Title: When Words Fail (1/1)
Spoilers: New Earth
Prompt: If I just lay here, would you lie with me and just forget the world -- Snow Patrol, Chasing Cars
Author's Note: Prompt and beta by Sinecure
"Come here." The Doctor pats the empty space beside him, feels the cool, dew soaked apple grass beneath his palms.
Rose doesn't hesitate, doesn't pause before crossing the room and sitting on the ground next to him. "I thought you wanted to be alone," she says, and he can see her watching him out of the corner of his eye, waiting for his response, gauging his reaction.
Her voice is even, controlled, but her body language is another story. She's not just worried about what happened and how he feels about it, but what, if any, consequences it'll have on ithem/i.
"Nah." He twists his neck so he can see her more clearly. "I think I've had more than enough of being alone." And he tries so hard, with those nine words, to say so much more.
Whether she understands or not, he's not sure. When she slides onto her back to stare at the ceiling, he thinks she doesn't. When she scoots a few inches closer, until their shoulders are just barely touching, he thinks maybe she does.
He's content to watch her, to just be with her in this companionable silence. For once in this incarnation, he doesn't feel the need to fill the quietness with non-stop jabbering about everything and nothing.
Rose, however, feels differently.
"I..." the single pronoun has barely escaped her lips before she trails off into silence once more. Her face scrunches up, making her nose all cute and bunny-like, as she battles with all the things she wants to say. When the fight's finally over, there's no clear winner. The words come out in a tumble, all tangled up in one another. "It wasn't me. I didn't...not that I wouldn't. But--"
"Rose." He grasps her hand in his, intertwining their fingers together, enjoying the rub of skin on skin...even in this smallest of amounts. "It doesn't matter."
She's so well practiced at this game they play, this parry and thrust of two people not quite brave enough to lunge for the other. It's almost like a dance itself, the way they avoid one another and ignore the big, glaring issues that are staring them in the face.
"Okay." But it's not.
Returning his gaze to the ceiling, he sighs in frustration. "I don't want to..." He doesn't want to think about it. Doesn't want to be reminded of human guinea pigs and their feline caretakers. Doesn't want to remember the fear that they'd turned their experiments on Rose.
But he's not explaining himself very well, and for the first time in this body, his faith in the power of words fails him.
Rising up on his elbow, he leans over her, turning her face towards him with a gentle touch. Her eyes widen on him, confusion filling her gaze as she opens her mouth to question what he's doing, but he dips his head down, capturing her words with his lips.