Wolf Moon: Chapter Four
Jan. 28th, 2008 12:09 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
amberfocusWolf Moon: Chapter Four
Rose woke up with a start, her heart pounding rapidly in her chest. She groaned at the throbbing in her head. She really shouldn’t have drunk so much wine the night before. Her equilibrium had been shattered by so many wolf songs on her radio, bringing with them such a feeling of life about to shift sideways. She hadn’t drunk anything alcoholic in a long while and she simply couldn’t hold her liquor anymore. Plus she always forgot just how much more potent wine was on this Earth. Three glasses was like drinking a whole bottle back home. Now she’d have to deal with a nasty hangover and…
She sat up suddenly. The Doctor. Her fingers clutched at the unfamiliar feel of satin underneath her fingers as they rested on the duvet. The events of the past hours rushed back into her head with a clarity that hurt. She pressed the little button on her watch. Four a.m. She plopped back down onto the pillows, her arms pulling one tightly into her body. It smelled of him, but was slightly different. The scents of leather and honey were the same but the underlying tone that had always been oil in her home universe was missing.
That made sense to her as this ship was so new and gleaming that she doubted this Doctor spent much time doing maintenance or repairs at all. She sniffed the pillow again. There was however a tinge of lemon mixed with the leather and honey. The almost familiar. She groaned and willed herself back to sleep. Maybe if she slept again, she’d wake up back in her flat with no memory of this crazy night. No memory of meeting him again. No memory of seeing him so awkward and raw and angry and disturbed by her presence.
She pounded the pillow with her fist. How could she want to run away from him and into his arms at the same time? Why did it have to be so hard? And why couldn’t he be her Doctor and not some double that he claimed couldn’t even exist because Time Lords only existed once? He’d obviously been wrong and if he could be wrong about that then what else might he have been wrong about? Could he have been wrong about no way to get to her? Had he left her here on purpose because she would be safe? No, that was unfair of her to think of him. He wouldn’t do that. He was her Doctor. But…
She gave up and sat back up, throwing the duvet off and sliding out of bed. She wasn’t sure where to go to find this Doctor. Her first stop would normally have been the console room, but if there was nothing to repair why would he be there? She closed her eyes and let her mind roam for a moment. Library, came the thought unbidden. Instinct carried her out of the Doctor’s bedroom and down the corridor.
The Doctor glanced up from the book he was reading, aware of her sudden presence in the doorway despite the fact that she had made no sound. She stood there watching him and her expression in that first moment of eye contact was so unguarded he wasn’t sure what to do with it. He saw sadness and fear and longing and want and need so deep in her that it was all he could do not to leap to his feet and immediately offer her the comfort of a hug.
He stopped the urge cold. He was not a hugger, never had been. Instead his eyes took in her sleep rumpled appearance. Her brown hair was tousled and tangled and the right strap of her tank top had fallen down her shoulder. He could see lines on her arm from where the sheets had compressed against her skin. Her feet were bare, her toenails gleaming bright red up at him. His eyes rose to her face and he shifted, realizing that she was drinking in his own appearance with a hunger that put him at odds.
“Something I can help you with?” He asked.
“Do you have anything in your medical bay that can counter the effects of the wine?” She said. “I have a rather nasty headache and can’t get back to sleep.”
He nodded and put down his book after marking his place. He rose and she stepped back out into the hallway, waiting for him. She trailed him back to the infirmary and watched as he rummaged through the shelves before coming up with a bottle of tablets with a triumphant, “Ah-ha!”
He tipped a pill out of it and placed it in her hand. As their skin made contact a golden spark jumped between them. His sudden curiosity overtook him and he ran his hand along her arm, watching as the glow lit the underside of his fingers and his palm. She watched the movement, watched the light flare, but couldn’t control her involuntary move towards his touch as he smoothed the strap of her tank top back onto her shoulder. It was like her very skin hungered for the simple touch of his.
He shook himself and stepped back, not meeting her eyes or commenting on the flow of energy. It disturbed him greatly that his own skin ached to resume contact, to do something as simple as hold her hand in his own. He shoved his hands in his pockets so she couldn’t see that they were trembling. He didn’t like this one bit. He took a deep breath, testing the air to see if she was putting out pheromones, something that would explain why he was feeling this way, but she wasn’t.
He turned from her, filling a small paper cup with water and handing it to her being very careful not to touch her in doing so. He watched as she put the pill in her mouth and raised the cup to her lips, watched as she swallowed it and handed the cup back to him. He failed to pay attention and this time her fingers grazed his, sparking.
The Doctor whipped out his sonic screwdriver and Rose almost sobbed at her first sight of it. So very, very familiar. He was aiming it at her and then his free hand crept up to scratch his head in confusion. “What’s it say?” She asked and he jumped at the sound of her voice.
“Nothing. Off to bed with you. Morning will come soon enough and maybe we can get to the bottom of this then,” he told her. “Can you find your way back to my bedroom on your own?”
“I think so.” He followed her anyway, lingering in the doorway. He had a nearly overwhelming urge to tuck her in, push the hair away from her face, and perhaps leave a kiss on her forehead. Then he realized what was going on. He was picking up on her memories. He flicked the light switch out. “Night, Doctor,” she said with a yawn.
“Night, Rose.” He closed the door shut behind him and leaned against it. She had said that she had been best friends with this other him, but he’d thought she really meant the he had been her best friend. It hadn’t really occurred to him that there was more to it than her feelings, that his other self had considered her his best friend as well. This Doctor that she had been with had obviously felt a great amount of affection for Rose. If these were her memories, if he had been that tender with her…was it possible the feelings went much deeper than he had supposed?
Well, in a few more hours she would answer those questions. He wasn’t a patient man, but he could wait that long. He knew Rose would probably edit herself to keep from telling him everything, but he was astute at reading between the lines. And if not, he could flat out ask her anything he was wondering. He got the feeling she wouldn’t lie to him. Rose didn’t exactly strike him as the sort of person who told lies.
He sighed and pushed off from the door, taking the few short steps down the corridor and back to the library. He settled himself back down in the comfortable chair and picked up his book. He spent the next five hours not reading it.
Rose had found her way to the kitchen the next morning and had made a quick inventory of supplies and cooking items before she’d started on breakfast. The Doctor wasn’t sure if it was the delicious smells or the loud, surprisingly good singing that attracted his attention first. But he walked in on her stirring eggs and potatoes in a pan and dancing at the stove, and for a moment he just watched her. She seemed so relaxed and happy, so different from when he’d first walked into her flat.
“Sleep well?” He asked.
“Oh!” She jumped and whirled to face him. She put one hand over her heart. “You startled me,” she said. Then her face broke into a broad grin and he found himself giving her an answering one, his facial muscles moving into what had become a very unfamiliar position for this particular body. “I was going to come get you in a minute.”
She turned back to the pan, gave it a few last swipes and then dished out its contents onto two plates. She set it down, picked up the plates and set them down at the table. “I took a chance that you’d like what he liked,” she said, waving her hand at the food.
“It looks good,” he said, frowning at the idea of something as domestic as sharing a meal in his kitchen with his woman. Wait, his woman? His frown deepened. Rose wasn’t his woman. Wasn’t even his species. He wasn’t the least bit attracted…to…her. What the hell was going on?
“Something wrong?” She asked him as she seated herself. “You don’t like it?”
“No,” he said quickly, sliding into his chair and scooting it up to the table. “It looks fantastic and it smells fantastic.” He wondered why she flinched at the word fantastic. “Bet it’ll taste fantastic, too.” He said, testing a theory. Again she flinched on that word.
“I’m feeling a lot better,” she said. “Whatever was in that hangover pill you gave me, it worked wonders. Thank you. Don’t think I’ll be drinking wine again in a long time, miracle cure or no.”
“Probably a good idea, that. Your behavior last night was somewhat erratic,” he told her.
“Maybe, but then you don’t know what my normal behavior is like, either,” she told him.
“A fair point.”
She poured herself a cup of tea, added lemon and honey and took a sip. “Umm, nothing like a good cuppa,” she told him.
He fixed himself a cup of tea and Rose noted he prepared it the same way as the other him had in this body. Then he started in on his plate of food, happily pleased with how good it was. Rose watched him eat in amusement as he shoveled away bite after bite as if he’d forgotten that food could actually taste good. Of course, it was entirely possible he had. When she’d first taken up with the Doctor he was surviving on nearly tasteless bars that were spat out of a machine in one corner of the kitchen. They’d been nutritionally sound but they didn’t hold a candle to Rose’s cooking and she’d quickly relegated that machine as a last resort to the Doctor.
“I think the TARDIS had it right,” he said when he’d cleaned his plate. “I think maybe we do need you around here.”
“What? To keep your stomach properly fed?” She said beaming at him.
“What’s so wrong with that?” He teased.
“Not a thing. Just call me Rose Tyler, chief cook and bottle washer,” she giggled.
The Doctor’s face went slack. “Rose…Tyler?” He repeated slowly.
“Yeah,” she said. “Something wrong?”
“You are the Bad Wolf.”
Ch. 5: http://amberfocus.livejournal.com/5280.html
Searching for Equilibrium
Rose woke up with a start, her heart pounding rapidly in her chest. She groaned at the throbbing in her head. She really shouldn’t have drunk so much wine the night before. Her equilibrium had been shattered by so many wolf songs on her radio, bringing with them such a feeling of life about to shift sideways. She hadn’t drunk anything alcoholic in a long while and she simply couldn’t hold her liquor anymore. Plus she always forgot just how much more potent wine was on this Earth. Three glasses was like drinking a whole bottle back home. Now she’d have to deal with a nasty hangover and…
She sat up suddenly. The Doctor. Her fingers clutched at the unfamiliar feel of satin underneath her fingers as they rested on the duvet. The events of the past hours rushed back into her head with a clarity that hurt. She pressed the little button on her watch. Four a.m. She plopped back down onto the pillows, her arms pulling one tightly into her body. It smelled of him, but was slightly different. The scents of leather and honey were the same but the underlying tone that had always been oil in her home universe was missing.
That made sense to her as this ship was so new and gleaming that she doubted this Doctor spent much time doing maintenance or repairs at all. She sniffed the pillow again. There was however a tinge of lemon mixed with the leather and honey. The almost familiar. She groaned and willed herself back to sleep. Maybe if she slept again, she’d wake up back in her flat with no memory of this crazy night. No memory of meeting him again. No memory of seeing him so awkward and raw and angry and disturbed by her presence.
She pounded the pillow with her fist. How could she want to run away from him and into his arms at the same time? Why did it have to be so hard? And why couldn’t he be her Doctor and not some double that he claimed couldn’t even exist because Time Lords only existed once? He’d obviously been wrong and if he could be wrong about that then what else might he have been wrong about? Could he have been wrong about no way to get to her? Had he left her here on purpose because she would be safe? No, that was unfair of her to think of him. He wouldn’t do that. He was her Doctor. But…
She gave up and sat back up, throwing the duvet off and sliding out of bed. She wasn’t sure where to go to find this Doctor. Her first stop would normally have been the console room, but if there was nothing to repair why would he be there? She closed her eyes and let her mind roam for a moment. Library, came the thought unbidden. Instinct carried her out of the Doctor’s bedroom and down the corridor.
The Doctor glanced up from the book he was reading, aware of her sudden presence in the doorway despite the fact that she had made no sound. She stood there watching him and her expression in that first moment of eye contact was so unguarded he wasn’t sure what to do with it. He saw sadness and fear and longing and want and need so deep in her that it was all he could do not to leap to his feet and immediately offer her the comfort of a hug.
He stopped the urge cold. He was not a hugger, never had been. Instead his eyes took in her sleep rumpled appearance. Her brown hair was tousled and tangled and the right strap of her tank top had fallen down her shoulder. He could see lines on her arm from where the sheets had compressed against her skin. Her feet were bare, her toenails gleaming bright red up at him. His eyes rose to her face and he shifted, realizing that she was drinking in his own appearance with a hunger that put him at odds.
“Something I can help you with?” He asked.
“Do you have anything in your medical bay that can counter the effects of the wine?” She said. “I have a rather nasty headache and can’t get back to sleep.”
He nodded and put down his book after marking his place. He rose and she stepped back out into the hallway, waiting for him. She trailed him back to the infirmary and watched as he rummaged through the shelves before coming up with a bottle of tablets with a triumphant, “Ah-ha!”
He tipped a pill out of it and placed it in her hand. As their skin made contact a golden spark jumped between them. His sudden curiosity overtook him and he ran his hand along her arm, watching as the glow lit the underside of his fingers and his palm. She watched the movement, watched the light flare, but couldn’t control her involuntary move towards his touch as he smoothed the strap of her tank top back onto her shoulder. It was like her very skin hungered for the simple touch of his.
He shook himself and stepped back, not meeting her eyes or commenting on the flow of energy. It disturbed him greatly that his own skin ached to resume contact, to do something as simple as hold her hand in his own. He shoved his hands in his pockets so she couldn’t see that they were trembling. He didn’t like this one bit. He took a deep breath, testing the air to see if she was putting out pheromones, something that would explain why he was feeling this way, but she wasn’t.
He turned from her, filling a small paper cup with water and handing it to her being very careful not to touch her in doing so. He watched as she put the pill in her mouth and raised the cup to her lips, watched as she swallowed it and handed the cup back to him. He failed to pay attention and this time her fingers grazed his, sparking.
The Doctor whipped out his sonic screwdriver and Rose almost sobbed at her first sight of it. So very, very familiar. He was aiming it at her and then his free hand crept up to scratch his head in confusion. “What’s it say?” She asked and he jumped at the sound of her voice.
“Nothing. Off to bed with you. Morning will come soon enough and maybe we can get to the bottom of this then,” he told her. “Can you find your way back to my bedroom on your own?”
“I think so.” He followed her anyway, lingering in the doorway. He had a nearly overwhelming urge to tuck her in, push the hair away from her face, and perhaps leave a kiss on her forehead. Then he realized what was going on. He was picking up on her memories. He flicked the light switch out. “Night, Doctor,” she said with a yawn.
“Night, Rose.” He closed the door shut behind him and leaned against it. She had said that she had been best friends with this other him, but he’d thought she really meant the he had been her best friend. It hadn’t really occurred to him that there was more to it than her feelings, that his other self had considered her his best friend as well. This Doctor that she had been with had obviously felt a great amount of affection for Rose. If these were her memories, if he had been that tender with her…was it possible the feelings went much deeper than he had supposed?
Well, in a few more hours she would answer those questions. He wasn’t a patient man, but he could wait that long. He knew Rose would probably edit herself to keep from telling him everything, but he was astute at reading between the lines. And if not, he could flat out ask her anything he was wondering. He got the feeling she wouldn’t lie to him. Rose didn’t exactly strike him as the sort of person who told lies.
He sighed and pushed off from the door, taking the few short steps down the corridor and back to the library. He settled himself back down in the comfortable chair and picked up his book. He spent the next five hours not reading it.
Rose had found her way to the kitchen the next morning and had made a quick inventory of supplies and cooking items before she’d started on breakfast. The Doctor wasn’t sure if it was the delicious smells or the loud, surprisingly good singing that attracted his attention first. But he walked in on her stirring eggs and potatoes in a pan and dancing at the stove, and for a moment he just watched her. She seemed so relaxed and happy, so different from when he’d first walked into her flat.
“Sleep well?” He asked.
“Oh!” She jumped and whirled to face him. She put one hand over her heart. “You startled me,” she said. Then her face broke into a broad grin and he found himself giving her an answering one, his facial muscles moving into what had become a very unfamiliar position for this particular body. “I was going to come get you in a minute.”
She turned back to the pan, gave it a few last swipes and then dished out its contents onto two plates. She set it down, picked up the plates and set them down at the table. “I took a chance that you’d like what he liked,” she said, waving her hand at the food.
“It looks good,” he said, frowning at the idea of something as domestic as sharing a meal in his kitchen with his woman. Wait, his woman? His frown deepened. Rose wasn’t his woman. Wasn’t even his species. He wasn’t the least bit attracted…to…her. What the hell was going on?
“Something wrong?” She asked him as she seated herself. “You don’t like it?”
“No,” he said quickly, sliding into his chair and scooting it up to the table. “It looks fantastic and it smells fantastic.” He wondered why she flinched at the word fantastic. “Bet it’ll taste fantastic, too.” He said, testing a theory. Again she flinched on that word.
“I’m feeling a lot better,” she said. “Whatever was in that hangover pill you gave me, it worked wonders. Thank you. Don’t think I’ll be drinking wine again in a long time, miracle cure or no.”
“Probably a good idea, that. Your behavior last night was somewhat erratic,” he told her.
“Maybe, but then you don’t know what my normal behavior is like, either,” she told him.
“A fair point.”
She poured herself a cup of tea, added lemon and honey and took a sip. “Umm, nothing like a good cuppa,” she told him.
He fixed himself a cup of tea and Rose noted he prepared it the same way as the other him had in this body. Then he started in on his plate of food, happily pleased with how good it was. Rose watched him eat in amusement as he shoveled away bite after bite as if he’d forgotten that food could actually taste good. Of course, it was entirely possible he had. When she’d first taken up with the Doctor he was surviving on nearly tasteless bars that were spat out of a machine in one corner of the kitchen. They’d been nutritionally sound but they didn’t hold a candle to Rose’s cooking and she’d quickly relegated that machine as a last resort to the Doctor.
“I think the TARDIS had it right,” he said when he’d cleaned his plate. “I think maybe we do need you around here.”
“What? To keep your stomach properly fed?” She said beaming at him.
“What’s so wrong with that?” He teased.
“Not a thing. Just call me Rose Tyler, chief cook and bottle washer,” she giggled.
The Doctor’s face went slack. “Rose…Tyler?” He repeated slowly.
“Yeah,” she said. “Something wrong?”
“You are the Bad Wolf.”
Ch. 5: http://amberfocus.livejournal.com/5280.html
