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Well. New Earth had gone rather pear-shaped for a bit there, hadn’t it? All worked out in the end, of course, but still. He’d have preferred his first trip with Rose in this new body have gone a bit smoother. Or, at the very least, that his beloved companion not be possessed by a skin tag with a malevolent streak. The Doctor shuddered at the memory of Cassandra’s presence in his own mind. She’d felt…oily, somehow, in his head. Slippery. She’d slithered around in his mind, and he felt...icky. Contaminated. A bit paranoid.
The Doctor cast a look down the corridor, towards Rose’s bedroom. She’d seemed alright after the events of the day, but he wondered. Rose wasn’t as unflappable as she liked for him to think, he knew that. She was strong - oh, yes. Incredibly so. He so admired her and her grace under fire. But he couldn’t help his worry for her. She was a human, after all. Only a human. A brilliant, perfect human.
It had only been eight days since Rose had absorbed the Heart of the TARDIS, and come back to the Gamestation to rescue him. Eight days since he’d watched her face crumple with hurt when he’d shouted at her to “Stay away!”, bracing himself for the inevitable fires of his regeneration. She’d watched in horror as he’d burst into flame, unaware that he was concentrating with every fiber of his being to ensure that the new form he took would be one that loved her as much as he ever had before.
And he’d emerged a new man, still every bit as much in love with Rose Tyler as he had been. But the terror, confusion, and distrust in her eyes as he’d stepped toward her, confident and grinning, was a memory that would haunt him for a very long time.
They’d spent nearly a week at Jackie’s flat after he’d battled with the Sycorax. He’d sensed by subtle word and deed that Rose would leave whenever he said the word, so he’d been careful not to give it. It was a calculated risk on his part. His goal in staying over the holiday week had been to make Rose completely comfortable that he was the same man, but, most importantly, to watch her closely to see what would become of her in the aftermath of her brush with the Time Vortex and her transformation into Bad Wolf.
It was a necessary evil, the stay with her mother, one that he accepted... but after two days, he’d been antsy. After four days, the Doctor had been going stark raving mad.
This new body was much more tactile than his last had been, and despite outward appearances, the last hadn’t exactly been taciturn when it came to touching his companion. In fact, he’d sought out excuses for celebratory hugs and caresses. Any little thing would be enough, he just needed a reason to put his skin against hers. Toward the end, all she’d had to do was pronounce the name of a planet correctly and he’d have her in his arms. Anything for her touch.
He’d never been able to keep his hands to himself around Rose, and this past week, without touching her much at all - much less at his leisure - had been torture. It’d been a constant, overwhelming effort to keep his hands off her, and he suspected she was feeling a little hurt at the lack of contact. He hated the very thought, but had he let himself touch her at all…Rassilon. He thanked every deity he knew of that she didn’t have the same superior senses he did, and the ability to sense the pheromones his body instinctively threw off anytime she was near. He would regenerate out of embarrassment if anyone with similar heightened senses as him came on board their ship to witness the state she constantly put him in.
And. while the Doctor would never have thought it possible, this body was even more susceptible to his blonde companion than the last had been. With this lean, pinstriped, pretty body, built just for her, simply the thought of Rose sent a dose of hormones surging through his skin, and the urge to touch, to hold, to be near became almost completely overpowering.
After the first couple of days, the Doctor had retreated to the solitude of the TARDIS and came back to the flat after he’d gathered himself for a while. As the days went by, he’d withdrawn more and more, as it took longer and longer to gather his pulsing hormones and racing thoughts. It’d frustrated him and left him a bit surly - which fed into Rose’s belief that he truly was the Doctor, so he hadn’t done much to alter it. He welcomed her when she would come to the TARDIS to check on him, recognizing that she was eager to see what he was like away from the prying, curious eyes of her mother and Mickey (still an idiot). The TARDIS was her home, and he’d felt her anxiety to leave.
Finally, just today, the day after the New Year, they’d agreed to return to the stars - together.
It was supposed to have been a quick jaunt to New Earth - a peaceful, relatively quiet little world that should have been perfectly safe for her. Just an outing for the two of them, something for them to dip their toes back into the waters of adventure and exploring, and to let her see that he was still himself. Perhaps he would get a chance to hold her hand a few more times. Her hand fit perfectly inside of his, after all...this hand had been made for hers - twice - and it simply felt empty without her fingers twining with his.
Alas, he’d touched her very little on New Earth. She’d wandered off and stumbled into trouble before he had a chance.
The Doctor had been shocked when Rose had grabbed him by the lapels and kissed him...then fear had overwhelmed him when he realized it hadn’t been her, that she’d been possessed. Now, with Cassandra gone, in the stillness of the TARDIS, he could allow the sliver of hurt he’d been denying to creep in. It hadn’t been Rose that had kissed him, after all. It’d been that sociopathic leather sail.
Bloody hell. For one glorious second, he’d thought…
But it didn’t matter what he’d thought in the blur of that kiss. What mattered now was whether or not Rose was okay. She’d not seemed overly quiet when she retired to bed, but it was also only ten or so by Rose’s body clock. Early yet.
The urge to be near her, to know that she was alright and that she really had accepted this new version of him rolled through his body like a physical ache. Insecurities washed over him, no doubt aided by the aftershocks of Cassandra taking over his body and hers. What if she wanted to go back home? What if she felt the oily and slippery residue of Cassandra in her mind as he did right now? What if she had begun to believe in him, but didn’t any more? When Cassandra left her body a few hours ago, she had looked at him with the same affection and warmth she always had. , But what if it was different now?
Worries for Rose plagued him and the urge to see her, to talk to her, was overpowering. Thoughts - both rational and irrational - battered at his frankly magnificent mind until there was nothing for it: he needed to check on her. Just to satisfy his own curiosities. Nothing more. He wouldn’t disturb her. He just needed to know that she was alright.
He nodded curtly to himself and set off down the corridor towards her bedroom.
~*~*~*~
“Rose?”
He didn’t see her at first glance as he pushed open the door (after knocking, of course), but he gave himself a guilty moment to take in the room: her room. Everything that was Rose.
Rose’s bedroom at her Mum’s flat had been something of a shock the first time he had seen it. It was nothing like her bedroom on the TARDIS, and he’d been quite taken aback at the stark contrasts between the two. Both were utterly feminine - there was no doubt that the two bedrooms clearly housed a woman - but while the bedroom in Rose’s flat was meant for a teenage girl, decked out in bright, garish pinks and purples, Rose’s bedroom in the TARDIS was clearly decorated for a much more mature person. He’d no idea if she or the TARDIS had decorated her room, but it was certainly seemed to fit Rose, in his opinion. Her duvet was off-white with an embroidered pattern of pink and grey. The pink in this room was a much softer color than he’d seen in her room at Jackie’s, and somehow more mature. There was very little of the garish pink he’d seen before in the room beyond the occasional tchotchke and the typical light litter of clothing, most of which was concentrated near the en suite door. The color scheme was certainly not anything the Doctor would have picked, but for his Rose, it worked.
Rose’s vanity sat next to him, and true to form, it was covered with bits, bobs, and pictures. Rose had always been a memento keeper, and her vanity was littered with as many knicknacks as it was makeup and jewelry. It was a miracle, he reckoned, that she could see the mirror to put makeup on around all the photos.
The beads she’d been given by the shaman of Pomdia hung from the knob on the mirror. He spotted the sapphire cuff bracelet she’d found in a bazaar on that trip. Holding it in his hand, he thought back to the day he’d bought it for her. She’d been awestruck by it, her eyes wide and liquid amber, and refused to buy it. She’d said it was too rich for her and insisted to him that only royalty wore things like that. He’d scoffed at her and told her that she was more royal than anyone he’d ever known and put it on her unceremoniously.
The Doctor rolled his eyes at himself now. Romance had not been his strong suit in that body. Maybe this one would be better. Not that anything romantic would ever happen, mind, he chastised himself. He mustn’t think like that. Couldn’t allow himself to think like that.
He raised his eyes to look at the photos lining her mirror, feeling a jolt when he looked at a snapshot of himself with her. He stood in the picture, in his old body, with Rose wrapped around him, beaming. They’d gone to Famtis for the solstice festival and she’d worn the traditional garb; flowing robes adorned with brightly colored circles celebrating the binary suns. Rose had laughed and said she’d felt like a twister mat. The Doctor had cleared his throat and started to tell her she looked beautiful, but before he could get the words all of the way out Jack had swooped in and pulled her into his arms, spinning her around and telling her if she was a twister he’d get blown to hell and back gladly, then smacking a noisy kiss on her cheek when he set her down and she giggled.
The Doctor had scowled mightily, the jealousy that flared so often towards the two of them burning white-hot. Even now, with Jack gone and Rose still with him, the memory of Rose in Jack’s arms was enough to rouse his insecurity.
“Jack?” she’d asked softly once he had set her down, and the sound of her soft inquiry had been a knife in his heart. He’d do anything she asked of him when she used that voice - he’d deny her nothing - and the thought of her asking another man for anything when he was right here and living with the sole purpose of making her happy… He’d shoved his hands in his pockets and bowed his head, trying to hide his scowl.
“What’s up, doll?” Jack had answered, amiably.
“Would you take a picture of me n’ the Doctor?” He’d felt an arm slide through his and his head had snapped up, surprised, finding her smiling sheepishly up at him. “Is that alright?” she’d asked him shyly.
Silly girl, he’d thought, and then fought down the urge to snog her breathless. They weren’t like that. “Yeah, s’pose. Not much of a model, me,” he’d said, and she’d grinned at him, her tongue going between her teeth.
His hearts had tripped right over one another and fallen to the ground.
“Oh, I dunno,” she’d said. “I’d buy a leather jacket and jumper based on your recommendation.”
“Yeah?”
Rose had nodded. “I rather like the blue,” she said, her eyes twinkling and her hand going to his chest, indicating the jumper he was wearing. “Brings out your eyes.”
He’d beamed down at her, radiating joy, and Jack had snapped the picture.
The Doctor leaned over now and plucked the snapshot from her mirror to study it more closely, to bathe in the moment captured on film. His joy at her presence was a palpable thing, and it washed over him now, months later. Oh, how he had loved her in that moment. He’d thought that nothing in any world, at any time could ever make him happier than that moment. But it was nothing compared to how he loved her now.
“Doctor?”
He bolted upright, the front of his legs knocking into the chair of her vanity and sending it clattering backwards. “Rose!” he yelped as he spun around, his hand flying to the back of his head for lack of anywhere better to put it. Rose sat up in the bed, the duvet falling to her waist, her sleep-rumpled hair flying about her face haphazardly.
“What’s goin’ on, Doctor?” she mumbled.
“I came in to check on you,” he blurted, “wanted to see how you felt after, you know... then I got distracted…” He gestured helplessly at her vanity as he stammered, his cheeks flaming. Rose ran her fingers through her hair to tame it and he mimicked the gesture out of sheer panic. “I’m so, so sorry, Rose. I didn’t mean to wake you, or to startle you. I’ll go and let you sleep.”
“I wasn’t really sleeping,” she said, smiling. “Just...daydreaming a bit. At night.”
The Doctor cocked an eyebrow. “Oh?”
Rose blushed. “Oi, now, was nothing naughty. Just...pleasant thoughts.”
“Well then,” The Doctor rocked back and then rolled forwards on the balls of his feet in his trainers. “I’ll leave you to it. G’night, Rose.”
“Wait!” she cried, and reached out for him. The movement of her arm sent a little waft of familiar scent towards him, and it froze him as much as her words did. He turned slowly to look at her.
She still sat in her bed, biting her lip, her hair still rumpled. She’d shifted her position a little towards him as if to grab him as he left, and her arm was outstretched. Her arm...that was wearing his blue jumper. The one from the picture.
His jumper.
The Doctor’s mind whirled. Thoughts darted in and out, but he couldn’t catch two to string them together. All higher brain function was aborted by the fact that Rose was sleeping in his jumper.
“I was thinking…” she began slowly, “I really used to like it when you’d stay with me until I fell asleep. I always slept better knowing that you were close by if I needed you. And I always went to sleep much easier if I could...I went to sleep easier with you near me.”
The Doctor didn’t say anything. He tried to look at her, but his eyes wouldn’t leave the blue jumper. His jumper. His brain was awash in the stream of pheromones her body was sending out and the way they blended with his, leaving him completely intoxicated.
He did his best to make his smile more charming and less desperate-man-in-love when he said “budge over”. Rose complied, scooting to the far side of the bed as he toed off his trainers and slipped off his jacket. She’d left the duvet open behind her and turned her back to him, and the Doctor was entirely too drunk on the moment to be trusted to make these kinds of decisions. He tugged off his tie and slid into the bed behind her, slid closer than he knew he should, situating himself close enough to her that he could practically feel the electrical pulses between the two of them, though they weren’t actually touching. In a fit of daring, he rested his hand on her hip, above the duvet. Rose sighed happily at the contact, bringing her hand to his and threading their fingers. He closed his eyes blissfully.
“Comfortable?” she mumbled.
“Mhm. You?”
“Mhm,” she agreed, squirming a little, bringing more of the back of her into contact with the front of him. “S’nice.” The Doctor could tell she was smiling, and it made him smile to hear it. “Thank you for staying with me tonight.”
He gave a breathy chuckle. “It’s my pleasure, Rose Tyler.” She squeezed his hand and they lay in silence for a moment. The Doctor felt the familiar sensation of the jumper against the back of his wrist and let his thoughts run away with him for a while. Why did she have his shirt? Why was she wearing it? Could this possibly mean what he hoped it did...?
He waited for her to say something, the silence weighing on him, but she seemed content to lie there with him, quietly. The silence went on so long that he was afraid he’d missed his window and Rose had fallen asleep, until the curiosity about his jumper got the better of him and he had to ask about it. When he did ask, his voice was muted and he stirred a little just before he spoke in the hopes that his speaking wouldn’t startle her.
He dared to let his thumb stroke hers. “I notice you seemed to have picked up some new jim jams?”
Rose didn’t respond, and after a moment, the Doctor sighed. His cowardice had made him wait too long, and he’d missed his opportunity. He knew he wouldn’t soon have the courage to ask about it again. He tried to gently extricate his hand and roll onto his back, intending to leave and let her to her rest, but Rose held tight to his hand, surprising him.
“Noticed that, did you?”
She rolled onto her back beside him and again, he tried to pull his hand from hers, but she held fast and pulled it across her as she lay flat and looked up into his widening eyes.
“I...did, yeah,” he stuttered.
“What about it?” she challenged, her eyes glittering.
“Wellll…”
“Looked familiar?”
“Yeah, a bit.”
“Good,” she said with a tongue-touched smile. “The jumper should, ‘cause I nicked it from you.”
Emboldened, he raised his head on one elbow and looked down at her. “You did, did you?”
She nodded and bit her lip.
“If you needed jimjams, Rose, you should have said. I would have taken you shopping, or the TARDIS would’ve-”
“It wasn’t like that,” she cut him off, looking away from him.
“Oh?”
“I wanted…” she worried her lip for a second. “I wanted one of your jumpers, specifically.”
Something wild and nearly unrestrained beat between the Doctor’s hearts. But all he said (in a slightly breathless tone) was, “You did?”
“Mhm,” she confirmed.
He pondered this for a second, but none of the reasons he could come up with for Rose wanting to wear one of his shirts made sense to him. So he asked her why.
“S’silly, I suppose,” she said, and he noticed her eyes sparkling with a thin layer of tears.
“Hey, don’t cry,” he soothed, bringing his hand up to her cheek. He scooted his body until he was lying down beside her, and tugged at her hip, turning her to her side, facing him. “Tell me.”
“S’embarrassing.”
“I promise I won’t laugh.”
“I just...I missed you,” she said simply, still not looking at him. “We were so close, yeah? Always huggin’ and touchin’ and stuff. And this past week, at my mum’s...you were...well, I just missed you. ”
She missed me touching her, he told himself over and over in his mind, reassuring himself that he’d heard the right words. She missed me touching her.
“You were afraid I didn’t want to touch you anymore?”
“Yeah,” she breathed, and a tear slipped from the corner of her eye to pool on the side of her nose. She didn’t do anything to dislodge it, so the Doctor wiped it away. “You’re so different now...I was afraid you’d be different, like...like you changed and didn’t want to do that stuff anymore, the huggin’ and all that. Because you were different. And I just...I missed the way your arms felt around me. I was afraid you didn’t really want me anymore, that you just asked me to come along ‘cause you didn’t want to be alone. So I nicked your jumper and pretended my arms were yours.”
“Oh, Rose,” he groaned, gathering her close. She nuzzled into his shoulder and he rested his head on her hair. The urge to kiss the top of her head came, and he didn’t fight it. “Of course I want you, love.”
She stiffened under the word, and he bit back a curse. That little slip of the tongue might just cost him everything.
She was quiet for a long moment, and he did his best to remain calm, rubbing soothing patterns on her back. When he realized he was writing his name in Gallifreyan over the thud of her heart against her back, he allowed himself a little smile. Still a possessive sod, then he thought.
“You do?” she nearly squeaked. “You want me?”
The insecurity in her voice was like a blow to the gut. He had to clear this up right away.
He pulled his head back from hers and tipped her chin towards him, waiting until she opened her whisky-colored eyes to look at him. When she did, he made a conscious effort not to get lost in them before he answered her question.
“I want you, Rose,” he said on a whisper. “I think I’ll always want you.”
Then he kissed her.
He hadn’t planned on that and panicked internally, cursing his weakened impulse control for ruining everything. But when she shifted her lips against his, returning the kiss, all of the self-doubt and chastisement went away, replaced with glorious sounds of praise and thanksgiving in his mind.
Rose was kissing him.
He pulled back, slowly, before the kiss could gain too much intensity and steal what was left of his brain function, placing soft little butterfly kisses to her lips in parting. “I always want you, Rose,” he reiterated. “I always have.” He kissed the tip of her nose. “Always.”
“But you’ve been so… This past week… You barely touched me at all.”
“I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to stop once I started. Still worried about that a bit, to be honest.”
“I don’t mind,” she smiled.
He smiled back, and teased. “I truly hope not, or I’m committing a terrible faux pas.”
Rose giggled. “You can touch me whenever you like,” she assured him. “But when you say you want me…”
“I want you.” The Doctor cupped her face and peered into her eyes. “I mean what you think I mean. I want this.” He indicated the two of them lying in bed together. “Want you. Always have. But only if you-”
She kissed him that time, cutting him off. Her lips were heated against his, growing more fervent with every pass of skin against skin.
“I want you, Doctor. I have done for ages. Since we came back from the end of the world and I told you that you weren’t alone anymore.”
He felt a weight slide off of his shoulders and he beamed at her. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
He gathered her close again, pulling her body to his so that he could feel her warmth.
She slid her arms around his waist. “Stay with me tonight?” she asked.
“Yeah,” he agreed. “You sleep, love. I’ll be here in the morning.”
This time, she melted at the endearment and he nuzzled into him.
Rose wanted him. She’d surrounded herself in him because she missed him. And she wanted him to stay.
Fantastic.