Archive of Our Own ^beta

“You really think we can- We can work it out?”

Rose’s voice is quiet, uncertain, and it sends a small, painful pang to the Doctor’s hearts. Yet, it doesn’t sway his hope of being able to find a happy ending for the both of them.

He turns to face her, grabbing onto her hands and holding them tight. He admits, to himself, that he adores the feeling of her hands in his, fully convinced that that’s how things were meant to be, regardless of the nights he’s stayed up entirely considering the notion that in this body of his, they just might be.

“Of course, Rose Tyler,” he says to her, unable to hide the soft, fond adoration in his tone. He fully believes in her, and he believes that they will make it through this.

The Doctor’s words bring that cheeky, tongue-tipped smile to Rose’s face, causing him to beam in response. That’s his favourite smile, right there.

“Together?” she asks, likely intending to be lighthearted, but there’s so much emotion in that one, simple word, that the Doctor can’t help the hitch in his breath as he seriously considers the question. His hands twitch with the urge to hold her closer, yet he stops himself, resigning himself to only squeezing her own hands tighter.

“..Yeah,” he answers truthfully, vulnerable, and soft, and everything he hasn’t let himself fully be with her.

Until now.

“Together, just the two of us.”

Rose relaxes at the words, giving a happy, little, amused huff at the sound of them. She can only smile at the Time Lord in front of her, letting the happiness and hope of the situation wash over her. She still can’t quite believe it; just a moment ago, they were both choked with emotion, being told that they would never see each other again, but now they’ve figured it out . They’ve found a way to stay together, and the very thought makes the blonde’s heart soar. “...Together,” she affirms fondly.

The two bask in each other’s presence for a moment, so so hopeful, that they can’t do much other than smile and stare. The Doctor scans over every detail of Rose’s face–her precious, precious face, that he had let her lose, all that time ago–giving it his full attention and committing it to memory even more than he’s done in the entire time that he’s known her. He can see Rose doing the same, her smile growing as she takes in the look in his eyes, the one that she’s always suspected to mean more than the Doctor has ever let himself say.

The Doctor’s hand twitches at his side once more, desperate to reach out to the girl in front of him, before he grounds himself by squeezing her hand once more.

This time though, Rose notices; she can practically see the longing on the Doctor’s face, and the sight of it causes her to lose every bit of her restraint. A soft, shaky inhale enters her, as she can’t help but unclasp her hands out from those of the Doctor, and cup them around his face instead. Only then does the Doctor hear her exhale, like she needs this as much as he does, as he freezes at the contact. He can’t quite bring himself to move, eyes wide as he stares at her.

Rose’s hands feel warm against the cool skin of his face, and the Doctor just barely stops himself from melting against them. It’s a simple touch, despite being different from what they’ve ever let themselves do in the past, but it feels like so much more with this newfound hope, newfound confirmation, of being together. His expression, impossibly, softens even further, and he finally relents, leaning into her touch, unable to help himself. The corners of his mouth twitch, as if wanting to smile further, but he stops himself at the last second, frozen and just a little bit overwhelmed at her initiation of this kind of contact.

Rose holds onto the Doctor’s face, trying to keep herself from trembling, as the motion of the Doctor’s lips, however small, brings her attention to them and she finds herself unable to properly look away, glancing back and forth between the Doctor and his lips. There’s a sort of tight feeling in her chest, a mix of excitement and nerves and everything, that she struggles to name at the idea of the Doctor allowing her to do this. And the feeling isn’t helped at all by the almost pleading look on his face, whether he’s aware of it or not, as he leans into her hands. If anything, it’s increased the feeling tenfold, encouraged by the sheer affection and adoration she holds for the alien in her hands, the alien who she loves.

She breathes, in, and out, shaky and quiet. She licks her own lips as she gives the Doctor’s lips a, futilely-thought, “final” glance, before staring back into the deep brown eyes of her Doctor. Distantly, she finds herself missing the icy blue eyes of her first Doctor, but upon seeing the way the Doctor glances at the movement of her own lips, the thought is thrown out almost immediately, as she finally lets herself ask, oh, so quietly, unable to keep the quiver out of her voice, “...Can I…?”

She trails off, as she, once more, gets distracted by the pure emotion on the Doctor’s face and the acknowledgement that it’s all directed at her. She purses her lips together, vaguely uncertain that she had pushed too far, before she feels the Doctor swallow, hard, with her hands still on his face. That’s all the reassurance she needs, really.

The Doctor can tell that Rose is trembling as the moment passes between them, unable to help the giddiness that quickens his racing heartbeats at the sound of such hopefulness in her voice, despite the hints of fear. He lets himself nod into her hands, eyes not leaving her own, willing her, begging her, to continue. “... Always, Rose Tyler.”

Rose hears the almost desperate affirmation of those words, and she lets out a shaky exhale at the Doctor. Then, she moves her hands to the collar of the Doctor’s button-up shirt, snug under his pinstriped suit, and starts to, slowly, pull the Doctor close, the hope and the excitement and the anticipation practically overwhelming her heart, yet almost daring the Doctor to protest, to say no, before she’s unable to stop herself from going any further.

Despite her worry at being denied, she, herself, can’t deny the clear affection in the Doctor’s gaze; it only encourages her movements even more, making her feel like her heart is squeezing, about to burst from the stress the situation is putting on it. She, suddenly, realizes that she doesn’t care, if their happy ending messes with things. They’ll work through it, together, like they always have, and the acknowledgement that things can be changed if they try hard enough makes her heart leap into her throat. What she does care about, though, is how close the Doctor is getting to her now, faces just barely touching, how he’s finally giving her a chance at something that she’d never let herself dream he would before.

As she pulls him closer to him, the Doctor finds himself unable to resist Rose’s silent coaxing even if he tried. His breathing grows heavier the closer the distance between them gets, and he lets his eyes close, as he brings both his hands up to Rose’s wrist to pull the both of them ever closer. He melts into her touch, revitalized at the feeling of her arm in his hands, breath hitching, as he forces himself not to say anything, ever terrified of breaking this carefully crafted moment between them.

Rose’s heart stutters at the feeling of the Doctor’s hands on the pulse point of her wrist, causing her eyes to momentarily flutter closed at the intimate motion. Blinking them open, she moves her free hand from the Doctor’s collar up to his face, gently cupping his jaw once more. She wants to move further, so so badly, but there’s a little voice in the back of her mind, screaming in fear of the newness of this situation, freezing her in her motions, unable to do anything but lean her forehead against the Doctor’s.

At the contact, the Doctor’s eyes snap open, staring into the blonde girl’s eyes. There are wisps of hair threatening to fall into his line of sight, but all he can focus on is her . Her freckles, her smile lines, the small speckles of green in her otherwise dark, chocolate coloured eyes. He takes in everything he can about her, his full attention on everything new that he can memorize at such a proximity. 

Rose is almost startled by the suddenness of the Doctor opening his eyes, looking right at her, but what startles her even more is how he’s looking at her. She doubts she’s ever seen him so vulnerable, staring at her open-mouthed like this. The sight ties her chest into such a knot, she swears she stops breathing for a moment. As she stares right back, not a single thought filters through her head until she realizes–

Those are the Doctor’s lips on hers.

And she brought him there.

The realization spurs her into motion, sliding her free hand from the Doctor’s cheek to the back of his head, where she tangles her fingers through his ever-messy locks, her eyes fluttering closed at the feeling. She feels one of the Doctor’s hands let go of her wrist, wrapping around her waist instead, pulling her closer, and the sensation of the Doctor’s hand on her lower back only makes her pull on his hair even tighter.

The Doctor, meanwhile, having recovered from the instinctive fear he’s let himself drown in whenever considering how he feels about her, is completely relishing the taste of Rose on his lips, something so distinctly her, that he can’t help but push himself closer to her, chasing after it, despite having it right in front of him.

He’s tasted her before, he knows, both in his last incarnation and on their trip to New Earth, but never has the Doctor been able to experience the joy of Rose Tyler kissing him first. She tastes the same, but also so entirely different, now that he knows this is truly her, and it’s this body kissing her.

The memory of Cassandra stealing his first ever kiss with Rose in this body, uncaring of how she could’ve completely hurt the girl, makes his lips turn up in a silent snarl, momentary aggravation twisting his stomach into knots. He deepens the kiss with her, tongue peeking out of his mouth to taste her further, hints of salted chips and tea forever committed to his memory. He guides Rose’s hand that he’s still holding, tighter than ever, to cup around his jaw again, pushing them impossibly closer.

Rose lets herself be completely guided, completely taken, by the Doctor, caught off guard by the sudden intensity from him, but welcoming it all the same. This is her Doctor, she knows, the experience ringing distant alarm bells in her mind that tell her she’s done this before; in a dream, maybe. Or, a forgotten memory, even. Though she doubts she could ever let herself forget something as impactful as the sensation of the Doctor’s lips on hers, much preferring the real thing over whatever her brain seems convinced of experiencing beforehand.

She completely welcomes him, encourages him, resting her forehead against him as they kiss, breathing into him and finally stealing back the air that he’s taken out of her lungs since that very first day she met him.

The Doctor notes this slight change, the clarity of Rose completely giving herself up to him, and it awakens a raging hunger in his stomach, needing to devour the woman in his arms, like he’s Erysichthon, forever cursed to be hungry for her taste, now that he’s gotten even the slightest hint of it, now that she’s actively letting him have it. He finally lets go of her wrist, heart soaring when he feels her cup his face all the more gently without his hand to guide her, and moves his other arm to wrap around her waist, meeting the first that’s still doing the same. He holds her closer, holds her tighter—so tight, even, he momentarily feels the brush of his fingertips against his own ribs, entirely enclosing her in his arms, claiming her as his, because he is Rose Tyler’s, and he is utterly devoted to her.

Suddenly, every feeling of the Doctor against her—his arms around her waist, his hearts beating, racing, against her chest, his lips, oh, his lips— is so overwhelming, such a pressure weighing down on her shoulders and her knees, filling up her chest and her head with cotton, that she finally pulls away from him, gasping, needing to breathe in the Doctor.

It takes the Doctor a moment to process Rose’s movement, chasing after the salty taste of her lips, not quite wanting to break contact with her. He still holds her close, yet realizes she needs a moment to just be with him, and he opens his eyes, wide-eyed and full of wonder, just taking in the sight of her, and her ruffled hair, and her flushed cheeks, and her droopy eyelids, and her ruddy lips, all because of him .

He did this to her.

The mere thought makes the Doctor’s knees go wobbly, but he continues to hold onto his precious girl, his precious pink-and-yellow human, so entirely overtaken by his love for her and the love he knows–has long known, really–she feels for him in return.

He knows he’s staring at her–unable to help the way his eyes continuously drift to her lips, memorizing every curve, every crack, every shift in hue; memorizing her, over and over and over again–but he can’t quite bring himself to care.

Rose follows the Doctor’s gaze and she knows ; she can’t help the quirk of her lips at the sight of him, moving her arms to hang around the back of his neck, desperately wanting to lean against him once more, but not yet wanting to lose this moment of eye contact, warring with herself to stay put.

The only sound that fills the TARDIS are the heavy breathing of the pair, even the TARDIS remaining as silent as possible to give them their moment.

Slowly, Rose brings her hand, the same as before, to the Doctor’s face, tracing over its lines and curves and every feature of it she can see. The Doctor, in turn, practically sighs into her touch, knees finally giving out on him as his head lolls onto her shoulder, and, oh –

Rose’s arms move with him as he falls onto her, cradling both his head and upper back in one movement, holding him close to her as his face burrows into her shoulder, as her ear rests upon his chest, listening intently to his frantic heartbeats, and he breathes something that’s distinctly Rose in from her shoulder. He pants against the skin of her neck, leaning into her touch, drowning in the feelings of hope and affection and love in his chest that threaten to stop both his hearts right where he stands. He can’t help but cling onto her, and he revels in the way that she clings onto him right back.

They stand there, wordless, just taking the other in, not daring to ever let each other go; they stand so close, it’s as if they’re only one entity, having melted into each other in their intimacy. They are a pair as much as they are one; one cannot exist without the other.

The Doctor’s voice is heavy, yet laced with soft fondness, as he speaks, “...Rose.”

It’s not a question, not a start of a statement; it’s simply a declaration of her name, an acknowledgement of the being in front of him, the being that he dares to cling onto and hold, as if he has any right to her.

However impossibly, Rose continues to cling onto him just as tightly in turn, even more so at the sound of her name on the Doctor’s lips, especially like this, breathing him in as much as he is breathing her in, whispering, “My Doctor..”

He shifts them around this time, sliding his hands around Rose’s arms, up her chest, finally landing on her face, brushing loose strands of hair around her ear, as he guides her to look back at him again. His expression is no less softer than before; stars that he’s seen in the centuries of his lifetime hold no comparison to the sparkle in his eyes as he smiles, oh so slightly, at the woman in his arms.

He runs a hand through her hair, causing her to shiver at the contact, to which his lips quirk up into a smug grin at the sight of. Rose smiles at him, then, expression softening, and she squeezes him just a bit tighter, responding to his motions without any words.

Rose speaks this time, voice no louder than a whisper, yet with a hint of laughter, forever soft, like honey, “Hello.”

The amusement in the blonde girl’s voice only makes the Doctor beam even further, so proud of her, so lucky to have her in his arms.

“Hello, Rose Tyler,” he starts, voice choked with emotion, as he knows that if he doesn’t say this now, he might not ever .

“I love you.”

Rose’s grin brightens, outshining his own, as well as every star he feels he’s ever encountered in the galaxy. Her smile shines with the light of a thousand supernovas, explosions of color and light and life, just through one, simple act.

This is his Rose, creator of life, like she herself had said all that time ago. Yet even without the power of the Vortex swimming behind her eyes, he knows that this human girl in front of him, one who grew up with her mother on their own, one who loves chips and tea, one who’s so brilliant, was the one that gave him life, upon their first meeting.

“I love you, too,” she responds in kind.

Those four words mean everything to the Doctor; it’s as if nothing else leading up to this moment has mattered. What does matter, who does matter, is Rose, and how a brilliant thing like her is helping him voice aloud what they’ve both known for a while, yet they both soar at the sensation of actually, finally, hearing it.

The Doctor cards his hands through Rose’s hair again, and she leans her forehead against his in response, silently repeating over and over what neither of them have the strength to say further, right now.

I love you, I’m here for you, you mean everything to me, I love you, I love you, I love you.

He lets himself lean into her as well, pushing their foreheads against each other, brushing their nose’s against the other, grasping at each other in every way they can, just wanting to exist with the other right there with them.

They’re trembling in each other’s arms, desperate to get closer, yet also soothed by the other’s presence.

I’m here, says the forehead rest.

I trust you, says the tightening hold.

I love you, says the brushing of lips.

And there’s one thing they can both agree on, however silently.

Throughout everything, I am yours, and we will be okay.