So I know I should be working on getting a new chapter out of my main story, Life Cycle, right now, but I saw a gif set on tumblr and, well. Anywhoo, it's just a one shot, no harm, right? If you're curious, the gif set's here: ms (dash) .com (backslash) post (backslash) 62809117503 (backslash) rose (dash) when (dash) hes (dash) stressed (dash) he (dash) likes (dash) to (dash) insult
Hope yo enjoy it! If you do, leave a review!
It took Rose six trips (she counted in trips now; weeks and months were hard to figure out in the TARDIS) to even realize the Doctor had a room. It took three trips more to realize he used it, and seven trips besides for her to realize he had a habit of yelling if he cut himself shaving (which happened quite frequently). It seemed that for all his nine hundred years, the Doctor still hadn't quite figured out the intricacies of shaving his face without shedding a bit of blood along the way; what was more, he seemed surprised every time it happened. From her room down the hall, Rose could hear him shouting and raving every time he cut himself. It usually went on for about a half an hour, and usually consisted of him listing all the species he was cleverer than, and all the reasons he was cleverer than them.
It was after Rose had been on a total of twenty-seven trips with the Doctor that she finally hoisted herself out of bed, abandoning the seventh Harry Potter book (which she may or may not have been strictly forbidden to read), and making her way down the hall to the Doctor's room. She slipped inside, unnoticed behind all the noise the Doctor was making.
"Humans!" He was shouting. Humans were usually the third species he cited when listing his cleverness; he was moving a bit quickly tonight. "Can't even leave them alone for three weeks without them sticking their nose into someplace it doesn't belong!" He ranted, nothing but his shadow visible to Rose from where he was in his bathroom. "Something fell out of the sky? Better poke it with a stick! Oh, it doesn't like being poked? Better shoot it!"
"And yet most of us can manage a shave without cutting ourselves," Rose commented, walking past him and into the bathroom. She tried not to take pleasure in the little jump the Doctor did when she spoke; sneaking up on the Doctor always had been difficult.
"What're you doin' in here?" He asked gruffly; Rose was pretty sure his ears were going red.
"Had to make sure you weren't too busy rantin' and ravin' in here to stop the bleeding, didn't I?" She asked, grinning at him even as she turned away to grab a towel.
The Doctor muttered behind her, something about "Time Lords don't rant," but she paid him no mind. She stuck the little hand towel under the warm water of the tap before turning to him. "Hold still," she ordered, before stepping up to him (on her tip toes; blimey, why did he have to be so tall?) to press the towel lightly to the cut just under his jaw.
She steadied herself by placing her free hand on his chest, feeling the double-time beat of his dual hearts. After a moment, she realized the Doctor wasn't moving—she wasn't even sure he was breathing—and it was then that she realized just how close they were.
They'd been traveling together for a while now, and they were friends, sure, but this…closeness, it was something of uncharted territory in their relationship. Sure they held hands when they ran (or they thought they were about to die) and she thought they might have hugged once or twice, but this prolonged lack of space? Very new.
Her cheeks started to heat up as she thought about it, but she made no move to pull away. She wasn't done stopping the bleeding yet, and if she pulled away too soon, it would be acknowledging the tension between the two of them, which would make things awkward—that was the last thing she wanted.
Chewing on her lip and trying to stop the blood from rushing to her face, Rose finally finished staunching the blood from the Doctor's cut, and backed out of his personal space, his eyes tracking her movement, and his expression unreadable. "Right then, all done!" She said cheerfully, trying to keep from sounding awkward or uncomfortable. The Doctor remained silent, watching her. "I'm just gonna…" she motioned towards the door, backing towards it, her eyes locked with the Doctor's as she desperately fought down the urge to blush again. "Be more careful now, yeah?" She called, then darted out of the room.
Nine hundred years of time and space. He'd seen civilizations rise and fall, seen dictatorships crumble and species thrive. He'd watched the humans spread across space and the Daleks die. He'd seen beginnings and endings, in-betweens and just barely starteds. And yet one girl, one tiny human girl, was capable of rendering him speechless, immobile, and decidedly perplexed.
The Doctor stared at the door through which the slight form of one Rose Tyler had just disappeared, trying to figure out what had just happened. One minute things were perfectly fine, normal even, the next thing he knew, Rose was leaning on him, pressing a towel to his cut, and his brain had short circuited.
The whole thing was just so domestic.
It had felt nice.
Bad, it had been bad. He was a Time Lord, the last of the Time Lords, and he did not do domestics, and he certainly did not enjoy them.
He could still feel the warmth from where her hand had rested on his chest, still feel her cool breath fanning across his neck. It was just a memory now, a ghost sense, but...
Nope. No, he was not going to dwell on that now, he was going to finish shaving and go about his business as usual. Because nothing had changed. He was still the Doctor, he was still the last Time Lord, and he certainly was not developing a crush on a tiny human.
Five minutes later, the Doctor's voice once again filled the TARDIS, shouting now about how much cleverer he was than the Slitheen.
In her room, Rose looked up from her book again. Cut himself twice in one day? He must've had a lot on his mind...