried to watch the news but was interrupted with family history every few seconds. Domesticity wasn’t quite so appealing to his predecessor, something he’d quickly realized had changed when he was born in his current flesh.

“Alright, c’mon, then,” he agreed, as the hand on her waist came to rest against her temple.

It was simple enough to give her a visual glimpse, but he felt it was necessary to include snippets of (what he believed to be) his most memorable events or one-liners or victories from each. There was gray hair and wide eyes; a rainbow scarf and wildly curly hair; a stick of celery attached to an otherwise normal blazer; his most eccentric Technicolor coat; the vest he’d been so fond of when he was still not ginger for the 8th time. Mingled with those glimpses were sass and wit, adrenaline and adventure. As he thought back with her on all his many lives, he couldn’t help but be proud of them, his younger selves. They’d endured, survived, loved… made the most of everything life threw at them (which, he had to say, was quite a lot).

Still, he couldn’t completely let his guard down, actively steering his mind away from family, romantic escapades from centuries past that he knew better than to bring up, and any potential triggers of the Time War.

Once he’d concluded on his last happy memory in his eighth body, Rose shifted next to him, pressing herself more snugly against him.

“Hmm. Thanks,” she mumbled. “I like 'em all. But I like this one the best,” she continued, poking a finger lightly into his chest a few times for emphasis, but the words were said in a half-stupor, like she’d been drugged. He couldn’t help but smile as he pulled her closer again, taking it as a good sign the faces and memories lulled her to sleep, as opposed to startling her or raising new questions in her mind that required immediate answers. One of his hands stroked softly through her hair as she settled against him, her forehead resting against his neck, breaths becoming slower and deeper.

“Night, Rose,” he whispered close to her ear, with no response.

He willed back the drowsiness that crept up on him, triggered by the darkness and the soft, warm, already-sleeping human nestled against him. He certainly didn’t need more sleep so soon after the several hours of peace the previous night, but it was simply lovely to fall asleep next to her, to wake to find her there and remind him she is not simply a recurring and brilliant dream. Sleeping together (in the innocent sense of the word) was so human. Her presence had over the last few nights staved off any nightmares that might otherwise visit him in his slumber, and now he couldn’t imagine trying to sleep any measure of time without her. Apprehension that their fabrications and hiding could be discovered at any moment, as the door clearly had no lock, kept him from nodding off. His hearing was on alert for any sounds approaching the room until the crack of light shining from beneath the door frame disappeared.

Hours of not-sleeping provided superfluous time for him to plan out how to go about possibly, maybe, bringing up more of his past to Rose, at some point. This activity produced more mental distress than actual resolution, but he at least decided on something for their next psychic session, as it were. By that time Rose had squirmed from his hold, likely too hot from being snuggled against him and under the thick covers, and turned on her back. He passed the remaining hours of the night content to watch over her, opening his arms to her every couple hours when she would wake and feel around blindly for him, unaware she had rolled away in sleep. And she always crawled her way back into his embrace, her head always came to rest against his chest. The third time it happened, in the early morning well before dawn, she sighed his name incoherently into his shirt as she slipped back into unconsciousness, and he realized with astonishment that he wasn’t bored. Lying in bed, doing nothing, there was nowhere he’d rather be.

As trickles of the sunrise began to creep around the shades and lighten the opposite wall, he carefully extricated himself from her grasp to collect his coats and shoes. He was unsure what time Jackie normally woke, and thought it better to estimate early. He left Rose an exclusive message on the psychic paper telling her to meet him outside as soon as she woke, and hoped it wouldn’t be within the 15 minutes it would take him to retrieve the TARDIS. He placed the paper on the pillow he vacated and left quietly through the window the same way he’d entered.

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