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What's In a Name? That Which We Call a Rose Part 2

Title:What's In a Name? That Which We Call a Rose Part 2/?
Author: Avarita_90
Beta: mrs_Roy
Rating: PG
Characters/Pairings: Tenth Doctor/Rose Tyler
Disclaimer: I wished I owned, so that Matt Smith never happened.
Summary: S3 Remix, Episode Shakespeare Code with Rose Tyler
A/N: A million and one thank you's to mrs_Roy and Alizarian_Skies for the banner!

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Rose tried to look non-pulsed as the Doctor when the maid finally showed them their room...room, as in not plural as in, one bed as in... Her thoughts drifted into things they shouldn't and she suddenly had the urge to smack herself in the head, really she was acting like a cat in heat.

 It didn't seem to bother the Doctor any, oh no, he grinned, thanked the maid and bounced off to scope around the room, finally sprawling out on the bed and scooting over to make room for her.
"Come on Rose, we have a lovely view of the city!"

Rose felt her eyebrows hitch upwards and her mouth tighten into a straight line, all in a desperate attempt not to comment about lovely views and the Doctor.

- But, she moved to lie down next to him anyway. There was no point in being coy or flirting, though everything seemed to call for it. He’s the Doctor and he's more interested in the history of the wallpaper than her frilly knickers.

Not that they were frilly. In fact, they were horribly boring. Rose felt a bubble of resentment at herself, why couldn't she have done the laundry?
"- and that is why I dislike Canada." The Doctor finished, legs crossed and arms folded behind his head. He glanced at Rose out of the corner of his eyes, taking in her disgruntled appearance.
"Do you dislike it too?"
"What?"
"Canada?"
"Why would I hate Canada?"
"I don't know, I have my reasons, perhaps you have your own? Bad experience with mimes or maybe you went there once and got into trouble with polar bears, or just bears for that matter?"
"I don't hate Canada...but I've never liked mimes." She admitted. The Doctor smiled briefly before nudging her with his should to continue, "It's just...do we really have to stay here? I mean the Tardis is right around the corner."

"Oh come on Rose! This is history; you're getting the feel of it right now and here. Do you know how many people would bury their own mother for this chance?"

"...The chance to sleep in a dirty half broken bed in jeans and no toothbrush?"
The Doctor gave her a cheeky grin, as he reached into his pocket and withdrew a yellow and pink toothbrush. She'd like to have been surprised, but this was the Doctor, and well, stranger things had appeared from his pockets.

"You got toothpaste?" She asked, returning his smile.
"Fresh mint or Crest?"

"Fresh mint I guess." He handed her a tube and the brush. She hopped up from the bed and went over to the basin of water. Cautiously looking at in from an angle. In case there was something in it, deeming it safe, at least to wash her teeth with she started to open the toothpaste.

"You wouldn't happen' to have a pair of pajamas would ya? 'cus I can't sleep in these pants." She had only asked, because she thought like all other times, he would suddenly pull out what she needed. She didn't wait for his answer, and started to brush her teeth.

"Nope, sorry, but I'll remember to steal a pair of your hello kitty bed time ware for next time."
Rose choked, her first thought being of how he knew about those, and the second being if she should call poison control. Toothpaste couldn't kill could it?

"You alright?" He asked, busy playing with a yoyo he had found in his pocket.

"Fine," Rose croaked back, throat burning as she hacked up the offending toothpaste and washed out her mouth. She stood, awkwardly for a second. Wondering if she should start undressing or... What other choice was there? Christ, this was silly. They’d had sex before, a lot. They were comfortable with one another, why was this so difficult?

Because he always started it, it was him that thrust them into the passion, who with just a creeping hand up her thigh could have her panting in just seconds. It was him who kissed her, hard and fast. And for some reason or another her silly little human brain couldn't let go of the kiss that he had sprung on her earlier, because unlike him, she had a human libido that wanted more than a kiss right now, and wanted to voice her need without jumping him like a cat in heat. The metaphorical ball was in her corner and she had absolutely no idea how to handle it.

"You going to stand there all night? " Rose jumped slightly at his voice, he was bent tugging off his beloved chucks.

"Just thinkin'...'bout tonight. You think it's real? The magic spell and what not?"

"Nah, it's probably some trick or something devious as usual."

He was now slipped off his jacket and tugging at his tie. Despite her eyes refusing to look away ( the Doctor getting undress was like seeing a dog walk on its hind legs - possible but rare ) she found herself pulling off her jacket and outer shirt, followed shortly by her pants and bra. Quickly she slipped under the covers. The Doctor pulled her close so that she could rest her head against his chest.

They cuddled in silence, content with just the feel of each other. Slowly, but surely, Rose felt her earlier nervousness ebb away, replaced with a growing urge to start something herself. She could just as easily start the passion right? She titled her head up, just enough to see his thoughtful expression, about to kiss his chin when he mumbled something about mental energy. The moment was gone.

Rose shut her eyes tight, listening to him toss and turn, babbling.

"There's something I'm missing...something that's staring me right in the face and I can't see it."
Rose quirked an eyebrow, 'well he was right about that.' - but didn't say anything. There would be no knockin' of the boots tonight, not while the Doctor's head was buried in the books. She sighed, mostly to herself and decided push her own feelings aside.

"Well, why would anyone want to kill that guy? What's so important about a guy who reads plays all day long?" She asked, generally confused.

The Doctor turned back to her, cuddling back into her side resting his pointed chin on her shoulder. His breath tickled at her breast. God help her, she was going to have him figure this all out now so he could get back to thinking about more important things. Like how frilly her knickers could be or if she liked it when he nibbled her ear.

"Weellll," he drawled out, "he basically controls what's showing when and where. All local plays are under his order; he can shut them down if he doesn't like them."

"Like he was going to do to Shakespeare."

"Exactly-...exactly like he was going to...until he was killed moments afterward." The Doctor sat up a bit straighter, "Someone must have overheard it being canceled, and they really want that play to be staged, enough to kill for it."

"But why? What's the point? He doesn't even have it done yet..."

"Rose! That's it.” He leaped from the bed and rustled back into his jacket, and slipped on his shoes. "Come on Rose!" She dressed as fast as she ever had, forgoing her socks, pushing into her shoes and raced outside with him. They had barely left the room when they heard the horrified scream of a woman. She spared a glance at the Doctor before nodding and raced back down the corridor with him.

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The Doctor's mind raced, as he stared at the body at his feet, a woman with blond hair and once-upon a time, so much life. He looked away, but enabled to face Rose. It was too much too soon. This was just another reminder that he didn't need. It was bad enough that he was barely able to keep his own body in check around her; the overwhelming urge to kiss her again was tripled while sharing a small bed with her. Desperately he tried to keep his mind on other things, the case of the mysterious death of that man; not that it helped really. Turns out Rose, being the smart and amazing woman that she is doesn't make him want to stop kissing her at all.

"Her heart gave out." He told Shakespeare, "She died of fright."

"Doctor..." Rose murmured, barely over a whisper but he heard it. Instantly he was off his feet and at her side of the window where she stood.
"What is it?"

She blinked and then pointed at the moon, "Pretty sure, I just saw a real live witch. Like, warts, pointed hat and broom sorta one. Flew right over the moon." Rose said it like, well, like she didn't believe she saw it. Not that she should be, she saw things that weren't suppose to be real all the time. The Doctor just stared up at the moon, thoughts racing through his brain, trying to figure this whole thing out. Two people were already dead by these so called witches, all clearly due so from being too close to William Shakespeare...hopefully they weren't next.



Morning rose mournfully, in Rose's honest opinion. She watched as the body of the young woman was carried away under a white sheet. Across from her, Shakespeare sat, head in his arms. The Doctor shut the room's door just as soon as the other women in the household started to cry into each others arms. Shakespeare’s shoulders twitched at the cries, but as he lifted his head she saw no tears, even though he looked on the verge to. The Doctor slumped into the seat next to her, frowning and hand curled under his unshaven chin. He looked so tired.

"I don't understand Doctor," Shakespeare asked, breaking their silence, "What could have scared her so badly? She had such enormous spirit..."
"Rage, rage against the dying of the light." The Doctor mumbled resentfully, mainly to himself.
"Might use that."
"You can't, it's someone else's." He replied pointedly, the author let it go and moved the conversation along.
"I still don't understand, what killed her?"
"More like who."
"Who?"
"Exactly" The Doctor lowered his hands and rested his forearms on the table to bend forward. "See, two people died to tonight. Choking on water on dry land and fright, don't normally happen. Both didn't have anything in common, except that is, for you."
"You accusin' me?"
"No. Just stating facts."
"Plus, there's the whole - witches on brooms thing, flyin' about." Rose added, then she leaned closer to the Doctor so she could whisper in his ear. "- and he's written about them hasn't he?"
The Doctor shook his head, and whispered back, "Not yet, he hasn't."
"Peter Streete used to speak of witches."Shakespeare offered.
"Peter Streete? Who’s that?" Rose asked the Doctor, but it was William who answered her.
"Our builder, he sketched plans for the Globe Theater."

"The architect! The architect!" The Doctor leaped from his seat yelling, clearly having made sense of what was going on, or so Rose hoped. He usually acted like this when he did, or when he was desperately trying to buy them time. Without much warning The Doctor grabbed her hand and pulled her out the room, bewildered slightly, she held on.

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"This is just a theater." William shouted, bored and angry. He wanted to go home, wanted to rest and weep, not stand around his theater watching another man go mad.

"Yeah, but the theater's magic isn't it? You should know." The Doctor strode forward, resting his hands against the dirt, dusty and used stage. "Stand on this stage, say the right words with the right emphasis at the right time, oh, you could make men weep, or cry with joy, "The Doctor started to become bemused, "-or even kiss the woman they-" He stopped. "Change them. You could change people's minds just with words in this place."

William watched, despite the other man's rapid changing pace of thought, he knew a man in love when he saw one. Had written enough about it to know, currently this man, was.

He tried hard not to roll his eyes, men. William's gaze drifted back and forth between the pair, as they chatted about nonsense (well it was to him, seeing as he had no idea what the world they were talking about) but his gaze lingered on Rose, her smile as bright as The Doctor's, her warm colored eyes never straying from him.

Soon the Doctor would see that above all else, this woman loved him more than the sun and stars above.

"Can I talk to Peter?" The Doctor asked him, drawing him back into the conversation.
"Won't get an answer. Month after finishing this place, lost his mind."
"What happened?"
"Started raving about witches, hearin' voices and babbling. His mind was alded."
"Where is he now?"
"Bethlem Hopstial," with a heavy heart, he continued. "The mad house."
"Well, then that's where we're going, come on Rose." The Doctor offered his hand, which she took to help her off the stage. William followed them wordlessly, content enough to just watch the not-yet lovers race off in front.

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Rose clung to the Doctor's side as they walked down the disgusting steps of the mad house, The Doctor easily getting by showing his physic paper, even though the guard had asked if he was there to drop off the ' half-dressed tart '. Rose rolled her eyes, tired of people looking at her oddly.

The Doctor glared, and with a low voice, told the man off and asked for Peter Streete. Rose looked around the Doctor's arm, the low ceilings, the stench and dirt. The screams and wails of the mad. She closed her eyes, this was wrong, so wrong.
"Is this what you call a hospital?" She turned to William, her eyes snapping open with fury."Do you even see the state of this place? You put your friend in here! "
"I've been mad, I lost my mind. This fear of this place set me right again." William augured back, every wail and screech echoed in his mind, hollow as if remembering only yesterday that it was once his own. "It serves its purpose."
"Mad?" Rose lost some of anger, The Doctor edged away from her to look back into the writer's eyes.
"You lost your son." He stated.
"My only boy." The writer confirmed, his eyes hard. "The Black Death took him, I wasn't even there."

Rose swallowed the lump that had formed in her throat, she made to make an apology but the Doctor stopped her by grabbing her hand and holding tight.

"M'lord?" The guard called them down, further into the darken tunnel, to a dirt little cell, where a man sat weeping. A man once known as Peter Streete.

Even in the darkness, the huddled mass that was quivering, the Doctor could tell this was once a great man. His mind, his thoughts, clouded with fear now yes...but even so, there were still sparks of ideas that nestled in, pure and calm surrounded by madness. It was obvious that someone had tempered with this poor man's mind. The Doctor crouched down, a feat due to his height, and looked harder. Wondering how he should go about righting Peter. The mind was a hard thing to travel through, no matter what state of sanity it was in.                            

"Peter..." He placed a hand on the man's shoulder, and it was as if he had set off an alarm. Peter's bright blue eyes snapped to his with fear. Whoever had done this, they were watching. With new determination the Doctor gripped Pete's head and concentrated, trying to sort through all of Peter's thoughts.

"Peter, I'm the Doctor. Go into the past." He said as soothingly as possible, his voice low and calm. He felt the other man's mind flinch against his.

"One year ago, let your mind go back." The doctor tried again, without Peter's acceptance, this would be a painful experience. "Back to when everything was fine and shiny. Everything that happened in this year since, has happened to somebody else. It was just a story, a winter's tale." Finally, as though something had clicked, The Doctor felt Peter's mind give. Carefully rushes of memory swept through them both, Peter slowly fell back with the Doctor's help.

"Tell me the story Peter." The Doctor's voice left no room for argument, "Tell me about the witches."

And Peter did.
  • Current Mood: bouncy bouncy
Wonderful update! I love the tension between the Doctor and Rose. Can't wait for the rest.