TIME PETALS WEEK - July 2020

#timepetalsweek

[timepetalsweek]

Can I still post stuff with the prompts and tag it timepetalsweek even if you don't reblog it??

Sure!

In fact, anyone can use the name Time Petals Week and organize their week at any time. It belongs to the fandom!

Today I'm justing ending my turn :)

[ask-the-almighty-google]

@timepetalsweek

So, This is a tiny snippet for Timepetals… I had what you could call a family emergency with someone in the hospital from a deeply-infected wound on their leg, and my house is in chaos, but I still wanted to participate this year, so I kind of looked at all eighteen prompts over the six day period and cherry-picked the ones I wanted to use because I know that I won’t be able to do any one shots or once a day postings with all the craziness going on…

The snippet I’m going to post under the “keep reading” button is part of a WIP chapter from my Fifth Doctor/Rose Tyler fanfic “Something of the Wolf” on Ao3 under the username of Aelwyn. It’ll be a while before I finalize this chapter and actually post it, hence the reason a piece of it is appearing strictly on Tumblr at the moment, but I think I did the prompts I selected justice…

For context, in this very long fic Rose meets Five when he’s dealing with a pack of werewolves in a rewrite of the Big Finish Audio “Loups-Garoux.” She herself is a Werewolf, and a special space type one at that, and by this point in the story they’ve been traveling together for around sixteen years. The setting is in Castle Benger, which is on the planet of Vulpana - a planet inhabited solely by a different species of Werewolf - but they have a good friend in Mags there.

But anyway, here’s the six prompts I selected…

1.) “After all this time, it was always her.”

2.) Wolves.

3.) A picture of Five and Rose.

4.) Wife.

5.) “I don’t think I’ve ever wanted anything more than I want you.”

6.) Dancing.

…And underneath the “keep reading” insert you’ll find the story snippet. All credit goes to ask-the-almighty-google for Tumblr, or Aelwyn on Ao3 once this chapter eventually gets published in the future. Hope you enjoy.

They’d decided to have the ceremony in the castle gardens, and the Doctor tried not to fidget underneath the trellis arch as he waited for Rose to appear. “Relax,” Leela chuckled softly, laying a hand on his shoulder. “Of all the people I have known, I have never seen two souls as perfect for one another as the pair of you. This has been a long time in the making, Doctor. It does not matter that she is a Wolf of Leto any more than that you are a Lord of Time. It is as it is. And it is right.” “Forgot your people believed in the idea of soulmates,” he muttered, relaxing ever so slightly.

“Take her word for it old chap,” Alistair sighed contentedly. “From my perspective, you’ve been married for ages.”

“As encouraging as that is, Alistair, it’s also giving me future knowledge I shouldn’t have,” the Doctor chided, a soft smile turning up the corners of his mouth as he shoved his hands into his pockets and rocked slightly on his feet. He turned at the sound of a door opening and went entirely still mouth ever so slightly open but not drawing a single breath, as Rose walked across the grass toward him. 

The stars were shining and they made her loose, petal-adorned hair shimmer. Her whiskey eyes seemed to glow ever so faintly with a golden shine as they reflected the light of Vulpana’s four moons, and they saw only him as she walked toward him. It wasn’t a delicate walk. It was almost disturbingly predatory, the preciseness and fluidity of her movements decidedly Lupine as she stalked across the grass sending chills of anticipation and awe down his spine. Oh, but he was done for. Because, no matter where or when he was, after all this time, it was always her. Them. Finally, and permanently, together. Truth be told, the Doctor didn’t hear a word that Alistair said during the entire thing. He was barely aware of answering the questions correctly, of Leela claiming him as part of her tribe and consenting to the union or of Mags doing the same thing for Rose by claiming her as a member of her pack. He was only aware of Rose’s empathic presence in his mind, of her bright happiness soaking into him and warming every part of him. 

The vows said, Alistair helped them bind the handfasting ribbon and solidified the union in the eyes of Time. The last words were spoken as he knotted the ribbon, and the Doctor inhaled sharply as their timelines trembled with anticipation. Gallifreyan wedding receptions - at least the archaically-old-fashioned kind - held no formal sort of pomp and circumstance in them whatsoever. It was merely a garden party to round out the ceremony with dancing and food, casual and happy, and there was no special song for the new couple because their first dance held far more significance than following the generic steps to a common known melody. “You ready for this?” Rose whispered, already breathless with nervous excitement. “I am,” the Doctor breathed. She smiled at him before she put the blindfold over her eyes, and he chuckled before following suit. 

He used scent and touch to press his fingers to her temples, heard her gasp as he bound them just enough to let her sense their timelines. The first dance was so much more than the first public appearance of them as a married couple, and it was entirely unique to every single matrimony.

They were dancing to their timelines and tying them together, preparing to be one in the eyes of Time itself before a private permanent bonding of the minds later in the evening. The Doctor took a deep breath and let his Time Sense direct the movement of his feet. Due to the blindfold, his Time Sense was allowed to register Rose’s timeline in all of its undistracted brilliance. It burned a bright gold shining nearly white, and even from her position several feet away he could feel its heat against his own rolling over him in pulsing waves that kept time with her heartbeat. His own was cool and silvery-blue, sparkling like stardust and beating rhythmically in a double heartbeat staccato of the time signature of life. He was barely aware of his feet on the grass, of his torso and arms and legs turning and twisting effortlessly with the path of his existence. 

Oh, but he’d lived so long, and had such a while to go before meeting Rose… The Doctor gasped as he was drawn to her far before they had met, when he was but an adolescent that hadn’t grown into his new - and too long - academy robes. His fingers just caught the tips of her hair as she passed and he hissed at the shock of contact. He spun away again, nearly tripping over his feet from the limitations of trying to imitate a serpentine movement with a bipedal skeletal structure, and relived in a flash an excruciating amount of years spent in loneliness. His timeline brightened faintly as Susan joined, dimming again when she left. He spun and felt his forearm brush against her elbow as she continued on her own journey, and he ached to follow her warmth even as he was carried farther and farther away. She was the acceptance and welcoming and home that he had been denied on Gallifrey, what he had been running toward and never finding. 

Time moved, and he with it. So many places, so many times. Jamie, and Victoria, and Zoe. A suppressed memory of time spent in a Spanish hacienda just outside Seville that he wasn’t allowed to access, and his fingers brushed over her shoulder. They kept meeting, he drawn to her like a moth to flame, as she crossed his past from somewhere in her future. Still they danced, separate but for a few moments of bliss, until they reached the point in their lives when they collided. The Doctor sighed as he soaked in Rose’s healing warmth, feeling it like a gentle summer rain after the relived years of abandonment, and he felt over the empathic connection that she was letting herself be soothed by his calming and steady presence in much the same way. I don’t think I’ve ever wanted anything more in all my lives than I’ve wanted you.

The dance took on a new tone as they moved in parallel tandem but never touched, drawing closer and closer together until they were circling each other in an ever-tightening, ever-slowing, spiral. At last, they cruised to a halt with one of his hands resting lightly at his waist and one of hers featherlight touching in between his shoulder blades. Their free hands were clasped tightly together, the fingers so flawlessly twined without any gaps, and as one they leaned forward to rest foreheads together.

[timepetalsweek]

Some people asked, so imma extend the time to send any contribution to another week. So, send away. And remember to tag me properly like that: @timepetalsweek

[timepetalsweek]

Officially the last day ever! I'll be receiving your final submissions until 23:59 (DF GMT-3) of today!

Thank you so much for participating so far!

[lizann5869]

The Kindness of a Stranger (Chapter One: Rose)

Three years ago, I posted this story from a @timepetalscollective prompt - Rose meets the Doctor in the period of time just before she meets Ten in the snow.  I loved the story, and had vague plans to write a chapter in the Doctor’s POV.  I recently recieved the sweetest complement on the original, and that’s what nudged me into finally writing it.  This is the first chapter, and I have given i some minor tweaks since the original posting,  Hope you enjoy it!  Tagging @doctorroseprompts and @timepetalsweek.

AO3   Teaspoon  Next Chapter

The first time Rose Tyler had an encounter with a helpful stranger, it was the summer of 2004, and she was six months out of a toxic relationship with Jimmy Stone.  She was back in her Mum’s flat, which was really many steps up from the squalor in which she and Jimmy had resided.  She had a job at Henrik’s to pay off the debt incurred by her ex, and she was mired in day to day living. Get up, go to work, beans on toast, Eastenders with Mum and Mo.  Perhaps she’d go out with Keisha and Shareen but she really had no taste for clubbing and pub crawls any more.  That was how she had met Jimmy.

Continuar lendo

[dyke-of-puzzles]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Thirteenth Doctor/Rose Tyler, Thirteenth Doctor/Missy/Rose Tyler, The Doctor (Doctor Who)/Rose Tyler Characters: Thirteenth Doctor, Rose Tyler, The Doctor (Doctor Who) Additional Tags: Coffee Shops, One Shot, Polyamory, (there’s no jealousy i promise!), once again i am writing thrissyrose, Dubious Worldbuilding Summary:

The Doctor sipped what tasted like alien green tea and stared despondently at the rest of the coffee shop from her table in the corner.

The shop was nearly empty, save for the barista, whose hair looked like jumping flames sprouted from her head, and the Doctor. It was very early in the day (or at least what qualified as early in the day, here), so the Doctor had a long time before anyone came in.

Although that really just made it worse.

(or: the Doctor waits for Rose and is a bit lonely.)

final submission for @timepetalsweek w the prompt “wife”! i like. did not properly participate but gosh if i didn’t have fun!! tysm!!

[timepetalsweek]

hi!! i've been super busy with application stuff etc that i haven't been finishing some of my fics! is there still time to post?

Yup, two more days

[writingithink]

The Full Pub Experience Pairing: Ten x Rose Rated: T Wordcount: 3,834 Summary: The Doctor suffers through another honeymoon interruption for Earth wedding related things. Notes: FINALLY, this is my fic for Day 7 of @timepetalsweek ! And it’s a free day. So you would think that it wouldn’t be so late, but everything in my WIP folder rn promises to be long.

This fic would definitely make more sense if you’ve read the ones that came before it. That being said, I still think that if you know they accidentally got bonded that’s also probably enough to jump in.

Super special thanks to @hey-there-juliet for betaing!! <3

All mistakes are mine.

I own nothing.

READ IT ON AO3 -> copy/paste link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25590310

With a sigh, the Doctor kicked his feet up onto the armrest and sunk into the sofa. Finishing up their honeymoon was starting to seem like a nigh impossible task. Who would have thought that trying to do seven romantic trips in a row would prove so difficult?

Sure, they’d had to sort out the Isolus when he took them to the Olympics, but after that things had gone on without a hitch. And yes, they had taken a day to do wedding planning things with Jackie midway, but then they’d gotten right back to it. Now, though, it was starting to get irritating.

His attempt to take Rose to a winter village on Sirius Colony VI had failed - they landed three years late and ended up having to stop a coup. Then he tried to take her to see the Rings of Akhaten but something went wrong with the TARDIS and they were flung out of the vortex, landing on an asteroid being used as an illegal zoo of endangered species. He’d almost been turned into an exhibit!

Once they finally made it back to the TARDIS, before he could come up with a new honeymoon destination Rose got a text from her mate Shareen. Now here they were, back at Jackie’s flat, for more wedding planning type things (he wasn’t sure on the details, just that this time he wasn’t ‘needed’).

(Not that he’d even been needed last time).

Continuar lendo

[dyke-of-puzzles]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Tenth Doctor/Rose Tyler, The Doctor (Doctor Who)/Rose Tyler Characters: Tenth Doctor, The Doctor (Doctor Who), Rose Tyler Additional Tags: Dancing, Mentioned tensimmrose, Timepetals week, Implied Sexual Content, Mentioned Jack Harkness Summary:

Rose finds a typewriter and writes a love letter. Dancing & flirting ensue.

(I realize I’ve already posted something for the prompt “dancing” for @timepetalsweek, but I’d forgotten! Oops.) 

[hey-there-juliet]

“Are you gonna tell everyone we meet that I’m your wife?” She seemed quite amused. “Probably,” he answered, turning ever so slightly toward her. “Yes.”

                 — Most Of All, by @writingithink

For Day Three of @timepetalsweek: wife

[sarahjaneadventures]

timepetals week [19-25th july - further separating posting times]   — day two: why do you keep leaving me behind?

[writingithink]

Keeping In Mind Pairing: Ten x Rose Rated: T Wordcount: 2,359 Summary: The Doctor finally looks into Rose’s telepathy (a bit). Notes: Life got busy, but finally Day 6 of @timepetalsweek ! I used the picture prompt and the word prompt ‘wolves’.

For the first time, I’m going to say that if you haven’t ready any of the other ones you might not enjoy this one as much. I don’t think you’d necessarily be lost or anything, but yeah.

So many innumerable thank yous to @hey-there-juliet for betaing <3

All mistakes are mine.

I own nothing.

READ IT ON AO3 -> copy/paste link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25539580

“I think it’s that way,” Rose pointed, laughing as the Doctor tried to stand on his tiptoes to see over the crowds of people and ended up knocking his forehead on her chin.

“You know, the parade’s over. Don’t you want to stand on your own now?”

“No. I had to use my favor for this, so I’m gonna make the most of it, ta.”

He rolled his eyes, even as he smiled up at her. It really wasn’t that bad, she didn’t weigh much at all as far as he was concerned. If they ever had to do this the other way around, his wife would likely be shocked at how dense he was despite his skinny body. So he began to slowly weave through the groups of families that still hadn’t dispersed despite the late hour and the park closing. Just because giving her a piggyback ride was physically easy didn’t mean it wasn’t awkward to navigate.

I can get down if you really want.

“No, no, you’re right. It’s your favor. Blimey, I don’t know what I’d use mine for. Suppose I’ll just save it, I’m sure it will come to me.”

“Mmm shoulda put an expiration date on ‘em. That way I wouldn’t be blindsided whenever you do figure out what you want.”

“Were you planning to forget?” he asked, pausing to look around again. He could sense the TARDIS nearby, he just couldn’t see.

“No,” she chuckled, “but knowing you, it’ll be, like, ten years from now and you’ll be like ‘ Rose, remember how you owe me a favor’ and then ask me to do something completely barmy.”

Continuar lendo

[timepetalsweek]

Some people asked, so imma extend the time to send any contribution to another week. So, send away. And remember to tag me properly like that: @timepetalsweek

[faint-glimmers-of-hope]

“Look! Over there!“

Last contribution to @timepetalsweek, these lovesick idiots discovering something new

[timepetalsweek]

Will you still reblog stories after this week? Was hoping to write today...

Yes. Just make sure to tag the page like that @timepetalsweek

[faint-glimmers-of-hope]

Mementos

Pairing: Ten x Rose

Rated: T

Wordcount: 2080

Summary: post Doomsday, of places and things lost

For the prompt ‘family’ of @timepetalsweek

***

Jackie took the ripped envelope with reverent hands.

It didn’t make sense, not really. How time passed in this world. Sometimes, of course, she wouldn’t even notice, because calendars here still had twelve months and clocks an hour hand and a minute hand; others, however, she woke up thinking about the ludicrous hole a killer Christmas tree had left in her bedroom and just how expensive fixing it was going to be, only to find herself in a four-poster bed with silk sheets in a room like the bedchamber of Henry VIII, and everything around her crumbled. Those days were the hardest. Those days, she could feel the past like it was around the corner, just at the end of her fingertips—Rose, you came back! Oh, and you, big fella! You’re all mine!—and at the same time distant, remote and non-existent, fading in the way dreams fade the moment you blink awake.

Those days, Jackie thought, she was one step closer to understand her daughter. Because, despite the weeks and the months, she still catches the haunted looks, never misses the blank stares. Because it was just yesterday that she was holding her trembling body in a beach in Norway, and yet it wasn’t. It had been one year and a half. In those moments, Jackie was sure that there was something terribly wrong about the way the cogs turned in this world.

She’d thought she’d like it.

What a silly idea that seemed now.  

She shakes the envelope and the paper falls soundless as a feather.

There is only one picture. She had been dismayed when she found out, but Mickey told her that the rest of the files were corrupted and that there was nothing else he could do. Bless him. Those old mobiles had never been too reliable, anyway.

They were smiling.

Why, of course they were smiling, it was the only thing they seemed to be able to do around each other. Her with the dimples on her cheeks, and him with that barmy face and those barmy eyebrows. She didn’t know when it had become their trademark, only that it had.

They were pointing at something outside of the frame, their raised arms cut by the elbow. It must have been something incredible, no doubt, for their eyes were wide and shining. Inexplicably, they both wore two pairs of sunglasses, maintaining an precarious balance at the top of their heads, but they were too lost in whatever it was that had caught their attention to care. The quality of the image is fuzzy and the background is a blur of grey and blue. They could’ve been in Spain or in a moon colony lightyears away from Earth, and she wouldn’t be able to tell. Their expression is one of sheer wonder, and she thinks that’s how they should’ve looked, forever.

Forever wondering, forever marvelling.  

And she had once been so worried—worried that she’d lose herself, that on every ship and planet and asteroid she visited, she’d leave a piece of herself behind until there was nothing left. It couldn’t have been further from the truth: her daughter, she realized, had found herself among the stars, and she had soared. And for some reason, this realization brings a pain to her chest greater than any other. And she regrets, regrets, regrets, regrets, regrets, regrets so deeply she can feel her guts turn inside out.

And it only gets worse, because every day she sees her, and she’s trying so hard to build, she’s trying so hard to create and not destroy. To leave a mark, to carve a niche of her own, fit in the spaces between offices and parties and rooms twice the size of their flat. But it’s like Rose always tells her: “I was never born here. There isn’t a hole with my outline. If I want a place for myself, I have to start from scratch.”

Jackie can feel her hands shaking.

She doesn’t know when her daughter became so wise.

Indeed, it is those gaps. It’s those gaps she feels when she wakes up in a bed that’s not hers, with a husband that might look like hers, but he’s alive and well and no longer a ghost. It’s terrifying.

They had left a hole with their outline when they left, and Jackie wonders what it might look like. An empty council flat. With her cheap furniture, a desolate fridge and a broken washing machine. With a tiny bathroom with bad lighting and a crooked mirror. With two bedrooms cluttered with years and years of trinkets and keepsakes that would no longer hold any meaning whatsoever: Christmas postcards and old blankets and earrings and dirty clothes and a bronze medal and magnets of places they never visited.

Of all that, would remain nothing.

But in her mind, as she envisions it, to her surprise she realizes that the house isn’t empty. Not completely. She imagines a shadow, a lonely figure in a long coat, standing in the middle of it all like a salt statue.

She wonders if he will mourn them for long.

And hopes that he will.

Because, as she holds the picture in her hands, she thinks of paper crowns and garlands and laughter and ash instead of snow, and she too, mourns.

***

Someone stands still on Walworth Road and the Earth keeps turning.

The burden had been his to bear.

And that was okay.

It’s always been like this.

Every person he meets leaves a load when they part ways—a bundle of memories, of good times and bad times and a little bit of this, and oh, also a little bit of that—and he carries it gladly. Sometimes with sorrow, and pain, but always gladly. It’s the least he can do. It’s his duty. Or something like it, anyway. The word is too formal and too pompous and he doesn’t like how it sounds in any case.

But it wasn’t a sense of obligation that drove him here. Not because he felt that he had to, or that he owed them (even though he owes them, so much), but because he feels if he doesn’t honour what’s left of them, he doubts that anyone else will. And he can let the world forget—because humanity always forgets, humanity always moves on—their names and their faces and the footprints they left along their path, but he won’t.

So he steps into the flat.

For some reason, he didn’t think there’d be silence. This was never a place for silence; for chatter and laughter, always; for quiet, sometimes; but never for this sheer blankness, this void of sound. Now, however, there is so much of it he’s afraid the flat will burst. He could quantify it, estimate it, calibrate its exact weight and mass, because this silence is something tangible, something that looms and lurks and creeps onto your back. There’s something about it that unnerves this body. This silence makes his nerves itch and tingle and he wants to flee like a scared animal.

But he can’t bring himself to break it.

The TARDIS waits in the children’s playground, because parking it on the front room felt irreverent, and because Jackie always complained about the marks the old ship left on the carpet. Now he’s three floors up, foldaway cardboard boxes under his arm, and he’s crossed the threshold and it’s silent. It takes eight tentative steps, twenty-seven feet and 6.3 inches, and he’s in the living room. He can see the kitchen from his vantage point: the tap dripping every 0.9 seconds and the dirty dishes still in the sink and a mug on the table and everything is so there and it looks so very much the same that it aches. And suddenly it seems like the air turns liquid and dense and the Doctor freezes.

It’s like a snow globe.

It dawns on him that he doesn’t want to touch anything, that he’d rather die before moving a frame or a chair an inch from their current resting place. He wants to keep it this way, forever; preserve an ordinary, utterly unimportant empty council flat against the ravages of time, uncorrupted and uncorruptible. Nothing more and nothing less than a home, lived-in and worn-out, with specks of dust dancing against the sunlight and a half-finished cuppa still waiting for its owner to return. To come back.

He thinks he might wait, too.

He drops the cardboard boxes, and it isn’t until then that he notices.

Beside a too-familiar rucksack, there is a square plastic box. A disposable camera. The classic FujiFilm.

Attached to it, a pink sticky note.

Develop.

Once, it might have been a trivial reminder, just one among the many things in a to-do list, but now it feels more like a dying wish. Unfulfilled.  

He doesn’t think it twice.

He’s sprinting down the stairs before he can register that his body is moving at a disproportionate speed, the odds of missing a step and breaking his spine increasing exponentially.

There’s never been a dark room in the TARDIS, and it occurs to him that he should build one, one day. Why didn’t the TARDIS have a dark room? The TARDIS most definitely should have a dark room. That way, at least, he’d save the sidelong glances and the startled faces. Oh. Barging in again, aren’t we, Doctor?

It’s one of those little street shops, wedged and squeezed, fighting for space between a Tesco and an ATM, where you can have your photos printed in an hour and a puzzle or a keychain made with your face on it. Genius. At the counter were two employees with name tags attached to their breast pockets, and they both looked like they were about to ask him to leave. But he’s quick to slam the camera on the counter and rummage his pockets until he finds the right currency, and suddenly their faces turn bright and trustworthy.

So he waits—one hour, as the advert says—and the soles of his chucks punctuate the passing of each second.

When they give him the envelope, he stumbles back onto the street and rips it open.

The crowds pass him by, but he’s glued to the sidewalk from head to toe.

Out of the whole roll of film, there are only three photos. The first one is a table, the tablecloth faded at the edges and with a couple of burst seams, laid out with all sorts of foods—almost too much food—looking like an impromptu banquet, messy and exaggerated and inviting, and he knows exactly when it was taken.

He can’t say the same about the second one.

It’s the cracker they pulled, on a Christmas Eve that was both the first and the last. It was all glitter on the outside until it popped with a short loud bang. The paper crown had been pink and it had matched his, and she had been elated. Halfway through dinner, the telly had blared a season classic and they had tried to dance, tumbling ridiculously as to avoid the chairs and the sofa and oh, careful there, that’s the china figurine cousin Mo brought from Belgium! They had gotten tangled with the tinsel in the process, but her grin had been as wide as her cheeks stretched. Only now, he realizes, that he had been grinning too. Perhaps that was why he couldn’t remember the click of the camera, or Jackie fussing about saying cheese!

He has no clue when this moment happened, only that it came and it was gone in the blink of an eye.

And then the Doctor is left alone, standing still on Walworth Road, and his face is lined with tears.

He only catches a brief glimpse of the third photograph before he shoves the envelope into his coat pocket. It was dark, barely an outline, of two figures pointing at the sky.

I spent Christmas day just over there, at the Powell Estate, with this… family. My friend, she had this family. Well. It was my…

Bringing his hands to his face, he pushes his palms against the globes of his eyes until patterns emerge under the pressure, but no matter how hard he tries the tears keep falling.

The Doctor stands still and the crowds pass him by.

The Earth keeps turning.

An the burden, this time, is too heavy to bear.

***

Read in Ao3

[allonsyrosetyler-deactivated202]

A Case of Aches and Chills

Written for @pixiedustandpaws-blog for the prompt “time for your medicine and shh it’s okay get everything out” with Ten/Rose. I hope you enjoy!

@doctorroseprompts @timepetalsweek (for Day 5!)

Never had Rose felt so awful in her life. Her whole body ached, and no matter how she lay in her bed she couldn’t get comfortable. After tossing and turning, and lying awake for hours she decided to just be up and forget sleeping. Pulling on her robe, she slowly padded down to the galley, surprised to find the Doctor already there.

“Oh...hi...” She mumbled, her voice hoarse and quiet. “I-I just wanted some tea.” She told him, gesturing to the cabinet that held the mugs and then the tea kettle. She hoped he would know what she was referring to, as it hurt to even /try/ speaking. Lucky, Doctor....he didn’t catch viruses like she did. At least he wasn’t boasting about his superior biology.

“Mmhm..I’ll make you a cuppa and bring it down to your room...you aren’t supposed to be up and about!” The Doctor scolded her, though he couldn’t help but smile sympathetically at seeing Rose like this. Poor thing really must feel terrible. Her hair was all messy from tossing about in bed, her eyes showed pure exhaustion, and by her body language he could tell she was in pain. “I’ll bring your tea, and some medicine to help with the aches and chills.” He promised, putting the kettle on.

Rose smiled softly, albeit a weary smile. “I’m going back to bed now...hurry please?” She asked, shivering as she walked back out of the room. However she only managed to get so far before she groaned, coughing and heaving out in the hall, overwhelmed by a wave of nausea. Bloody hell, being human sucked sometimes.

The Doctor was quick to come over to her, holding a bin under her mouth, “It’s alright...I’ve got you.” He said, sympathetically rubbing her back before holding back her hair. She was about to say something to him, but he shook his head and rubbed her back again as she was sick. “Shh...it’s alright, get everything out....you’ll be alright, love. Cmon.” He carefully wiped her mouth with a bit of tissue from his pocket, setting the sick bin down and scooping her up in his arms before she could protest.

She clung to him as best as she could, shutting her eyes wearily. He was so good to her...she didn’t know what she would do without him. “Thanks...for being my Doctor.” She whispered against his chest. His hearts quickened under her, and she saw his eyes crinkle as he smiled.

“You’re welcome...but hush now...you need sleep.” Gentle but strong and steady arms sat her down in her bed, tucking the blankets around her. The Doctor then placed a gentle affectionate kiss to her forehead. It was a subtle but effective way to check her body temperature without intruding or worrying her. Still high, but the medicine would help bring it back down. “Sleep...I’ll be back with your medication soon.” He told her, shutting the door behind him.

When he came back with her medication she was still asleep, and he thanked Rassilon silently, knowing how much he’d body needed the rest. Carefully he sat on her bed beside her, stroking her hair back from her face and wiping her face with a cool washcloth. “Rosie...hey love. Time for your medicine...I need you to wake up a little for me okay?” When she groaned and tried to sit up, he gave her a gentle smile. “I know I’m sorry...but it’ll help you feel better.”

She had just managed to sleep without waking up because she was too hot, or too cold, or because she felt like she was going to be sick even though there was nothing in her stomach anymore. “Thank...thank you.” Rose mumbled, smiling a little at him and opening her mouth enough for him to put the pill on her tongue. “Water.” She asked, gesturing to the bottle that was beside her bed. He handed it to her, and she drank a few sips, enough to get the pill down. “Don’t go.” Rose reached for his hand as he stood to leave her again. “Stay with me please?”

“Of course...if you promise you’ll sleep?” The Doctor arched one eyebrow, though already slipping out of his jacket as she asked him to stay. Of course he would stay. He would /always/ be there when Rose needed him, sick or not. Besides...time lords didn’t get sick. Not like humans anyways. He tucked into bed beside her, grinning from ear to ear as a sleepy Rose curled herself up against him, her head on his chest. “Goodnight love....sweet dreams..”

[timepetalsweek]

Hey! I've been crazy busy this week and wasn't able to participate much. Would it be possible for me to still post the prompts now that the week is over?

Yes. Just make sure to tag the page like that @timepetalsweek .