I could kill him!

I should have killed him!

Bastard! Thinking he could have Rose! Rape Rose, more like it! Damn, fucking royalty. Damn fucking Rushic IV!

Why didn't I kill him!? I should have!

God damn it! She had to wonder off! She had to go dancing! I had to go forgetting about local culture!


I should probably loosen my hold on her hand but I can't. We've got to run faster. They're getting closer. The TARDIS is growing closer.

Shit! Crashed into the damn door.

I need her. I need to feel her. To know that she's really there with me. That I haven't lost her. Again. Forever. Permanently.

I'm pushing her hard against the door now that we're safely inside. I shouldn't be this rough but I can't stop myself. My lips are hard against hers, bruising them I'm sure. My tongue is pushing against hers, lunging deep into her, sucking every molecule of air from her lungs. My hips are crushing into hers, grinding her into the wall. My hands are tangled in her hair and I'm sure that I'm pulling just a little too hard as I angle her face where I want it.

As much as I hate it, there is truly only so long I can go without breathing. Her chest is heaving when I break away from her lips, pressing them against her jaw, trailing down her neck, biting and sucking until I reach that exposed expanse of luscious skin that had been taunting me all night. My hips are still pushing against hers and my hands are now gripping hard at her bum, pulling her even closer and my teeth are scrapping and biting at the nape of her neck, my lips sucking hard.

Too hard.

Her strangled cry snaps me back. She's trembling, her chest heaving in a desperate attempt to fill her lungs and her legs are shaking, only my possessive grip has kept her from collapsing. When I finally bring my eyes to find hers, they're tear-stained, blotchy red with light streaks of black. Her swollen lips are parted in shock and confusion.

"Oh god, Rose." I loosen my grip, wrapping my arms around hers and pulling her to me, cradling her head in the crook of my neck. "I'm so sorry, Rose. I'm sorry."

Sorry doesn't cover it. It really doesn't. God, what was I thinking!? I'm an idiot! See, this is why. Right here. What emotions I can relate to humans aren't good. They're too strong. Too powerful. Too confusing.

Reluctantly, I move away from her, slipping my hand into hers and tugging her along. She's still shaking a little, but she follows, calm enough. I lead her to her room, knowing that she needs the familiar surroundings. She just stands there when I release her hand. She doesn't say anything, just watches as I bring my hands to her shoulders, my fingers lingering over the dark bruise forming on her neck, and help push the cloth off her shoulder. The dark material pools at her feet and dumbly she steps out of it. My hands stray over her shoulders again, running over her arms and around to her back, removing her bra. They trailed down along her sides, hooking my thumbs through the elastic of her knickers, sliding them down as I lower myself to my knees. Her lovely strappy shoes are a pain to get off, but I manage.

She was just watching, mutely. Her hand slips into mine as I offer it to her, leading her slowly to her private bathroom just off to the side. I twist the tap, letting it run for a moment as it warms. She just watches again, still mute and slightly trembling, as I strip quickly, chucking my clothes out into her room. The water is finally warm and I lead her under the spray. She tenses, as if shocked into life.

Finally she seems to notice what is happening. Her arms reach around my neck, pulling her face into my chest. I can't tell if she's crying or if that's just water, but her shoulders are shaking and her legs are trembling again and all I can do is hold her until her shoulders still and her breathing evens out.

I pull back, cupping her cheeks and planting a kiss on her forehead before I reach for the soap, lathering her body, washing away the worry and fear and pain of the day, letting it all drain away with the suds.

She kisses me then, soft, scared, desperate. I know how she feels. Terrified that this isn't real. Fearing that one day this will all end. Because it will and we both know that. But it's much better to pretend that it won't.

It's much easier to pretend, to turn her around and pull her body against me, kissing her shoulder after the water washed away the suds. It's easier to run my fingers over her stomach, over the smooth expanse of pale skin, dipping just low enough to tease the dark curls. It's easier for her to arch back into me, to lean her head back against my chest and for me to rest my chin against her temple.

The water's off. I hardly noticed reaching out to switch off the tab. I grab the pink fluffy towel just outside the curtain because I know it's her favourite. She looks so perfect with tiny beads of water gliding down her soft skin. I almost feel guilty dabbing them off her. She sighs when I get to her hair, squeezing as much water from it as I can. The towel slides from my hands and I pull her hair back out of her face, twisting it up to keep it back. And, for good measure, I kiss her shoulder, letting my hands linger on her arms before reaching for a towel to dry myself off. She's already left by the time I turn around.

She's laying in bed by the time I step outside and I can't help myself. She looks gorgeous. The picture of beauty, lush expanse of still damp skin, hair dark from its dampness and falling over her chest, eyes dark, breasts rising and falling.

"Doctor, come to me."

I wish I could see the expression on my face because it can't just be the soft smile playing on my lips that has softened her features so much.

I kneel on the bed next to her, watching my fingers trail over the ridges of her stomach and up the valley between her breasts. God, I love the feel of her skin. Much warmer against my cool hands. But, I think, I just might love the feel of her silky hair better. I certainly love tucking all the loose strands back behind her ear.

Or maybe it's her eyes that I love the most. She has such beautiful eyes. Brown eyes are so warm, so deep and inviting. And hers are always sparkling with a childish curiosity and boundless enthusiasm. They're not now, though. Still deep, still warm and enticing, but not excited. Scared and hurt and worried- mostly worried. Worried that one day we'll really be separated when not even my genius and sonic screwdriver can break down the barrier.

I need to kiss her, need to feel her alive beneath me, need to feel these thoughts slip away.

Maybe it's her pouty lips that I love the most. So soft and supple, so eager to respond. But neither of us is in a hurry tonight. The kiss is long and languid, tongues gently exploring rather than dominating.

It's very likely that tasting her skin is my favourite thing. Salt mixed with the tangy flavour of hormones and something a bit much more muted. Time- its taste has coated her skin after all her years with me.

Her hands are running along my spine, pressing gently enough to tell me to shift off my knees and lie beside her. My lips are still peppering her face with kisses- her chin, her cheek, her jaw, her temple, her nose, her eyes.

Her sigh. I do love her sigh. The soft gasp of breath that caresses my cheek, the way her eyes become hooded.

I definitely love her neck. Love running my nose along the arch of her neck. Love nuzzling my face into the hair by her ear and breathing in her scent. Love nibbling at the sensitive skin below her ear. Love the way she sighs again and tilts her head away to give me more access. Love kissing her throbbing pulse and the nape of her neck. And I love marking her there, biting just hard enough to bruise. But I've already done that earlier and now I just kiss it softly, apologizing for my roughness.

Oh, but I'm sure there are other things that I like tasting too. The curve of her clavicle. The rough expanse of her sternum. The lush mounds of her breasts. The tantalizing way she moans and arches into me when my lips find her nipples. The wonderful feel of her hands tangling through my hair, massaging my scalp, as she struggles to control her breathing.


My name slipping past her swollen lips- undeniably my favourite. It nearly makes me want to tell her my real name. Almost, but not really. Doctor is much better.

Oh, there are so many reasons why I should just hold her now, until all of the bad memories fade away and all of this is just a distant pain. Why I should take her home at the first chance and forget about her, push the memories of her and the gentle tinge of lust in the back of my mind and move on, as I always do.

So many reasons…

Because we think of relationships and emotions and all that crap so differently.

Because she wants a husband and a life and possibly children and those are all things I can't give her.

Because Humans are young and impressionable and they jump to conclusions and think too rashly.

Because I'm nine hundred and she's nineteen.

Because of the things I've seen and done.

Because of the things she's had to see and do since she met me.

Because she'll die eventually. Or she'll leave, because they always do. One way or another, they always leave.

Because Humans don't have forever.

Because even Time Lords don't have a forever.

And yet, I don't care. Because, despite all of the reasons and all of the rationalizations and everything that's telling me that pressing up against her and kissing her is wrong, I love her. God that's scary. Me, in love? For real in love?

And that's why, as my hands stray along her sides and down to her hips, I open my mind to her, letting her feel me. Everything. The love and the fear and the worry and the laughter. Letting her know that, for as long as I'm holding her, there's a forever.

And that's one damn good reason for getting rid of all those others.


Well, this is it, the final chapter. I hope you enjoyed it! I loved writing this one. Cheers, JD!