-1Author's Note: I definitely meant to post this on Friday. Sorry for the wait! This one can be read on its own, but you should probably read the rest of the series for it to make complete sense. Enjoy!

Time Frame: This takes place soon after the end of 'Satan Pit'. Is the fourth in the 'Incompatible' Series.

Summary: With the life they lead, he knows that one day he could lose her to the danger. But he won't. He can't. So he holds her. He clings to her, burying himself deep within her once again.


The Valiant Child

"The valiant child…"

It won't leave his mind. The words, the cold voice, the booming cadence, the sound of Rose's fear- they're all burned into his ears, ringing over and over again. Taunting him.

His feet pound against the TARDIS floor.

"… who will die in battle so very soon."

He won't let it happen. Time he has no power against, no way to fight it or stop it. But battle, danger he willingly leads them into, that he can control. That he can stop and avoid and eliminate entirely from their lives. He can do it; he can keep her safe.

The wall creaks under the strain of his back slamming against it.

"Doctor, what does it mean?"

She believed it. Trusts her Human beliefs that this thing was truly the devil. Telling her the truth, taunting her with some kind of impending doom.

He stops, suddenly unaware of where he is.

"It lied, Rose."

It didn't lie, he's almost sure of it. Almost sure that it believed itself. But with the life they lead, he knows that one day he could lose her to the danger. But he won't. He can't.

He's standing in front of her door, staring at it as if it holds the answers to the universe.

It's almost like she has been waiting for him, knowing that he'd eventually come to hold her and to soothe her into sleep. But that's not what he needs. He needs to feel her, to prove to himself that she's alive and breathing and burning beneath him.

"The little girl so far from home."

He kicks his trainers off as he walks towards her bed and his jacket falls away from his arms. Buttons pull out of their restraints and he yanks the shirt from his wrists. She's just watching him, her hazel eyes growing dark as he climbs into bed with her.

She tries to hold him to her, tries to caress his cheek and brush the hair from his eyes. She tries to talk but he stops her with a sloppy kiss. It's not unusual for him to kiss her, not surprising to feel his hands pulling at the material of her shirt. So she responds, buries her hands in his hair and thrusts her tongue against his.

"The valiant child…"

She expects it to stop soon. She expects him to pull away and hold her face like he sometimes does when she walks herself into danger. She expects him to drink in her image, to stroke her face in that tender way he does, just skimming along her temple, brushing her mind but not quite slipping into it. She expects him to pull her against his body, to hold her to him, to soothe her to sleep with his steady, rhythmic rubbing of her back as he thinks. Always thinking.

"… who will die in battle so very soon."

But he doesn't. His lips don't leave hers, but push harder, become more forceful and less skilful. His hand tangles in her hair, keeping her close. He's pushing her shirt out of his way, searching for skin and contact. There's frustration in his movements, not because of the lack of contact but something else. He's searching for something.

"It lied, Rose."

He's not thinking about finesse or pleasure when his fingers press against her temples and his mind overwhelms her senses. He needs the contact, the mental contact she still doesn't quite understand, still doesn't realize he needs so badly.

He's hurried and desperate as he pulls off her shirt, sighing in relief when he can finally feel her mind burning in his. It's no where near the erotic experience they first shared, the curious and passionate exploration of bodies, but it's contact.

She tries to push him away, tries to hold him still against her, tries to make him stop and slow down. He's starting to scare her, starting to make her wonder where this sudden passion and fear and need for the physical has come from. There had been plenty of moments over the past weeks when playful had digressed into something sexual, but it never passed that line again.

"Doctor, what does it mean?"

She tries to ask him what's wrong, tries to comfort him verbally, tries to stroke his hair and back to soothe away his anxiety.

He just keeps going, keeps pushing her, keeps holding her to him, keeps driving her body into pleasure. He's everywhere, his body burning against hers, already slick with exertion, as they move against each other.

His fingers are grazing her nipples and his mouth is sucking and biting at her neck and he's burying himself inside her. He's long and hard and she's not quite ready for him. Vaguely he feels guilty but he needs her so badly, the urge impossible to ignore.

"You will die."

The delicate flaps of skin flare against her too soon and she cries out in shock and pleasure and pain, but she's just as scared and desperate as he is now and so she grinds up against him, moaning and panting into his ear, as her hands grip painfully at his hair to keep her grounded to him.

"… so very soon."

It doesn't take long between his body grinding against hers and his mind reaching out to hers and his fingers working against her clit before he brings her over the edge, pulling himself along with her.

"It lied, Rose."

She's almost sure that it didn't lie. She saw the fear in his eyes and heard his voice begging her to believe him. She wants to hold him, to cling to him and tell him that she'll never leave. But with the life they lead, she knows that one day the danger could very well pull them apart forever. She trusts him, trusts him to keep her safe from the danger.

As he looks down at her, exhausted and his body still not sated, she sees the same fear, the same determination in his eyes and knows that they're thinking the same thing, fearing the same thing. He's afraid that he won't be enough, that he can't protect her from everything. So he holds her. He clings to her, burying himself deep within her once again. Touching his mind to hers, calming a part of him that feels eternally empty. He strokes her body, sucks at the throbbing pulse point, and breathes in her scent, trying so hard to assure himself that she's still alive. He flares inside her, grinding and clawing his way towards completion, dragging her over into oblivion with him. And he forgets- just for a moment- that she'll be wrenched from him one day.


'A Mother Knows' is next in this series. I posted it a while ago and decided that it fits well in this series.