#5763

I completely agree It's especially ironic since both flowers actually match both of Maku and kianna's color palettes It feels like when I look at the flowers I just see them

Doctor Who fanfic

Summary: Stuck in a hotel in Bergen on the parallel world, the metacrisis Doctor and Rose Tyler have some things to discuss before they can move forward. Characters: Tentoo, Rose Tyler Genres: Angst, romance Pairings: Tentoo/Rose Tyler Rating: Teen (rating may go up)

Warning: none for this chapter

a/n: Yet another take on the events following BWBII, and inspired by the recent BF audios, a comment by Billie Piper at a convention, and the following prompt: Tentoo x Rose, "Can I touch you?". Assumes an established Ten/Rose relationship. Starts out angsty, but won't stay that way. Please note, this is still a WIP. I'm guessing this will have two or perhaps three chapters, and I haven't yet decided whether this will remain at a T rating or need to have the rating go up.

AO3    TSP    ffnet

Part One

There was a soft brushing sound as the bottom of the heavy hotel door skimmed the top of the carpet, followed by an almost inaudible click as the door's lock engaged.

And then they were alone. For the first time since the whole mess with Davros and the Reality Bomb began.

No, actually for the first time since the Battle of Canary Wharf, where he had lost her. For good, he'd been convinced. Lost to a different universe. Never again to travel with her, never again to have the same ground underneath their feet, never again to stand hand in hand underneath the same skies with the same stars overhead.

Never, he'd believed, to be in the same room again with her, close enough to feel the warmth of her skin, breathe the same air as she, warmed from being within her lungs, within her body only moments earlier…

Thoughts of the warmth of her body, of the last time they had truly been alone flooded his mind, of hot human skin, a burning human mouth, leaving searing kisses trailing down his chest and stomach only to engulf him… Five hundred and twenty-three, and three thousand six hundred and nine to three thousand six hundred and twelve inclusive, he thought absently, as his newly part human body began to react to the memory. No, he told himself firmly. Time and a place. And based on Rose's body language this was clearly neither.

Doctor Who fanfic

Summary: Stuck in a hotel in Bergen on the parallel world, the metacrisis Doctor and Rose Tyler have some things to discuss before they can move forward.

Characters: Tentoo, Rose Tyler

Genres: Angst, romance

Pairings: Tentoo/Rose Tyler

Rating: Teen (rating may go up)

Warning: brief mention of the death of a minor canon character, and extremely minor spoilers for BF audio: Flight into Hull!

a/n: Still not entirely sure how long this is going to be, but I'm now guessing 4 - 5 chapters rather than 2 - 3. Also, I don't usually do warnings, but I'm going to give a warning here for the brief mention and minor description of the death of a minor canon character that some people might find upsetting. If you are worried about it, message me. Finally, one line in this chapter is based on something Billie Piper said at a convention. Kudos and virtual Jammie Dodgers to the first one to spot it!

Part One:  tumblr, AO3, TSP, ffnet

Part Two: AO3, TSP, ffnet

 Part Two

Rose Tyler, former time traveler, current Torchwood agent, and traverser of universes, sometimes called the Valiant Child, Defender of the Earth, and Bad Wolf, was hiding in the bathroom.

Oh, it hadn't started out that way. She hadn't lied about needing a shower. After the last group of stars had disappeared and they'd found the timelines focusing on Donna Noble, there'd been a final push by the joint Torchwood/UNIT taskforce to find the Doctor, realizing that if they didn't find him now, not only would they never find him, they probably wouldn't need to because their whole universe, and by extension each and every one of them, would no longer exist. Everyone, from the Joint Chiefs down to the catering staff, had been on double shifts and subject to recall 24/7. Even her mother had been volunteering as a dinner lady. She'd discovered a hidden talent for it too, not only recalling everyone's name but each and every food and beverage preference, from the way General Stewart took her coffee to the fact that Pete's assistant Todd liked barbecue-flavored crisps and didn't like mayo on his ham sandwiches.

Rose, for her part, had spent the last three weeks—at minimum, since with the dimension cannon, it was almost as difficult to track personal linear time as it was on the TARDIS—working nonstop, taking catnaps in her office and showering when she had the chance in the Torchwood gym's locker room. Emphasis on "when she had the chance". With the insanity of the last few days, she couldn't remember when she'd last had the chance. Maybe the day before yesterday? Maybe the day before that? Whenever it was, it had been a while.

For a moment, when she saw the luxuriously appointed bathroom and its generously sized tub, a pleasant surprise considering the age of the building, she considered a bath rather than a shower. A long soak in a tub would feel so good. But she didn't want to fall asleep, a very real possibility given past history and how exhausted she was. No, she decided, she couldn't risk it, not with the man she'd left in the other room.

She peeled off her damp clothes—leaving them in a heap on the floor—climbed into the tub, and turned on the shower. After turning up the heat on the water three times—showers at the gym always felt a little cold no matter how high she turned it, what with the draft caused by people walking in and out of the locker room all the time, so this was absolutely lovely—she switched the lever to change from the handheld to the rain showerhead. For several long moments she just stood there, allowing the water to chase away the chill caused by getting drenched at the beach. She sighed. It felt like the height of decadence to bathe somewhere where she didn't have random people—often total strangers—walk in on her. And not just the shower. If she had a fiver for every time someone from the scientific branch, man or woman, followed her into the Ladies with a tablet and tried to debrief her while she used the toilet…

But eventually, standing underneath the steaming water, after she'd scrubbed every inch of herself, shaved using the razor from the hotel's complimentary toiletry kit, and washed her hair twice, she realized she was hiding.

From him.

Oh, Lord, what had she done?

When she'd been woken up that morning—or possibly yesterday, was it after midnight yet?—by the science team with the urgent news that they believed they'd located the Doctor, she'd hoped that by now she'd be back in the TARDIS with her Time Lord, or at least back in her home universe. Of course, as with every trip with the dimension cannon, she'd been prepared for the possibility that she'd be accidentally stranded on a different parallel. She'd even been prepared for the possibility that her mission would fail and she'd be dead. But in all the possible scenarios she had envisioned, once the confirmation had come that they'd found him, returning to Pete's World, and permanently, hadn't even been on the radar.

Particularly with someone who both was and wasn't the Doctor.

God, what had she been thinking? The Doctor himself had warned her of gingerbread houses, of parallel people who weren't who they seemed to be. And he'd been right. Pete Tyler, her stepfather, wasn't the same person as Pete Tyler, her real father. As her father had been, this Pete Tyler was a good man, and over the years they had developed a father/daughter relationship, but it hadn't been easy. In marrying her mother, he hadn't been prepared to take on an adult daughter, especially one who was grieving and didn't want to be in his world and made that fact known every chance she got.

Oddly, it was the fact that she was grieving that was the catalyst for improving her relationship with the parallel Pete. After yet another emotional display that culminated with a shouting match between her and her mother, she'd stormed out only to realize she had nowhere to go, no friends to stay with, no Bucknall House roof to hide on. For a lack of anything better to do, she'd spent the afternoon aimlessly wandering the grounds of the Tyler Estate. She'd discovered they were enormous, consisting of formal gardens and vegetable patches, woods and lawn, ponds and fountains, rivaling the size, if not the scope, of Kew Gardens in her own world.

Finally, exhausted as much from her emotional outburst as from her walk, she'd sunk down on a bench overlooking the flower garden. To her surprise, within moments, Pete had joined her. He'd listened silently as she'd railed, yet again, against the unfairness of it all. When she was finally finished, in quiet tones he told her that he understood, that in addition to his first wife, he'd lost his entire extended family and most of his friends to the Cybermen, and that he'd give anything, his company, his riches, even his own life, to have the past few years undone.

Even the dog Rose had been killed, he told her with a rueful chuckle that was entirely without humor, a dog he'd thought he hated. It wasn't until he'd found her broken body in the wreckage of his home, crushed and kicked under a piece of furniture, that the enormity of the losses struck home and he'd finally allowed himself to weep.

As he described holding the tiny animal in his hands, his eyes had glistened with unshed tears, and her own prickled as well. And for the first time she saw him as an individual, a person separate and complete in himself, with hopes and dreams and pains and losses of his own, not just as a parallel of her father. Instinctively she'd reached out and took his hand. He'd blinked in surprise at the gesture. And then, with her father's lopsided grin, he'd suggested dryly that perhaps one of the reasons she was having trouble adjusting to the parallel world was that she was spending too much time with her mother. And she'd laughed, for the first time since she'd been trapped there.

Then, in his lowkey way, he'd asked if she'd be interested in helping out with a small project he was working on with Mickey and Jake.

Small was an understatement. He was trying to rebuild an old organization that had dealt with the odd, the inexplicable, the bizarre. Ghouls. Vampires. Werewolves.

Aliens.

He was rebuilding Torchwood.

It was this Pete Tyler she was thinking of when confronted with two Doctors on the beach at Dårlig Ulv-Stranden: Pete Tyler, the multi-billionaire founder of Vitex; Pete Tyler, the freedom fighter who led the fight against Lumic and the Cybermen; Pete Tyler, the head of the newly-revived Torchwood who held the rank of Captain (strictly honorary, he insisted) in UNIT. How different he was from her own father. Her father had never done any of those things. Perhaps he could have done if he had lived, but the hard truth was he hadn't and no one would ever know one way or another. There was every possibility that he wouldn't have. Because when you came right down to it—regardless whether it was due to nature or experiences—they were different people. Similar, but not the same.

Just as this one-hearted man who wore the Doctor's face was.

Similar—oh, so similar—but not the same.

She'd argued that herself, to the both of them, even as the Doctor insisted that this new Doctor was still him.

But then he'd said what he'd said and she'd kissed him and he'd kissed her back and…

And the TARDIS had left.

Without her.

Taking all her hopes and dreams with it.

At the memory of an empty square pressed deep into the sand where the TARDIS had stood only moments earlier, she sniffed and wiped at her face. If the Doctor didn't want her anymore, he should have just said. She was a big girl. She could have taken it.

As soon as she realized she was hiding, Rose snapped the water off and grabbed one of the fluffy white towels that hung on the warming rack. This wasn't who she was anymore. She wasn't a girl who cried in the shower over a disappointment, no matter how earth-shattering, and she wasn't a woman who hid in the bathroom, avoiding the consequences of her own actions. She'd stood up to presidents and prime ministers, military leaders and royalty. She'd faced off against werewolves, ghosts, zombies, and vampires. The list of aliens she'd dealt with was as long as her arm. She'd even absorbed the Time Vortex and destroyed the Dalek Emperor. She could face one human/Time Lord metacrisis of her former lover.

The butterflies in her stomach didn't agree.

Rose vigorously toweled off, rubbing hair and skin with a vengeance before rehanging the towel and wrapping herself in the smaller of the two hotel robes that hung on the back of the bathroom door. Then she glanced at herself in the mirror. And grimaced. Her hair was a mess. She really needed to do something about it before it dried that way.

She quickly sorted through the remaining toiletry items in the basket on the counter. Soap, more shampoo, lotion, a shower cap... Nope, no brush, and no comb. Oh, well. She hadn't really expected one to be there. She'd been lucky to find the razor.

Looking in the mirror again, she slowly and carefully combed out the knots in her hair with her fingers.

Still hiding, a tiny voice inside her head singsonged.

"Shut up," she said to her reflection, unable to deny the truth of the statement. Her reflection stared back accusingly, reminding her that he was out there waiting for her, and urging her to get a move on.

Giving up on her hair, she turned back to the door.

Well, she'd made her bed, she'd lie in it, Rose told herself firmly as she tightened the belt around her waist. She took a deep breath.

When she opened the door, she was met with a blast of cold air, and the Doctor half-hanging out the window.

"What on earth?" she exclaimed. She rushed to the window and hauled him, head and shoulders, back into the room. "What do you think you're doing? You'll catch your death!"

"Just needed a little air," he said, his teeth chattering.

"So you thought you'd hang out the window in the middle of a rainstorm?"

"Well…" The accompanying shrug turned into a violent shiver that shook his thin frame.

"You're freezing!" She huffed and shook her head. "We've got to get you out of these wet clothes." She started pulling the bottom of his T-shirt out of his trousers.

"Not exactly how I pictured you undressing me,” he told her.

She shot him a look. "Seriously? You been taking chat up lessons from Jack?"

"Why?" he asked curiously. And then added, "Is it working?"

The latter was said in such a hopeful tone that she had to bite the inside of her mouth not to laugh.

"No," she said firmly. She yanked upward, and he cooperated by bending over and holding out his arms. The shirt came off with a squelching sound, and she dropped it in a heap on the floor. "Come on."

"Where are we going?"

"You are going in the shower," she said as she tugged him into the bathroom. He sat down on the toilet and began to untie his shoes. Or tried to. His hands were shaking too much to be successful. She knelt down in front of him.

She sighed. No wonder he couldn't undo his laces. The knots on his Converse were a stuck, sodden mess. With a little effort, and hard-won experience undoing Tony's shoes, they eventually came loose. She pulled off his shoes. When she pulled off his socks, his toes wiggled, as if happy to be free from their confinement.

"Care to join me?" he asked as they stood again. "Looks big enough for two."

"I've already showered, thank you very much. Now, I've done your shirt and your shoes; you can do your own trousers."

"Oh, you're no fun," he said, still shivering.

"You HAVE been taking lessons from Jack."

He unfastened his trousers and dropped them to the floor. Along with his pants. She tried very hard not to stare. "Not exactly. Spent a year imprisoned with him; you pick up a few things."

"Now that's a story I want to here. But later." When he didn't move, she gently shoved his shoulder. "Get in."

"Yes, ma'am." He gave her a mock salute and climbed into the shower. As the water began to flow, he closed his eyes and stepped under the rain showerhead. He dropped his head forward as it poured over him, running in rivulets down a wide, toned chest and flat abs, down a tight arse and long, runner's legs. He groaned. "Oh, that feels so good." Pushing his hair away from his face, he opened one eye and looked at her.

Oh my god, she was staring. And he had caught her.

One eyebrow arched in an oh, so familiar expression. "Sure you don't want to join me?"

Yes, I do. The words came unbidden to the tip of her tongue, and she had to force herself not to say them. Gingerbread houses, she reminded herself silently.

"No, thanks," she said instead. She grabbed both their clothes off the floor and fled the room, pulling the door closed behind her.