Beautiful 1/1
Story: Beautiful
Author: wmr
Characters: Tenth Doctor, Rose
Spoilers: Up until The Idiot's Lantern, spoiler for The Stone Rose.
Summary: I mean, snow, it’s all wet and melty and boring. It doesn’t do anything. It just lies there and turns to slush.
With many thanks to
un_sedentary for sacrificing time from her statistics project to BR this for me. For
dark_aegis, who asked for happy after yesterday's depressing fic.
Beautiful
“Where d’you wanna go next?”
“What? I get a choice?” She curls her tongue around her teeth and grins at him.
“Well... seeing as the last couple of times I tried to take us somewhere fun I got it spectacularly wrong, maybe the TARDIS is trying to tell me something.” Like don’t try to take Rose to any more concerts, he’s already concluded, and he suppresses a shudder yet again. He raises his eyebrows. “Maybe she wants you to choose.”
Rose pats the console. “Girl after my own heart, she is.” She bends and lays her head against the control panel, eyes closed.
“Oi! Stop trying to seduce my ship!”
Her eyes shoot open. “I hope you’re kidding. Cause that...” She straightens and shudders a little. “That’s just... Ewww. Though Jack’d probably love it,” she adds with a faint roll of her eyes.
And then she’s bolt upright, eyes wide. “He didn’t ever, did he?”
“He better not have!” The Doctor shudders too. “If he did, he can forget all about that rescue,” he mutters darkly.
“Oh! Can we do that next, then?” Rose asks. “Since it’s my choice an’ all.”
“Not yet, we can’t. Soon, though.”
Rescuing Jack’s going to be a bit hard on the TARDIS, and she’s still healing from crashing through to the parallel universe. Just another couple of days, though, he thinks, and she’ll be fit enough for the journey back to Satellite Five, through the waves of Vortex energy created by Rose as she destroyed the Daleks, saved him and brought Jack back to life.
He didn’t even know Jack was alive until a day or two after their return from the other universe, when Rose finally confessed that she’d been having nightmares about the satellite for weeks. She let him look inside her mind, and he saw it all. Had to tell her, then, about everything that happened on Satellite Five, all she’d done. Swallowing the Vortex, killing the Daleks - even the Emperor - resurrecting Jack... and his death to save her.
She took it better than he expected. Tears, of course, and worry that he was angry with her for having had to die to save the stupid ape human - that was easily resolved with hugs and reassurances. And then back to sensible, thinking Rose again, wondering anxiously whether she’d caused a paradox by making a dead man live.
She was a step ahead of him on that one. But a quick examination of the timelines through the TARDIS assured him that all was well. And they set off to pick Jack up from the satellite, intending to go about five seconds after the TARDIS left - only they weren’t able to make it. Too much Vortex energy coursing around, and he couldn’t put his ship through navigating that. Not then.
Soon, though. Once his ship is well enough, they’ll reclaim their friend. It’s at the top of his agenda, as well as Rose’s.
Though if Jack ever really has...
He grins ruefully. There are some things he just doesn’t want to know.
“So,” he says, smiling at Rose again, “got any other destination in mind?”
She considers for a moment. “Somewhere there’s snow. Lots of snow.”
“Snow?” He stares at her. “What on earth for? Snow’s just frozen water. Nothing unusual or fascinating about that. I mean, why choose snow when you could have purple and yellow clouds? Or green waterfalls with crystals of obsidian mist in the air above them? Or fields full of flowers of all the colours in the universe? Or... well, anything, really. Anything you can’t find on boring old Earth.”
“Next time,” she says, and wags a finger at him. “I’ll remind you ‘bout that waterfall. Right now, I want snow.”
“But what for?” He widens his eyes as he looks at her. “I mean, snow, it’s all wet and melty and boring. It doesn’t do anything. It just lies there and turns to slush.”
“It’s snow!” she protests. “We hardly ever get snow in England. An’ when we do it’s only ever an inch or so an’ it disappears before you know it. I want to see some real snow, like in that film we watched the other night.”
Oh, right. That soppy romantic thing she forced him to sit through. The one where the hero and heroine went off hand in hand through the snow at the end... though, actually, that sounds bearable enough. For a minute or two, at least. Then it’d get boring without something exciting happening to liven things up. Still, he did say...
“You want snow, Rose, snow you shall get,” he promises her, flicking switches and cranking the pump. She’s going to love this.
***
She hurries back from the wardrobe, hearing the sounds of dematerialisation as she nears the console room. He sent her to get changed, telling her that it’ll be well below freezing outside and she’ll need warm underwear, layers and a thermal coat, boots, hat and gloves. Scarf, too.
All bundled up and looking like the Michelin Man, she joins him - and he’s still just wearing his brown suit. “You not going to be cold?”
“Got my coat,” he points out, reaching out for his full-length trench-coat as they walk to the doors. She holds it for him; it’s the normal routine they’ve developed.
“No gloves or hat or anythin’, though.”
“My body temperature’s colder than yours,” he reminds her. “I’ll be fine.”
He pushes the door open, and she gasps. Everywhere’s white. Pristine and beautiful, the fresh snow sparkles in the sunlight.
It’s cold; she can feel it already, the crisp, chill atmosphere all around. Not damp, like it would be in England when it’s icy or snowy. Even as the freezing air hits her face when she leans forward, it’s exhilarating rather than cold.
They’re in a field, by the look of it. Somewhere off in the distance, there are people, but this corner is empty. Just them and clean snow, with not a single footstep in sight. She stops the Doctor from exiting. “No way. This one’s mine.”
One step, and her feet sink lightly into soft snow. It’s like walking on a really thick carpet, and yet it isn’t. It’s not like walking in water, either; it’s not wet, as such, and her feet don’t sink to the ground. The snow’s powdery; she kicks her feet as she walks, watching the flakes fly up and back down again, just like dust.
And she runs, then, just to see what difference it makes that her feet are sinking inches deep into the powdery snow that crunches a little under her. It’s not so pristine now. There’s a trail of footsteps behind her, perfect imprints of the fake-fur-lined boots the TARDIS found for her. Still white even where she’s walked; the snow’s deep enough that she’s not hitting the grass - or concrete - underneath.
She hears a sound behind her, and turns. The Doctor’s leaning against the closed door of the TARDIS, hands in his pockets, chuckling softly. “What’s so funny?” she wants to know.
“Nothing!” he protests. At her raised eyebrow, he says, “You. You’re like a little kid! I’m seeing six, seven...”
“Git!” On impulse, she bends, grabbing a double-fistful of snow in her gloved hands. A speedy bit of moulding and it’s an imperfectly-shaped ball. It’ll do. One overarm swing and the snowball’s heading straight for the Doctor’s head. She always had a good aim.
“Oi!” he yelps, ducking just a little too late. Snow adorns his hair and one shoulder of his coat. “Right. You asked for it.”
She breaks into a run, but he’s right behind her, a barrage of snowballs flying through the air towards her. Some miss, but a few of them hit her back and one gets her right in the back of the head.
“Okay. That does it!” She stops, drops to the ground and grabs some snow, this time not worrying about forming it into a proper ball-like shape. A feint, to throw the Doctor off-guard, and then she fires, this time getting him on the chin.
“You... you...” he protests, seeming unable to decide how to react. And then he’s down on his haunches, seizing handfuls of snow to throw at her.
They’re battling for a couple of minutes, mostly missing but scoring the occasional hit, before she decides to change tactics. While he’s focusing on getting his next missile ready, she jumps to her feet and runs at him. Before he can react, she’s stuffing a handful of snow down the back of his neck.
“Aaah!” he yells, jerking away from her.
“What was that you said ‘bout not feelin’ the cold, Doctor?” She grins at him.
“Right, you asked for it!” One long arm shoots out, catching hold of her leg before she can run away. He pulls sharply, and she falls backwards, landing on her arse, the rest of her following. Before she can get up again, he’s launched himself at her, pinning her down with one hand on her shoulder, the other hand with a fistful of snow he shoves in her face.
And then it’s war; she shoves at him, making him fall backwards, and rolls over so that she’s the one pinning him down with her body, using her free hand to scoop up snow and throw it at him. He’s shouting and laughing and pushing back at her, until the two of them are rolling over and grappling at each other like kids.
Until they stop suddenly, gazes caught, his expression arrested, her breath somehow stuck in her throat. White mist appears and vanishes between them, the cold turning their breath to vapour as they stay perfectly still, silent, just staring at each other.
And she’s so aware of him, of the fact that his body is on top of hers, pressing into hers. And sorry that she’s got so many layers on that she can’t feel him properly.
“Doc - ” she begins, without even knowing what she’s going to say.
“Shush.” He frees one hand and lays a cold finger against her lips. After a moment, he replaces it with his lips.
It’s not their first kiss. He kissed her, all joy and exuberance, when she rescued him after he’d been turned to stone. There was the Cassandra-kiss, too, but she doesn’t count that. It wasn’t her, and he was taken by surprise. He didn’t kiss back.
This is different. This is deliberate. It’s slow and gentle and affectionate, just a tiny bit more than chaste - and over before she can do more than return the pressure just a little bit.
And then he’s up, off her and on his feet, holding out his hand to her. “Come on! The day’s wasting away and there’s lots to see yet!”
***
He grabs her hand and tugs her after him, heading off across the snow at a run. She’s chilled from rolling around on the ground, so this will warm her up again. He’s got plans, and he doesn’t want her getting so cold that he has to take her back to the TARDIS.
Besides, if they keep active neither of them will have time to... wonder about what just happened. And why it happened.
“So, where are we, then, Doctor?” Rose shouts as they run.
He looks around at her and smiles. That’s Rose, picking up cues from his behaviour as usual. Shouldn’t have worried that she might want to dwell on his little lapse. “Gatineau. Québec. Canada,” he adds as she’s still looking blank. “Just across the river, in that direction - ” He waves his free hand. “ - is Ottawa. That’s in Ontario, by the way. Capital of Canada, too, though almost everyone on the rest of this planet seems to think the capital’s Toronto. Can’t think why they’d get that confused. Can you?”
“Um, no. Silly, right? Who wouldn’t know it’s... what you said.” The redness that creeps over her cheeks can’t be mistaken just for cold. He grins. She’s beautiful when she blushes.
Okay, she’s beautiful all the time. Even with her face covered in green alien slime. No, wait, maybe that’s pushing it a bit.
Still, though, compared to what happened to her on their last trip, even the alien slime... Well, that’s why he did it, really. Kissed her. The sight of her face, her complete, unerased face, laughing up at him...
Humans. So fragile. Too fragile; too easily lost for ever.
“Anyway,” he continues, forcefully pushing thoughts of faceless people - faceless Rose - from his head, “we’ve come just in time for Winterlude. Winter festival. Snow-sculptures, ice-sculptures, sledding, sleigh rides, Inuit culture exhibitions, ice-skating on the longest outdoor skating rink in the world - that’s the Rideau Canal, almost eight kilometres of ice, by the way. That meet Rose Tyler’s demand for lots of snow? And I hope you appreciate that I brought you to 2005, not 2007 - the winter in 2007’s far too mild. You lot and your global warming...”
But she’s not listening as he begins to rant. Her wide smile and excited eyes tell him that he chose perfectly, though. He subsides, smiling.
The competition snow-sculptures are first: thirteen entries, one from each province or territory. They’re enormous, towering designs representing something meaningful to each region, Manitoba’s a bear clinging to a tree, Nunavut’s an Inuit sitting by a frozen river with a fishing-pole, Alberta’s a mountain-climber taking a break to gaze at the scenery. They wander around hand in hand for half an hour, gazing in awe, deciding which they prefer and disagreeing with the judges’ rankings.
Then it’s on to the rest of the snow-carvings, cartoon figures, a maze and a replica of an igloo they can walk inside, the Inuit exhibits and several gigantic snow-slides that Rose just has to try out. She’s laughing but shivering a little by the time she’s back on her feet.
“Come on.” He grabs her hand again. “I know just what you need.”
Ten minutes later, they’re sitting on a bench sipping hot chocolate and sharing a bear claw, a warm almond-filled pastry in the shape of a claw, covered in maple syrup. “You actually had money!” she teases, grinning at him. “Not even any mucking about with an ATM this time.”
“I do have some cash on hand,” he points out. “But have you any idea how many different currencies there are in the universe? And how many times countries and planets change their currency? Then they have to go and print dates on the coins and credits - can you imagine what’d happen if we were in London in 2007 and I used a pound coin with 2010 on it? Carrying money isn’t as simple as you might think, Ms Know-it-all Tyler.” He nudges her with his shoulder.
“But you had money this time.”
“Cause I’m clever. Last time I was in Canada was some time in 2004. Had some cash left over - I just got it while you were getting dressed.”
“Show-off.” She bumps his shoulder in return.
“Time Lord! And some respect would be appreciated here!” He pinches the last bit of bear-claw from her gloved hand, eating it before she can stop him.
“Got no manners, you.” She shakes her head at him.
He ignores her. “Time to go! Don’t you want to go ice-skating?”
***
Across the river, there’s even more going on, and crowds of people dressed for the cold just as she is. The Doctor should stick out like a sore thumb - no hat, no gloves, no snow-boots, not even a winter coat - but, as always, nobody seems to notice. One of these days, he’s going to tell her how he does it.
He’s talking away at a million miles an hour, as always, as they walk, telling her the history of this city, of the Parliament building up on the hill, wars between the French and English settlers and the British and Americans. How Ottawa came to be the capital of Canada. The building of the Chateau Laurier hotel and famous people who’ve stayed there - and she knows he’s got to be lying about Nelson Mandela, even though he swears he’s not.
He always does this, any time they’re somewhere new. It’s just as well she’s never going to be taking an exam on any of this stuff, because there’s no way she can separate fact from the stuff he makes up.
The ice-sculptures aren’t as dramatic as the snow ones, but they’re still beautiful, and getting to watch some of the sculptors at work is a real treat, even if seeing them stroke the ice with their bare hands makes her shiver. She could stand and watch them all day, except after a few minutes standing still she’s feeling cold again.
“Come on. Soon get you warmed up again,” the Doctor says, again tugging her away, his bare hand wrapped around her gloved one. She’d wonder how he knows she’s feeling cold again, but she’s noticed that he seems to be spending far more time watching her than what they’ve come to see. Every time she looks at him, he’s gazing at her. She has no idea why, and on top of that kiss earlier it’s just a little disconcerting.
Getting her warmed up this time involves ice-skating, something she’s not done since she was a kid. And then it was on a smooth indoor rink, not an outdoor canal. But the Doctor brushes away her hesitation. “You’ll be fine. Course you will. And you’ll love it!”
He doesn’t say it, but she knows he won’t let her fall. And so they go to rent skates and, five minutes later, they step out onto the ice together.
And almost immediately her foot slides out from under her. “Aah!”
“Whoops!” He’s laughing, but holding her hand tightly, reaching to grip her waist with his other hand. “Maybe not so fine after all.”
“Thanks!” She grips him hard, working to regain her balance.
“Let’s try this another way.” He loops his arm around her waist. “Hold onto me. You just concentrate on your feet - let me worry about keeping you upright.”
“Yeah, an’ who’s keeping you upright?”
But it works, and within minutes they’re skating together down the canal. They might not look like the most graceful couple, but she doesn’t care. She’s skating with the Doctor and having fun. And loving it.
He insists they get off the ice after about half an hour, though. When she protests, he won’t be persuaded. “I’m not gonna have you complaining you can’t move tomorrow. Can’t have a companion who can’t run when we need to leg it, can I? Useless, you’d be, completely useless. Useless as a one-legged dog -”
“Oh, shut up.” Stifling a grin, she shoves at his shoulder, making him waver in his path across the ice. And so, in the end, despite her inexperience on skates, he’s the one who ends up flat on his arse.
“Not fair,” he grumbles, and keeps grumbling even after they’ve returned their skates and are walking back through the ice-sculpture field, the sculptures now lit up as it’s turned dusk. “You pushed me!”
“Aw, poor baby.” She grins up at him. “I’ll make it up to you later, promise.”
“I’ll hold you to that!” He wags a finger at her. But it’s all forgotten then as a street vendor close to the bridge catches his eye. “Cranberry apple cider!” he exclaims, and drags her over. “Haven’t had this in years! You’ve got to try it!”
It is good, she agrees a few minutes later as they sit on a cold bench by the bridge sipping the cider - non-alcoholic, she’s discovered; the word doesn’t mean the same in North America as in Britain - and nibbling warm cinnamon sticks. It’s been a fantastic afternoon. A lot of fun, and for once no evil aliens or monsters to defeat. Oh, she’d be bored if they never fell into adventures, but every once in a while it’s nice not to run into trouble. Nice just to enjoy each other’s company and see new places.
He’s looking at her again, she notices as she licks sugar off her fingers; she’s had to take her gloves off to eat the cinnamon sticks. “What you doin’ that for?” she has to ask.
“Doing what?” He looks so boyishly innocent, so confused.
“You’re looking at me. You’ve hardly stopped all the time we’ve been here.”
“Oh.” And he looks away, out across the river.
“Doctor.” She reaches for his hand, and his fingers close around hers. “What’s wrong?” Because the way he’s avoiding her face, and the distant expression on his, tells her that there is something up.
He turns back, and his dark eyes study her again, his expression sober. “I’m looking at you because...” His free hand comes up and he traces the line of her eyebrows with two fingers, then draws an invisible circle around her eyes. “Do you have any idea how beautiful this is?”
She wonders if she’s blushing, and she’s about to cover the warm feeling that runs through her by asking if he means ‘for a human’, when the precise words he used dawn on her.
The Doctor never uses words carelessly. How beautiful this is, he said, not how beautiful you are.
“What?” she asks, and realises her voice is a little shaky.
His fingers are still tracing her face: over her nose, around her cheekbones, back to her lips, outlining them slowly before drawing an invisible line along the seam. Without conscious thought, her lips part, and his finger rests on her lower lip. He doesn’t move it.
“This. Your face. Eyes, nose, cheeks, mouth, everything that makes up a individual person’s face. Each one’s different, you know. Narrow eyes, wide eyes, slanty eyes, round eyes; long noses, cute petite noses, noses that’ve been broken, noses with bumps in them - and then mouths! Frowning, smiling, talking, laughing - they’re all different, faces are, and they’re all beautiful. Just beautiful. And we take them for granted, but when they’re not there any more... oh, it’s terrifying, Rose. Just terrifying. It’s horrific.”
Despite the pace of his words - still tumbling over themselves in a desperate hurry to come out - his voice is soft, so soft. And the penny drops.
The Wire. The faceless people. Her without a face.
He saw her without a face. She doesn’t remember it - she just has vague recollections of calling his name, begging him to come and rescue her - but he let slip some time later during the coronation celebrations that he’d seen her. And the look that crossed his face then told her something of what it’d done to him.
“I’m sorry you had to see me like that, Doctor.” The words emerge a little oddly because of his finger against her lip, but she knows he understands. She tightens her fingers around his other hand.
“For a while, I thought I’d never get you back. Not properly.” His eyes are still just a little haunted.
“Knew you would. You saved me, an’ everyone else, too.” His fingers leave her lips, and he presses his palm against her cheek. “You always save me.”
He smiles, and it’s almost his usual smile. “You always save me, too.”
Releasing her hand, he cups her face in both hands. “I mean it. Beautiful.”
Without another word, he leans in and presses his lips to hers again, the kiss telling her everything that he can’t - or won’t - put into words. By the time he pulls back, her lips are tingling.
Without a word, he wraps his arms around her and holds her against his chest. His grip is so tight she almost can’t breathe, but it doesn’t matter. She hugs him right back. “ ‘M not going anywhere, Doctor. ‘M right here.”
***
It’s dark as they reach the TARDIS, his arm around her shoulders, hers around his waist. They’re laughing again; something she said made him decide to teach her the Canadian national anthem, and they made a spectacle of themselves singing O Canada out of tune through the streets of Gatineau.
“Could be worse,” he told her in between verses, when she nudged him to draw attention to the people staring at them. “We could be butchering it in French. This side of the river... ooh, we could end up in jail.”
“So what’s new?” she quipped, and he had to protest, even as he was laughing.
“I do not get us thrown in jail everywhere we go!”
“Nah, just every second or third place.”
She’s still laughing at their adventures, and that’s a relief. It’s good. Oh, sure, maybe some people think they take it all a little too lightly, and maybe they’re right - but as soon as Rose stops finding it fun it’ll be time to take her home for good. He thought that time might’ve come just yesterday - and that he might have been bringing Jackie back a daughter she wouldn’t even recognise.
He didn’t intend to tell Rose what seeing her without a face did to him. But maybe she has the right to know. And it’s not as if he doesn’t know she’d feel exactly the same if their positions were reversed.
He didn’t intend to kiss her, either, even though he’s wanted to. But maybe it’s right that she know that, as well - that he does want to. They’re already best mates. So now they’re best mates who sometimes kiss. That’s okay. Better than okay.
He smiles down at her as he turns the key in the lock, and her smile’s dazzling in return.
Yeah. Much better than okay.
***
He’s barely let go of her hand, even now they’re back inside the TARDIS. Now, they’re at the controls, and the familiar joy’s on his face as they dematerialise. He loves his ship; more, she knows, than anything in the universe. Anyone. But it’s only right, of course. The TARDIS has been with him for centuries. It’s all he has left of his home.
She is his home.
Oh, even despite the kisses they’ve shared today and any they might share in the future, and the way he’s let her into his emotions more than he ever has before, she’s not naïve enough to think that she could ever replace the TARDIS in his hearts. Or hold a greater share of his love than everyone he’s travelled with before her. But she has a section of his hearts that’s all hers. She knows that, just as she knows he’ll probably never tell her that.
But he doesn’t need to. She knows.
“Rose!” His excited shout draws her attention, and she looks to where he’s pointing at the screen.
“What’s that?” All that’s visible is those funny shapes that she knows are his home planet’s language.
“She’s ready. The TARDIS is ready!”
“Ready?” Her heart leaps as she hopes she’s coming to the right conclusion.
He turns to her, an ear-splitting grin on his face. “We can go and get Jack off Satellite Five!”
She flings her arms around him. He hugs her back, lifting her feet off the floor and swinging her around. And she can’t wait to get to Jack, to get another crushing hug from him. It’s going to be brilliant, the three of them together again.
A grin steals across her face as a thought occurs to her. “What?” the Doctor demands, putting her down again.
“Oh, nothing.” She smirks. “Just thinkin’.”
He raises an eyebrow. “So tell me.”
Laughter spills from her. “Just wonderin’ if he’s gonna snog you again.”
“He snogged you too!” the Doctor points out, almost indignant.
She gives him a slow smile. “Yeah, he did.”
A calculating look crosses his face. “He’s a playboy. He’ll snog anyone.”
“I know. Snogged you, didn’t he?”
He releases her and wags a finger at her. “If he snogs you when we pick him up, you’ve got to snog me to make up for it.”
“Oh?” She grins, curving her tongue around her cheek. “An’ does the same go for you?”
He winks at her. “If you want.”
She reaches up towards him. “Better get some practice in, then, hadn’t I?”
Fifteen minutes later, Jack’s been introduced to the new Doctor, the TARDIS crew is three again and she’s claimed another two kisses from the Doctor. Best of all, the Doctor’s anguish earlier about what happened to her is completely gone in his delight at having their friend back safe and sound.
Makes sense, too. Jack’s another friend he thought he’d lost. Someone else whose death he thought he was responsible for. Sometimes, just sometimes, the universe gives him a break. She just wishes it’d happen more often.
Jack’s at the console with the two of them, looking around him at the control room, the Time Rotor and each of them in turn. “Y’know,” he says softly, with a smile that tells her how much he never expected to be here again, “I’ve never seen anything more beautiful in my life.”
The Doctor takes his hands from the controls and wraps an arm around each of them. “Yeah.” He looks from Jack to her, smiling. “Me neither.”
END
Ottawa’s Winterlude