#fatelesschildart

Created for the @doctorroseficmarathon

Prompt: One bed - Find on AO3

Goodnight, Sleep Tight

Rose and the Doctor share a single bed for the night, and it’s not quite as romantic as Rose imagined.

~ ΘΣ ~

Extract:

'Rose,' he whispered.

'What now?' she moaned.

'This isn't comfortable.'

'Then find somethin' you like,' she told him.

'Ah … ugh,' he said, violently readjusting until he ended up taking up about two-thirds of the space in a kind of starfish shape with one long leg hanging over the side. 'Okay, there we go.'

Now partially squashed into the wall, Rose was no longer comfortable. 'Doctor, you're takin' up most of the bed …'

He didn't reply. She looked at him and immediately realised that, inexplicably, he was suddenly deeply asleep, as though someone had just switched him off at the mains.

'Doctor?' she tried.

Nothing.

'Bloody hell, that's weird,' Rose muttered but decided to make the best out of things by rolling over a little bit, trying to get some semblance of comfort while simultaneously being crushed into the wall. She eventually managed to twist into a painless position and decided that however uncomfortable this was, she should just try to enjoy it.

She closed her eyes, and still feeling the thrumming of his hearts, she drifted off …

What felt like half a second later, she woke up, startled by something she couldn't figure out for a few moments before she realised the Doctor was twitching and had inadvertently kicked her. In fact, his legs seemed to be constantly moving under the cover, so she lifted it up to see he appeared to be running in his sleep like a very long-legged dog with no destination.

'Oh my god,' she breathed.

'Nurgh, nurgh!' he emitted.

'Shuuush,' she tried. 'Shuuush.'

'Marg nurgh.'

'Rock-a-bye-Time Lord on the treetop …' she whispered in a singsong tone.

Whether by sheer coincidence or her genuine dulcet tones, he thankfully stopped moving and shut up, and the room sank back into blissful silence.

For what felt like the twentieth time, she closed her eyes, sinking into a comfortable sleep, and …

'Qe'yashi'chera-o ici'vivi-n…' he drawled.

She groaned loudly. Now he was sleeptalking in gallifreyan.

'N-lorumo'didilio'heesh'klopa'remira,' he muttered next.

She deliberately coughed loudly to try and shake him out of it.

Created for the @doctorroseficmarathon

Prompt: Hurt/comfort -  Find on AO3

The Bitter Pill

A Gallifreyan biological curiosity causes a severe medical emergency for the Doctor, leaving Rose to pick up the pieces.

~ ΘΣ ~

Extract:

Her gut instinct told her to just stab the needle in at a right angle, so she did, piercing the fabric of his trousers and causing the needle to disappear inside him. She pressed down the plunger, slowly and nervously, expecting any second for him to react somehow. He didn't. Once all the liquid was gone, she just held it there for a few moments, with no idea what to do next. Quite a few seconds passed before she pulled it out and moved to his swollen face, cupping his chin.

'Doctor, Doctor, can you hear me?' she asked, her voice shaking. 'Please, Doctor.'

He didn't react. She checked his pulse - she had no idea what it was supposed to be, but it seemed to be going at the same pace as hers, which for a two-hearted man didn't seem right. 'Doctor … please.'

He suddenly gasped.

'Oh, thank god,' she breathed, stroking back his hair impulsively. 'Wow, you really got me goin' there. Hi.'

He vaguely looked at her and opened his mouth, but only really on one side. 'Arrr,' he said in a drawl.

She frowned. 'Doctor?'

'Nuur,' he croaked.

'What?'

'Nah … nuh,' he managed.

This wasn't fatigue, she realised. The Doctor couldn't seem to talk. The swelling was rapidly going down, and she could see one side of his face was drooped, and the other only had slight twinges around his mouth and eye. Once again, she'd seen this before. Just before he died, Granddad Prentice had been like this in the hospital when she'd been nine years old. And that had been because ...

'You've had a stroke,' she realised. 'Oh god, I took so long that you've had a stroke.'

'Mmm nnn,' he said.

She swore, horrified. 'No …'

He stopped talking, clearly giving up. He was a little more focused now, his working eye fixed on her but completely unable to communicate. She stared at him, trying not to cry. He'd had a stroke. A stroke. This was beyond anything she knew. She'd watched plenty of Casualty with her mum, but this was an entirely different level. So much so …

'I dunno what to do,' she realised, gazing at him in sheer dread. 'What the hell do I do?'

It's late but created for the @doctorroseficmarathon , last knockings

Prompt: Ghosts - Find on AO3  

Her Last Goodbye

After nearly three centuries of travelling with the Doctor, Rose Tyler dies. But she’s not quite done looking after him yet.

~ ΘΣ ~

Rose Tyler had been 297 years, 8 months and 3 days old when she died. 

Quite how she'd lasted that long had been a subject of many conversations between them throughout the three centuries, but they'd never really found an answer. He'd claimed vortex, and she'd claimed tenacity. It had been somewhere in the middle and stubbornly unsolved.

It had been so long since the Doctor had met her - that 19-year-old girl in Henrik's with that sweeping blonde hair, sparkling eyes, and a lust for adventure he'd fallen so deeply in love with. That girl who had steadily grown through the ensuing centuries, from the mascara and peroxide through her middle-age natural beauty to the first wrinkles in her beautiful smile. Her vibrant blonde hair had faded to grey, and that youthful spark in her eyes had dulled a little, but her lust for adventure always remained, even to the day she died.

Her death had been peaceful - the Doctor had made sure of it. He'd taken care of everything she needed in her final days, ensuring she wasn't in pain and was as comfortable as possible. It had been her heart in the end; having been pumping for nearly three centuries, it was finally broken in a way the Doctor couldn't heal. She'd spent her last few days in their bed, sleeping peacefully. He'd stayed by her, holding her hand and talking to her as she slept, even as her breath stilted and she stopped responding.

They'd both known this was inevitable and were comfortable enough to talk about this moment in the years before. They'd planned her funeral together. Even in the shadow of the inescapable finality of her death, she'd been laughing about it, picking out the 90's songs she'd like to be played at her funeral. 

The funeral had been beautiful, and he'd played those songs precisely as she'd requested. He buried her next to Jackie on Earth in Whitby Cemetery, as they'd both requested, with a modest headstone and some fresh flowers from Kew Gardens. The kids, grandkids and great-grandkids had all arrived from across the universe; the dynasty they'd created together.

The unique family sang some songs, reminisced about the old days, and then it was over. The Doctor was on his own as he stepped back into the TARDIS, empty for the first time in nearly 300 years. As he walked in, he whipped off his coat and threw it over the support strut as he had done for so long, only now the echo of his footsteps seemed louder than ever. Three hundred years of Rose constantly making comments in his ear alongside the kids, all making noise and mess and screaming and crying, bringing noise and life into the TARDIS like never before. Now, there was only silence. 

He was alone again.

Created for the @doctorroseficmarathon

Prompt: Dreams - Find on AO3  

He May Surely Have Bad Dreams

Have you ever had a nightmare you couldn't wake up from?

~ ΘΣ ~

Extract:

He was dreaming, the Doctor realised. And judging by what he'd seen so far, he didn't particularly want to stay in it. 

'Wake up,' he told himself, closing his eyes to concentrate. Nothing happened. 'Wake up,' he repeated more firmly, but still, nothing happened. He opened his eyes again, still faced by that morgue door that he swore suddenly had more blood on it than before.

There was, again, no choice. Wincing at the inevitability of what was about to happen, the Doctor rested his hand on the handle and pushed the morgue door open.

It was dark beyond, but he knew instinctively he was outside. Suddenly he could hear something - music, he realised. It was faint to begin with but slowly and steadily raised in volume until he could make out a creepy rendition of some carousel music. Then a myriad of lights burst into life, blinding him temporarily until he realised he was standing in an abandoned fairground at night. The rides were going round and round with nobody on them, despite the fact he could hear the sounds of laughter and children playing.

There was only one person there, and the Doctor knew him immediately. The Master, dressed in ripped and dirty circus ringmaster clothes and holding a cane. He smiled at the sight of the Doctor, his make-up cracking around his cheeks.

'Oh my Doctor, there you are, come to spin the wheel? I've lots of prizes for you to win; I promise it's a thrill!'

The Doctor stared at him, apprehensive, before he looked up at the giant fairground wheel behind the Master. Every segment had an image on it, none of which the Doctor could seem to decipher into any kind of narrative.

Okay, this wasn't just a dream, he realised - it was a nightmare.

He stepped forward to the Master. 'I'm not spinning your wheel,' the Doctor told him. 'Let me wake up.'

The Master pulled a mock frown, shaking his head. 'Such a stubborn boy you are, your head filled with no. Why don't you just give in and take part in the show?'

'I told you, I'm not spinning your wheel,' the Doctor told him. 'And stop rhyming.'

'Doctor, Doctor, it's so sad - you think you have a choice. But as since the day we met, you'll listen to my voice …'

'What? I …' Unexpectedly, the Doctor found his hands moving to clasp a ridge on the wheel, their movement entirely out of his control.

'People, people, gather round; the Doctor's going to play!' the Master boomed out to the non-existent crowd. 'I wonder what he'll win, my friends? I wonder what he'll pay?'

'Stop, stop this!' the Doctor demanded, but now it was as though his fingertips were glued to the wheel, and he couldn't get them off. 'Master!'

The Master turned to him, his expression now morphed into a horrific grin. 'Cutesie Doctor filled with rage when he should be forlorn. Can't he see he's spun this wheel since the day that he was born?'

'Master, please. Please let me wake up.'

Quick sketches #4

TenxRose Bedtime (Headcanon x)

Created for the @doctorroseficmarathon

Prompt: Telepathic communication -  Find on AO3

Tell Me What I’m Thinking

Over the course of two months, Rose tries to get the Doctor to teach her how to use telepathy.

~ ΘΣ ~

Extract:

He clambered out of the shower and just about managed to rub his hair with a towel before she burst into the bathroom, excited.

'Rose!' he yelped, startled and completely naked. 'What are you …'

'Stay still!' she said, running to him, ripping away his towel and casting it aside before pressing her forehead directly to his. 'This has gotta improve the odds, yeah?'

'Odds of what?'

'Telepathy!' she told him.

'Oh, right,' he said and rolled his eyes but stayed, still dripping wet and now with her practically glued to his forehead. 'Okay, tell me what I'm thinking.'

She closed her eyes, readjusting her position slightly to get more comfortable as she tried again. After a few moments, she still couldn't hear anything, so she pressed a little firmer with her forehead and reached up to press her fingers into his soaking temples with quite some vigour, thinking it could help.

'Ow,' he moaned feebly under the pressure she was putting on his skull.

'Sorry,' she said and let go. 'God, I'm still gettin' nothin'. Are you actually thinkin' anythin'?'

Created for the @doctorroseficmarathon

Prompt: Alternate meetings - Find on AO3

The Man in the Leather Jacket

After five years of working listlessly in Henrik's, a very strange customer walks in looking for a new outfit and changes Rose Tyler's life forever.

~ ΘΣ ~

Extract:

He paused for a few seconds, those brown eyes refocusing and fixed on her.

'What?' she asked.

'I think you're underestimating yourself.'

She sniggered. 'Yeah, my Duty Manager says stuff like that.'

'No, wait,' he said, frowning as he stared into her eyes. 'Not underestimating, just … underwhelmed.'

She gazed at him. Those deep brown eyes were so fixed on her - so honest.

'Bored of it all,' he continued, 'the daily cycle, just going round and round like a one-way train track that always stops at the same stations at the same times where the same people get on and off every single day. And you could change trains if you wanted, but what would be the point? These other trains go round and round their own circular tracks, filled with destinations you already know you don't want to see. If only there was a different one - like a flying train - but they don't exist, do they? So you continue to go round and round the same track, again and again, staring out the window wishing that one day you'll see one fly.'

Something about his words made her want to cry. 'You don't even know me,' she muttered, confused.

'No, but I know you're a good person.'

'How?'

'Because half an hour ago, I died, and you were the first person I saw who looked normal.'

'What?'

'Straight after I wake up, nothing's right,' he said, leaning forward a little. 'Everything changes and everything hurts. All my thoughts and feelings change, but the memories stay the same. So I'm talking, moving, and thinking, but … it's not me. My thoughts aren't mine. I've never thought about these things before. Are they correct? Or actually, are they evil? Am I a bad person now? These arms, legs, fingers, and feet are all the wrong shape and size, and walking isn't so simple anymore. Then suddenly I want a tuna sandwich when I used to hate it, and opera is boring when it used to be my release. I get lost. I get lost in the chaos.'

She stared at him, mesmerised.

'And I can still feel how I died, and it still feels real because my brain hasn't caught up yet, so it feels like I'm walking around with a giant bullet hole in my chest, and everyone's staring at me. And these people don't look right. Everyone floats around like ghosts. I can't see their timelines correctly yet, so they just look like giant warped noodles with faces that are constantly changing. They all wobble around me, laughing and crying and dying and being born simultaneously and … I'm scared. I'm so scared. Then, there was you. You were the first person who didn't scare me.'

She continued to stare at him. 'I … don't know what to say.'

'Neither do I until it comes out of my mouth,' he answered. 'Gets me into trouble.'

She swallowed. 'Who the hell are you?' she croaked.

Fic illustration #10 - “Oblivion 2”

Playing entry 9/99.

JACK: Hey, you've dressed yourself.

DOCTOR: Had to happen at some point.

Jack smirked, panning the Time Lord up and down with Leah's camera. He was out of his usual attire, now dressed in lightweight armour matching regal-looking red and gold. He had a long jacket with black trousers and boots, and gold metal plates on his arms and chest that were etched with various marks and symbols. The whole thing looked extremely glorious, while simultaneously making the Doctor seem more alien than ever before.

'That's some serious tailoring,' Jack complemented, but immediately sensed the Doctor's mood had dulled slightly. He knew him far too well these days. 'What's wrong?'

The Doctor sighed a little. 'Just remembering the last time I wore this.'

'Time War?' Jack guessed.

The Doctor just nodded.