Logic Does Not Exist In This Dojo

gallifreyburning:

The Doctor opened his eyes to find Rose’s face mere inches from his. Nibbling her thumbnail thoughtfully, she stared at him. He wondered how long she’d been watching him sleep. It was strange enough that he’d slept at all — being part human had its downsides, and dozing away half his remaining life was certainly one of them.
“Good morning,” he said, swallowing a yawn. He wasn’t sure how to interpret the expression on her face, if that intense stare boded good or ill. If it meant second thoughts about the words they’d said last night, or the thing that followed. Well, the four things. Four things and the chocolate syrup.
Maybe she’s upset about the ruined sheets.
He was gathering the momentum to say something — to deflect her misgivings with a hail of nonsensical chatter, to let her know it was all right and they could return to the way things were before the words and the chocolate syrup, that they could back off this path and never step down it again — when she broke the silence.
“It’s really you.” Eight months since the TARDIS disappeared from Bad Wolf bay, and Rose spoke those words as though they’d only just grown comfortable inside her head. The innerworkings of Rose Tyler’s mind were a mystery to the Doctor. He liked it that way, if he was being honest.
“I’m still me,” he said, all seriousness. The exact same reassurance he’d given her long ago, just after he lost his short dark hair and big ears. “Very first word I ever said to you, trapped in that cellar, surrounded by shop window dummies — oh such a long time ago.” He reached out and took her fingers from her mouth, lacing them with his own. “I took your hand, and I said one word. Just one word I said, ‘Run.’”
His words had the intended effect. She smiled — beamed, actually. Pulled him close, embraced him so they pressed chest-to-chest. The Doctor could hardly breathe, with her so close and so very naked.
Breath warm in his ear, she murmured, “Do you feel that, Doctor? Just there, on the right side of your chest.”
Her heart beating against his flesh, thrumming away just like the second heart he was missing in this human body. He couldn’t speak. Every part of his mind and body was focused on that strong, steady thrumming. He wasn’t lopsided anymore; Rose Tyler was the balance that made him whole.
“I feel it,” he said, the words unsteady, laden with a flood of emotions he couldn’t begin to speak aloud.
“Good. Because that heart beating away in there, it’s not going anywhere. It’s yours. All right?”
Words failed him. His eyelids fluttered shut, closing against tears, and he kissed her.

The Doctor opened his eyes to find Rose’s face mere inches from his. Nibbling her thumbnail thoughtfully, she stared at him. He wondered how long she’d been watching him sleep. It was strange enough that he’d slept at all — being part human had its downsides, and dozing away half his remaining life was certainly one of them.

“Good morning,” he said, swallowing a yawn. He wasn’t sure how to interpret the expression on her face, if that intense stare boded good or ill. If it meant second thoughts about the words they’d said last night, or the thing that followed. Well, the four things. Four things and the chocolate syrup.

Maybe she’s upset about the ruined sheets.

He was gathering the momentum to say something — to deflect her misgivings with a hail of nonsensical chatter, to let her know it was all right and they could return to the way things were before the words and the chocolate syrup, that they could back off this path and never step down it again — when she broke the silence.

“It’s really you.” Eight months since the TARDIS disappeared from Bad Wolf bay, and Rose spoke those words as though they’d only just grown comfortable inside her head. The innerworkings of Rose Tyler’s mind were a mystery to the Doctor. He liked it that way, if he was being honest.

“I’m still me,” he said, all seriousness. The exact same reassurance he’d given her long ago, just after he lost his short dark hair and big ears. “Very first word I ever said to you, trapped in that cellar, surrounded by shop window dummies — oh such a long time ago.” He reached out and took her fingers from her mouth, lacing them with his own. “I took your hand, and I said one word. Just one word I said, ‘Run.’”

His words had the intended effect. She smiled — beamed, actually. Pulled him close, embraced him so they pressed chest-to-chest. The Doctor could hardly breathe, with her so close and so very naked.

Breath warm in his ear, she murmured, “Do you feel that, Doctor? Just there, on the right side of your chest.”

Her heart beating against his flesh, thrumming away just like the second heart he was missing in this human body. He couldn’t speak. Every part of his mind and body was focused on that strong, steady thrumming. He wasn’t lopsided anymore; Rose Tyler was the balance that made him whole.

“I feel it,” he said, the words unsteady, laden with a flood of emotions he couldn’t begin to speak aloud.

“Good. Because that heart beating away in there, it’s not going anywhere. It’s yours. All right?”

Words failed him. His eyelids fluttered shut, closing against tears, and he kissed her.