#allegoricalrose
@allegoricalrose replied to yourpost: Stranger Things
saaaaame
LIKE, I want to talk about it and reblog things and all of that good stuff but it’s relatively new? so I don’t wanna spoil people. WILL WAIT.
The TenxRose story by @whatwecanfic, inspired by @allegoricalrose’s original
White Blond Curls by@allegoricalrose
Pairing: Tentoo/Rose
Rating: Adult
“Have you ever thought about children?” he asks, whispered low as if he doesn’t want the gently falling snow brushing against their window to hear.
He freezes, his hand still cupping her ear, and she counts four long breaths in the thick silence.
She’s already wrapped around his reclining form but she draws him closer and buries her face in his chest, needing the artificial layer of privacy as she analyses his question in her mind, his words rolling around on her tongue. His heart is beating faster than usual, she notices, and knows this isn’t an idle post-coital bliss type of question.
It’s not as if they shy away from the topic; she’s off-handedly and oh-so-casually praised his interactions with Tony numerous times, even commenting once that he would be a great father. But they’ve never had this conversation. This grown-up, responsible, mature conversation, and she feels the sting of cortisol and adrenaline shoot through her veins. Her heart speeds up to beat in time with his.
She considers making light of his question, reciting a smooth joke or retort, but she also knows that her lips are so close to his solitary heart that her words might break it. Instead she softly kisses the thin layer of delicate skin left protecting it and slowly trails her way up to his lips. “Yes.” The word resonates through their mouths where she intoned it and she can taste the tang of electric anticipation spark from his tongue.
He shifts his hips so that their bodies are side by side, turned toward each other. His hand reaches over and strokes up her jawline with the pad of his thumb. It circles her ear, tucking back an errant strand of hair as it goes.
His question has been answered, the communication cycle technically complete, but the unspoken intentions and subtext hang in the room like shimmering spirits. She can almost see them, hovering in her periphery, and closes her eyes.
“I had a baby, once,” she blurts out before she can think better of it, or to segue into that final secret in a more delicate fashion. Before she can push it down and pretend to forget about it again.
“When?” His inquisition is soft but she can hear the undertones of shock and slight trepidation.
“I was seventeen,” she says, “before I met you.”
She can see one fear lifted from his shoulders but other complex emotions pass along his face to take its place. He wets his lips as if he’s going to speak but then flattens them, shifting his hips and moving his hand to behind his head and leaning on it. His eyes don’t leave hers and she knows she has his complete attention; with her hyper-distractible Time Lord, that was saying something.
Her throat feels constricted and she clears it. “Jimmy…um, it was an accident. Obviously. I mean I was sixteen, and in school still. Didn’t even realize until I was about four months along–god, I was a baby myself, so naïve… I didn’t tell anyone but Jimmy. He was none too pleased, as you might expect from a twenty-year old musician, especially when I wouldn't…I couldn’t get rid of it, probably should have but I just couldn't…"
She breaks off and he nods reassuringly, snaking a hand between their bodies to squeeze her hand. “And I was too ashamed to tell anyone, even my mum… So I dropped out of school right after my GCSEs and moved into his squalid, horrible flat in Camden. Refused to see my mum, Mickey, anyone. Didn’t answer their calls. They’re still a little bitter about that time; I don’t blame them…” She takes a deep breath.
“Jimmy was awful, kept telling me how lucky I was that he allowed me to stay with him, that he was with me at all, that he deserved someone far prettier and smarter than me. He’d tell me one day that I was the kindest person on Earth and then the next day leave me in tears and forced to apologise for being a conniving manipulative bitch. He would make fun of me for dropping out of school, for being too dumb to take my A-levels, even though… But I couldn’t leave him, not while I was pregnant, and… I don’t know, he had this way of being unexpectedly nice once in awhile, throwing me tiny grains of excitement or loving words. It was addictive; I lived for those patronizing pats of the arm and…I almost believed I was happy. That he was, in fact, amazing and that I was, in fact, lucky to have him."
She picks at a seam on their sheets. "I was just smart enough that I knew I had to put the baby up for adoption, that I couldn’t keep it. I went to all the pregnancy clinics and check-ups, alone of course, averted my eyes from the pity everyone in the waiting room and practice showed me. Pity and derision, really, but it was hard to tell the difference.”
“Rose…” he murmurs, pulling her close. His chin tucks into her neck and she can tell he’s trying to buffet her from the pain, even if he was a decade too late.
“I managed,” she says firmly, clenching her jaw, “and I’m not a shrinking violet now. One of those life experiences that change you, you know? Makes or breaks you…”
“You are the strongest person I have ever known,” he says sincerely, his eyes wide with compassion, “and I’ve known a lot of people.”
Funnily enough, that’s when the tears well up and she sniffles into his t-shirt. He holds her silently, rubbing her back and rocking her back and forth as effectively as he can in a horizontal position. “Back then, I never even imagined I could end up with someone as wonderful as you,” she mumbles into his chest, “Didn’t think I was good enough to be loved.”
“You are more than deserving of love,” he forces out through clenched teeth, “you always have been. I’m so sorry that there was ever a time in your life that you weren’t cherished.” He wipes off a tear from her cheek with the side of his thumb. “There never will be again.”
She tightens her grip on his hand but can’t control her quivering mouth enough to speak a response. But he knows.
After a few minutes she calms down enough to exert control over her vocal cords and moves back from his embrace so she can see him. She maintains her hold on his hand and he strokes her fingers with his thumb.
“You don’t have to tell me the rest,” he reassures her, “Or you can tell me another time. If you want.”
She shakes her head. “I’m tired of holding on to this; I’ve never told anyone about it. And I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before… There was never a good time to bring it up in the TARDIS, and then so much time had passed…”
“I know,” he murmurs, dropping his eyes, “I would have liked to know, but… Yeah, I can’t imagine an opening to drop that piece of information.”
“I almost told you once, the old old you, my Doctor in leather…” She smiles fondly at the memory of his previous incarnation. “We were staring out at Woman Wept and you’d just opened up a little about Gallifrey… It was nighttime, remember? And those three moons were reflected in a row on the frost and the light from the stars was dancing off the crystals; everything was blue and ice.” She smiles in memory, “And I kept thinking that the whole planet reminded me of your eyes, all hard and icy blue and…striking.”
He grins and nuzzles into her hair, running his lips down her skull and to her neck. “I wanted to kiss you so badly that night,” he confesses between pecks.
“I wanted you to kiss me that night,” she sighs, moaning lightly as his lips move down to her clavicle and then continue on south. He stops when he reaches the swell of her breast, however, and raises his eyes to meet hers.
“I want to hear the rest of your story,” he tells her, his voice rich and thick like treacle, “and then I’m going to show you what it means to be loved.”
Her breath is rapidly accelerating and it takes a second to claw through her daze to understand what story he’s talking about. He rolls off her and resumes his intent listening position, his eyes open and accepting.
She closes her eyes for a second, recalling the next part of her tale. “I went into labour a little early, 37 weeks I think, and I was alone in the flat when my water broke. I thought about calling Jimmy but I didn’t want to bother him–I was too frightened of being a bother that I didn’t even ask him for a lift to the hospital. I took a bus. And I was so frightened; I was terrified and all I wanted was my mum… But I didn’t call her. I walked into the maternity ward and checked myself in and told the nurses that my partner was on his way. I think they knew though, I could see it in their eyes whenever he was mentioned. Like we both knew we were just playing a game.”
She can see him clenching his jaw again but he stays quiet, lets her continue in her own time. She takes a shaky breath. “I don’t remember much after that; it’s all a drug and pain filled haze. I didn’t ask for pain medication but they gave me a spinal block anyway. Looking back, I’m grateful for it, even if I would have refused it at the time. It would have been too much, all alone with the full brunt of that pain. It was bad enough anyway…"
"I do remember asking the delivery room attendant over and over again not to show me the baby once it was born, not to even tell me if it was a boy or girl. I still don’t know. It makes it a little easier I guess…."
She has to stop for a few seconds, her throat closing up again. "I saw a glimpse of it though, accidentally. It was so tiny and its head was covered in downy white blond curls, wet and plastered to its skull…” Her words are barely choked out by the end of the sentence and she can see pain etched across his face, probably mirroring hers.
“And that’s it,” she concludes with a tight smile. “I signed the papers and got out of there before they even officially released me. Went straight to the estate and cried in my mum’s arms for days. Made up some story about Jimmy leaving me, and mum didn’t fuss once about me staying in bed miserably for a few days. She was brilliant, actually; I thought she’d be so angry at me, maybe not even let me back in the flat, but she was so comforting and forgiving… Told me later she was so glad I’d escaped that abusive relationship that she didn’t have the heart to scold."
"Good woman,” the Doctor says under his breath but she doesn’t have the emotional strength to tease him for complimenting her mum right now.
“I did have to put the hospital fees on my credit card. Eight hundred pounds; a fortune for someone like me. Told mum it was Jimmy’s debt I’d paid off. Technically it was, in a way.”
He grunts in response and pulls her close again, pillowing her head on his chest. “And that was it? He never contacted you?” His words vibrate against her cheek.
“I texted him, told him it was over. He didn’t reply.” She shrugs, “It was better that way; I might have fallen under his spell if I saw him again back then. It was a rough time.”
She feels him growl and she lifts her head to flash him a slow smile. “But everything worked out for the best. A couple of years later a crazy alien took my hand and he’s still holding it.”
“And he loves you,” he mumbles huskily into her hair and rolls them over so that he is holding himself over her. His hair flops down in front of his eyes as he drops his head to search her eyes; his shallow breaths are hot on her face. Slowly, tenderly, he lowers his lips to hers, imbuing such adoration through his gentle kiss that tears spring to her eyes again.
“You are worth my entire universe,” he intones reverently, moving downward to worship every centimeter of skin with his lips. Shifting his weight to his right arm, he trails his fingers under her vest top, along her ribs and up to her breasts, circling a peak with his index finger before lowering his mouth over it. He rolls the stiff tip between his teeth and then laves at it and before sharing his attention equally with her other breast. His touch is so achingly gentle that it feels like her heart might burst.
Both breasts thoroughly lauded, he plants a row of kisses down her stomach, pausing briefly for the tip of his tongue to swirl inside her navel, but otherwise keeps up the steady pace. When he reaches the waistband of the knickers she’d hastily thrown on after their last round, he dips his tongue underneath, scouting as she rocks her hips up against his mouth.
“Thought I took care of these hours ago,” he chuckles and sits back on his feet. He holds her gaze as he leisurely peels them off, a reverential glow radiating from his eyes. She feels like her entire body is suffused in lazy warmth and pulls his lips to dance with hers.
He makes love to her like she’s the most precious entity in the multiverse and he tells her so, whispered and chanted and translated into a hundred languages. His strokes are long and steady, rocking into her like he’s rocking her to sleep. She comes with a whimper and he follows with a groan, their highs a release rather than fireworks and explosions.
“You are my unconditional goddess,” he murmurs, sated, as he pulls her groggy form to his.
—
She opens her eyes before he does and smiles at his serene expression. He’s beautiful when he sleeps; freckled and unguarded, and she fleetingly hopes the full Time Lord can find such peace in his dreams.
Of course she wants children with him: those freckles on a little boy, to see his soulful brown eyes when their newborn girl first blinks awake. Her hand has moved unconsciously to her lower abdomen and she feels for the familiar but fading stretch mark.
When she looks at him again he’s watching her, his eyes crinkled and solemn.
“Do you ever regret the adoption?” he asks softly, reading her eyes perfectly. He always can.
She sighs. “I still think about the baby…that mop of curls, that impossibly small clenched fist… They promised me it was going to a good family, a family who wanted it more than anything else… It was the best option. If I had to do it all over, same circumstances, I’d do the same. But do I regret it? Sometimes. When I see a blonde toddler or a mum nuzzling into her baby’s neck…yeah. But knowing it has a better life than I could have ever given it, a mum and a dad and not having to grow up on a council estate… it helps.”
She leans over and gives him a quick kiss. “And so do you. Thank you.”
"Mmm,” he hums distractedly, clearly imagining scenarios of pain he could inflict on Jimmy. His eyes are dark and distant. She knows him too.
“Doctor?”
“Mmm?”
She waits until his eyes drift back up to hers. “I think about children a lot, you know. Our children.” He’s silent for an excruciating minute, his eyes wide and locked on hers. “Um, if you want them, that is…it’s fine. Either way. I…Can I even get pregnant? With your…I mean–”
With a whoosh he lets out his breath and captures her in his arms, rolling them inside the duvet until they’re a trapped in giggling, gleeful bundle.
“Say it again,” he begs.
“What? ‘Our children’?” she pants, her arm pinned between them and wrapped together so tight she can hardly breathe.
“Our children. Yours and mine. Ours.” She laughs and his face almost splits from his grin. “It’s going to be fantastic.”~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
UNTITLED
In a universe where everyone stayed in the Prime Universe.
——-
By this point, the Doctor’d thought, he’d seen Rose in as many situations as two people feasibly could. Well… rather more situations, as most couples could hardly boast access to a frankly miraculous time ship and the rather dubious couples therapy of exploding a seat of modern British government to save it from flatulating aliens.
But the Doctor had never quite seen Rose this nervous. Not in the dozens of near death circumstances they’d found themselves, not when she’d worked herself up to confess her feelings for him, and he, fool that he was, had nearly choked on his own hearts as they tried to float out of his chest. Not even in bloody FRANCE when he’d been blind and the biggest arse this side of Raxicoricofallapatorius.
(And that’s saying a lot, because Clom in particular has it’s fair share of arses.)
No, he’s never seen Rose like this. Sweating and twisting her fingers in her lap, shifting on the cheap faux leather seat every few minutes to reach into her bag and check for the thousandth time that their paper work was in order.
The Doctor sighed and glanced to the corner of the small waiting room where an incongruous blue police box was doing it’s inanimate best to whistle and seem inconspicuous. Bless her. The old girl was nervous too.
He’d risked a paradox once before to reunite Rose with her family. The Doctor swore then and there that, Reapers be damned, he’d do it again if anything went wrong today. They’d get this right if he had to go back and do it over again a thousand times.
The tinny overhead speaker dinged and the raspy disembodied voice of the night nurse called out, “Paging Doctor… I’m sorry… The Doctor and Mrs Tyler to the front desk.”
Rose shot up, smoothing down her hair and fussing with the collar of her button up shirt.
“That’s us,” she gulped, stating the obvious. “Do I look ok? They’ll think I look ok, won’t they?”
She’d insisted that they dress up for this, and for once the Doctor had complied, donning proper dress shoes with his slacks and a soft cashmere sweater over his own button up.
He placed a soothing hand on her elbow, and reached down to gather up her massive bag (bigger on the inside, but still, Rose had insisted they bring everything “just in case”).
“You look beautiful, as always. They’ll think you’re perfect.”
Rose gave him a shaky smile and together they walked over to the front desk, making it there just as a small dark haired nurse pushed through the double doors leading to the Labor and Delivery unit, of the University College London Hospital.
The young nurse gave them a wide smile, walking over to them with the tiniest bundle swaddled in her arms. “Are you Doctor and Mrs. Tyler?”
Rose was shaking, and so the Doctor answered for her “That’s us,” just as a feeble wail began to rise from the pink and blue blankets in the Nurses arms.
“Well Mr. and Mrs. Tyler,” The nurse said, and the Doctor, seeing that there were tears in her eyes too decided he liked this woman immensely, “It is my pleasure to introduce you to your daughter.”
The woman leaned over and settled the infant in Rose’s arms, patting her on the shoulder and murmering. “She’s beautiful love, one of the prettiest babies I’ve ever delivered. Take your time. But I wager she’ll need her nappy changed soon enough.”
The woman smiled at the Doctor before taking her leave, gesturing that she’d be right behind the reception desk if they needed anything. When the Doctor looked back to Rose he could see she was staring entranced at the babies face tears streaming unabashedly down her cheeks, and her index finger twined around a tiny flaxen ringlet.
“My Daughter,” she whispered, and then tearing her gaze from the baby looked up at him, her eyes wide in disbelief. “Doctor, it’s my daughter.”
The Doctor smiled, his hearts pounding in his chest, hardly believing it could contain so much love.
“Of course it is Rose. She’s perfect.”
“Yeah” Rose breathed, looking back down at her in rapture.
But when Rose finally looked back up at him, the Doctor could see the hesitation and doubt in her eyes.
“Doctor… are you sure you’re ok with this… that she’s not…”
The Doctor just smiled, wrapping an arm around his beloved wife and clasping her to his chest. When he let her go he simply answered the questions inherent eyes by hoisting the bigger-on-the-inside diaper bag where she could see it.
“When you’re ready Rose, the instant you think you can let her go, if you don’t mind, I’d like to be the first to change MY daughter’s nappy.”
