fannishliss (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
fannishliss) wrote2012-01-28 09:44 am
fannishliss) wrote2012-01-28 09:44 am
Entry tags:
- fic,
- nine,
- rose,
- the doctor,
- who
"Picnic on Aix" (Nine/Rose) 4/5
title: Picnic on Aix, Part Four
author:![[info]](https://fannishliss.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif?v=88.8)
fannishliss
pairing: Nine/Rose
rating: ultimately NC17
length: 11,100 words in all, broken into parts. Part Four is 1900 words and rated PG. Last part will be posted tomorrow!
summary: The Tardis strands the Doctor and Rose until they deal with their unresolved tension (post Father's Day).
Part One ; Part Two ; Part Three :
Rose lets out a heavy breath. Her cheeks are red as she begins to pack up the picnic. The Doctor hopes she'll take his apology to heart. He's not used to making apologies. He prefers to evade consequences rather than face them. But Rose is more than worth the humiliation of a retraction. He can bear it, or much worse, if it makes things between them all right again. Or better than all right -- better than ever.
===
It's a quiet walk back to town. They go back to the cafe for a spot of afternoon tea, but they don't need anything to eat, so when the pot is empty, they head back to the bookstore.
It's a while until closing time, so Justine is still at the register.
"I hope you've had a lovely day," she says.
"Oh yes," the Doctor replies, and Rose nods, and smiles, and the Doctor hopes she means it.
"I was wondering if you have a listing of entertainments for tonight," the Doctor asks.
Justine pulls a tablet from a cubby in her counter and consults it. "Cinematics, live theater, music, dancing?"
The Doctor's hearts jutter when Justine says "dancing;" he was envisioning a bit of Shakespeare or Muldronay, something passionate and classic -- or perhaps some live acoustic music in a quiet bar, drinks and talking….
But of course Rose's eyes are sparkling with glee. "Dancing, absolutely," she says, grinning ear to ear.
Justine gives her a knowing look. The Doctor gives in, nodding.
"The Red Curtain always has dancing. It's right next to the hotel; you'll find it easily."
"What's the dress code?" Rose asks. The Doctor feels his face set into an irritated scowl. Will he really need to change?
"Casual," Justine assures, smiling at the Doctor, who can't help but breathe a sigh of relief.
"We can go to a boutique if you'd like a fancier outfit," the Doctor hears himself saying. Rose turns to look at him, eyebrows high with surprise. "But you look beautiful just as you are."
Her jaw drops a little, and she narrows her eyes, but he says no more, taking pains not to let his mouth run away from him as it so often does.
She composes herself. "Thanks, Doctor," she says.
He merely nods.
"If you really don't mind," she says, "I'd love to see if I can find a dress, or a skirt at least -- more fun for dancing. Maybe some shoes?"
"I don't mind," he says lightly, and is surprised to find that it's true.
"Try my friend's shop on Rue Mazarin, I'll ring and let her know you're dropping in. Let me just -- " Justine aims her tablet at Rose and snaps a picture, which apparently includes her measurements, because by the time she and the Doctor have made their way across town to the boutique, there are already several complete outfits laid out for her. She tries on outfits in black, rose, and turquoise -- but of course, she looks best in the rose, a long crepe skirt in hot pink and orange, and a loose peasant blouse in the palest pink. The skirt is long enough that her trainers look fine underneath, but she picks out a pair of strappy red mary janes with heels just high enough for dancing. They explain that they've lost their luggage, and Rose wears the clothes out of the store, while the shop owner promises to send her things over to Justine's -- along with a dainty cottonish nightgown, white with little pink flowers, that Rose says is adorable. The Doctor diverts his attention while Rose selects some undergarments to add to her parcel, and then he's paying, and Rose is practically skipping out of the shop, her new shoes dangling in a bag from her wrist.
"Oh, how fun!" Rose laughs. "You probably can't understand how fun it is to just go on a spree once in a while, and buy things you don't really need."
"No," he smiles, "but I'm happy if you are."
"I so am!" Rose laughs, twirling, her new skirt floating festively around her.
The Red Curtain is a lounge, with a bar, tables, a dance floor, and a small stage lined with the eponymous red drapes, where a singer, guitar player, and drummer are playing. The place isn't crowded but there are plenty of people drinking, snacking, conversing -- and dancing.
The Doctor shifts nervously from foot to foot. "Can I get you a drink?" he asks.
"Ha. If this were a London dancehall, I'd want a shandy," Rose says, "but I have no idea what they serve here in this day and age."
The Doctor perks up. A ginger shandy is his favorite, and even slightly inebriating, due to the ginger.
In short order, he brings two shandies to the table Rose has picked out. The ginger is sharp and the drink is fizzy. The Doctor smiles and Rose smiles back.
The band strikes up a tune with a nice beat for dancing, and the floor begins to fill up.
The Doctor takes a fortifying drink of his shandy, stands, and holds out his hand. Rose looks up at him, more than pleased; her eyes are dark and predatory, and she licks her lips as she takes his hand.
They make excellent dance partners. As he sees how responsive Rose is, the Doctor relaxes into his lead. Every shift of his hand, every tilt of his hips, Rose follows perfectly. They move in easy synchrony in their slot on the crowded floor. The Doctor hardly notices the other dancers; he only has eyes for Rose. Her pale pink blouse sets off her creamy skin, and her brightly colored skirt sways entrancingly around her hips.
"You're a marvelous dancer," he says in her ear, as he pulls her close.
"So are you," she answers, and smiles back at him.
They dance and dance, fast songs, slow songs, always hand in hand even if the song doesn't call for a closer hold. Rose spins and skips in her new red shoes, light and nimble, laughing happily.
The band announces they're due for a break, striking up a slow song. The Doctor pulls Rose close and they sway in a hold as old as time itself. Rose feels wonderful in his arms. Everything about her thrills his senses. He can't help but caress her softly as they dance, his hand low on her back, her other hand gently holding onto his.
She lays her head against him, and the smell of her hair rises up into his nostrils. He breathes deep, filling his lungs with her scent, and she sighs, relaxing even more into his arms.
"Doctor?" she murmurs.
"Yes?" he answers, almost in a daze from the feel of her, so soft in his arms. He thinks he could dance with her like this forever.
"Kiss me," she says, lifting her face expectantly, her brown eyes deep as the sky.
"Oh, Rose," he says, and his lips fall to hers like he's obeying the laws of gravity for once.
Dancing in public is bad enough; Time Lords are meant to be strict, reserved and dignified. But there aren't any more Time Lords to tut at him with disapproval, and it's not like he's ever given two figs for their opinion anyway. Kissing Rose, he could almost forget the other dancers, each caught up in their own little worlds, all around them, but he can't be as bold as he'd like to be with so many people around. There's a little frisson of embarrassment as his lips tremble on hers, as he longs to deepen the kiss and crush to him, claim her like he wants to do so badly, but he can't. What he's feeling for her is so intense, so private-- he can't bring himself to pull away from her--
"Rose," he says, desperately, kissing her with unbearable restraint, "Rose!"
"Doctor, would you like to get out of here?" She smiles at him with a hopeful look.
"Oh, yes!" he says, and his face feels like it will break from the intensity of his smile.
The cool night air is such a relief after the heat of dancing. The little town is quiet; no one else is on the street. They walk away from the club, hands clasped tightly together. They pause to turn a corner, and suddenly the Doctor is sweeping Rose into his arms.
Her hands come up, she's carding her fingertips through his close-cropped hair, pressing herself as close to him as she can get, and he's taking her mouth the way he's wanted to for so long, licking inside, tasting her, filling himself with the feel of her all around him. The planet hurtles, carrying them through space, and the Doctor feels almost dizzy as everything seems to revolve around Rose.
"Rose, Rose," is all he can say, all he can think. He pours his desire into his kisses, and she drinks him in, feeding back her need for him in equal measure.
His hands creep up toward her temples, are suddenly there. He touches her, delicate, still holding back his most intimate touch.
He thinks to her, gently as he can, "Rose, may I come in?"
"In - inside my head?" Rose asks, pulling back from him just enough to look into his face.
"Yes," he says out loud, "is that okay?" Please, please, please-- he feels like all he is, is begging for just the chance that she'll let him in.
"It's safe, is it?" she asks.
"I think so," he says. "Maybe, maybe we should wait--"
Her eyes fly wide and her hands press his to her temples.
"No more waiting!" she says, and squinches her eyes closed with the force of her wanting him, welcoming him, taking him in. And there she is, blazing, dazzling him at the portals of his mind -- so open, so inviting, so ready for him -- so much love. He gasps, almost staggering.
"We really… really… should wait…." he gasps, but it's no use. Luckily there's a tree growing right there on the sidewalk, the way civilized places do urban forestry, and he blesses the tree as he falls back against it -- a cherry -- and he laughs in his confusion and delight as his thoughts sweep chaotic against hers, and everything he's ever wanted is right here, right, her, after everything, after worlds burning, the dreadful screams, the silence, and now he's not alone, never will be again, and his whole being, torn and scarred, soothes itself against the searing light that is Rose Tyler.
He knew she was brilliant, he knew she was special, glorious in all her Human ingenuity and compassion -- but now he sees her potential, all she will become, and at last he understands the aura that's puzzled him for so long.
Rose and his Tardis — she looks inside, and the Tardis loves her, forges and tempers her a fully-fledged child of Time -- more so even than the Time Lords ever dared become. In some near future, every future, this happens, is happening, and somehow, has always happened, and Rose is his Goddess, that one all-powerful gleaming strand of Time that's been wrapped securely around him all his lives, pulling him here and there, into peril and out of it, till she was born, and ready, and waiting for him there in her dead-end job, ready for him to say run, and to ask twice, and to be the stolen Time Lord who carries her out into the universe.
"Rose, you're amazing," he whispers, in awe.
"You're pretty impressive yourself," she returns, covering his face with eager kisses, clinging to his hands, pulling away. "Let's get to bed and do this properly."
And so they run, crazy, laughing through the quiet streets of a French village on a distant future planet, and he fumbles the key twice getting them into the bookstore, and they charge up the stairs, giggling and whispering like they're drunk off their feet, but they're not, they're just so, so in love, and they've waited so long, so many lifetimes, and not another second's delay will be tolerated by either of them.
Go to Last Part! (mature)
author:
fannishlisspairing: Nine/Rose
rating: ultimately NC17
length: 11,100 words in all, broken into parts. Part Four is 1900 words and rated PG. Last part will be posted tomorrow!
summary: The Tardis strands the Doctor and Rose until they deal with their unresolved tension (post Father's Day).
Part One ; Part Two ; Part Three :
Rose lets out a heavy breath. Her cheeks are red as she begins to pack up the picnic. The Doctor hopes she'll take his apology to heart. He's not used to making apologies. He prefers to evade consequences rather than face them. But Rose is more than worth the humiliation of a retraction. He can bear it, or much worse, if it makes things between them all right again. Or better than all right -- better than ever.
===
It's a quiet walk back to town. They go back to the cafe for a spot of afternoon tea, but they don't need anything to eat, so when the pot is empty, they head back to the bookstore.
It's a while until closing time, so Justine is still at the register.
"I hope you've had a lovely day," she says.
"Oh yes," the Doctor replies, and Rose nods, and smiles, and the Doctor hopes she means it.
"I was wondering if you have a listing of entertainments for tonight," the Doctor asks.
Justine pulls a tablet from a cubby in her counter and consults it. "Cinematics, live theater, music, dancing?"
The Doctor's hearts jutter when Justine says "dancing;" he was envisioning a bit of Shakespeare or Muldronay, something passionate and classic -- or perhaps some live acoustic music in a quiet bar, drinks and talking….
But of course Rose's eyes are sparkling with glee. "Dancing, absolutely," she says, grinning ear to ear.
Justine gives her a knowing look. The Doctor gives in, nodding.
"The Red Curtain always has dancing. It's right next to the hotel; you'll find it easily."
"What's the dress code?" Rose asks. The Doctor feels his face set into an irritated scowl. Will he really need to change?
"Casual," Justine assures, smiling at the Doctor, who can't help but breathe a sigh of relief.
"We can go to a boutique if you'd like a fancier outfit," the Doctor hears himself saying. Rose turns to look at him, eyebrows high with surprise. "But you look beautiful just as you are."
Her jaw drops a little, and she narrows her eyes, but he says no more, taking pains not to let his mouth run away from him as it so often does.
She composes herself. "Thanks, Doctor," she says.
He merely nods.
"If you really don't mind," she says, "I'd love to see if I can find a dress, or a skirt at least -- more fun for dancing. Maybe some shoes?"
"I don't mind," he says lightly, and is surprised to find that it's true.
"Try my friend's shop on Rue Mazarin, I'll ring and let her know you're dropping in. Let me just -- " Justine aims her tablet at Rose and snaps a picture, which apparently includes her measurements, because by the time she and the Doctor have made their way across town to the boutique, there are already several complete outfits laid out for her. She tries on outfits in black, rose, and turquoise -- but of course, she looks best in the rose, a long crepe skirt in hot pink and orange, and a loose peasant blouse in the palest pink. The skirt is long enough that her trainers look fine underneath, but she picks out a pair of strappy red mary janes with heels just high enough for dancing. They explain that they've lost their luggage, and Rose wears the clothes out of the store, while the shop owner promises to send her things over to Justine's -- along with a dainty cottonish nightgown, white with little pink flowers, that Rose says is adorable. The Doctor diverts his attention while Rose selects some undergarments to add to her parcel, and then he's paying, and Rose is practically skipping out of the shop, her new shoes dangling in a bag from her wrist.
"Oh, how fun!" Rose laughs. "You probably can't understand how fun it is to just go on a spree once in a while, and buy things you don't really need."
"No," he smiles, "but I'm happy if you are."
"I so am!" Rose laughs, twirling, her new skirt floating festively around her.
The Red Curtain is a lounge, with a bar, tables, a dance floor, and a small stage lined with the eponymous red drapes, where a singer, guitar player, and drummer are playing. The place isn't crowded but there are plenty of people drinking, snacking, conversing -- and dancing.
The Doctor shifts nervously from foot to foot. "Can I get you a drink?" he asks.
"Ha. If this were a London dancehall, I'd want a shandy," Rose says, "but I have no idea what they serve here in this day and age."
The Doctor perks up. A ginger shandy is his favorite, and even slightly inebriating, due to the ginger.
In short order, he brings two shandies to the table Rose has picked out. The ginger is sharp and the drink is fizzy. The Doctor smiles and Rose smiles back.
The band strikes up a tune with a nice beat for dancing, and the floor begins to fill up.
The Doctor takes a fortifying drink of his shandy, stands, and holds out his hand. Rose looks up at him, more than pleased; her eyes are dark and predatory, and she licks her lips as she takes his hand.
They make excellent dance partners. As he sees how responsive Rose is, the Doctor relaxes into his lead. Every shift of his hand, every tilt of his hips, Rose follows perfectly. They move in easy synchrony in their slot on the crowded floor. The Doctor hardly notices the other dancers; he only has eyes for Rose. Her pale pink blouse sets off her creamy skin, and her brightly colored skirt sways entrancingly around her hips.
"You're a marvelous dancer," he says in her ear, as he pulls her close.
"So are you," she answers, and smiles back at him.
They dance and dance, fast songs, slow songs, always hand in hand even if the song doesn't call for a closer hold. Rose spins and skips in her new red shoes, light and nimble, laughing happily.
The band announces they're due for a break, striking up a slow song. The Doctor pulls Rose close and they sway in a hold as old as time itself. Rose feels wonderful in his arms. Everything about her thrills his senses. He can't help but caress her softly as they dance, his hand low on her back, her other hand gently holding onto his.
She lays her head against him, and the smell of her hair rises up into his nostrils. He breathes deep, filling his lungs with her scent, and she sighs, relaxing even more into his arms.
"Doctor?" she murmurs.
"Yes?" he answers, almost in a daze from the feel of her, so soft in his arms. He thinks he could dance with her like this forever.
"Kiss me," she says, lifting her face expectantly, her brown eyes deep as the sky.
"Oh, Rose," he says, and his lips fall to hers like he's obeying the laws of gravity for once.
Dancing in public is bad enough; Time Lords are meant to be strict, reserved and dignified. But there aren't any more Time Lords to tut at him with disapproval, and it's not like he's ever given two figs for their opinion anyway. Kissing Rose, he could almost forget the other dancers, each caught up in their own little worlds, all around them, but he can't be as bold as he'd like to be with so many people around. There's a little frisson of embarrassment as his lips tremble on hers, as he longs to deepen the kiss and crush to him, claim her like he wants to do so badly, but he can't. What he's feeling for her is so intense, so private-- he can't bring himself to pull away from her--
"Rose," he says, desperately, kissing her with unbearable restraint, "Rose!"
"Doctor, would you like to get out of here?" She smiles at him with a hopeful look.
"Oh, yes!" he says, and his face feels like it will break from the intensity of his smile.
The cool night air is such a relief after the heat of dancing. The little town is quiet; no one else is on the street. They walk away from the club, hands clasped tightly together. They pause to turn a corner, and suddenly the Doctor is sweeping Rose into his arms.
Her hands come up, she's carding her fingertips through his close-cropped hair, pressing herself as close to him as she can get, and he's taking her mouth the way he's wanted to for so long, licking inside, tasting her, filling himself with the feel of her all around him. The planet hurtles, carrying them through space, and the Doctor feels almost dizzy as everything seems to revolve around Rose.
"Rose, Rose," is all he can say, all he can think. He pours his desire into his kisses, and she drinks him in, feeding back her need for him in equal measure.
His hands creep up toward her temples, are suddenly there. He touches her, delicate, still holding back his most intimate touch.
He thinks to her, gently as he can, "Rose, may I come in?"
"In - inside my head?" Rose asks, pulling back from him just enough to look into his face.
"Yes," he says out loud, "is that okay?" Please, please, please-- he feels like all he is, is begging for just the chance that she'll let him in.
"It's safe, is it?" she asks.
"I think so," he says. "Maybe, maybe we should wait--"
Her eyes fly wide and her hands press his to her temples.
"No more waiting!" she says, and squinches her eyes closed with the force of her wanting him, welcoming him, taking him in. And there she is, blazing, dazzling him at the portals of his mind -- so open, so inviting, so ready for him -- so much love. He gasps, almost staggering.
"We really… really… should wait…." he gasps, but it's no use. Luckily there's a tree growing right there on the sidewalk, the way civilized places do urban forestry, and he blesses the tree as he falls back against it -- a cherry -- and he laughs in his confusion and delight as his thoughts sweep chaotic against hers, and everything he's ever wanted is right here, right, her, after everything, after worlds burning, the dreadful screams, the silence, and now he's not alone, never will be again, and his whole being, torn and scarred, soothes itself against the searing light that is Rose Tyler.
He knew she was brilliant, he knew she was special, glorious in all her Human ingenuity and compassion -- but now he sees her potential, all she will become, and at last he understands the aura that's puzzled him for so long.
Rose and his Tardis — she looks inside, and the Tardis loves her, forges and tempers her a fully-fledged child of Time -- more so even than the Time Lords ever dared become. In some near future, every future, this happens, is happening, and somehow, has always happened, and Rose is his Goddess, that one all-powerful gleaming strand of Time that's been wrapped securely around him all his lives, pulling him here and there, into peril and out of it, till she was born, and ready, and waiting for him there in her dead-end job, ready for him to say run, and to ask twice, and to be the stolen Time Lord who carries her out into the universe.
"Rose, you're amazing," he whispers, in awe.
"You're pretty impressive yourself," she returns, covering his face with eager kisses, clinging to his hands, pulling away. "Let's get to bed and do this properly."
And so they run, crazy, laughing through the quiet streets of a French village on a distant future planet, and he fumbles the key twice getting them into the bookstore, and they charge up the stairs, giggling and whispering like they're drunk off their feet, but they're not, they're just so, so in love, and they've waited so long, so many lifetimes, and not another second's delay will be tolerated by either of them.
Go to Last Part! (mature)