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rabid1stDISHEVELED
By Rabid1st
Ten/Rose
Rating: R
Beta Babes: Jei, Aibhinn & Kammi
Spoilers: The Satan Pit - S2
Summary: What's the deal with Barcelona? The planet, not the city? Besides the whole noseless dog thing, I mean? Rose is about to find out.
Disclaimer: I don’t own these characters. If I did…the show would be censored by…everyone but you smutty few. I humbly thank Russell T. Davies for creating the sweetest, most-loving, most-genuinely iconic couple in the history of the world for me to play with.
LINKS for all previous parts…can be found HERE
Author's Note: Remember how I promised you smut...uhm...sorry about that but the Doctor has stuck his foot in it a bit. I'll get him out of this though...not to worry.
PART FIFTEEN
“So, where are we going?” Rose asked, once they were underway.
Bracing the heels of her palms on the lip of the console, she leaned forward, taking her weight onto elbow-locked arms. The guilelessly seductive pose combined with her proximity distracted the Doctor from his piloting duties. Mouth slightly agape he darted what he intended to be a swift glance in her general direction and found himself transfixed. Her hair, still fluffed by his roaming fingers, formed an amber-hued frame around her face. The TARDIS seemed determined to suffuse her skin with golden light. In the pulsing ambience of the time rotor, Rose glowed almost as brightly as she had when embodying the Vortex.
If she was amber, he was the hapless fly she’d captured. He had no idea how she'd managed to enchant him like this but he no longer fought it. Tilting his head, he lowered his chin slightly to stare down into her adoring eyes. She had a way of looking at him as if he could do no wrong. Consequentially, he tried very hard to do right. Her shoulder bumped warmly against his. She loved him. It was painfully obvious. He inhaled sharply against the pain, drawing and holding the breath as raw emotion sent a hot arrow zinging through his chest. The ethereal pang hampered his ability to think clearly but he managed to croak out an off-hand answer to her question.
“Barcelona,” he announced, tossing his head like a horse on a tight rein. His eyes flashed, showing too much white as he tried to hold firm against love’s gravitational pull.
He needn’t have struggled. The love-light died in Rose's eyes as soon as he gave his answer. She groaned, theatrically, and cast her gaze heavenward. Her face fell into disappointed lines. “Oh, not again,” she exclaimed, propelling away from the console and him. Whirling about, she slumped over to their two-person chair and began softly bashing her forehead against the seat back.
“I know what you're thinking,” he said in a breathless rush, “But it'll be different this time, I promise.”
Rose paused in her head banging and pillowed her forehead on her folded arms. After a moment, she cut her gaze sideways to study him. “That's what you said the last time. You remember last time, right? I ended up in prison.”
“Prison?” the Doctor objected, his voice rising in pitch as his countenance turned stormy. He couldn't believe she’d used the term. His nose wrinkled and his upper lip sneered. “That wasn't prison. Someday,” he went on, nodding authoritatively, “Someday, I'll tell you about prison. You were in a very nice city jail. And only overnight. They served you breakfast.”
“Stale bread, a runny blue egg and lumpy cocoa. How romantic.”
“It was an adventure,” he said, wounded. “We made new friends. And I thought bailing you out was very romantic.”
“You sang a song,” Rose purred, delighted with him despite her sense of foreboding. “Under my cell window.”
“One I wrote especially for you,” he murmured, leaning toward her before recalling himself and going on with his chiding, “I could have performed something by Gwen Stefani and no one the wiser. But I composed an original melody,” turning quite pious he finished, “as required by law.”
Rose flashed him the tip of her tongue at the corner of her smile. “And you even brought your own musician.”
“Tyrndyn’s One-man Band. I found him in pub. Interesting custom that…singing for your freedom…” he rubbed a hand along the back of his neck. “First time I'd ever run across it. I’ve heard of singing for your supper before but…” he shook his head, “Well…no matter…the point is, I sang. Therefore. Ergo. It was romantic.”
“Are those the rules?”
“I believe they are,” he said. Then, he sniffed and focused on the controls before him as if they had suddenly become quite fascinating.
“It was lovely,” Rose assured him, passing her words through a gaping grin and giving ‘lovely’ a few extra syllables as she let it melt in her mouth.
He glanced up, shyly returning her smile, but not in kind. His lips remained anchored down at the corners but his eyes sparkled merrily. Fixated on the notion of kissing him, Rose skipped closer. He nudged her shoulder with his, happy she'd given up on sulking. “You know I'd had the melody in my head for ages, really.” He hummed a bit of it. “Ever since the regeneration, I think. I woke up to it. Catchy tune. And I was rather please with that line about following my star.”
“You wished today was just like every other day,” she reminded him. “Because 'today’s the best day, everything you ever dreamed’ Honestly? With me in prison? Rather insensitive that.”
“I was speaking figuratively,” the Doctor cried, bristling with indignation. He tried to glare at her but his restless gaze dipped under hers and skittered away. “Days...in general...with you...I meant.” He bobbed his head repeatedly. “Whenever we're together.” Finding no flaw in this explanation, he darted another glance at her. “Best kind of days, don't you see?”
“If you say so.”
“That's settled then, is it?” He winked and Rose lowered her lashes, as a giddy lightheadedness swept over her. Slightly flushed, she rocked from foot to foot, toying with a stand of her hair, while he bustled about, flipping switches and pressing buttons. He paused to consult their flight log. “Tell you what,” he remarked with studied casualness. “We'll aim for another century this time. One where you haven't a criminal record.”
“Good of you. But how 'bout instead…just this once, I mean…we go to Spain?”
“Spain?” he said, making it sound as offensive as sour milk. “No, I don't like Spain. Spain is...provincial? Ordinary?" He pointed a finger at the tip of her nose. "Boring?”
“Through all of history?” Rose said, doubtfully. “There's never been a good year for Spain?”
She had him there. He scratched behind his ear, wanting to be fair. “Well, maybe every now and again they have a good year. But not like Barcelona. Why see the city when there's a planet?” he insisted. "Barcelona has..."
“Nose-less puppies,” Rose said. “I know. I know. You don't like to be crossed do you? But did you ever think...there must be a reason why we never get there? Karma or something?”
“Don't believe in karma,” he said. “Not generally...as a rule...except...possibly...for the fellow that invented advertising jingles.”
“Every time we head for Barcelona disaster strikes.” She ticked the catastrophes off on her fingertips. “First, you regenerated. Then, you miscalculated the time streams by about a gazillion years so we arrived in the middle of an ice age.”
“It was a glitch, a hiccup...my calculations were dead on....must have hit a wormhole or something. But it was hardly a wasted trip. The panoramic vistas? The calving glaciers? Great herds of migrating Troklopods,” he said in an awed tone. “Extinct for eons. You can’t see that sort of thing on the regular tour.”
“I was wearing a bikini,” Rose countered. “I got eighth degree frostbite.”
“Which I fixed. A dab of Dermagel and all better.”
“And a cold.”
“You already had a cold. I told you the Troklopods didn’t give you a cold. They didn’t even have noses.” Taking note of Rose’s steely glare, he ducked his chin and mumbled, “Not that it's relevant how you came to have a cold. Couldn’t be good for your shivering like that.”
“Well, you did give me your overcoat,” she said, the memory of his gallantry mollifying her. “Once you knew we'd be staying for a bit.”
“Granted, dropping our lone TARDIS key into a snowdrift probably not my finest moment. But my fingers were a bit numb. Shame you didn't have your key.”
“Bikini,” Rose said, pointedly.
“Right. Yes. Poor planning. This time we will check the weather before nipping out into it.”
“Weren’t we heading for Barcelona when we got called home by Mickey and ended up taking him on board?”
He circled back to her side, his brow wrinkling pensively. “Ah...point taken…yes, that certainly was a disaster.”
“Shut up,” she snorted, lightly slapping his chest with the back of her hand.
“So we’ve had a few…a very few…minor…inconveniences.”
“A few? What about prison? All that muddle with the space pirates? We finally arrive on Barcelona only to have the police show up five minutes after we land and toss me in jail.”
“Had the worst time convincing the authorities you weren’t a pirate. And you look nothing like a pirate. You don’t even have a peg leg...or an eye patch,” he mused, “or a parrot. I fancied getting a parrot once. Thought I might teach it to swear in Kaled. Or recite the entire what'sit...” he snapped his fingers, and then pointed one at her, “Writ of Rassilon. In a squawky, parroty voice...can you imagine? Shame I didn't think of that when I was President.” Twisting a lever, he paused for breath and casually peered across at her, taking in her air of disappointment. “But...if you'd rather not go… I suppose we could go somewhere else...Spain...even. 2138's not a bad year.”
Rose tipped her head so her hair spilled to one side in a shower of blond strands. Looking around the rotor at him, she knew he yearned to share this new world with her. She’d asked him before what was so special about Barcelona and he’d always replied, ‘You’ll see.’ So far, she hadn't. But in the grand scheme of things, it wasn't so very bad having frostbite or being in jail overnight. Not when he'd sing her free and heal her wounds.
He flipped a few switches in a lackluster manner and her heart melted. “Awww, you really want to go, don't you?”
“Oh, no,” he said, with childish insincerity as he toyed with a sort of cosmic eggbeater on the console. “I'm sure Spain is...nice...sunny and...such.”
It took her all of six seconds to fold under the force of his moping. “But Barcelona is probably loads more romantic?”
A burgeoning smile sent the clouds in his eyes scudding away as he stretched far across the console to squeeze her hand and confide, “Barcelona is honestly, truly, remarkably romantic,” he told her, and then, noticing her right eyebrow lifting, added, “most of the time.” He started bounding about as he went on, “Brilliant night-life. The sunsets. The moonrises. Intimate island communities. Stunning beaches. Magnificent waves. Magnificent views. Rocky pillars rising from the sea. Sun. Sand. Refreshing breezes. Beachfront bars. Steamy motel rooms.”
“Well, then we should definitely give it one more go. What's the worst that could happen?”
He slammed to a halt before her. “Oh, I wish you hadn't said that,” he said, grimacing. “Still, no...I don't believe in karma. Or bad luck or any of that superstitious rot. I promise you, this time no disasters. You won't be sorry.”
Suddenly galvanized, he darted away, nipping around the console to program the landing sequence. Almost as an after thought, he dashed back to quickly kiss her. Then, he bolted for a knob, turning it in the very nick of time. The whole ship shuddered. Rose seized the edge of the console and held on as they banked steeply left. The rotor burbled, shivering as it rose and fell.
“I was thinking we might settle on a pirate world someday,” the Doctor said, casually, as if they weren’t enduring a plummeting elevator sensation, “Hunt the wild seas. Bury...or no, let's say find some long lost booty.”
Rose burst into giggles, tickled by him and the weightless feeling in her stomach. “You should never use booty in a sentence,” she gasped. “Too...too Gwen Stefani.”
“Booty,” he repeated, pushing his lips into an exaggerated pucker, squinting down at them. “Boo-tay.” He cocked his head to one side as he weighed the merits of her criticism, and then in a posh accent intoned, “Buried treasure.”
Watching the rotor's light play over the planes of his face, Rose grew thoughtful. “You're never going to settle,” she said, with quiet assurance. “We'll just keep traveling.”
Focused on the monitor readings, the Doctor took a moment to register her serious, slightly wistful remarks. Once he'd digested them, he glanced up from his work, catching and holding her eye. “Will we?”
“Yeah,” she told him with a faint smile and a firm jut of her chin. “I think we will. It's not a bad life.”
“Better with two,” he murmured, grinning.
Completely content with her place by his side, and her predictions concerning their future together, Rose beamed back at him. The TARDIS engine signature changed, a sure sign they were dropping into normal space. The Doctor hit the brakes and he and Rose went tumbling.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Weather confirmed as mild and sunny, they hustled to the wardrobe to change. On the way there, they alternately grabbed and tickled one another, making the journey more of a traveling tussle than a foot race. The Doctor, however, still claimed victory when he reached the top of the spiral staircase first. He twirled about with his arms thrust up into a vee. While he was giving his speech, Rose rummaged about for something to wear. The Doctor took no time at all to select an open-necked, deep blue, polo shirt but he puzzled over shoes. After a long study of row upon row of footwear, he'd narrowed his choices down to two pair of converse trainers exactly like the ones he'd left on Sanctuary Base Six. Setting the shoes side by side, he crouched to study them.
Meanwhile, Rose picked out a lovely, yellow sun dress and lacy, white shawl. While the Doctor was preoccupied with shoes, she darted to their room to pack a few essentials. She found her Birkenstock walking sandals under the desk, stuffed a swimsuit, sunscreen and a towel into a carryall and hurried to meet the Doctor in the control room. He was pacing impatiently when she arrived but greeted her with a bright smile. Launching himself across the room, he took her elbow in a firm grip and escorted her to the outer door. She stood there staring, when he let go of her. He gave an impatient sniff and opened the door like a gentleman, hanging back a little to let her go through first.
The TARDIS had landed neatly, wedging itself between two low stone and adobe structures, door facing the sea. Rose disembarked into an arbor of bushy, flowering trees. As promised, she found herself surrounded by exquisite natural beauty. Sand. Sun. Surf. Verdant greenery and exotic blooms. Like some South Pacific paradise this small corner of Barcelona had it all. Seabirds wheeled overhead. Tipping her head back, Rose could see the circling birds through slight gaps in the trees and hear their strident caws punctuating the rumble and swish of cresting waves. Insects hummed busily among the abundant flowers. The sunlight dappling Rose's upturned face felt agreeably warm but a cooling breeze tugged at her hair and made the branches around her sway.
She pirouetted. Vanilla-sugar and amaretto-like floral scents seemed to waft around her, competing with the nose-tingling sea spray. Cascading ivory blooms, petals as smooth and heavy as clotted cream, weighed down silver-green branches. The breeze barely moved them. Rose looked left, and then right along a seemingly endless boardwalk. The walk was canopied by trees far into the distance. There was nobody in sight in either direction.
Pulled irresistibly forward, Rose glided to the boardwalk railing. Gripping it in both hands, she looked over a dizzying precipice. Far below, a high surf pounded coral and indigo colored boulders. Retreating waves revealed a very narrow strip of pink and black beach. The ocean beyond the foaming breakers sparkled a brilliant blue. Rose could see great schools of colorful fish darting back and forth in the crystal clear water. In the distance, huge inky-blue monoliths, twisting natural stone towers, acted as breakers for the heavier waves. Beyond the stone barrier, giant Nessie-like sea monsters cavorted. Their long necks rose and fell in sinewy dances.
“Oh, it's...it's,” Rose struggled for the perfect word. Her eyes danced with wonder as she looked back at the Doctor. He slouched in the TARDIS doorway, enjoying her first moments of discovery. Finally, she sighed, “It's magnificent.”
A bouquet of fragrant blossoms on a nearby branch momentarily distracted her from the view. The amaretto cheesecake aroma enticed. She wanted to bathe in it, wear it close to her skin. Leaning over to take a deep whiff of the meltingly delicious scent, she started to gather the spray of blossoms to her nose with one hand.
“Careful,” the Doctor yelped. Springing from a standstill, he reached her in a microsecond, sweeping an arm around her waist and yanking her to him just as the flowers furled and retreated into the tree branch. Dozens of yellow and black barbs shot out to replace the blooms.
“Blimey,” Rose gasped, sagging against the Doctor's steady arm as she gaped at the now bristling branch. With a nervous chuckle, she added, “Literally, yeah? I could have been blinded.”
“Yes. Jaumelia trees, like everything else from my home world, are deceptive and dangerous.”
“These are Jaumelia?” Intrigued, Rose extricated herself from his hold and cautiously approached the bush again for a closer look. “They smell different. Not so spicy.”
“It's not as hot here. And these are cultivated for a more spectacular bloom,” he told her, hovering protectively. “The barbs aren't poisonous. They aren't even particularly dangerous. They've been blunted by years of selective breeding.” He touched one of the nasty looking spikes with a fingertip and it buckled rather than pricking him. “Still, you might have been injured by the firing mechanism.”
“One disaster neatly avoided,” Rose said, her note of praise complimenting him on his rescue.
“No disasters allowed this trip,” he said. He locked the TARDIS door, slipped the key into his pocket, and then offered Rose his fanned open fingers. Grinning, she closed on him with a gliding step and took his hand, cradling it between both of hers for a moment before clasping it. They set off together down the boardwalk.
“Where are we off to, then?”
“The township of Valastrada. I made us...one of those...what do you call them? It's on the tip of my brain...” He drew his free hand from his coat pocket and dramatically flourished his arm in the air, trying to conjure up the concept. When he had it, he stabbed a fingertip skyward and said, “Reservations! At a hotel.”
“A hotel? We're not staying in the TARDIS?”
“Nope.”
Rose threw a worried glance over her shoulder, slowing her step as she strained toward the ship. “Maybe I should pack more.”
“No need,” he said with an air of confidence. Carrying her hand to his chest, he tucked her arm under his, keeping her close. She could feel his left heart beating, slow and strong as he said, “Clothing is optional on Barcelona.”
“But not so much for me,” Rose reminded him. They'd visited clothing optional planets in the past but she wasn't comfortable with personal public nudity, yet. “I'd much rather be dressed, thank you very much.”
“You are dressed,” he said reasonably. “And if you'd like another dress we'll buy one. Or ten.”
“Really! We can shop? We've got money?” Rose never squealed but her exclamation only just missed qualifying. Her eyes lit up and she gave an excited little skip. She had a very feminine weakness for new clothes.
“Bushels full,” he assured her. “Grown on the appropriate local trees.”
“Right,” she drawled, teasingly as she leaned against him. “I keep forgetting you're rich.”
He squinted, rubbing the curl of his ear and hummed. “Hmmmwell...technically...you're rich,” he corrected. Dipping his free hand into his coat pocket, he withdrew a star-shaped piece of metal and handed it to her. Rose recognized it as a credit voucher. Her fingers worried at it back and forth while the Doctor went on, “And also famous. As far as the locals know, I'm just the latest in a long line of decorative kept males. Apparently, you like to ornament yourself.”
“I'm famous?” She didn't believe it. She read the inscription on the chit aloud. “Dame Rose Marion Tyler of the Powell Estates, Sol C-173, Earth. Trotter Lane, Ltd. Worth and Kensington.”
“I had the TARDIS give you a dash of minor celebrity. Bit of back-story for the locals. Not enough fame to draw the paparazzi. We don't want to reenact A Hard Day's Night” he frowned, “or do I mean Austin Powers, International Man of Mystery? Rushing about with the screaming gaggle after you? Doubling back and ducking down dark alleyways to escape? Had my fill of that on Sepiomicron. Did I ever tell you about my stint as a drummer for the greatest rock band of all time. Oddly enough they were called The Beatles in their language. Gave me something to talk about with Pete Best and John Lennon. Lennon. Now there was a song-smith, Rose. Could have used a bit of his help with your little prison ditty. Any...way...” he took a breath, “you're only modestly famous. You've just enough renown to garner us a good table at the posher sort of restaurant.”
“Oh, how...great,” she gushed, bouncing happily.
“Celebrities generally have less bother with the law,” he said, trying to sound practical but beaming too much to carry it off. He'd planned this to please her and was gratified by her enthusiasm. Humming contentedly, Rose rested her head against his shoulder, warming him through and through.
They chatted as they walked, about local history, the seabirds circling above and Rose's plans to phone home in a day or so. Neither of them paid a great deal of attention to the world beyond each other until they'd cleared the shelter of the Jaumelia bushes. The broader expanse of the beach came into view but Rose's gaze was drawn in the opposite direction. She looked away from the shore toward the hillside township, amazed by the gravity defying arrangement of buildings. Animal drawn carts climbed the steep, cobbled and twisting streets. Low stone houses and shops, glowing gold in the late afternoon sunlight, stepped up the slope of the hill. None of the buildings had more than two levels. They were hand-hewed structures and they cowered like peasants at the feet of, in the shadow of, a great citadel of a hotel perched on the island's peak.
Pointing at the impressive building, the Doctor said, “Where we're staying. The Sea Sentinel on Valastrada. A five-crescent hotel in all the guidebooks. Renowned throughout the galaxy for its first class accommodations. Spectacular views.”
Rose could well imagine. Suitably awed, she lifted her chin, squinting into the sun as she admired the hotel's unique design. Though a giant among its peers, it didn't tower. It was a low, sprawling building, only four stories high but constructed in sections. The golden adobe facade presented a jagged silhouette. Wings jutted out from a central core, giving each room an unobstructed view of the ocean. Rose thought about standing on one of the many balconies. She wondered how far she would be able to see across the waves. Surely, it would seem as if she stood atop a lighthouse or in a lone tower. Contemplating the prospective view, she swept her gaze along the shoreline.
What she saw there arrested her attention, driving all daydreams from her mind. Her brain reported in immediately with a question but it took a moment or two for reason to catch up. She blinked trying to process what she was seeing. Forewarned by the Doctor, she'd braced for a certain amount of nudity. But nothing could have prepared her for the bacchanal in progress. The beach was alive with naked flesh. It pulsed with it.
As her mind churned, trying to make sense of what her eyes took in, Rose stumbled to a gawking halt and yipped, “Doctor?”
Her weight on his arm swung him back to her. “Still here,” he said, cheerfully.
“They're...are they?...I mean everyone seems to be...”
“Nude, yes,” the Doctor said, looking at her rather than toward the beach. “I told you clothing is...op..tion...ah…” As he took in her stricken expression and the crimson flush suffusing her cheeks, his peppy explanation trailed off. Shifting protectively closer, he dipped at the knees to look at her face-to-face. She stared through him. He whipped around, sighting along her line of vision, and saw what had given her pause. A blush reddened the tips of his ears as he straightened from his half-crouch to his full height. “Oh...I...ah...” Eyes wide open, jaw a tad unhinged, he burbled for a moment, and then swallowed. “Yes...that is also...optional...but not generally so...so...uhm...” drawing a nervous hand through his hair, he peeped, “...prevalent?”
“They're having sex,” Rose hissed, struggling with acceptance as a swirl of conflicting emotions bubbled up from her core. “Everywhere. Everyone.”
“Not...everyone...surely. There's a fellow over there...just...oh...I see, yes...he's...not a good example...”
Mouth hanging half-open in dismay, the Doctor craned this way and that, taking in the grand scale of the situation. Grouped in twosomes and moresomes, maybe a thousand natives were engaged in passionate intercourse as far as the eye could see. All along the beach and boardwalk the locals writhed, pumped, moaned and gasped in a feeding frenzy of desire. They bucked and clawed and tumbled and screeched. It was a full-on outdoor orgy. No one seemed to be quietly sunbathing, trashy bestselling book propped on chest.
“Mating season,” the Doctor concluded on a rushed exhale. “What are the odds?” He calculated for a moment, shrugged fatalistically and answered his own question. “Well...ten days every seven years. Pretty long ones.”
“You mean this is normal?” Rose asked. “Is it all over the planet? Is everyone...?”
“Oh, no,” he told her. “No, certainly not...all over. And evidence to the contrary, surely not everyone.” He took a breath, releasing it as he said, “Only the breeders. And probably only here. They give birth in the sea so...the shoreline is quiet naturally a....” He noticed Rose staring at her feet and hyperventilating, and faced her squarely, cupping his hands around the balls of her shoulders. “This is not. I repeat...not a disaster. Rose? Honestly. All of this is perfectly natural. We've come here to do the very same thing.”
“I don't know where to look,” she mumbled, her voice straining as she fought back frustrated tears.
“Look at me. Rose?”
Sucking in air, she managed to just peek at him from beneath her lowered lashes. They took a deep breath together and released it. The Doctor offered her a sweetly indulgent smile. “There. No probs. They're only having sex.”
“I know,” Rose whimpered. “But...I don't...” It overwhelmed her. Gaze sliding away from his, she swiped impatiently at the thin trickle of tears on her cheek, sniffled once and tried to look on the bright side. “I suppose, you're right. It's not a so bad, really. Just other people having sex. But I've never...this sort of thing is a little...I don't...watch.”
“Of course, you don't. Perfectly understandable. Not likely to come up in your culture. New experience, for you. Bit of a shock. But no need to watch...stare, really. We can simply...admire the scenery....mind our own business...I suppose.”
Rose considered this, chewing on her lower lip for a bit, and then confessed, “But I can't help looking, yeah? It's like a car accident. Terrifying but you just stare. Once, at this party, I was searching for the loo and walked in on a couple...in...the throes. And I just stood there...gawping. Not because I'm like that,” she hastily added. “I just couldn't move.” She shook her head, appalled by the memory. “I've seen films and such. But...”
The Doctor's left brow arched as he said, “Films?” He sounded surprised enough to make her blush again.
“Not those kinds of films,” she exclaimed in a harsh whisper. He swayed when she seized both of his labels for stability, her fingers twisting the fabric. “Art house ones. And some graphic telly.” She'd gone back to staring at her feet. “Drawings in books. Photos. Like your Lesbian Kama Sutra. Mickey had a...had this...collection of dirty magazines. Plus a few links in his email he thought I didn't know about.”
“I see.” The Doctor struggled not to let his amusement show but a charmed grin tugged at the corners of his mouth. Luckily, Rose wasn't looking at him. Chucking under her chin with a knuckle, he tilted her head up until he could stare deep into her eyes. Voice low and replete with compassion, he asked, “Do you want to go back to the TARDIS?”
“No,” she shook her head once. “It's beautiful here and like you said...just a new experience. Different cultures, different customs, yeah? I only need a minute to come to grips.” She smiled wanly as she added, “How 'bout that? My first orgy.”
“Not as much fun as you'd think, hey? It's true, you never know where to look. Or put your hands. Or stand, assuming you mean to keep out of the way. And I can't say they're any better when you're participating. I remember my first. Rome, 181 A.D. Rather like a Boxing Day Sale at Harrod's. Everyone demanding something, wanting to trade up or get another size, lots of pinching and pulling. I took an elbow to the chin, nearly laid me out cold.”
“How many orgies have you been to, then?”
“Oh...I don't know.” His upper lip curled as he counted back. “Three or four, I suppose. They're all the rage in some centuries. Then, they die out again. Rather like flared trousers.”
He gave her another moment, blocking her view of the beach with a cupped hand as he toyed with a strand of her hair. When she told him she felt ready, he dropped his hand and stepped aside so her view was once again unobstructed. She looked first at the sky and then out to sea and finally at his trainers. He offered her his elbow. She took it, cuddling close, and they set off again, both a bit skittish, cautiously clinging to one another as they navigated around interlocked bodies. Rose turned her attention toward the distant hotel, content to let the Doctor guide her steps but every now and again she glanced down from the Sea Sentinel and her gaze found a huddle of amorous natives.
They were an attractive people, as sleek and fit as seals. Mammalian. Humanoid. Two arms, two legs. Dangling bits, Rose didn't want to dwell on. She studied faces, instead. Somehow, seeing the expressions of ecstasy around her, made the sexual excesses seem more acceptable. The Barcelonans had bony vertical ridges where humans had noses. Like their dogs, they breathed via feathery gills on their necks. Nearly all of the natives were almond-eyed, olive-skinned brunettes. Both males and females had marked widow's peaks and wore their glossy, fine hair plaited into a single ponytail. Most of the braids would have been long enough to skim the ground, had anyone been standing.
The Doctor smiled benignly at everyone they skirted. Most of them ignored him but a few waved or winked or beckoned. Had he been alone, he would have been happy to study their mating habits a bit closer, maybe ask them a few questions. However, he was acutely aware of Rose's discomfort and steered her steadily along, his hand over hers where she gripped his arm. A few yards beyond the Jumelia arbor, they left the boardwalk, through a gate, and crossed a pebbly stretch of bare soil, picking their way around piles of clothing and shoes, until they reached the beginning of a bustling street.
Festive music and raucous shouts greeted them, drawing them into the life of the tiny seafront community of Valastrada. Merchants jostled each other to present them with goods: bolts of cloth, jars of honey and mysterious packets of herbs. Breeding season brought the tourist element to Barcelona. Alien and human visitors mixed with the natives, adding to the cacophony. Peddlers offered all manner of goods and services. Carts and draft animals blocked the roadway. Carters hawked their wares from the backs of their vehicles. Storefront displays beckoned passersby. Rose noticed many of the more popular shops appeared to be red-light district businesses. But she spotted flower vendors and shoemakers and fishmongers as well.
The circulating people seemed older and less passion-frenzied. Matronly native women with children in tow haggled for bargains, reminding her of the open markets at home. These women wore sarong-style dresses, held closed with mother-of-pearl clips. There were still lovers, milling about in obviously randy groups, tugging at each other's clothing, heads close together, but they were more discrete in their assignations. Marginally talented musicians played indifferent melodies and random couples paired up to dance. Feeling completely content, the Doctor gave Rose an experimental twirl. She laughed, attracting the attention of a scantily clad and very male Barcelonan. He approached with his hands held out to both of them but his eyes fixed on Rose.
Experiencing a frisson of alarm, the Doctor stepped in front of her. “Sorry, no, we aren't in the mood. But thank you,” he said.
The native took the rejection in stride. He shrugged, smiled and veered away but then paused, glancing again at Rose. “Pardon me,” he said, “But don't I know you from somewhere?”
“I can't see how you,” Rose began, but then remembered. She shot the Doctor a desperate glance.
“You're Rose Tyler,” her admirer crowed, causing heads to turn. Several people appeared to recognize her at once. They murmured agreement and moved closer as her original admirer went on, “I won a week's pay on your last race. One engine off line and you still set the interplanetary record for round trip flight to Talgerus. It was amazing. Amikax,” he called into the crowd. “It's Hammki. Come and see, I've got Dame Rose Tyler over here.”
The woman to Rose's left ran an appreciative eye over the Doctor as she spoke to her neighbor sotto voce. “I heard she was dating His Excellency Viceroy Wilkerson. Do you think that's finished? This one is a big improvement. Except for the hair.”
“I read about him. He's a lord of something,” the neighbor returned.
A series of audible audience comments followed this remark. “A Time Lord.” “A what?” “Gallifreyan aristocracy.” “Any good in the sand?” “I thought they were extinct.” “Probably not worth a go, then.”
“Oh, now you must. You simply must let us take you to the beach,” Hammki insisted as his friend Amikax arrived. “I promise you won't regret it. I have a certain reputation of my own, you know?”
“Yes,” the Doctor drawled, a jealous spark in his eyes and a rather intimidating expression on his face. “I'm sure you do. But...sorry...very busy. Must dash.”
“Oh, I don't know, Doctor,” Rose said, mischievously tilting her head as if considering Hammki's offer. “I can always spare a little time for my fans.”
“Do you mean it?”
“No, she doesn't,” the Doctor inserted, firmly. He turned his thunderous glare on Rose. “Go on, then, tell them you don't mean it.”
Rose relented. “Sorry, boys,” she sighed. “He's just so possessive. Maybe next time.”
“If you change your mind,” Hammki began.”We'll be at...”
“She won't,” the Doctor said, dropping an arm around Rose's waist and herding her away.
Glancing over her shoulder, Rose grinned when Hammki and Amikax greeted another couple with the same level of enthusiasm they'd shown for her. The foursome kissed and fondled each other. Rose's steps faltered. The Doctor looked back and caught her staring at her fans as they performed a crude mating dance. Watching them slither and squirm made Rose shiver. She wasn't used to this kind of stimulation. Through the palm of his hand, he could feel her anticipation mounting, her arousal increasing. She moistened her lips, her teeth lightly grazing the lower one. Her pulse had quickened, becoming a visible tick in the curve of her throat. When the dancers broke for the beach, she let out a hungry little mew. The Doctor sensed a primal heat building in her, one he wasn't entirely sure he'd be able to satisfy. Skimming his hand down her arm, he interlocked their fingers.
“We could join them...if you'd like,” he offered.
Though Rose had been thinking along those lines, given his apparent jealousy, the Doctor's suggestion took her off-guard. She darted a quizzical glance at him and, seeing he was serious, asked, “Do you want to?”
“Not particularly,” he admitted, with a shrug. “But then, I'm not generally interested in that sort of thing. Time Lord.”
“Whaddya mean, Time Lord? You've just told me you've been to three or four orgies. Who can't remember the number of orgies, they've attended?”
“Someone 900 years old. And yes...well...no,” he scowled at her, exasperated, “Haven't you been listening to a word I've said? Orgies don't matter. We lack libido. An arousal mechanism.”
“Yours seems fine to me.”
“Well, it would. To you.”
“What about Omega?”
“Omega was mad. And consummating, converging, seeding the galaxy with his offspring. I'm half-mad myself, come to that. I'm operating on a biological imperative, last of my kind. Of course, I'll be aberrant. But that doesn't change the basics. When it comes to sex, mostly, I participate out of...of...well, a sense of social obligation, I suppose.”
“Obligation?”
“Politeness. Sometimes you can't avoid joining in if you plan to stay in the vicinity. Like at orgies. Gets awkward standing about with your hands in your coat pockets, admiring the ice sculpture. So, you grab onto someone. Every now and again, I find myself swept along by circumstance. But I don't mind. I learn something new every time.”
“Every time,” Rose said softly. She couldn't help remembering all of the books he'd had out the first time they'd had sex. What exactly had motivated him to approach her? She tried to think back. “So you don't get...horny?”
“Not as such, no,” he admitted and felt her stiffen. He could sense her emotional turmoil but had no idea why she wrenched her fingers free of his. Unfortunately, she didn't keep him in the dark for long.
“Are you saying, when we...? But you...you kiss me,” her voice cracked as she pointed this out, “and you even said we couldn't kiss in public because...you might lose control. And now, you're saying...you don't even enjoy it? You're just...what? Learning?”
“What? Oh, no. No. Of course, not. I enjoy it. You. Our union is...well it's...very pleasant. I'm just not...”
“Human?” Rose snapped.
“No. I mean, yes, of course, I'm n-not.” He sputtered for a bit, staring at her with wary confusion. “you know I'm not human, Rose. I thought you understood the difference. What...exactly are you upset about?”
“You just said you don't want to have sex with me. You're just playing along.”
“No, that's not what I said at all. But, yes, all right. I can see what you're getting at. It's different for you, biologically, because you've got all those nerve endings. And I don't, my species doesn't. We don't engage in recreational sex. For the sport. For the transient thrill. We mate to procreate. With that out of the picture, I don't throb or yearn or whatever. But that doesn't mean I can't appreciate the experience, esthetically, emotionally, on some level. I find it all...rather like...what? Like...cheese, I suppose.”
This analogy was beyond Rose. “Like...cheese?”
“A bit of Brie or Cheddar on the plate? Adds to the overall...doodah...the presentation. Makes the meal, some might say. But you don't need cheese. It's not the burger. Not the wine,” he illuminated. “Not the Pesto Rigatoni.”
“Not important,” Rose murmured, getting his drift.
He opened his mouth to correct her but, unsure what to say, closed it without speaking. Lowering his chin, he gave her a pleading look and held his hand out. She didn't take it. Instead, she crossed her arms over her chest and set off again. He rushed to catch up, falling into step beside her as she marched along with her head bowed, shoulders hunched. She wasn't happy. And this he felt bordered on disaster. She didn't look at him, not once, as they climbed the rest of the way to the hotel, each silently lost in thought.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The view from their third-story hotel room proved more breathtaking than Rose had imagined. The two outer walls were mostly window, in any case, but beyond that they were designed like garage doors. When the bellhop pressed the right button, the walls rolled up into ceiling tracks, leaving the room open to the air on two sides. Rose stood short of the balcony, gazing out to sea and wishing she had a bit less to think about. Her stomach churned with anxiety. She didn't know what she wanted. Him, of course, but not like this. Not out of some misguided sense of duty. She wanted him to love her and if he didn't...if he truly couldn't...then maybe she should just ask to go home. But...it felt like love...the way he looked at her, touched her...the things he did for her, offering to buy her a house, making her famous for the day.
A buffeting wind mussed her hair and wrapped her dress around her legs. She'd tossed her shawl on the bed when they'd entered the room. She considered retrieving it but decided she was warm enough. Behind her she heard the Doctor exchanging pleasantries with the bellhop while signing off on a tip. He, also, placed a breakfast order for the next morning. They hadn't needed help for her one small bag but the hotel provided bellhop assistance regardless.
“If there's anything else you need, sir, madame,” the bellhop said. ”My name is Kirgtwi and I'm on duty until moonrise tomorrow.”
Rose turned to face him. “What do you do for fun around here?” she asked, her voice cold and impersonal, her face stony.
“Do, madame?” Kirgtwi's dark eyes darted to the turned down bed. Clearly, in his opinion, off-worlders checked in for only one reason during the Mating Season, but he gave no other sign of confusion. Inclining his head, he politely asked, “How do you mean?”
“If I don't want to go to the beach and I'd rather not stay here. Where can I go?”
“It is the Season, I'm afraid,” Kirgtwi apologized. “Most of the fishing and tour charters are closed down until next week. There's always the spaceport.” he pointed out the window. Rose looked where he indicated and saw a distant monorail, crossing the seas to another island. “But you must have just come from there.”
“We've been staying with friends,” the Doctor said, smoothly. “Taking in the ambiance, you might say. Is there a mall or a museum or a good restaurant nearby?”
“No, malls, sir. But there are several fine shops and galleries just off Windershin Street, out the lobby entrance and to your left. The lady probably shouldn't wander alone. Valastrada is perfectly safe for the most part but it is the Season. The Sentinel, of course, has a fine restaurant, but there are also several others nearby. Most cater to offworlder appetites. All of them will be open.” He stepped around the Doctor and crossed to the bedside table. Withdrawing a remote control from a drawer, he punched a few buttons and a holographic video display appeared in the center of the room. Handing the remote to the Doctor, he pointed at its controls, saying, “This button adjusts the focus and placement. This one volume. And this one lets you tune your feeds. Feed 181 has free usernet access. You can request local maps, menus and brochure-vids. The sports and erotica channels are free but news networks and game feeds are pay-per-view.”
“Thank you,” the Doctor said, briefly thumbing buttons until he'd positioned the holo-image over the bathing pool at the far side of the room. He made the screen tiny, an inch across, and then larger, and then asked, “Is there a drapery for the bathing area?” Like all Barcelona residences, the hotel had open toilet facilities as well as a public bath. The natives were not a shyly, retiring people when it came to bodily functions.
“A privacy screen, sir,” Kirgtwi said. He crossed to the toilet and pointed to a lever, “just here. Pull this to activate it. And these,” he said, nodding to the buttons by the door, as he approached them, “are for the walls. There are lighting options and curtains, as well. No one can see in at this level but if you or the young lady would be more comfortable with a sense of privacy.” He thumbed a switch and gauzy draperies unfurled from concealed ceiling panels. Waterfalling down, the curtains caught the wind and swelled like filling sails.
Rose backhanded the delicately fluttering drapes aside and stalked out onto the balcony. The Doctor winced. He'd cast out psychic feelers, but drew them hastily in, afraid they might be singed off by her icy vibrations. Wondering what he could do about her mood, short of lying to reassure her, he cut his eyes toward the bellhop and broke out a 200-watt smile.
“Kirgtwi, my good man,” he said, conversationally. “The last time I stayed here, the hotel offered Nanorganic's Blue Label line in a human configuration. Is there any chance you still carry them?”
“Oh, yes, sir. They've just launched the Tau Epsilon series. Cutting edge neurosync. You'd swear you were born with it. Haven't had occasion to try it, yet, but I've heard nothing but good things. Were you thinking for yourself or the young lady.”
“The lady. And we'll need some bathing things...oils or bubbles or what have you...and an evening gown, I shouldn't wonder. Maybe some jim-jams or a kimono or whatever.”
“Of course, sir, I'll notify our stylist and make you an appointment with our Nanorganics technician. Any preference for size?”
“I'm a twelve,” Rose said from the balcony. “A fourteen if the label runs small.”
“A...four-fourteen?” Kirgtwi stammered. “For a human? I'm not sure we stock a selection in...
“I think more of an eight,” the Doctor stage whispered.
Rose parted the curtains and stepped through into the room again. “Flattery aside. Look at these hips. An eight will never do. I might manage a ten, though. Do your sizes run wide?” The Doctor pressed his lips together determined not to laugh.
Kirgtwi by contrast studied Rose with the eye of a connoisseur. After the perusal, he spoke to the Doctor from the corner of his mouth. “She does have magnificent hips, sir. That's generally a sign of a healthy appetite. If you'd like I could make a few calls.”
“That won't be necessary,” the Doctor assured him. “We'll take an eight.”
Rose glanced from his glittering eyes to the bellhop's red face. “What? What's so funny?”
“Perhaps a nine,” the Doctor told Kirgtwi, guiding him to and out the door. “Or a wide eight. Human configuration, mind.”
“We have one that tapers, sir.”
“I'll be along in a bit to see,” the Doctor said, closing the door in the fellow's face.
Rose read her misunderstanding, if not its specific nature, in the Doctor's tight shoulders and manful efforts not to double over snickering. “You weren't talking about dress sizes were you?” she surmised.
“No. We...ah...no.” He grinned broadly. Then, he tipped his head back to study the ceiling. He was almost afraid to launch into the subject of sex again. It hadn't been going well so far. “We were talking about a...a prosthetic...a masculine member.” He dropped his chin and met her eye as he gestured at his trouser front. “The sort you're used to.”
Rose wrinkled up her nose in distaste. “What? Like a...strap-on?”
“Oh, nothing so crude as that. Nanorganics Ltd. makes artificial limbs. You remember the nanogenes, from Jack's crashed ship?” Rose nodded, moving closer to him. “Well, the same sort of technology can be used for life-like prosthetics. Specially engineered nanobots link to the central nervous systems, so the arm or leg or...”
“...or...whatever?”
“...whatever...appendage...has full sensory input. It feels completely real. Blue Label, however, is strictly recreational. A temporary solution to an age-old problem. The line provides attachable, alternative genitalia for mixed species couples, like...well...like us. So they...or...we, as it were, can learn how the other half lives. And as the company is headquartered on Earth...specifically in Old, Old New York...they measure the length of their collection in American inches. So, a fourteen would be rather...” He held his fingertips the appropriate distance apart.
“Oh...”
“Yes.”
“Oh...god. The bellhop...he must think I'm...”
“Intriguing? Adventurous? No, what did he say? Healthy!”
“I'm so going to slap you,” Rose laughed, sounding more like herself than she had since they'd stumbled upon the first rutting natives.
In unspoken accord, they shuffled to within a foot of one another, both shyly drawn in. Rose toed the carpet. The Doctor placed both hands at her waist. Bracketing it, he pulled her to him until her hips nudged into his. She resisted, leaning back to minimize their contact; wrestling with her mixed emotions as she struggled to sort out his mixed signals. She had no idea what he wanted from her. But she, finally, gave in to her own desire and melted into him. When they were chest to chest, the Doctor sighed, his lashes fluttering shut. Head back, eyes closed and mouth slightly ajar, he savored her warmth, drawn to it mentally and emotionaly. Rose ran her palms up his arms.
“I like that,” he told her, in a diffused whisper, “You can do it any time.”
“What else do you like?” she asked, softly.
“Kissing,” he murmured. Without opening his eyes, he brought his mouth to hers, hovering just short of sampling her lips. His hands began wandering. “And your skin,” he said, straying over her curves and grazing the very tips of his fingers along her bare collarbone. She shivered and he pulled back to meet her eye, squarely. “Say you're a Time Lord,” he requested, like it was the beginning of a joke.
She played along. “I'm a Time Lord,” she said.
Grinning, he returned to his preoccupation with her mouth, his teeth gently tugged at her lower lip. “Mmmm...yeah...and you've fallen...desperately...hopelessly...madly...in love,” he said, holding her face in his hands and separating each adverb with a searing kiss.
“I've fallen...” she parroted obediently, when he let her speak, but she got no further. Gazing up at him, she swallowed hard, suddenly unable to draw in a breath.
“Desperately,” he prompted.
“Desperately,” Rose repeated, feeling her limbs going numb.
“Hopelessly...madly...completely...”
“Completely?”
“Utterly.”
“Have you?” she asked.
“I can't say,” he said. “Literally, I can't. And there it is. The crux of our problem. There's an oath. A writ. I swore on my honor to never...feel...say...I lo...I," he opened and closed his mouth a few times, but couldn't go on. Puffing an exasperated sigh, he changed his approach. "It flies in the face of who I am. No Time Lord can do what...I've...done. Because it's not done, is it?”
“You can't...?” dawning enlightenment brightened her expression, "...say~! Yeah?” Beaming, he bobbed his head along with hers, delighted she'd taken his meaning. “The words? You-you can't say those particular words.”
“Not and remain a Time Lord. No.”
“But you can...feel it?”
“I think so, yes,” he said. He felt something for her, something at the bone, deep and meaningful and everlasting. It had to be love. What else could it be? But would it translate to desire, without any expectation of convergence? “That's what we're here to find out.”
“Oh...okay,” she breathed, winding her arms around his neck as he dipped her to the bed.
END THIS PART
By Rabid1st
Ten/Rose
Rating: R
Beta Babes: Jei, Aibhinn & Kammi
Spoilers: The Satan Pit - S2
Summary: What's the deal with Barcelona? The planet, not the city? Besides the whole noseless dog thing, I mean? Rose is about to find out.
Disclaimer: I don’t own these characters. If I did…the show would be censored by…everyone but you smutty few. I humbly thank Russell T. Davies for creating the sweetest, most-loving, most-genuinely iconic couple in the history of the world for me to play with.
LINKS for all previous parts…can be found HERE
Author's Note: Remember how I promised you smut...uhm...sorry about that but the Doctor has stuck his foot in it a bit. I'll get him out of this though...not to worry.
PART FIFTEEN
“So, where are we going?” Rose asked, once they were underway.
Bracing the heels of her palms on the lip of the console, she leaned forward, taking her weight onto elbow-locked arms. The guilelessly seductive pose combined with her proximity distracted the Doctor from his piloting duties. Mouth slightly agape he darted what he intended to be a swift glance in her general direction and found himself transfixed. Her hair, still fluffed by his roaming fingers, formed an amber-hued frame around her face. The TARDIS seemed determined to suffuse her skin with golden light. In the pulsing ambience of the time rotor, Rose glowed almost as brightly as she had when embodying the Vortex.
If she was amber, he was the hapless fly she’d captured. He had no idea how she'd managed to enchant him like this but he no longer fought it. Tilting his head, he lowered his chin slightly to stare down into her adoring eyes. She had a way of looking at him as if he could do no wrong. Consequentially, he tried very hard to do right. Her shoulder bumped warmly against his. She loved him. It was painfully obvious. He inhaled sharply against the pain, drawing and holding the breath as raw emotion sent a hot arrow zinging through his chest. The ethereal pang hampered his ability to think clearly but he managed to croak out an off-hand answer to her question.
“Barcelona,” he announced, tossing his head like a horse on a tight rein. His eyes flashed, showing too much white as he tried to hold firm against love’s gravitational pull.
He needn’t have struggled. The love-light died in Rose's eyes as soon as he gave his answer. She groaned, theatrically, and cast her gaze heavenward. Her face fell into disappointed lines. “Oh, not again,” she exclaimed, propelling away from the console and him. Whirling about, she slumped over to their two-person chair and began softly bashing her forehead against the seat back.
“I know what you're thinking,” he said in a breathless rush, “But it'll be different this time, I promise.”
Rose paused in her head banging and pillowed her forehead on her folded arms. After a moment, she cut her gaze sideways to study him. “That's what you said the last time. You remember last time, right? I ended up in prison.”
“Prison?” the Doctor objected, his voice rising in pitch as his countenance turned stormy. He couldn't believe she’d used the term. His nose wrinkled and his upper lip sneered. “That wasn't prison. Someday,” he went on, nodding authoritatively, “Someday, I'll tell you about prison. You were in a very nice city jail. And only overnight. They served you breakfast.”
“Stale bread, a runny blue egg and lumpy cocoa. How romantic.”
“It was an adventure,” he said, wounded. “We made new friends. And I thought bailing you out was very romantic.”
“You sang a song,” Rose purred, delighted with him despite her sense of foreboding. “Under my cell window.”
“One I wrote especially for you,” he murmured, leaning toward her before recalling himself and going on with his chiding, “I could have performed something by Gwen Stefani and no one the wiser. But I composed an original melody,” turning quite pious he finished, “as required by law.”
Rose flashed him the tip of her tongue at the corner of her smile. “And you even brought your own musician.”
“Tyrndyn’s One-man Band. I found him in pub. Interesting custom that…singing for your freedom…” he rubbed a hand along the back of his neck. “First time I'd ever run across it. I’ve heard of singing for your supper before but…” he shook his head, “Well…no matter…the point is, I sang. Therefore. Ergo. It was romantic.”
“Are those the rules?”
“I believe they are,” he said. Then, he sniffed and focused on the controls before him as if they had suddenly become quite fascinating.
“It was lovely,” Rose assured him, passing her words through a gaping grin and giving ‘lovely’ a few extra syllables as she let it melt in her mouth.
He glanced up, shyly returning her smile, but not in kind. His lips remained anchored down at the corners but his eyes sparkled merrily. Fixated on the notion of kissing him, Rose skipped closer. He nudged her shoulder with his, happy she'd given up on sulking. “You know I'd had the melody in my head for ages, really.” He hummed a bit of it. “Ever since the regeneration, I think. I woke up to it. Catchy tune. And I was rather please with that line about following my star.”
“You wished today was just like every other day,” she reminded him. “Because 'today’s the best day, everything you ever dreamed’ Honestly? With me in prison? Rather insensitive that.”
“I was speaking figuratively,” the Doctor cried, bristling with indignation. He tried to glare at her but his restless gaze dipped under hers and skittered away. “Days...in general...with you...I meant.” He bobbed his head repeatedly. “Whenever we're together.” Finding no flaw in this explanation, he darted another glance at her. “Best kind of days, don't you see?”
“If you say so.”
“That's settled then, is it?” He winked and Rose lowered her lashes, as a giddy lightheadedness swept over her. Slightly flushed, she rocked from foot to foot, toying with a stand of her hair, while he bustled about, flipping switches and pressing buttons. He paused to consult their flight log. “Tell you what,” he remarked with studied casualness. “We'll aim for another century this time. One where you haven't a criminal record.”
“Good of you. But how 'bout instead…just this once, I mean…we go to Spain?”
“Spain?” he said, making it sound as offensive as sour milk. “No, I don't like Spain. Spain is...provincial? Ordinary?" He pointed a finger at the tip of her nose. "Boring?”
“Through all of history?” Rose said, doubtfully. “There's never been a good year for Spain?”
She had him there. He scratched behind his ear, wanting to be fair. “Well, maybe every now and again they have a good year. But not like Barcelona. Why see the city when there's a planet?” he insisted. "Barcelona has..."
“Nose-less puppies,” Rose said. “I know. I know. You don't like to be crossed do you? But did you ever think...there must be a reason why we never get there? Karma or something?”
“Don't believe in karma,” he said. “Not generally...as a rule...except...possibly...for the fellow that invented advertising jingles.”
“Every time we head for Barcelona disaster strikes.” She ticked the catastrophes off on her fingertips. “First, you regenerated. Then, you miscalculated the time streams by about a gazillion years so we arrived in the middle of an ice age.”
“It was a glitch, a hiccup...my calculations were dead on....must have hit a wormhole or something. But it was hardly a wasted trip. The panoramic vistas? The calving glaciers? Great herds of migrating Troklopods,” he said in an awed tone. “Extinct for eons. You can’t see that sort of thing on the regular tour.”
“I was wearing a bikini,” Rose countered. “I got eighth degree frostbite.”
“Which I fixed. A dab of Dermagel and all better.”
“And a cold.”
“You already had a cold. I told you the Troklopods didn’t give you a cold. They didn’t even have noses.” Taking note of Rose’s steely glare, he ducked his chin and mumbled, “Not that it's relevant how you came to have a cold. Couldn’t be good for your shivering like that.”
“Well, you did give me your overcoat,” she said, the memory of his gallantry mollifying her. “Once you knew we'd be staying for a bit.”
“Granted, dropping our lone TARDIS key into a snowdrift probably not my finest moment. But my fingers were a bit numb. Shame you didn't have your key.”
“Bikini,” Rose said, pointedly.
“Right. Yes. Poor planning. This time we will check the weather before nipping out into it.”
“Weren’t we heading for Barcelona when we got called home by Mickey and ended up taking him on board?”
He circled back to her side, his brow wrinkling pensively. “Ah...point taken…yes, that certainly was a disaster.”
“Shut up,” she snorted, lightly slapping his chest with the back of her hand.
“So we’ve had a few…a very few…minor…inconveniences.”
“A few? What about prison? All that muddle with the space pirates? We finally arrive on Barcelona only to have the police show up five minutes after we land and toss me in jail.”
“Had the worst time convincing the authorities you weren’t a pirate. And you look nothing like a pirate. You don’t even have a peg leg...or an eye patch,” he mused, “or a parrot. I fancied getting a parrot once. Thought I might teach it to swear in Kaled. Or recite the entire what'sit...” he snapped his fingers, and then pointed one at her, “Writ of Rassilon. In a squawky, parroty voice...can you imagine? Shame I didn't think of that when I was President.” Twisting a lever, he paused for breath and casually peered across at her, taking in her air of disappointment. “But...if you'd rather not go… I suppose we could go somewhere else...Spain...even. 2138's not a bad year.”
Rose tipped her head so her hair spilled to one side in a shower of blond strands. Looking around the rotor at him, she knew he yearned to share this new world with her. She’d asked him before what was so special about Barcelona and he’d always replied, ‘You’ll see.’ So far, she hadn't. But in the grand scheme of things, it wasn't so very bad having frostbite or being in jail overnight. Not when he'd sing her free and heal her wounds.
He flipped a few switches in a lackluster manner and her heart melted. “Awww, you really want to go, don't you?”
“Oh, no,” he said, with childish insincerity as he toyed with a sort of cosmic eggbeater on the console. “I'm sure Spain is...nice...sunny and...such.”
It took her all of six seconds to fold under the force of his moping. “But Barcelona is probably loads more romantic?”
A burgeoning smile sent the clouds in his eyes scudding away as he stretched far across the console to squeeze her hand and confide, “Barcelona is honestly, truly, remarkably romantic,” he told her, and then, noticing her right eyebrow lifting, added, “most of the time.” He started bounding about as he went on, “Brilliant night-life. The sunsets. The moonrises. Intimate island communities. Stunning beaches. Magnificent waves. Magnificent views. Rocky pillars rising from the sea. Sun. Sand. Refreshing breezes. Beachfront bars. Steamy motel rooms.”
“Well, then we should definitely give it one more go. What's the worst that could happen?”
He slammed to a halt before her. “Oh, I wish you hadn't said that,” he said, grimacing. “Still, no...I don't believe in karma. Or bad luck or any of that superstitious rot. I promise you, this time no disasters. You won't be sorry.”
Suddenly galvanized, he darted away, nipping around the console to program the landing sequence. Almost as an after thought, he dashed back to quickly kiss her. Then, he bolted for a knob, turning it in the very nick of time. The whole ship shuddered. Rose seized the edge of the console and held on as they banked steeply left. The rotor burbled, shivering as it rose and fell.
“I was thinking we might settle on a pirate world someday,” the Doctor said, casually, as if they weren’t enduring a plummeting elevator sensation, “Hunt the wild seas. Bury...or no, let's say find some long lost booty.”
Rose burst into giggles, tickled by him and the weightless feeling in her stomach. “You should never use booty in a sentence,” she gasped. “Too...too Gwen Stefani.”
“Booty,” he repeated, pushing his lips into an exaggerated pucker, squinting down at them. “Boo-tay.” He cocked his head to one side as he weighed the merits of her criticism, and then in a posh accent intoned, “Buried treasure.”
Watching the rotor's light play over the planes of his face, Rose grew thoughtful. “You're never going to settle,” she said, with quiet assurance. “We'll just keep traveling.”
Focused on the monitor readings, the Doctor took a moment to register her serious, slightly wistful remarks. Once he'd digested them, he glanced up from his work, catching and holding her eye. “Will we?”
“Yeah,” she told him with a faint smile and a firm jut of her chin. “I think we will. It's not a bad life.”
“Better with two,” he murmured, grinning.
Completely content with her place by his side, and her predictions concerning their future together, Rose beamed back at him. The TARDIS engine signature changed, a sure sign they were dropping into normal space. The Doctor hit the brakes and he and Rose went tumbling.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Weather confirmed as mild and sunny, they hustled to the wardrobe to change. On the way there, they alternately grabbed and tickled one another, making the journey more of a traveling tussle than a foot race. The Doctor, however, still claimed victory when he reached the top of the spiral staircase first. He twirled about with his arms thrust up into a vee. While he was giving his speech, Rose rummaged about for something to wear. The Doctor took no time at all to select an open-necked, deep blue, polo shirt but he puzzled over shoes. After a long study of row upon row of footwear, he'd narrowed his choices down to two pair of converse trainers exactly like the ones he'd left on Sanctuary Base Six. Setting the shoes side by side, he crouched to study them.
Meanwhile, Rose picked out a lovely, yellow sun dress and lacy, white shawl. While the Doctor was preoccupied with shoes, she darted to their room to pack a few essentials. She found her Birkenstock walking sandals under the desk, stuffed a swimsuit, sunscreen and a towel into a carryall and hurried to meet the Doctor in the control room. He was pacing impatiently when she arrived but greeted her with a bright smile. Launching himself across the room, he took her elbow in a firm grip and escorted her to the outer door. She stood there staring, when he let go of her. He gave an impatient sniff and opened the door like a gentleman, hanging back a little to let her go through first.
The TARDIS had landed neatly, wedging itself between two low stone and adobe structures, door facing the sea. Rose disembarked into an arbor of bushy, flowering trees. As promised, she found herself surrounded by exquisite natural beauty. Sand. Sun. Surf. Verdant greenery and exotic blooms. Like some South Pacific paradise this small corner of Barcelona had it all. Seabirds wheeled overhead. Tipping her head back, Rose could see the circling birds through slight gaps in the trees and hear their strident caws punctuating the rumble and swish of cresting waves. Insects hummed busily among the abundant flowers. The sunlight dappling Rose's upturned face felt agreeably warm but a cooling breeze tugged at her hair and made the branches around her sway.
She pirouetted. Vanilla-sugar and amaretto-like floral scents seemed to waft around her, competing with the nose-tingling sea spray. Cascading ivory blooms, petals as smooth and heavy as clotted cream, weighed down silver-green branches. The breeze barely moved them. Rose looked left, and then right along a seemingly endless boardwalk. The walk was canopied by trees far into the distance. There was nobody in sight in either direction.
Pulled irresistibly forward, Rose glided to the boardwalk railing. Gripping it in both hands, she looked over a dizzying precipice. Far below, a high surf pounded coral and indigo colored boulders. Retreating waves revealed a very narrow strip of pink and black beach. The ocean beyond the foaming breakers sparkled a brilliant blue. Rose could see great schools of colorful fish darting back and forth in the crystal clear water. In the distance, huge inky-blue monoliths, twisting natural stone towers, acted as breakers for the heavier waves. Beyond the stone barrier, giant Nessie-like sea monsters cavorted. Their long necks rose and fell in sinewy dances.
“Oh, it's...it's,” Rose struggled for the perfect word. Her eyes danced with wonder as she looked back at the Doctor. He slouched in the TARDIS doorway, enjoying her first moments of discovery. Finally, she sighed, “It's magnificent.”
A bouquet of fragrant blossoms on a nearby branch momentarily distracted her from the view. The amaretto cheesecake aroma enticed. She wanted to bathe in it, wear it close to her skin. Leaning over to take a deep whiff of the meltingly delicious scent, she started to gather the spray of blossoms to her nose with one hand.
“Careful,” the Doctor yelped. Springing from a standstill, he reached her in a microsecond, sweeping an arm around her waist and yanking her to him just as the flowers furled and retreated into the tree branch. Dozens of yellow and black barbs shot out to replace the blooms.
“Blimey,” Rose gasped, sagging against the Doctor's steady arm as she gaped at the now bristling branch. With a nervous chuckle, she added, “Literally, yeah? I could have been blinded.”
“Yes. Jaumelia trees, like everything else from my home world, are deceptive and dangerous.”
“These are Jaumelia?” Intrigued, Rose extricated herself from his hold and cautiously approached the bush again for a closer look. “They smell different. Not so spicy.”
“It's not as hot here. And these are cultivated for a more spectacular bloom,” he told her, hovering protectively. “The barbs aren't poisonous. They aren't even particularly dangerous. They've been blunted by years of selective breeding.” He touched one of the nasty looking spikes with a fingertip and it buckled rather than pricking him. “Still, you might have been injured by the firing mechanism.”
“One disaster neatly avoided,” Rose said, her note of praise complimenting him on his rescue.
“No disasters allowed this trip,” he said. He locked the TARDIS door, slipped the key into his pocket, and then offered Rose his fanned open fingers. Grinning, she closed on him with a gliding step and took his hand, cradling it between both of hers for a moment before clasping it. They set off together down the boardwalk.
“Where are we off to, then?”
“The township of Valastrada. I made us...one of those...what do you call them? It's on the tip of my brain...” He drew his free hand from his coat pocket and dramatically flourished his arm in the air, trying to conjure up the concept. When he had it, he stabbed a fingertip skyward and said, “Reservations! At a hotel.”
“A hotel? We're not staying in the TARDIS?”
“Nope.”
Rose threw a worried glance over her shoulder, slowing her step as she strained toward the ship. “Maybe I should pack more.”
“No need,” he said with an air of confidence. Carrying her hand to his chest, he tucked her arm under his, keeping her close. She could feel his left heart beating, slow and strong as he said, “Clothing is optional on Barcelona.”
“But not so much for me,” Rose reminded him. They'd visited clothing optional planets in the past but she wasn't comfortable with personal public nudity, yet. “I'd much rather be dressed, thank you very much.”
“You are dressed,” he said reasonably. “And if you'd like another dress we'll buy one. Or ten.”
“Really! We can shop? We've got money?” Rose never squealed but her exclamation only just missed qualifying. Her eyes lit up and she gave an excited little skip. She had a very feminine weakness for new clothes.
“Bushels full,” he assured her. “Grown on the appropriate local trees.”
“Right,” she drawled, teasingly as she leaned against him. “I keep forgetting you're rich.”
He squinted, rubbing the curl of his ear and hummed. “Hmmmwell...technically...you're rich,” he corrected. Dipping his free hand into his coat pocket, he withdrew a star-shaped piece of metal and handed it to her. Rose recognized it as a credit voucher. Her fingers worried at it back and forth while the Doctor went on, “And also famous. As far as the locals know, I'm just the latest in a long line of decorative kept males. Apparently, you like to ornament yourself.”
“I'm famous?” She didn't believe it. She read the inscription on the chit aloud. “Dame Rose Marion Tyler of the Powell Estates, Sol C-173, Earth. Trotter Lane, Ltd. Worth and Kensington.”
“I had the TARDIS give you a dash of minor celebrity. Bit of back-story for the locals. Not enough fame to draw the paparazzi. We don't want to reenact A Hard Day's Night” he frowned, “or do I mean Austin Powers, International Man of Mystery? Rushing about with the screaming gaggle after you? Doubling back and ducking down dark alleyways to escape? Had my fill of that on Sepiomicron. Did I ever tell you about my stint as a drummer for the greatest rock band of all time. Oddly enough they were called The Beatles in their language. Gave me something to talk about with Pete Best and John Lennon. Lennon. Now there was a song-smith, Rose. Could have used a bit of his help with your little prison ditty. Any...way...” he took a breath, “you're only modestly famous. You've just enough renown to garner us a good table at the posher sort of restaurant.”
“Oh, how...great,” she gushed, bouncing happily.
“Celebrities generally have less bother with the law,” he said, trying to sound practical but beaming too much to carry it off. He'd planned this to please her and was gratified by her enthusiasm. Humming contentedly, Rose rested her head against his shoulder, warming him through and through.
They chatted as they walked, about local history, the seabirds circling above and Rose's plans to phone home in a day or so. Neither of them paid a great deal of attention to the world beyond each other until they'd cleared the shelter of the Jaumelia bushes. The broader expanse of the beach came into view but Rose's gaze was drawn in the opposite direction. She looked away from the shore toward the hillside township, amazed by the gravity defying arrangement of buildings. Animal drawn carts climbed the steep, cobbled and twisting streets. Low stone houses and shops, glowing gold in the late afternoon sunlight, stepped up the slope of the hill. None of the buildings had more than two levels. They were hand-hewed structures and they cowered like peasants at the feet of, in the shadow of, a great citadel of a hotel perched on the island's peak.
Pointing at the impressive building, the Doctor said, “Where we're staying. The Sea Sentinel on Valastrada. A five-crescent hotel in all the guidebooks. Renowned throughout the galaxy for its first class accommodations. Spectacular views.”
Rose could well imagine. Suitably awed, she lifted her chin, squinting into the sun as she admired the hotel's unique design. Though a giant among its peers, it didn't tower. It was a low, sprawling building, only four stories high but constructed in sections. The golden adobe facade presented a jagged silhouette. Wings jutted out from a central core, giving each room an unobstructed view of the ocean. Rose thought about standing on one of the many balconies. She wondered how far she would be able to see across the waves. Surely, it would seem as if she stood atop a lighthouse or in a lone tower. Contemplating the prospective view, she swept her gaze along the shoreline.
What she saw there arrested her attention, driving all daydreams from her mind. Her brain reported in immediately with a question but it took a moment or two for reason to catch up. She blinked trying to process what she was seeing. Forewarned by the Doctor, she'd braced for a certain amount of nudity. But nothing could have prepared her for the bacchanal in progress. The beach was alive with naked flesh. It pulsed with it.
As her mind churned, trying to make sense of what her eyes took in, Rose stumbled to a gawking halt and yipped, “Doctor?”
Her weight on his arm swung him back to her. “Still here,” he said, cheerfully.
“They're...are they?...I mean everyone seems to be...”
“Nude, yes,” the Doctor said, looking at her rather than toward the beach. “I told you clothing is...op..tion...ah…” As he took in her stricken expression and the crimson flush suffusing her cheeks, his peppy explanation trailed off. Shifting protectively closer, he dipped at the knees to look at her face-to-face. She stared through him. He whipped around, sighting along her line of vision, and saw what had given her pause. A blush reddened the tips of his ears as he straightened from his half-crouch to his full height. “Oh...I...ah...” Eyes wide open, jaw a tad unhinged, he burbled for a moment, and then swallowed. “Yes...that is also...optional...but not generally so...so...uhm...” drawing a nervous hand through his hair, he peeped, “...prevalent?”
“They're having sex,” Rose hissed, struggling with acceptance as a swirl of conflicting emotions bubbled up from her core. “Everywhere. Everyone.”
“Not...everyone...surely. There's a fellow over there...just...oh...I see, yes...he's...not a good example...”
Mouth hanging half-open in dismay, the Doctor craned this way and that, taking in the grand scale of the situation. Grouped in twosomes and moresomes, maybe a thousand natives were engaged in passionate intercourse as far as the eye could see. All along the beach and boardwalk the locals writhed, pumped, moaned and gasped in a feeding frenzy of desire. They bucked and clawed and tumbled and screeched. It was a full-on outdoor orgy. No one seemed to be quietly sunbathing, trashy bestselling book propped on chest.
“Mating season,” the Doctor concluded on a rushed exhale. “What are the odds?” He calculated for a moment, shrugged fatalistically and answered his own question. “Well...ten days every seven years. Pretty long ones.”
“You mean this is normal?” Rose asked. “Is it all over the planet? Is everyone...?”
“Oh, no,” he told her. “No, certainly not...all over. And evidence to the contrary, surely not everyone.” He took a breath, releasing it as he said, “Only the breeders. And probably only here. They give birth in the sea so...the shoreline is quiet naturally a....” He noticed Rose staring at her feet and hyperventilating, and faced her squarely, cupping his hands around the balls of her shoulders. “This is not. I repeat...not a disaster. Rose? Honestly. All of this is perfectly natural. We've come here to do the very same thing.”
“I don't know where to look,” she mumbled, her voice straining as she fought back frustrated tears.
“Look at me. Rose?”
Sucking in air, she managed to just peek at him from beneath her lowered lashes. They took a deep breath together and released it. The Doctor offered her a sweetly indulgent smile. “There. No probs. They're only having sex.”
“I know,” Rose whimpered. “But...I don't...” It overwhelmed her. Gaze sliding away from his, she swiped impatiently at the thin trickle of tears on her cheek, sniffled once and tried to look on the bright side. “I suppose, you're right. It's not a so bad, really. Just other people having sex. But I've never...this sort of thing is a little...I don't...watch.”
“Of course, you don't. Perfectly understandable. Not likely to come up in your culture. New experience, for you. Bit of a shock. But no need to watch...stare, really. We can simply...admire the scenery....mind our own business...I suppose.”
Rose considered this, chewing on her lower lip for a bit, and then confessed, “But I can't help looking, yeah? It's like a car accident. Terrifying but you just stare. Once, at this party, I was searching for the loo and walked in on a couple...in...the throes. And I just stood there...gawping. Not because I'm like that,” she hastily added. “I just couldn't move.” She shook her head, appalled by the memory. “I've seen films and such. But...”
The Doctor's left brow arched as he said, “Films?” He sounded surprised enough to make her blush again.
“Not those kinds of films,” she exclaimed in a harsh whisper. He swayed when she seized both of his labels for stability, her fingers twisting the fabric. “Art house ones. And some graphic telly.” She'd gone back to staring at her feet. “Drawings in books. Photos. Like your Lesbian Kama Sutra. Mickey had a...had this...collection of dirty magazines. Plus a few links in his email he thought I didn't know about.”
“I see.” The Doctor struggled not to let his amusement show but a charmed grin tugged at the corners of his mouth. Luckily, Rose wasn't looking at him. Chucking under her chin with a knuckle, he tilted her head up until he could stare deep into her eyes. Voice low and replete with compassion, he asked, “Do you want to go back to the TARDIS?”
“No,” she shook her head once. “It's beautiful here and like you said...just a new experience. Different cultures, different customs, yeah? I only need a minute to come to grips.” She smiled wanly as she added, “How 'bout that? My first orgy.”
“Not as much fun as you'd think, hey? It's true, you never know where to look. Or put your hands. Or stand, assuming you mean to keep out of the way. And I can't say they're any better when you're participating. I remember my first. Rome, 181 A.D. Rather like a Boxing Day Sale at Harrod's. Everyone demanding something, wanting to trade up or get another size, lots of pinching and pulling. I took an elbow to the chin, nearly laid me out cold.”
“How many orgies have you been to, then?”
“Oh...I don't know.” His upper lip curled as he counted back. “Three or four, I suppose. They're all the rage in some centuries. Then, they die out again. Rather like flared trousers.”
He gave her another moment, blocking her view of the beach with a cupped hand as he toyed with a strand of her hair. When she told him she felt ready, he dropped his hand and stepped aside so her view was once again unobstructed. She looked first at the sky and then out to sea and finally at his trainers. He offered her his elbow. She took it, cuddling close, and they set off again, both a bit skittish, cautiously clinging to one another as they navigated around interlocked bodies. Rose turned her attention toward the distant hotel, content to let the Doctor guide her steps but every now and again she glanced down from the Sea Sentinel and her gaze found a huddle of amorous natives.
They were an attractive people, as sleek and fit as seals. Mammalian. Humanoid. Two arms, two legs. Dangling bits, Rose didn't want to dwell on. She studied faces, instead. Somehow, seeing the expressions of ecstasy around her, made the sexual excesses seem more acceptable. The Barcelonans had bony vertical ridges where humans had noses. Like their dogs, they breathed via feathery gills on their necks. Nearly all of the natives were almond-eyed, olive-skinned brunettes. Both males and females had marked widow's peaks and wore their glossy, fine hair plaited into a single ponytail. Most of the braids would have been long enough to skim the ground, had anyone been standing.
The Doctor smiled benignly at everyone they skirted. Most of them ignored him but a few waved or winked or beckoned. Had he been alone, he would have been happy to study their mating habits a bit closer, maybe ask them a few questions. However, he was acutely aware of Rose's discomfort and steered her steadily along, his hand over hers where she gripped his arm. A few yards beyond the Jumelia arbor, they left the boardwalk, through a gate, and crossed a pebbly stretch of bare soil, picking their way around piles of clothing and shoes, until they reached the beginning of a bustling street.
Festive music and raucous shouts greeted them, drawing them into the life of the tiny seafront community of Valastrada. Merchants jostled each other to present them with goods: bolts of cloth, jars of honey and mysterious packets of herbs. Breeding season brought the tourist element to Barcelona. Alien and human visitors mixed with the natives, adding to the cacophony. Peddlers offered all manner of goods and services. Carts and draft animals blocked the roadway. Carters hawked their wares from the backs of their vehicles. Storefront displays beckoned passersby. Rose noticed many of the more popular shops appeared to be red-light district businesses. But she spotted flower vendors and shoemakers and fishmongers as well.
The circulating people seemed older and less passion-frenzied. Matronly native women with children in tow haggled for bargains, reminding her of the open markets at home. These women wore sarong-style dresses, held closed with mother-of-pearl clips. There were still lovers, milling about in obviously randy groups, tugging at each other's clothing, heads close together, but they were more discrete in their assignations. Marginally talented musicians played indifferent melodies and random couples paired up to dance. Feeling completely content, the Doctor gave Rose an experimental twirl. She laughed, attracting the attention of a scantily clad and very male Barcelonan. He approached with his hands held out to both of them but his eyes fixed on Rose.
Experiencing a frisson of alarm, the Doctor stepped in front of her. “Sorry, no, we aren't in the mood. But thank you,” he said.
The native took the rejection in stride. He shrugged, smiled and veered away but then paused, glancing again at Rose. “Pardon me,” he said, “But don't I know you from somewhere?”
“I can't see how you,” Rose began, but then remembered. She shot the Doctor a desperate glance.
“You're Rose Tyler,” her admirer crowed, causing heads to turn. Several people appeared to recognize her at once. They murmured agreement and moved closer as her original admirer went on, “I won a week's pay on your last race. One engine off line and you still set the interplanetary record for round trip flight to Talgerus. It was amazing. Amikax,” he called into the crowd. “It's Hammki. Come and see, I've got Dame Rose Tyler over here.”
The woman to Rose's left ran an appreciative eye over the Doctor as she spoke to her neighbor sotto voce. “I heard she was dating His Excellency Viceroy Wilkerson. Do you think that's finished? This one is a big improvement. Except for the hair.”
“I read about him. He's a lord of something,” the neighbor returned.
A series of audible audience comments followed this remark. “A Time Lord.” “A what?” “Gallifreyan aristocracy.” “Any good in the sand?” “I thought they were extinct.” “Probably not worth a go, then.”
“Oh, now you must. You simply must let us take you to the beach,” Hammki insisted as his friend Amikax arrived. “I promise you won't regret it. I have a certain reputation of my own, you know?”
“Yes,” the Doctor drawled, a jealous spark in his eyes and a rather intimidating expression on his face. “I'm sure you do. But...sorry...very busy. Must dash.”
“Oh, I don't know, Doctor,” Rose said, mischievously tilting her head as if considering Hammki's offer. “I can always spare a little time for my fans.”
“Do you mean it?”
“No, she doesn't,” the Doctor inserted, firmly. He turned his thunderous glare on Rose. “Go on, then, tell them you don't mean it.”
Rose relented. “Sorry, boys,” she sighed. “He's just so possessive. Maybe next time.”
“If you change your mind,” Hammki began.”We'll be at...”
“She won't,” the Doctor said, dropping an arm around Rose's waist and herding her away.
Glancing over her shoulder, Rose grinned when Hammki and Amikax greeted another couple with the same level of enthusiasm they'd shown for her. The foursome kissed and fondled each other. Rose's steps faltered. The Doctor looked back and caught her staring at her fans as they performed a crude mating dance. Watching them slither and squirm made Rose shiver. She wasn't used to this kind of stimulation. Through the palm of his hand, he could feel her anticipation mounting, her arousal increasing. She moistened her lips, her teeth lightly grazing the lower one. Her pulse had quickened, becoming a visible tick in the curve of her throat. When the dancers broke for the beach, she let out a hungry little mew. The Doctor sensed a primal heat building in her, one he wasn't entirely sure he'd be able to satisfy. Skimming his hand down her arm, he interlocked their fingers.
“We could join them...if you'd like,” he offered.
Though Rose had been thinking along those lines, given his apparent jealousy, the Doctor's suggestion took her off-guard. She darted a quizzical glance at him and, seeing he was serious, asked, “Do you want to?”
“Not particularly,” he admitted, with a shrug. “But then, I'm not generally interested in that sort of thing. Time Lord.”
“Whaddya mean, Time Lord? You've just told me you've been to three or four orgies. Who can't remember the number of orgies, they've attended?”
“Someone 900 years old. And yes...well...no,” he scowled at her, exasperated, “Haven't you been listening to a word I've said? Orgies don't matter. We lack libido. An arousal mechanism.”
“Yours seems fine to me.”
“Well, it would. To you.”
“What about Omega?”
“Omega was mad. And consummating, converging, seeding the galaxy with his offspring. I'm half-mad myself, come to that. I'm operating on a biological imperative, last of my kind. Of course, I'll be aberrant. But that doesn't change the basics. When it comes to sex, mostly, I participate out of...of...well, a sense of social obligation, I suppose.”
“Obligation?”
“Politeness. Sometimes you can't avoid joining in if you plan to stay in the vicinity. Like at orgies. Gets awkward standing about with your hands in your coat pockets, admiring the ice sculpture. So, you grab onto someone. Every now and again, I find myself swept along by circumstance. But I don't mind. I learn something new every time.”
“Every time,” Rose said softly. She couldn't help remembering all of the books he'd had out the first time they'd had sex. What exactly had motivated him to approach her? She tried to think back. “So you don't get...horny?”
“Not as such, no,” he admitted and felt her stiffen. He could sense her emotional turmoil but had no idea why she wrenched her fingers free of his. Unfortunately, she didn't keep him in the dark for long.
“Are you saying, when we...? But you...you kiss me,” her voice cracked as she pointed this out, “and you even said we couldn't kiss in public because...you might lose control. And now, you're saying...you don't even enjoy it? You're just...what? Learning?”
“What? Oh, no. No. Of course, not. I enjoy it. You. Our union is...well it's...very pleasant. I'm just not...”
“Human?” Rose snapped.
“No. I mean, yes, of course, I'm n-not.” He sputtered for a bit, staring at her with wary confusion. “you know I'm not human, Rose. I thought you understood the difference. What...exactly are you upset about?”
“You just said you don't want to have sex with me. You're just playing along.”
“No, that's not what I said at all. But, yes, all right. I can see what you're getting at. It's different for you, biologically, because you've got all those nerve endings. And I don't, my species doesn't. We don't engage in recreational sex. For the sport. For the transient thrill. We mate to procreate. With that out of the picture, I don't throb or yearn or whatever. But that doesn't mean I can't appreciate the experience, esthetically, emotionally, on some level. I find it all...rather like...what? Like...cheese, I suppose.”
This analogy was beyond Rose. “Like...cheese?”
“A bit of Brie or Cheddar on the plate? Adds to the overall...doodah...the presentation. Makes the meal, some might say. But you don't need cheese. It's not the burger. Not the wine,” he illuminated. “Not the Pesto Rigatoni.”
“Not important,” Rose murmured, getting his drift.
He opened his mouth to correct her but, unsure what to say, closed it without speaking. Lowering his chin, he gave her a pleading look and held his hand out. She didn't take it. Instead, she crossed her arms over her chest and set off again. He rushed to catch up, falling into step beside her as she marched along with her head bowed, shoulders hunched. She wasn't happy. And this he felt bordered on disaster. She didn't look at him, not once, as they climbed the rest of the way to the hotel, each silently lost in thought.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The view from their third-story hotel room proved more breathtaking than Rose had imagined. The two outer walls were mostly window, in any case, but beyond that they were designed like garage doors. When the bellhop pressed the right button, the walls rolled up into ceiling tracks, leaving the room open to the air on two sides. Rose stood short of the balcony, gazing out to sea and wishing she had a bit less to think about. Her stomach churned with anxiety. She didn't know what she wanted. Him, of course, but not like this. Not out of some misguided sense of duty. She wanted him to love her and if he didn't...if he truly couldn't...then maybe she should just ask to go home. But...it felt like love...the way he looked at her, touched her...the things he did for her, offering to buy her a house, making her famous for the day.
A buffeting wind mussed her hair and wrapped her dress around her legs. She'd tossed her shawl on the bed when they'd entered the room. She considered retrieving it but decided she was warm enough. Behind her she heard the Doctor exchanging pleasantries with the bellhop while signing off on a tip. He, also, placed a breakfast order for the next morning. They hadn't needed help for her one small bag but the hotel provided bellhop assistance regardless.
“If there's anything else you need, sir, madame,” the bellhop said. ”My name is Kirgtwi and I'm on duty until moonrise tomorrow.”
Rose turned to face him. “What do you do for fun around here?” she asked, her voice cold and impersonal, her face stony.
“Do, madame?” Kirgtwi's dark eyes darted to the turned down bed. Clearly, in his opinion, off-worlders checked in for only one reason during the Mating Season, but he gave no other sign of confusion. Inclining his head, he politely asked, “How do you mean?”
“If I don't want to go to the beach and I'd rather not stay here. Where can I go?”
“It is the Season, I'm afraid,” Kirgtwi apologized. “Most of the fishing and tour charters are closed down until next week. There's always the spaceport.” he pointed out the window. Rose looked where he indicated and saw a distant monorail, crossing the seas to another island. “But you must have just come from there.”
“We've been staying with friends,” the Doctor said, smoothly. “Taking in the ambiance, you might say. Is there a mall or a museum or a good restaurant nearby?”
“No, malls, sir. But there are several fine shops and galleries just off Windershin Street, out the lobby entrance and to your left. The lady probably shouldn't wander alone. Valastrada is perfectly safe for the most part but it is the Season. The Sentinel, of course, has a fine restaurant, but there are also several others nearby. Most cater to offworlder appetites. All of them will be open.” He stepped around the Doctor and crossed to the bedside table. Withdrawing a remote control from a drawer, he punched a few buttons and a holographic video display appeared in the center of the room. Handing the remote to the Doctor, he pointed at its controls, saying, “This button adjusts the focus and placement. This one volume. And this one lets you tune your feeds. Feed 181 has free usernet access. You can request local maps, menus and brochure-vids. The sports and erotica channels are free but news networks and game feeds are pay-per-view.”
“Thank you,” the Doctor said, briefly thumbing buttons until he'd positioned the holo-image over the bathing pool at the far side of the room. He made the screen tiny, an inch across, and then larger, and then asked, “Is there a drapery for the bathing area?” Like all Barcelona residences, the hotel had open toilet facilities as well as a public bath. The natives were not a shyly, retiring people when it came to bodily functions.
“A privacy screen, sir,” Kirgtwi said. He crossed to the toilet and pointed to a lever, “just here. Pull this to activate it. And these,” he said, nodding to the buttons by the door, as he approached them, “are for the walls. There are lighting options and curtains, as well. No one can see in at this level but if you or the young lady would be more comfortable with a sense of privacy.” He thumbed a switch and gauzy draperies unfurled from concealed ceiling panels. Waterfalling down, the curtains caught the wind and swelled like filling sails.
Rose backhanded the delicately fluttering drapes aside and stalked out onto the balcony. The Doctor winced. He'd cast out psychic feelers, but drew them hastily in, afraid they might be singed off by her icy vibrations. Wondering what he could do about her mood, short of lying to reassure her, he cut his eyes toward the bellhop and broke out a 200-watt smile.
“Kirgtwi, my good man,” he said, conversationally. “The last time I stayed here, the hotel offered Nanorganic's Blue Label line in a human configuration. Is there any chance you still carry them?”
“Oh, yes, sir. They've just launched the Tau Epsilon series. Cutting edge neurosync. You'd swear you were born with it. Haven't had occasion to try it, yet, but I've heard nothing but good things. Were you thinking for yourself or the young lady.”
“The lady. And we'll need some bathing things...oils or bubbles or what have you...and an evening gown, I shouldn't wonder. Maybe some jim-jams or a kimono or whatever.”
“Of course, sir, I'll notify our stylist and make you an appointment with our Nanorganics technician. Any preference for size?”
“I'm a twelve,” Rose said from the balcony. “A fourteen if the label runs small.”
“A...four-fourteen?” Kirgtwi stammered. “For a human? I'm not sure we stock a selection in...
“I think more of an eight,” the Doctor stage whispered.
Rose parted the curtains and stepped through into the room again. “Flattery aside. Look at these hips. An eight will never do. I might manage a ten, though. Do your sizes run wide?” The Doctor pressed his lips together determined not to laugh.
Kirgtwi by contrast studied Rose with the eye of a connoisseur. After the perusal, he spoke to the Doctor from the corner of his mouth. “She does have magnificent hips, sir. That's generally a sign of a healthy appetite. If you'd like I could make a few calls.”
“That won't be necessary,” the Doctor assured him. “We'll take an eight.”
Rose glanced from his glittering eyes to the bellhop's red face. “What? What's so funny?”
“Perhaps a nine,” the Doctor told Kirgtwi, guiding him to and out the door. “Or a wide eight. Human configuration, mind.”
“We have one that tapers, sir.”
“I'll be along in a bit to see,” the Doctor said, closing the door in the fellow's face.
Rose read her misunderstanding, if not its specific nature, in the Doctor's tight shoulders and manful efforts not to double over snickering. “You weren't talking about dress sizes were you?” she surmised.
“No. We...ah...no.” He grinned broadly. Then, he tipped his head back to study the ceiling. He was almost afraid to launch into the subject of sex again. It hadn't been going well so far. “We were talking about a...a prosthetic...a masculine member.” He dropped his chin and met her eye as he gestured at his trouser front. “The sort you're used to.”
Rose wrinkled up her nose in distaste. “What? Like a...strap-on?”
“Oh, nothing so crude as that. Nanorganics Ltd. makes artificial limbs. You remember the nanogenes, from Jack's crashed ship?” Rose nodded, moving closer to him. “Well, the same sort of technology can be used for life-like prosthetics. Specially engineered nanobots link to the central nervous systems, so the arm or leg or...”
“...or...whatever?”
“...whatever...appendage...has full sensory input. It feels completely real. Blue Label, however, is strictly recreational. A temporary solution to an age-old problem. The line provides attachable, alternative genitalia for mixed species couples, like...well...like us. So they...or...we, as it were, can learn how the other half lives. And as the company is headquartered on Earth...specifically in Old, Old New York...they measure the length of their collection in American inches. So, a fourteen would be rather...” He held his fingertips the appropriate distance apart.
“Oh...”
“Yes.”
“Oh...god. The bellhop...he must think I'm...”
“Intriguing? Adventurous? No, what did he say? Healthy!”
“I'm so going to slap you,” Rose laughed, sounding more like herself than she had since they'd stumbled upon the first rutting natives.
In unspoken accord, they shuffled to within a foot of one another, both shyly drawn in. Rose toed the carpet. The Doctor placed both hands at her waist. Bracketing it, he pulled her to him until her hips nudged into his. She resisted, leaning back to minimize their contact; wrestling with her mixed emotions as she struggled to sort out his mixed signals. She had no idea what he wanted from her. But she, finally, gave in to her own desire and melted into him. When they were chest to chest, the Doctor sighed, his lashes fluttering shut. Head back, eyes closed and mouth slightly ajar, he savored her warmth, drawn to it mentally and emotionaly. Rose ran her palms up his arms.
“I like that,” he told her, in a diffused whisper, “You can do it any time.”
“What else do you like?” she asked, softly.
“Kissing,” he murmured. Without opening his eyes, he brought his mouth to hers, hovering just short of sampling her lips. His hands began wandering. “And your skin,” he said, straying over her curves and grazing the very tips of his fingers along her bare collarbone. She shivered and he pulled back to meet her eye, squarely. “Say you're a Time Lord,” he requested, like it was the beginning of a joke.
She played along. “I'm a Time Lord,” she said.
Grinning, he returned to his preoccupation with her mouth, his teeth gently tugged at her lower lip. “Mmmm...yeah...and you've fallen...desperately...hopelessly...madly...in love,” he said, holding her face in his hands and separating each adverb with a searing kiss.
“I've fallen...” she parroted obediently, when he let her speak, but she got no further. Gazing up at him, she swallowed hard, suddenly unable to draw in a breath.
“Desperately,” he prompted.
“Desperately,” Rose repeated, feeling her limbs going numb.
“Hopelessly...madly...completely...”
“Completely?”
“Utterly.”
“Have you?” she asked.
“I can't say,” he said. “Literally, I can't. And there it is. The crux of our problem. There's an oath. A writ. I swore on my honor to never...feel...say...I lo...I," he opened and closed his mouth a few times, but couldn't go on. Puffing an exasperated sigh, he changed his approach. "It flies in the face of who I am. No Time Lord can do what...I've...done. Because it's not done, is it?”
“You can't...?” dawning enlightenment brightened her expression, "...say~! Yeah?” Beaming, he bobbed his head along with hers, delighted she'd taken his meaning. “The words? You-you can't say those particular words.”
“Not and remain a Time Lord. No.”
“But you can...feel it?”
“I think so, yes,” he said. He felt something for her, something at the bone, deep and meaningful and everlasting. It had to be love. What else could it be? But would it translate to desire, without any expectation of convergence? “That's what we're here to find out.”
“Oh...okay,” she breathed, winding her arms around his neck as he dipped her to the bed.
END THIS PART
Re: I knew it would be a downer, Binah
Date: 2007-01-23 04:24 pm (UTC)Which brings up something I've been wondering about... you're keeping the whole thing connected to the televised story, even to the point of Doomsday? Suicide Blonde gave me hope of a happier long-term ending.
We are going to go beyond Doomsday
Date: 2007-01-23 05:34 pm (UTC)This is why it is vital I finish this up before I see any S3...or I may sync up with RTD and have to incorporate even more stuff and I just don't want to do that...it would be too much for me I think. ;-> This story was conceived after all...way at Girl in the Fireplace.
You do realize that Suicide Blonde happened way before he met Rose even? Or are you talking about the fact that they are together and happy and anniversary celebrating? Because...oh, yes...we have that...though possibly not as you imagine it.
Rae
wondering if you will have your heartbroken...but not intending to break it...or even fold or spindle it. I can only say that my beta babes were angry with me for my main twist...and then...completely happy with me...and I felt like a sap...but a happy one for the ending.
Re: We are going to go beyond Doomsday
Date: 2007-01-23 05:41 pm (UTC)