New fic: Blood on his Hands 1/1
Yes, I know I'm writing After the Parting, but shovelling snow put this one in my mind and the muse wouldn't rest until I wrote it down, for what it's worth. :P
Story: Blood on his Hands
Author: WMR
Rated: M
Characters: Nine/Rose
Summary: Blood on his hands. Hers. Gallifrey’s. Everyone’s. Death is everywhere, and he is at its centre.
Blood on his Hands
“No.”
“But, Doctor...”
“I said no.”
She thinks he’s being unfair. He knows it as he catches her hand and tugs her behind him into the TARDIS. Adam can look after himself. He doesn’t need a free trip in the TARDIS to get out of Van Statten’s stronghold.
And he doesn’t want Adam around.
Rose should understand that. Adam left her down there. Oh, he’s the one who sealed the vault, but Adam left her.
Besides, he can’t share her. Not now. Not when he almost killed her.
Not when she’s the only one who understands.
Oh, Rose. They’re all dead.
He pushes the door shut. Goes to the console and starts the engines. Ignores her accusing, disapproving look. Closes his eyes for a moment, and realises that was a mistake.
Behind his eyes, Gallifrey burns.
The smoke, the flames, the flying rocks, the molten core of a dying planet.
Blood on his hands.
In his head, the Time Lords scream.
Their voices, loud and frightened and accusing.
Murderer!
Their blood on his hands.
Before his gaze, Rose dies.
Locked in with a Dalek. Terrified but brave. Waiting for him to save her. He, who has become her executioner. He watches unmoving as the beam strikes her. Her scream echoes in his head. She slumps to the floor.
Her blood on his hands.
And he’s shaking.
His eyes open and he stares at her. Standing there. Watching him. Alive.
“Rose...”
“Doctor, you shouldn’t’ve - ”
“I thought you were dead. I thought I killed you.”
And then she’s running, running to his side, throwing her arms around him. Holding him, as he held her after the Dalek imploded. He envelops her in his arms, needing to bury himself in her embrace. Forget his guilt in her arms.
Alive. But not because of him.
He is the killer. The Destroyer of Worlds. The executioner.
In his last life, he sacrificed Gallifrey.
Today, he sacrificed her.
She’s alive, but not because of his actions. Because a Dalek knew the value of blackmail. Understood that he has vulnerabilities. That his weakness is a nineteen-year-old human. He would have sacrificed a million people to save Rose Tyler.
He sacrificed Rose Tyler to kill a Dalek.
Doctor, what are you turning into?
He was already a killer. Already had blood on his hands.
Today, they were almost covered with her blood, too.
Her fragile human heart beats against his chest. She’s alive.
Breathing. Blood flowing through her veins. Pulse beating. He’s aware of it all as he holds her. Alive. And so nearly not.
He heard the sound of the extermination blast. Imagined her body jerking in its death-throes. Felt every part of her pain. Saw her slump lifeless to the ground. Blamed himself for her death.
Again, the killer.
Is my daughter safe? Will she always be safe? Can you promise me that?
Safe, this time, only by the manipulations of a Dalek.
Alive.
I killed her once. I can’t do it again.
So fragile, so human. Life-span as short as a gnat’s in comparison to his. Why must he always be drawn to these stupid apes?
“Rose.” Her name a plea, a cry, an admission, a confession.
Blood on his hands. Hers. Gallifrey’s. Everyone’s.
Death is everywhere, and he is at its centre.
For now, she is alive. One day, she will die. But now she lives, she breathes, her heart beats against his chest, her feminine curves pressed to his hard masculine lines.
Time falters.
His breathing slows.
All his awareness focuses on the living.
His mouth finds hers.
Not intended, but inevitable. Her lips part beneath his. He invades, uncaring about finesse or technique. All that matters is her body in his arms, her mouth under his, alive.
Brutal, savage, the kiss continues. Desperation feeds him. She’s alive. And her responses are no less savage. Her hands rip at his jumper, freeing it from his trousers. His hands pull at her T-shirt, tearing it in his urgency.
Death chases him.
He devours her as her T-shirt falls to the ground. She bites his tongue as his jumper joins it. He turns her and slams her against the console as she pulls at the zip of his fly. His teeth tear at her bra as his hands impatiently tug her jeans down.
Death surrounds him.
Lust, red and hot and pulsing, almost drives everything else out. But not entirely.
Her nails rake down his back.
Gallifrey burns.
His teeth graze her throat.
The Time Lords scream.
She nips at his chest.
Flames, smoke, dust everywhere.
His hands push roughly at her thighs.
His planet, reduced to dust.
Her fingers dig into his buttocks.
Rose hit by a Dalek ray.
He finds her, wet and hot and ready. Claims her in one single, brutal thrust.
Rose, lying dead on the ground.
Her teeth are at his throat as he fucks her, hot and hard and fast. Hears her moan, pushing back against him. Hears her cry out his name as her body jerks against his. Cries out hers as his own body shudders.
Death finds him, le petit mort this time. One day it will be more than that.
Ecstasy has a name. Rose.
It has another name, too. Guilt.
He and the Dalek have more in common than he thought. They both used her. But he knows the Dalek is better than he is. The Dalek was honest about it.
Blood on his hands.
He killed her.
He killed them all.
She is lying against him now, her heart pounding, her head on his shoulder. The smile on her face accuses him.
Death bares its teeth and smiles. For one day it will claim her again.
She is safe, but only for now.
She is alive.
But nothing endures for ever. Everything dies.
Even Time.
And, as she takes his hand and tugs him towards her bedroom, he doesn’t tell her that this, too, will die. And that it will probably be him who kills it.
Always, blood on his hands.
END
Story: Blood on his Hands
Author: WMR
Rated: M
Characters: Nine/Rose
Summary: Blood on his hands. Hers. Gallifrey’s. Everyone’s. Death is everywhere, and he is at its centre.
Blood on his Hands
“No.”
“But, Doctor...”
“I said no.”
She thinks he’s being unfair. He knows it as he catches her hand and tugs her behind him into the TARDIS. Adam can look after himself. He doesn’t need a free trip in the TARDIS to get out of Van Statten’s stronghold.
And he doesn’t want Adam around.
Rose should understand that. Adam left her down there. Oh, he’s the one who sealed the vault, but Adam left her.
Besides, he can’t share her. Not now. Not when he almost killed her.
Not when she’s the only one who understands.
Oh, Rose. They’re all dead.
He pushes the door shut. Goes to the console and starts the engines. Ignores her accusing, disapproving look. Closes his eyes for a moment, and realises that was a mistake.
Behind his eyes, Gallifrey burns.
The smoke, the flames, the flying rocks, the molten core of a dying planet.
Blood on his hands.
In his head, the Time Lords scream.
Their voices, loud and frightened and accusing.
Murderer!
Their blood on his hands.
Before his gaze, Rose dies.
Locked in with a Dalek. Terrified but brave. Waiting for him to save her. He, who has become her executioner. He watches unmoving as the beam strikes her. Her scream echoes in his head. She slumps to the floor.
Her blood on his hands.
And he’s shaking.
His eyes open and he stares at her. Standing there. Watching him. Alive.
“Rose...”
“Doctor, you shouldn’t’ve - ”
“I thought you were dead. I thought I killed you.”
And then she’s running, running to his side, throwing her arms around him. Holding him, as he held her after the Dalek imploded. He envelops her in his arms, needing to bury himself in her embrace. Forget his guilt in her arms.
Alive. But not because of him.
He is the killer. The Destroyer of Worlds. The executioner.
In his last life, he sacrificed Gallifrey.
Today, he sacrificed her.
She’s alive, but not because of his actions. Because a Dalek knew the value of blackmail. Understood that he has vulnerabilities. That his weakness is a nineteen-year-old human. He would have sacrificed a million people to save Rose Tyler.
He sacrificed Rose Tyler to kill a Dalek.
Doctor, what are you turning into?
He was already a killer. Already had blood on his hands.
Today, they were almost covered with her blood, too.
Her fragile human heart beats against his chest. She’s alive.
Breathing. Blood flowing through her veins. Pulse beating. He’s aware of it all as he holds her. Alive. And so nearly not.
He heard the sound of the extermination blast. Imagined her body jerking in its death-throes. Felt every part of her pain. Saw her slump lifeless to the ground. Blamed himself for her death.
Again, the killer.
Is my daughter safe? Will she always be safe? Can you promise me that?
Safe, this time, only by the manipulations of a Dalek.
Alive.
I killed her once. I can’t do it again.
So fragile, so human. Life-span as short as a gnat’s in comparison to his. Why must he always be drawn to these stupid apes?
“Rose.” Her name a plea, a cry, an admission, a confession.
Blood on his hands. Hers. Gallifrey’s. Everyone’s.
Death is everywhere, and he is at its centre.
For now, she is alive. One day, she will die. But now she lives, she breathes, her heart beats against his chest, her feminine curves pressed to his hard masculine lines.
Time falters.
His breathing slows.
All his awareness focuses on the living.
His mouth finds hers.
Not intended, but inevitable. Her lips part beneath his. He invades, uncaring about finesse or technique. All that matters is her body in his arms, her mouth under his, alive.
Brutal, savage, the kiss continues. Desperation feeds him. She’s alive. And her responses are no less savage. Her hands rip at his jumper, freeing it from his trousers. His hands pull at her T-shirt, tearing it in his urgency.
Death chases him.
He devours her as her T-shirt falls to the ground. She bites his tongue as his jumper joins it. He turns her and slams her against the console as she pulls at the zip of his fly. His teeth tear at her bra as his hands impatiently tug her jeans down.
Death surrounds him.
Lust, red and hot and pulsing, almost drives everything else out. But not entirely.
Her nails rake down his back.
Gallifrey burns.
His teeth graze her throat.
The Time Lords scream.
She nips at his chest.
Flames, smoke, dust everywhere.
His hands push roughly at her thighs.
His planet, reduced to dust.
Her fingers dig into his buttocks.
Rose hit by a Dalek ray.
He finds her, wet and hot and ready. Claims her in one single, brutal thrust.
Rose, lying dead on the ground.
Her teeth are at his throat as he fucks her, hot and hard and fast. Hears her moan, pushing back against him. Hears her cry out his name as her body jerks against his. Cries out hers as his own body shudders.
Death finds him, le petit mort this time. One day it will be more than that.
Ecstasy has a name. Rose.
It has another name, too. Guilt.
He and the Dalek have more in common than he thought. They both used her. But he knows the Dalek is better than he is. The Dalek was honest about it.
Blood on his hands.
He killed her.
He killed them all.
She is lying against him now, her heart pounding, her head on his shoulder. The smile on her face accuses him.
Death bares its teeth and smiles. For one day it will claim her again.
She is safe, but only for now.
She is alive.
But nothing endures for ever. Everything dies.
Even Time.
And, as she takes his hand and tugs him towards her bedroom, he doesn’t tell her that this, too, will die. And that it will probably be him who kills it.
Always, blood on his hands.
END