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Rose felt warm.
That’s how she knew she was dreaming, at first: the Ant Farm was always so cold and dark, and they swore they could feel sunlight kissing her shoulders. Well except for him--even despite the crushing weight of everything, Tennant Crowcolt still made her burn from the inside out with a glance. It was annoying, really. (Except that it wasn’t at all, no matter how much she wished it was because really that would be easier, wouldn’t it?)
She instinctively rolled onto her back, no longer feeling a need to curl for warmth, and then came her second clue that it was all a figment of her subconscious: the feeling of soft grass against her bare arms, the smell of flowers in bloom. This, surely, should be the largest indicator, as they were convinced there wasn’t a single bit of non-artificial green in the entire Empire. The odd potted plant and a flower in a vase here and there, certainly, but nothing truly alive--nothing that was allowed to grow with any kind of freedom. Rose had always turned to nature whenever she felt stuck, finding it easier to breathe amongst the trees and flowers. But in the Empire, there was none of that relief, only forced smiles and the constant feeling that she couldn’t quite get a full breath. So this–the feeling of sun-warmed, sweet-smelling grass–she knew this had to be a construct of her imagination. More surprising, however, was clue three: the feeling of fingertips sweeping the hair off of her forehead, trailing leisurely down her cheek and tucking just under her chin, and the ghosting of a feather-light kiss against the corner of her mouth. And when he spoke, lips still so close she felt the warmth of his breath skim over the arches of her cupid’s bow, she knew this had to be a dream.
“Rosie.”
See, it must have been, because it had been far too long since Tennant had called her that with such softness. This, more than the sun and the warmth and the grass, this is what truly convinced her. And gods, she wanted it to be real; to hear him say her name like that again, as if whispering a prayer. As if she hadn’t pushed them away with everything inside of her until that name turned cold in his mouth, until they spat it at her as if the honey of it had turned to ash on his tongue. She felt dream-Tennant’s mouth pull into a smile as he pressed another kiss against the base of her jaw. Those fingers trailed away from their spot on her chin to run down the soft skin of her throat, almost reverently, and down along her collarbone. They spoke again, and this time she felt the rumble of it echo from his chest into her shoulder as he leaned down to ghost his lips along the shell of her ear.
“Sorry to interrupt your afternoon nap, Mrs. Crowcolt, but I believe you told me if I didn’t wake you in an hour you’d ‘be very cross,’ and we’re already ten past.”
The shock of the name overcame her desire to remain in that moment, and her eyes fluttered open almost against her will. Luckily she didn’t seem to truly wake, as she found Tennant’s face hovering just above hers, a bright halo of sun around their head. His mouth pulled into a grin.
“Ah, there they are,” he nearly crooned. Rose blinked again, still processing, and he arched a teasing eyebrow. “I know, it’s still a bit early for the Mrs.--but I have to get used to it, y’know? Don’t want to accidentally slip in a week and introduce my wife by the wrong name.”
Almost as if they were afraid the image would shatter, her hand came up to brush against his cheek. They leaned into her touch and she instinctively stretched her fingers along his jawline–it was then that she caught the glint on her ring finger. Just as it had the first time they’d kissed, his head turned to press a kiss against the spot on her wrist just underneath her thumb, and then Rose decided she didn’t really care if this was a dream, after all. It felt real enough, and it was certainly better than...wherever it was she’d been, anyway. Maybe that had been the dream and she was finally waking up.
“Yes, that would be awful,” she said finally, meeting his eyes and allowing the soft smile to pull at her cheeks. “I don’t think we’d ever recover from that, if I’m honest.”
Tennant, playing along, propped themself a bit further up on the elbow beside her and nodded solemnly.
“Mm, so right. Famously fragile, true love. Be a real shame to ruin it so soon after the wedding, what with all the work you’ve put into making sure everything is right.”
She hummed a little in agreement, suddenly very preoccupied with running the pad of her index finger along the arch of his nose. It felt like forever since she’d done this, and yet surely it must have been just the other day? Tennant leaned down to rest their foreheads together.
“What were you dreaming about?” he murmured, now half-lidded eyes searching her features fondly. “You had that little line between your eyebrows, like whatever it was was bad.”
Rose tried to think about whatever dream she’d been having and suddenly found herself at a loss, frowning a bit as she realized she couldn’t recall anything except that she’d been cold, so cold, and now every part of her was drowning in the warmth of them.
“I...don’t remember, actually. But it wasn’t a good one, I don’t think. It felt--,” she paused. Trying to remember made that odd cold begin to creep back in and she pushed it away stubbornly, continuing, “Well, it doesn’t matter anyway, I suppose. I’m here now, with you, and everything is perfect.”
“So it is.” Tennant grinned. Grazing their noses together lovingly, he closed the distance between them and pressed their mouth against hers, and then everything was truly perfect.
When they parted, the sun behind her eyelids had vanished. Rose blinked and suddenly they were standing on the deck of a ship, one of his hands spread against the small of her back as they swayed beneath a canopy of stars. The familiar glimmer of an ethereal shield encased the sky around them, and just beyond lay more stars and planets than even felt possible, through which swam what appeared to be a handful of magma sharks.
Magma sharks...a strange glimmer of fear made her feel cold for a moment as a thought--a memory?--too far away tried to reach her. But then, the hand that held hers just off to the side squeezed her fingers, and her attention once again returned to Tennant.
“Beautiful things, aren’t they? Odd, but, beautiful,” he remarked, his gaze also on the sharks as they passed. She grinned, squeezing their fingers.
“Mm. Kind of like you.”
He fixed her with a sour look and she laughed loudly, head tipping back with the force of it. The last of the sharks disappeared amongst the stars and, when she looked back at him, all traces of his glare had vanished into a small, soft smile. It was then that she noticed they were wearing some remnants of a suit, coat discarded and sleeves rolled up to their elbows. He spun her, and it wasn’t until the ivory skirts swirled around her that Rose even realized they were wearing some kind of gown. Perfect roses seemed to bloom along the top of her bust and on the fabric that just hung off of her shoulders, from which sweet-smelling wisteria dripped gracefully; her skirts, which almost seemed to float as they spun, were adorned with emerald ivy blooming with small white flowers.
Tennant’s hand left her waist and came up under her chin, pulling her gaze back to him, and she noticed one of those white flowers tucked behind his ear. It felt familiar, but a moment later he was a breath away, whispering:
“To a different kind of happiness.”
She surged up to catch his lips but met only air. When her eyes opened, the scene had changed again. Rose was standing at a window, looking out on what seemed to be a small, well-tended garden. Her garden, of course. The little piece of home they’d carved for her behind their home--Lark had even brought clippings the last time they’d visited, and she’d eagerly nestled them amongst the herbs and flowers she cared for every day. Lark...it had only been a few weeks since he’d come, so why did the thought of him make her chest feel hollow? She winced a little, and footsteps paused just behind her.
“Another one? ‘M starting to worry someone is going to make an early entrance.”
“He’s just reminding us that he’s here,” she said, not understanding what she meant as the words left her mouth, yet somehow knowing they felt right. Rose turned to face her husband, her hands coming up to run along the soft fabric that covered the swell of her belly. Tennant raised his eyebrows with a crooked grin.
“He?” they chuckled. Rose’s eyes dropped a bit to where his hands slowly smoothed along the back of a tiny form, curled against his shoulder. Even though she knew she must have seen the child a hundred times, her breath caught for some reason as she took in the mess of frosty white curls, tiny seemingly-frozen snowdrops sticking up in all directions. Rose reached a hand out to run the back of their hand along the tiny child’s silvery-grey arm, and it was then that she noticed the tiny nub of her daughter’s first horn poking out from just past her hairline.
“Oh, poor thing--she’s in winter?” she whispered. Tennant hummed in acknowledgement, swaying very slightly to lull the barely-stirring toddler back to sleep.
“There was a very dramatic meltdown a few minutes ago over who got which stuffed snake from Aunt Chaser--still hate that she brought those, by the way--but I’m sure she’ll be back to spring after her nap,” they explained quietly. She stilled at Naomi’s nickname, trying to remember her visit--where is she these days? But before she could finish her thought, he continued, “But don’t change the subject, love.”
“Look, don’t get your hopes up, it’s just a feeling,” she laughed under her breath, hand leaving the impossibly tiny figure to playfully tap his jaw with the back of her index finger. He rolled his eyes half-heartedly.
“Not to doubt your feeling, but the odds aren’t exactly in our favor on that one.”
Tennant nodded meaningfully towards the slightly open door to his left, through which she could just barely see another impossibly tiny girl tucked into a small bed, flaming red curls strewn with lily-of-the-valley fanned out across the pillows and one, small greyish arm curled around a stuffed snake. Before they could think about why the sight of that snake made her want to laugh, there was muffled laughter outside the window and they turned. When her eyes fell on the source, she beamed.
Astra.
Their eldest daughter, named after Rose’s mother, shrieked with laughter as she ran into the garden, her eyes turned to look at something past the window. Her hair, silver and streaked with black, was pulled into a braid that Rose vaguely remembered carefully weaving earlier that morning, just as her mother had done when she was young. Most of the flowers she’d carefully added had long since fallen out, and one even fluttered to the ground as the young girl laughed again. Astra didn’t naturally grow flowers, unlike her siblings and mother, so Rose made sure to add them whenever she asked, if only so there would never be even a single moment where her daughter felt like she didn’t belong. (Though typically all it took was pointing out that Tennant didn’t either for her to feel comforted.)
Astra turned towards the window, still beaming, her gaze meeting Rose’s. She was so much like her father. Their daughter had inherited his smile and nose, though her golden, freckled skin and bright emerald eyes were all Rose’s. In a moment, she was laughing again and ran out of sight; Rose could’ve sworn she heard a muffled yell about being a medical professional, but then Tennant’s arms were winding around her and pulling her back against his chest. They must have put the other twin to bed while she gazed at their eldest daughter, as both of his hands now rested over her arms.
“See? Not so much in our favor,” he teased, breath skimming her neck and making her shiver slightly. They chucked a little and placed an apologetic kiss against her shoulder. Rose turned her head just enough to catch his gaze, arching an eyebrow challengingly.
“You have sisters as I recall, and yet here you are.”
Tennant hummed a little and she, knowing she’d won this particular disagreement, grinned. His eyes narrowed playfully.
“Well, best of luck to your feeling then,” he sighed finally, the corner of his mouth quirking up at the look on their face. “But please remind him that your due date isn't for another few weeks and we haven’t even started on the nursery yet, so he’s gonna need to hold up his end of the bargain and stay in for a bit long--”
Rose rose up and silenced him with a kiss, turning just enough to pull them down by the shirtfront. He made a small noise of surprise but kissed them back, one hand leaving her waist to tangle his fingers in the green curls at the nape of her neck. When she finally pulled away, she didn’t open her eyes, lingering in the afterglow.
“We have all the time in the world,” she murmured, lips still barely brushing as she spoke, feeling warm from every point of contact between the two of them.
“So we do, Rosie.”
She grinned, leaning in to kiss them again; he spoke again, but she didn’t feel his mouth move with her name and frowned, confused.
“Rose.”
Jerking awake, Rose could’ve sworn she was suddenly in icy cold water--even her face felt wet as she sucked in a startled breath.
“Hey, s’alright.” There was a tentative hand on her arm and she looked up in the darkness to see Tennant beside her, brows furrowed as he looked down from his spot against the stone wall. Not the Tennant she’d been with a moment ago, but one from what felt like a memory--the real one, she realized. It had been a dream after all. “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you. I just--you’re crying.”
Numbly, her hand came up to her cheeks. The realization of what was true and not crashed down on her and she suddenly felt like she was going to cry all over again, but instead she quickly wiped the remnants away and swallowed the lump in their throat. The glitter circled above her head, clearly intrigued, and she fought a glare in its direction.
“Sorry,” they forced out, voice tight. “Sorry, I uhh--just, sorry.”
“You don’t need to apologize,” he frowned, the hand that had been on her arm returning to rest loosely on the pistol in their lap. Then, a little softer, he asked, “You okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine. Thank you–for looking out.”
She shifted a little, shoulders aching from the hard floor they were camped out on, and tried to find a position that was comfortable--or at least bearable. He made a soft sound of acknowledgement, gaze moving back to rove over the darkness and she, giving up on comfort altogether, turned their back to him and frustratedly yanked the pack she’d been using as a pillow over a bit to accommodate her new spot. She hadn’t expected them to speak again, but a moment later he whispered:
“Don’t worry. S’just a dream, Rosie.”
Shielded from his view, she allowed a few of the hot tears that brimmed to spill over, breathing in evenly through her nose so as not to worry him. Even then, the warmth of the dream began to fade away into the darkness, slipping away like sand through her fingers and taking the image of their daughter’s faces with it. She sighed through gritted teeth and cleared her throat, before finally mumbling back.
“Yeah, you’re right. Just a dream.”