(closed) there is a me you would not recognize

[matermali]

WHO: Vanessa Ives and The Doctor
WHEN: After the Clocktower
WHERE: Serthica (Vanessa's place to start)
WHAT: Clocktower drama aftermath.
WARNINGS: Topics on mental illness, religion/Hell, curses, murder, self-harm (scratching), and suicidal thoughts may come up. Will edit as needed.

Though she hasn't exactly turned him away and left him in the cold, Vanessa hasn't the energy that she once did to entertain company even with the world falling apart. Her unending suitors have been turned away at the door, and it doesn't help that the Doctor continues to be let in, despite not even living in Minaras. She doesn't care if people talk. Most of them aren't even real, or they're dead already. Let them talk and talk. She has nothing to say.

There's no small-talk from her, no pleasantries. No tea or snacks are offered, and the droid is threatened away any time it attempts to linger for too long in her company. It's role as her 'chaperone' seems to have come at an end. She exists in the in-between, letting the Doctor ramble about this or that and only responding when such a response requires no heart, no yearning. Her distance is quiet, but tolerant. He isn't made to leave, but eye-contact does not carry on. She knows he only wants to bring her cheer, and that makes it all the worse. It's through her guilt that she doesn't banish him for being such a fool.

She sits at the writing desk in her room, inking what must be the thousandth letter by now. It's a private, rather barren space. With her bare toes touching the floor and dark hair loose around her shoulders, Vanessa should be alone in such a state. Most wouldn't be so careless as to follow her right into her room, but he certainly is, and so she is also careless on the matter. As she feels with anything anymore. She would not so easily let others see her in such an unwelcome and casual capacity, but he has already seen her at her worst. What matter is a satin house robe or bare ankles, once another old soul has witnessed some of the ugliness of hers?

He rummages through Vanessa's vanity now, which seems to finally be enough to garner a sharp glance over her shoulder. His restless behavior has been tolerated, but she cannot understand how he can try to act as if anything is fine between them.

"What, precisely, do you want?"

Comments

[thedreamer]

A question is asked of him and it sits there in the seemingly impenetrable air between them, pushing at the back of his head, poking his shoulder, tugging his hair, demanding a response that isn't flippant. Such a question is reasonable, normal, worthy of something meaningful in return. His delayed answer might almost indicate that he's giving it the due consideration it deserves, when in reality, he's avoiding it and still rummaging through her top vanity drawer. Why? Because she hasn't forced him to go away yet, because if they don't talk about what happened, she might still tolerate his company. Words, once said aloud, have the power to break bonds in an instant. One word alone could destroy a world, decimate a heart, shred a soul. He should know better than anyone. For all that he talks and talks sometimes, when it matters, he's bereft of the words he needs most to say and hear.

Lovely thing, this top drawer of her vanity. His fingers trace the barest of blemishes in the wood and take note of the nearly barren interior. Perhaps she doesn't need much, perhaps she thinks she doesn't deserve much. He would understand the reluctance to settle in here. They all want to go home, except, perhaps, for him. He doesn't have a home; he belongs with and to no one and nothing, so what he has here, this fragment of a life and this murky purpose, is its own anchor. He's a restless soul, though, a perpetual wanderer, so this is his endless fate. He's accepted that, even if it haunts him in the quiet shadows sometimes.

Leaning in, the Doctor sniffs that top drawer deeply; bergamot, cypress, aged patchouli. He dabs a bit onto his wrists, rubbing them together, closing his eyes as he breathes in the aroma.

"Orange would go well with this," he notes before picking up her hairbrush now, studying the shape of it, turning it over, narrowing his eyes, examining the bristles, running his finger over a few of them just to feel the texture against the pad of his thumb. "You really need orange, it's incomplete without it. It'll go perfectly with your scent. Every body has a scent. Not odor, though some do. Did you know that odor happens when bacteria in your body meet with the perspiration from your apocrine glands? It's all released, causes a bit of a stench. It's not sweat! Many people think that, easy to get wrong."

Right, yes, very important things. She asked a question and he's still avoiding it. How does he do this? No, things are not fine between them, not fine for her. He's so often careless with his words, bumbling about with excited ease. A clever little mask, a way to walk through the world and still survive it. She's seen past that, though, and so the real answer eludes him because it must. Will it hurt? Will it help? Will it mend? Will he be forced to leave this room and never allowed to return? Why does the thought scare him so much? He's certainly not helping his cause by ignoring her query.

So many things have frightened him in recent days. Yes, Vanessa herself. The fear for her, more than anything, on top of the fear of her in his mind, the fear that he might be judged for what she's seen there, yet he doesn't know how much she even recalls. Was she entirely aware of everything? Does she fear him in return? Did it hurt her? Did she enjoy it, deep down?

How does he do this?

By looking at her, to start. He closes her vanity drawer, stuffs his hands into his pockets, leans back, and watches her from afar.

"I want fish fingers and custard, my TARDIS, one of those little pens you can write upside down with, and a truth between us. Tell me-" He comes closer now, as close as she'll allow, and he taps the side of his head. "Did you feel me? Did you see me?"

It seems a safer way to start than by asking what she felt in her power. Perhaps there was no awareness of him at all, though he quite clearly remembers feeling her. That dark presence that was familiar, that scared him and knew him.

[matermali]

While he does exactly what she expects and begins rambling about careless facts that would have been interesting in a life before now, Vanessa uses a sponge to dry the ink on her paper. Nothing personal is in her vanity, so she leaves it. Her expression becomes somewhat more mute while she folds up the small stack. His behavior doesn't surprise her, and she isn't overly eager for confrontation, because what would it matter? Let him talk himself out, then he'll eventually go.

Before Vanessa can even spare a moment to wonder about fish fingers and custard, he's switching tactics. It nudges her off balance (was there ever any?), and that breeds resentment.

It's not the question she expected, though perhaps it should be. Does he think she saw something more than what she already has? In truth, she remembers what happened in the labyrinth as if it were a dream. In her dream, she was the mother of nightmares. What she saw was beyond description. What she felt is something that has only slightly faded, with a promise of a deadlier return.

"Why? Would it upset you?" She folds her arms when he comes near, leaning away while peering up at him with a morbid wonder. He has nerve to want honesty, denying so much of himself while begging for her truths. "Or please you?"

[thedreamer]

That's the question, isn't it? One he hasn't figured out an answer to yet. Perhaps it's why he keeps returning here, insisting his presence upon her without asking what she really wants. He came here the first time because he needed to see her, to know she was safe. He's here now because he must be. There's a pull he doesn't understand and wouldn't be able to explain if asked, not even to himself. He's drawn to her but he doesn't know why. He wants to help her, protect her, but she's retreated from him even more now. Why is he so desperate to help? It's part of his nature, yes, but is his insistence for his sake or for hers? To prove that he can, perhaps; a selfish want. He's not above that and has never claimed to be.

Why?

Vanessa Ives is a mystery he's tasked himself with unraveling and he's always loved a good mystery; the intrigue, the clash of light and dark he sees in her, the uncertainty of what will win out in the end. So like himself, yet far beyond, more dangerous, more risky. When has he ever run from that, though? Whatever fate awaits her, whether it be ruin or redemption, he wouldn't abandon her. She would have to forcibly remove him.

Upset him or please him?

To be known so intimately, for her to have glimpsed the depths of his darkness as she has and yet to refute him as though she's the one to fear and not him, it leaves him perplexed and all the more intrigued.

"I hold my secrets close, I always have. They keep me - everyone - safe." He starts again without a direct answer. His natural inclination, it seems. "But you've seen me as I am. There's a peace, isn't there? In being known."

When you have seen the worst of someone, someone as ancient and held by shadows as him, what's left? She doesn't know every terrible thing he's ever done, she hasn't seen every moment of his kindness and cruelty, but she has glimpsed what he's capable of and there's no one else who's ever known him in such a way. No person, at least, no one still living. That should scare him, yet, here he remains.

[matermali]

She stares at him, long and hard, before turning away to gather up the folded papers and slide them into the top drawer for now. She'll relocate them to the box later on, when she has some privacy. She could have it now, likely, if she demanded it, but she doesn't, even as he rankles her nerves with his presumption.

"Peace. I wouldn't recognize it, I don't think."

Again, her arms fold, hands tucked in the folds of her robe because of course, isn't it chilly? She shrugs off his advance by moving away from the desk and over to the window where she can sit on the cushions and the blankets. The droid does make certain that the house is warm, at the very least.

"You think because of what you saw, you might dare know me...as I know you? There, you are ever at a disadvantage." And so it leaves her still lonely in parts, but likely better for it. As is he. He is already closer than many, and she dares not let him know her further, or that will be lost. "It must...agitate, for a creature like you. I understand, and I'm sorry for it, but you don't need to know any of what I felt in that moment. In my heart was only ugliness. Even now, I wish you hadn't stopped me."

[thedreamer]

"Dare to know you, need to know? No," he notes softly. She moves away from him, perhaps to protect herself, perhaps because he's pushed her too much, too far, too soon.

The Doctor so rarely heeds such boundaries, but this is different. The moment feels like a pane of shattered glass, capable of disintegrating into a million pieces that can't ever be put back together, if he's not careful. He is careless and reckless by nature, he expects and demands what he wants, on his terms. Here, with her, he's more measured, thoughtful.

"But want to know you? Yes. Always. You wish I hadn't stopped you, that there was ugliness in your heart. And what of my own? You've seen more of me than anyone has. You haven't rejected me for it. Why?"

At times, the Doctor misses the small details when he's trying so hard to see the bigger picture, but he doesn't miss the way she's carrying herself, carefully tucking into her robe. Recognizing that he's demanded much from her already, his expression softens, eyes worriedly glancing at her from a distance. He would approach her now, and ordinarily wouldn't care about invading her personal space, but he suspects that for someone who likely hasn't always had the measure of control over her body, mind, and soul that she deserves, she would appreciate him keeping his distance for now. He'll have to earn it, the chance to bridge the gap between them.

"Do you think I care so little for you that knowing what you felt in that moment would turn me away from you? I saw it, Vanessa, I feared it. I felt it with me. You made me obey and I couldn't resist. You could have hurt me, but you didn't. Did you want to? Is that what you fear me knowing?"

There was a strangeness to the sensation of it. He recoiled from the invasion in his mind, yet he was also, briefly, not alone.

[matermali]

Why...

Worn fingertips twitch, but she resists. She's too aware of his gaze, his attentions, his concern. The Doctor has fought for this friendship every step, she knows it, and she loves him for it. Even now when she stares at his reflection in the gently fogging glass, she can feel herself beginning to mourn the vision of it. Not a vision of the future, but an understanding. Even if they do everything right, they'll return to their ways of life and never see one another again.

"Hurt you?" He says he fears it, but that was such a small taste. With her shoulder pressed to the cold window, Vanessa lets her eyes drift shut, unaware that the barest of a smile softens her gaunt features. "I wanted to free you." That's what it was to serve, thought the monster in Vanessa's skin. To become one with evil. One with destruction. No more loneliness.

Her heels dig into the fluff of the blanket, the fabrics twisting as she curls into herself to slump against the glass. She could be dreaming again, with how she murmurs.

"To take you into my arms and drink deep your rage and your loss, and you would cease to be as you were. To be, oh, so much greater than the sum of your parts. For you wouldn't be alone. It would be thee and me."

[thedreamer]

"Well," his voice soft, the barest hint of a smile briefly flickering on his own lips. Not so unusual a reaction for the man who's found thrill and been at ease with monsters and creatures that would terrify ordinary people. "A tempting offer, the first of its kind, really. Okay...nearly. Actually-"

He makes a play at pausing to consider the notion for a moment, as if he really needs to. No, nothing quite like this has ever happened to him and he knows it. But it does give him time to pause, reflect, cast a light on the shadows passing through his soul, the things he feels around her that he doesn't know how to comprehend or even name.

"I'm flattered, honestly, just delighted." There's a soft, blithe tone to his voice that could easily be mistaken for flippancy, for dismissing her confession as folly. It's anything but folly, though, and he realizes that. Here again, the Doctor talks around something rather than speak to it directly.

He gets restless easily, so he can't stand in one place and he begins to pace a little before undoing his bowtie slowly, teasing the soft fabric between his fingers before working to redo it again slowly as he speaks.

"There's an end to all things. I've seen it. The last light that goes out in the universe, the clock striking its final hour, the moment where no time and space remain, only me." Only the Doctor and his beloved blue box, his old girl, steadfast sanctuary, oldest friend.

"Every alternate timeline, every parallel universe, they all eventually converge and it goes quiet and still. Loneliness is its own curse," he adds absently, starting to undo his bowtie again, then redo it.

Humans are so fond of that word, curse. The implication being that anyone cursed is helpless and their fate is predetermined, past the point of hope for anything different. He's seen too much of the opposite to believe that's true, generally, but he can accept that loneliness is a curse of its own, and it is his fate, singularly. To imagine the opposite being true or possible - well, tempting, yes. He knows his own fate, but what of hers? Perhaps Vanessa's fate is something like a fixed point in time, something that can't be changed; no, he would refuse the notion. If nothing else at all, she deserves a say in the matter. Has she ever had that?

He still hasn't entirely answered her question, but he hasn't run from her, either, and he runs from everything. He is telling her a story, though, because he's fond of those. Telling her the story of his fate, the loneliness to come, the way a hint of anything else being possible might be a comfort.

[matermali]

His initial impertinence strikes a nerve that whips her head around, eyes narrowed in puzzlement, though on reflection she understands that he wouldn't belittle the unending conflict waged over her soul. She settles back into her spot, nails biting into her elbows from her grip. He knows how much she had wanted to see if her powers could lift her towards the light instead of drag her further down into the pit.

To confess her failure, her stumble from grace, is biting enough, yet he plays his games in response. Always with avoidance; his little dance. She likes to dance, too, but she's been long tired. Yet, for his callous jest, any protest dies on her lips when he speaks to the end of things. An idea that strikes such a familiar cord, horrendously so, and she keeps her eyes on him while he speaks, absently scratching at her elbow the more she thinks about such a frightful void to witness. She doesn't need to reach far into her dreams to conjure similar images that make her toes curl. The chill isn't entirely unpleasant.

The concept of an alternate timeline is still a bit beyond her appreciation, in the sense that it would render everything meaningless. Too, it would be a cruelty to think of another Vanessa Ives in another England, never having known a cloudy day. The end of things, though...

Only you? What of God? And Satan?

Do I─

"The end of days? Is that why─ Is that your fascination?" It's whispered. He means to avert disaster? Has that been his entire advance?

Perhaps her first inclination of a vengeful angel when they met wasn't so far removed, though he has far more care to give than she had first bet on. "Do I bring it about? Some version of me?"

[thedreamer]

He undoes his tie again as she speaks, though his fingers come to a slow halt at her final question. The query itself gives him a bit more information about what haunts her, at least, what she fears.

"No," he answers quickly, casting his eyes over to her. "It ends because all things will and must. I'd be more likely to bring it to ruin, if we're being honest."

But he hasn't been thus far, has he? She bared her soul a moment ago and he's danced around his own, withholding his vulnerabilities, carefully guarding himself. It's what he does because he's not good at anything else.

Why is he fascinated with her? He wants to help her, yes. He's devoted to that, he won't waver. He wants to know her, and selfishly, he feels he's owed that in some way. If she gave herself over to the darkness - or, simply embraced what's already there - what would he do? He prefers not to consider it for the moment, though he's never been one to abandon even the darkest creatures, especially one that he loves. If it's true that he can't help her, whether because she won't let him or he truly can't (though he would be destroyed before he admitted defeat), she at least won't be alone. He would never let that happen.

His tie goes around his neck, but he stops, not tying it back again, not looking at her now. "I told you about the end of the universe...for me. That moment exists in my mind, it's always there, the knowledge of it. It's where I'm going." It's terrifying; more than anything he felt in the Labyrinth. "And sometimes I think - perhaps you understand it, too."

She'd said as much, anyway; thee and me. He can't figure out how to say, You make me feel less alone, or I would never leave you. What would those words even mean to her, if anything? Isn't it a lie, too? He runs out on people, always. It's in his nature. He can't fix himself to anyone or anything, but he's also never been in a place where he was forced to stop. That's a terror in and of itself. The words feel selfish, as most things are with the Doctor. He's seen the end of it all, what's left to fear? He doesn't know how to say those things, or the other things that sit perched on his hearts, so he weaves a story, one he hopes she understands. Instead, perhaps, it spawns a greater distance between them. That wouldn't be unusual for the Doctor, either.

[matermali]

Whenever he fiddles with his tie, the scraping of her nails cease, mesmerized in the purest of curiosities. She's never seen him without it before. Yet, she's seen him mourn the death of his planet.

Vanessa has already had a thorough taste of his loss and his rage, but she's seen him shape it into something stunning in its beauty, too, and offer it to a burning god in sacrifice. That is where she knows he differs. For all his darkness, he isn't evil. No matter how the Thing in her wants to pervert his soul (any who could serve), she doesn't believe he's capable of the horrors that It wanted to unleash in that moment.

Even so, he suggests he could end all life, he could out-live time, and she knows how haunting that must be. Is this the first time he's considered that to be her fate? Does he know now how much it scares her? Has she ever really confronted it, in such a fashion that anyone else might understand? He speaks to how she's dreamt of others nightmares.

The sound she makes startles her; such a strangled and wretched gasp sounds far away. Just a single sob and it hushes immediately, though her face is wet and she can't stop that. Doesn't think to, when she's too caught in staring at─and through─him.

"But I─" She shouldn't speak, her voice can't remain steady; it wavers and falls and and cracks. Her nails dig. "I don't understand...why."

[thedreamer]

Brief though it is, that sob cuts through him, almost choking him, like it's come from him too, somewhere deep and unknown, a fear of never belonging to anyone or anything that undoes him as easily as he's unraveled his tie. It's a fear of himself, too, his ultimate fear; but Vanessa knows that as well. A fear of love and loss, yet a desperate want for it; equally, a fear of being known fully, accepted, understood.

The Doctor hesitates going to her only because he doubts himself. He's brought her to tears, after all. He was trying to comfort, but it's gone all wrong. Words so often sound just right in his mind but then he says them out loud and instead, he breaks hearts and souls. Not good for anyone at all, this tired old Doctor. He meant the words to say, I understand you. We can understand each other. You're not alone. Instead, he's conjured a bleak existence for her inadvertently, yet for her sake, he can and must lead her back to hope, in the twisty-turny, sometimes confusing way that he favors.

If she'll permit him, he comes to join her by the window, sitting close to her. He's gentle and careful, moving first to brush a tear away, and then to take both of her hands into his own, cradling them. He worries at the scratches there, something he'll need to ask about. Tenderly, his thumb traces a few of the marks before he leans in to kiss them softly, lingering just a moment before pulling away.

"There's a place down deep where all the darkness lives," he starts softly, his eyes focused on her hands for the moment. It's hard to look at her because he's about to share more of himself out loud than he ever has before. He doesn't know how to do that, yet he has a feeling of trust with her that he won't be judged for it. It feels necessary in a way he can't explain. If she's shared so much with him, he owes her the same. Again, he would normally run from this and he has. But he's stuck here in this world, trying to help. How can he help her if he continues to withhold from her?

"You understand it because it lives in both of us. In different ways, I know, but you haven't seen all of me. And sometimes, that darkness crushes the light."

Here, he hesitates again. Secrets keep him safe. How much does he tell her? Will it scare her? Or will it - like he hopes - make her feel less alone?

"There's a version of me that wants destruction, vengeance. A version of me that would take and consume everything - obliterate someone's mind and turn memories into dust without guilt or compunction. It's not me, but it is. A version of me, a vision of my future, what I could become, what I have become. It lives with me everyday. It's not just an idea, it's part of me and something I can't ignore."

The Valeyard, Time Lord Victorius. He has been these versions of himself, he's met these versions of himself. His old friend, The Master, had even told him, There is some evil in all of us, Doctor – even you. The Valeyard is an amalgamation of the darker sides of your nature.

He finally looks up at her again. "You don't have to be alone. I'm with you, Vanessa."

It's easier to tell her what he can do for her rather than to admit to his own feelings. That terrifies him too much.

"All things end because they must, but time and who we are is in flux. I know versions of an ending of all possible timelines. Some things are fixed and can't be changed, but that isn’t true for you. I wouldn’t let it be." Said with complete confidence, no wavering. “I don't know the beginning and I don't know all of how the middle part goes, but there's hope in the in-between, where we are now. And what happens here can change our futures."

[matermali]

Despite the distance earlier enforced, mesmerism keeps Vanessa distracted while he sits and takes her hands. She just stares unblinking at first, though for all of her seeming stillness, there are little movements. The twitching of her fingers. A tremble in her chin. A shudder along her spine. Vanessa wonders if that darkness isn't so deep down, after all.

She hasn't seen all of him, and she yearns to, despite it still eliciting the sharpest of terrors ─ even his capacity for good is almost as paralyzing. It was the unlimited potential of his being that had nearly overwhelmed her in their meeting, just as it had awoken something in her soul. Something destructive, but also something hopeful. He hasn't seen all of her, either, and while she's beginning to understand why he might wish to, she can't fathom it would lead him to the answers he wants. That hasn't stopped her from seeking them, no, but that's how it should be. Her battle and no one else's.

You don't have to be alone. He doesn't know that if she's swallowed by the darkness, if she finally gives in, that's when she'll stop being alone. But it wouldn't be his company she kept. A shame. If it were the Doctor inviting her to a different eternity, perhaps God's spurning wouldn't be such a cruel fate. Perhaps he could love the smoke and the blood, but he could also love more.

But none of that should matter, not beyond their time here. The sincerity of his claim is felt so well that it burns, and that draws short little sighs as she tries to understand how he could even mean it. Though she plans to carry the memories of their time together forever, she can't imagine how anything they do here could help her on her return home.

Changing her future... Is it possible to save Sir Malcolm and recover God's grace? No, she never had that. Perhaps a different grace, then. She's reluctant to admit to him that she hasn't imagined very far beyond the battle ahead of her on her return home. A confrontation he doesn't even know about. Vanessa doesn't know if she'll survive it. How could anything here change that?

"What happens here? All I've learned here is that...the Devil is not the cause of my damnation. A child's fickle ghost, nor looming undead legions, are not what torment my dreams. I am the sole reason for my pains. For the pains of others I have loved. How can that be of...any help to me?"

[thedreamer]

Her words cut deeper than she yet knows, of course. They're words that could have easily come from his lips. Obviously, he's quite aware that what she suffers through, what she's fighting against, is different than what he speaks of in terms of how it manifests. From what she's explained and what he's been able to reason through in conversation and in the wake of their time in the labyrinth, the Doctor believes he has an awareness now that her darkness isn't something that can be removed or separated from her. Because it exists, he reasons, as part of her, inborn and linked to her very nature itself, he understands it a bit more than she realizes. He can't separate himself from his own darkness, either, because it's part of him as much as the kindness and goodness in him.

It's all more complicated than that, and far more so for Vanessa, he knows. If it were as simple as being surrounded by good people and love, they'd be able to banish all the monsters inside them by never letting go of someone's hand. Yet, if Vanessa could face her darkness with someone at her side to protect her from total oblivion and from being used and controlled by others, what then?

I am the sole reason for my pains. For the pains of others I have loved.

And what of the Time Lord who sits beside her, who has stolen people away from their happy lives because he couldn't bear to be alone? Who has run from those he loved because things were too hard for him, not thinking of the pain he left in his wake? He's ruined so many lives. Not because he would ever wish to, far from it, but it seems to be inevitable. That truth taunts him now as he holds Vanessa's hands. Will he ruin her, too? It's the last thing he wants, ever. He wants to protect her, care for her, love her. Beyond this world, he's certain he could keep her safe from whatever awaits her back home, too. But...what if he fails her?

Yet, he sits here holding her hands because he can't be moved and he doesn't care to be anywhere else.

"Does it help if I tell you that you're understood? Accepted? Because you are. I know what it is to be the source of pain - others' and my own. I can't tell you what to think or how to feel, but I can promise that we'll face it together. There is nothing that would ever keep me from protecting you."

It's rare that he's this earnest, and he struggles with the words, with the way it may bring them closer, and how terrifying that thought is. So he can only linger on her eyes for a moment before he turns his attentions again to the red marks on her skin. It feels easier to focus on them; the backs of her hands, her forearms, and all the while, his thumb delicately and tenderly traces them.

[matermali]

His understanding mirrors vows made by Ethan not so long ago. But even when she had acknowledged that Ethan was more than a mere man, that his protection mattered more than most, it was that secret monster he hid away that kept him from devoting himself entirely to her cause. His nature battled his heart. She could understand that, and bore him no resentment, but it had been a reminder: Only Vanessa could fight the battle over her soul.

Because there's yet another creature out there who makes claim of understanding and acceptance, and his will is surely to outlast any others who would hope to help. Has anybody courted her longer than he has?

Since before creation?

The thought of returning to face him ─ and the other, what other? ─ elicits a shiver, but then maybe that's from the Doctor's touch. The caresses both tickle and sting, which she thinks is the most that he's ever hurt her, and even that only draws her closer. He may be capable of hurting others to degrees she can't imagine, but that doesn't concern her like it ought to. The worst she thinks he might do to her is abandon her. Expects it, as he must once the beacon is activated.

It's inevitable, anyway, given how tangled his future must be with Clara Oswald's ominous remarks. There's still dread surrounding Clara's connection to the Doctor, but Vanessa has to hope they will look after one another. And what of River Song? Vanessa understands that she claims to be his wife, and so mustn't he also focus on protecting River's future, while she protects his in turn? He had so many responsibilities before meeting Vanessa, and even if he is more than a man... She knows that he can't be anything more than a temporary oasis in her journey. It only makes her more grateful for such time spent with him.

Her gaze drops to watch him trace, as if he were following the stars on a chart. It's the strangest reaction, and the only reason that she doesn't pull away. Of course a thing like him would react differently than anyone else. It soothes the shame at the mild welts being exposed. It doesn't restrain the urge, though, with her fingers curling even now. She can feel It scratching to get out, to reach for him and then tenderly squeeze the breathe out of him. See where unlife carries your affections, child of the stars.

"Not even fate? You dare to take the road less traveled by, but you may find only ash in the clearing." He should know. He should know why he has to stop. "When first I arrived, I thought it Lucifer's curse. A vision. Truly, I─ I don't know what awaits me when I return to face Lucifer and his cult...but I am already facing the beast, and he speaks so sweetly even with blood staining his words."

Whether she'll be changed, whether she'll even survive, Vanessa doesn't know. What she had known upon entry to Evelyn's manor was that she had no intention of submitting. That doesn't mean she had intended to come away whole, if she had worried about leaving at all.

[thedreamer]

Vanessa would be correct in assuming the Doctor might abandon her once the beacon activates and returns them home, though it wouldn't be by his conscious choice. Of course, were he aware of her thoughts, he'd have much to say on the matter. As it is, of his own accord, he's pondered the notion a few times, though more in recent days. As he grows closer to people here, to Vanessa especially, the fact of their respective futures looms and weighs heavily. He's made promises to Red, promises to others, promises to Vanessa now. None of those vows are made or taken lightly, yet he understands with great pain and regret that he isn't always capable of everything he would wish to undertake.

But here and now, as she allows him to continue holding her hands, his thoughts are a whirlwind, thousands of steps ahead of him and beyond this moment. He's lost so much, failed so many, yet also had so many victories. Could it be possible, now, to change course, to be a different man? To stop running from the connections that scare him? To stay in one place for as long as it takes? He's saved many before, yes, but then he dashes off, always running.

He understands what his future presumably must be, yet he's also well aware that time can be rewritten and it has been, frequently. Being trapped on this planet has already changed their fate, hasn't it? Could he be a different man, a better man? Could he follow Vanessa home and stay with her? For her...yes. Perhaps he would fail in the end, felled by the beast that attempts to claim, though he doubts it.

"Then I'll speak louder," the Doctor says simply, firmly. She talks of Lucifer and curses, things both known and yet unknown in some ways to him, yet he fears nothing at all about it. He doesn't say the words lightly, not to minimize what awaits her, but to reinforce his promise and devotion. "And sweeter, I think. Or, I like to think, anyway."

Carefully, he cradles her hands now, leaning in to kiss her forehead. "You aren't going to face any of it alone, I won't let that happen. You wouldn't be the first to doubt me and that's okay. I'll prove it to you anyway."

[matermali]

The simplicity of such a profound statement might almost draw out a smile, but it would only wilt. She'd like to believe that he could be capable of following through on such proclamations. Is it possible for a Time Lord to be too late?

Her tears have stopped, likely from the bewilderment at such heartfelt words coming from a strange and beautiful creature like him. Any turmoil that still lives within isn't because she doubts his intent. She's seen into his eyes, through his eyes, and Vanessa knows the force with which he can give himself to something when he feels he has to. Why he feels he has to with her...still isn't completely clear, though some understanding forms through his talk of the end of days.

If the Devil were kind.

"How could I doubt you?"

Even when they had still been a mystery to one another, he had shielded her from danger, not knowing what that bullet would carry. He had done it again in the labyrinth, and Vanessa is loathe to think of him dying for her sake. She doesn't doubt his resolve.

Is it God that she doubts, then? Not Him, never Him, but it's easy to believe that He couldn't allow her to have any sort of a chance that a Time Lord might try to offer. Perhaps it, too, is blasphemy. It seems that all fantasies are doomed to be such. She vastly prefers reality to fantasy, no matter the pain involved.

But as she closes her eyes at the tender kiss, Vanessa wishes she could be one to give in to that sort of trust. To dream once more. It's remarkable how he can make anything sound nearly possible. She curls her fingers again, this time to grip his hands in turn. No matter how possible any of it is, there's no denying how touched she is by such loyalty. She wants to be deserving of it. It would mean something to be deserving of him.

"You already speak with a dangerous sweetness."

[thedreamer]

For the Doctor, his devotion to her at this profound level is something new and he doesn't entirely understand it, either. While he's charged himself with the care of everyone here (whether they know it or not), there is something wholly different about his commitment and attachment to Vanessa. Truthfully, he wasn't entirely aware until this moment, until speaking the words felt not only necessary, but also like the only truth that's made any sense at all in many long weeks. It means, however, that he's had no time to even think on it, why he felt compelled to say such a thing, and why he would break all of his own rules for her, specifically. Everyone is important, yes, but Vanessa is important to him in a way that he's still trying to sort out.

As often happens for him, though, his own lack of understanding of himself at this moment doesn't preclude him from caring for her in whatever way she'll allow.

"Dangerous is sort of my thing. I know all about danger, I don't hide from it, I run towards it. Well, sometimes, admittedly, it's a bit of a slow jog," he tries for a brief moment of levity, a little softness in his eyes.

"What's dangerous about my sweetness, though?" He asks gently, stroking his thumb across her knuckles. "You're safe with me. Or, I hope you feel that way, in any case. If you asked me to leave, though, I would. If you asked me to stay, I would."

If you asked anything at all of me...

Would he? Anything?

Another question to ruminate over when he's alone. How far would he go for her, truly? And why?

[matermali]

It's such an unsuitable time to jest, how can she not actually smile because of it? It still wilts, but not utterly. He isn't the only one to always seek out danger, but Vanessa still struggles to do so for the joy of anything. Normality is worse, still. Anything in-between has been transitory.

How to explain that she feels safe with him, even when he frightens her? He frightens her now, speaking with such intimacy that she wonders if he's aware of the power he can hold. The thought of him leaving just now draws her forward, pulling a hand free to touch his cheek, fingertips brushing the stubble. She hadn't thought before about a Time Lord needing to shave, though she shouldn't be too surprised. His form is deceptively human. His current state is a reminder that she isn't the only one that Serthica is leaving with frayed edges.

"Stay, then. For tonight."

His pulse is more deviant than usual, where her touch lingers just under his jawline. She knows the usual cadence of the Doctor's hearts by now, and the intermittent flutter just under her fingertips is yet another testimony to his matchless way of being. Not human, not demonic, but not completely ethereal, either. That, there, is one of the sweet dangers. It's better for him not to realize.

Having stayed her hand where his undone bowtie rests unevenly, she absently flicks at one end, tilting her head to peer up at him. His gaze has set upon more of the universe than she can even imagine, yet he looks at her now as if he hasn't seen such a thing before. She's caught in that look, and she wonders if he notices a similar appreciation in her eyes. Vanessa has never gazed upon someone with his fascinations or his capacity. Entrancing.

"We will whisper of the shadows in the mirrors, safe from their reach. Together."

[thedreamer]

He would have left if she’d asked, if she’d truly wanted, but he’d suspected the opposite to be true. It was true for him, too, selfishly. He wouldn’t have been alone in Eidris, but he wouldn’t have been able to wrench himself away from Vanessa, either. If she’d wanted him gone from her space, though, he would have consented and simply stood guard outside, daring anyone to force him away.

What a strange thought, he realizes. To keep vigil outside her residence, to insist that he need to, all the while knowing that in the loosest definition of the word, she’s safe, though not from the insidious shadows that linger in the soul. Is that what would have driven him to stand guard? Or is it something else, something more? He’s stood vigil for others before; for Clara, when she’d been so recently attacked, for Red only a few days ago, when she hadn't been ready for his company. Yet, his commitment to doing the same for Vanessa strikes him as coming from a different place deep within, different from the way he’s stood guard for friends before. He’s reminded of chiding dear Rory once for being so human as to insist on guarding the Pandorica to keep Amy safe, when she was safe in there regardless. He couldn’t fully understand it at the time, what would have compelled his friend to watch over an impenetrable box, to behave beyond all logic and reasoning. Is it similar to what he feels now? What is it? Is that the danger Vanessa speaks of?

Dwelling on such thoughts feels too burdensome and almost frightening, for reasons he can’t understand just now. A different kind of fear, though; one that’s more deeply felt, yet almost thrilling. It also pulls him away from this moment, and this…this is a very nice moment, and he doesn’t want to be pulled away from it at all.

The Doctor doesn’t miss the look in her eyes as she touches him and then his tie, nor does he miss the quickening beat of her heart, which he can feel just from holding one of her hands still. That look that lingers, it’s different. A fondness, an understanding? Something that he could enjoy seeing again. His mind, working so differently than others, analyzes everything about this, the way her touch startles, yet soothes, the way she unravels and yet anchors him. In her eyes, he feels adrift and scattered, yet whole. Contradictions, feelings that make no sense. Is that love, he wonders? A different sort of madness? He should know, he’s not unfamiliar with love at all because he’s loved so many. But no, that’s another lie. He does love so many, but this isn’t like that. It’s terrifying and dangerous and…and…?

The thought lingers. What else, what else could it be? Too much. Too much, pulling him away from her when she’s right here. Vanessa, with her smiles rising and falling too quickly, like a shadow passing over the sun, making him long for a glimpse again.

"Well," he says, with a briefly cheeky smile. "Who better than the pair of us?"

Yet again, not understanding why nor wanting to at the moment, the Doctor feels the urge to be more indulgent with her, to fuss and offer as much tenderness as she’ll allow. Guilt over not being able to protect her better in the labyrinth? A surge of that feeling he doesn’t understand that’s sitting wedged between his hearts? Whatever it is, he follows his instinct, leaning in a bit, enough to kiss her wrist briefly.

"A sleepover! I do love those. I think I do, anyway. What’s not to love? You’re here, I’m here, and if luck is with us tonight, there will be cake. Unless you’re too tired. Suppose you must be. Have you slept? Have you been able to? I could make a bit of cake while you sleep, we’ll have it in the morning for breakfast," he rambles, nervous excitement, anchoring himself by kissing her wrist again.

[matermali]

He still hasn't asked about the scratch marks that zig and zag across her hands and arms; he only responds with touch and kiss so far, as if each caress might erase another mark. It's almost enough to replace her shame with yearning, and her breath catches when he kisses her wrist. He's abusing his power, and she's inviting it, even smiling with a bite to her lip when he dares it a second time.

It might be too easy to excuse such intimate behavior as more innocent because he isn't human. Maybe that's a safety net, not that she would easily recognize one, but she can imagine what one must be like. His otherness is something she can seek solace in, while still wondering at what other mysteries he habits.

No doubt if he tries such affection over breakfast, then the droid will try to step in. If it wasn't so apt at cleaning, and average at cooking, then she would be eager to be rid of it. Too, it's been her only consistent company since Finn left.

There is no arguing that the Doctor's company is vastly superior to a droid's. It will be nice to have breakfast with someone alive again (more alive than anyone's ever been), even if her appetite is lesser than ever. As is her sleep. She hates to be dishonest, but there's no use worrying him over things he certainly can't change.

"...Sleep is not such a simple thing to find; it never has been. You may have to suffer my company until the late hours." Until he retires to the spare room, that is. She wonders if he even sleeps. Does he tinker and invent all night? "As for cake, there is dessert left from earlier. I often save it for the mornings, but you are free to it. My home is as yours."

[thedreamer]

Though he hasn’t asked directly about the scratch marks, context clues tell him much of the story; the way she’d fidgeted earlier, bundling herself up when she hasn’t before, to hide away how she’s marked herself. He tends to notice more than he often lets on and though he’s never been one to shy away from asking questions, this is different.

A kiss to her skin erases nothing physically, but he sees how it seems to soften her and he thinks perhaps if he can leave better marks in his wake, it might be enough to stop her harming herself again, without needing to confront her directly or draw undue attention to it. He’s been amongst humans enough now to understand that there are…intangible things which can be wielded for comfort and healing, things which at times elude his scientifically-oriented mind, yet which have proven themselves to be true. Time will tell, but now he’s started down this path and she’s receptive, he feels committed to this, to her.

“You save cake for breakfast?” He grins brightly, latching onto that, of all things. Of course he would. “After my hearts, you are.”

Sleep, of course, is a separate challenge all its own. The Doctor does need sleep, though he’s had far less lately than he should, so on some level, he understands her. Slowing down enough to sleep is often his biggest challenge, but here in Serthica, it’s far more than that. The things that haunt him have free reign in sleep and he imagines the same to be true for her.

“So we won’t sleep. There’s plenty of fun to be had at night, oh the best sort of fun, especially the pair of us,” he grins, biting at his lip a little. Though oblivious to flirting at times, he does enjoy it, even if he fumbles and gets it wrong sometimes. “I have stories I can tell you, so many, in fact.”

[matermali]

It's the last sort of remark Vanessa expects to hear the Doctor utter in her direction. Not about stories; of course he has stories for her. He always does. But here she is convincing herself that he may not even consciously understand the implications of his promises and his touches, and he dares to sneak a lewd joke in. How he smiles with cheek, and in response Vanessa can't restrain her scoff. But it isn't a scoff, not really; it's a singular laugh, her shoulders flinching slightly with effort to keep it quiet, even with nobody else around to listen. Will he ever fail to surprise her?

"Mm, is that what you name it? Storytelling?"

She knows that she isn't of sound mind to lean into such a tease, but who could expect to be? Whether it's sickness or madness, Serthica's rot is everywhere within and without, but somehow it isn't felt in this spot at this time. The call from the deep still echoes, the ugliness still hides under porcelain skin, but it isn't the rot. That would imply shame, and that lacks while in his presence.

From a sob moments ago to a smile now ─ the sort of smile only fit behind closed doors ─ it seems too easy to let herself fall into that. It's a rare pleasure for her, but there is a reason for that. There's a reason she should never fall into it, no matter who they are.

Her smile slightly sobers when she ponders on any actual story he might share, shifting so that she can lean in and settle against his chest where she can properly fiddle with the ends of his tie. Vanessa can't imagine any sort of tale holding the magic for her that it may once have. Her imagination is too mired in prophecy anymore. What she is interested in is how these stories have changed him. Likely considerations to momentarily spoil any laughter.

"Tell me of a time you were most afraid, then. Not for others, but for yourself. How did you survive it?"

Was it hope? Carnage? Misery?

[thedreamer]

The Doctor enfolds her easily, shifting carefully just a bit so it's more comfortable for both of them. He reflects, not for the first time, that he's hardly sat still quite like this in a very long time. Is this what he does now? The weight of Vanessa against his chest feels strangely...not unpleasant. Though, her question immediately sobers him.

His instinct is to be flippant or ignore the query outright. Deeper questions like that, digging down to the root of him, well, he doesn't like those at all. To answer it truthfully would be like exposing an open wound to the elements, to invite pain and suffering. In the hands of nearly anyone else, such secrets could be wielded against him. To know what frightens the Doctor? How could any revelations in that regard be held in kindness? Yet, this isn't just anyone, this is Vanessa Ives, who has seen so much of his soul already.

He'd been terribly afraid at the summit, his greatest fear being that of himself, of hurting her and everyone else around him. But she knows that already and that isn't why she asked the question.

"Keep that up, I like that," he notes distractedly, as she fiddles with his tie. Not answering her question, not yet. He's working himself up to it.

"What a question! Not, what's your favorite color, Doctor or tell me about that time you sat and watched a supernova while eating a bowl full of Jelly Babies. No, no, we're skipping right to the harder stuff. Well, frightening moments - a few of those knocking about over the years. Had to eat a salami sandwich without bread once - now, you may think, well, how could it have been a sandwich at all then? That answers the question. Frightening, to say the least."

He pauses, fidgeting a little, suddenly busying himself with stroking his fingers through her hair. "Where was I...right, yes, most afraid." He's rambling because he doesn't do this. "I don't talk about these things, you know. Only with myself and that's terrifying enough."

But this is Vanessa, and so much of what happened in that labyrinth changed things irreparably for him. He's connected to her in ways he both can't explain and yet can't deny.

"Most afraid. Well. That moment when you're completely yourself and then you're not. When something you don't completely know or understand comes into your mind and takes hold of you. But the thing is, it wasn't there only a second ago. I was me, perfectly me, and then I wasn't. I wasn't alone. There was something just...there, with me, with my voice but not my voice, my words but not my words. The shape of me, and I was trapped in my mind. A long time ago now."

He hasn't finished answering her question, but he stops there for now because again, he doesn't do this sort of thing. It took him long enough to even work up to saying the words. Now they're out there and he remembers that moment, sitting inside of it again, he feels so far removed from how he survived it at all.

[matermali]

The embrace warms her more than the tangled throw or her weak satin robe could ever manage, and she curls into his arms with an ease that she hasn't let herself feel in some time. Or, really, has she ever? Even with Ethan, their embraces were brief in their sweetness...or their conflict. The thought of him is still painful. Suspecting what Vanessa is to return to, she doesn't know if she'll see him again, either. She had gone into the Devil's pit without any plans for a life that came after.

Since then, she's been tested again and again and she doesn't know if she could still be standing through it if not for the Doctor's unyielding support. More than that, though. His attentions have always felt so specific. Pinpointed. It's unsettled her before, and she made no secret of that when they met, but his attentiveness has been persistent, and now it's only further heartache to imagine living without such a driven presence influencing her life for the better.

She presses the humble fabric of the tie between her fingers, rubbing, tugging, then gently lifting so that it can slide back to rest evenly over the nape of his neck. She pauses only at the mention of jelly babies, but context and logic leads to understand that it wouldn't be a literal term. His continued attempt at a jest is received with a gentle gaze, knowing how he deflects. His attempt to explain his discomfort squeezes at her heart, and understanding draws her further in to nuzzle against the crook of his neck. Vanessa wouldn't wish to force him to speak on it if he wouldn't want to.

When he does share, everything in her seems to seize, to tighten and hold, and her eyes squeeze shut at him confessing to a suffering she knows all too well. She stays silent, afraid of her own voice in that moment, and needing to hear of the kind of creature that might take hold of the Doctor in such a fashion. How terrified he must have been.

[thedreamer]

He has the sense, as he walks the rugged and uncertain path of his own words, that if he would have stopped himself because he couldn't manage to speak of his greatest terror at any length, Vanessa would have allowed him. The certainty of that, more than anything, makes him feel like he's safe with her. The Doctor doesn't talk about how he feels, generally, not without some prompting, a level of trust, and trying to deflect before he can land on the truth. Even then, it's not always a given. When he can speak of deeper and more emotionally challenging topics as it pertains to himself, he finds it easier talking around it, when he can convey the facts as they are in a situation, while not necessarily enumerating every emotion he felt in particular.

She could have stopped him at some point, tried to interject, to prod him along faster. He rambles so quickly, there was scarcely a moment to pause, yet she could have insisted he get to the point. Instead, he's met with unspoken and tender understanding as she presses closer. It's a new sensation for him, as so much has been recently. It's not unwanted, only...unfamiliar, something to try and understand better, though he reasons that if he enjoys it when she nuzzles closer to his neck, she must surely enjoy it reciprocated? An experiment, then, a chance to know her better. What does she like? In the midst of dredging up terrible memories, he finds himself distracted with the promise of her smiling again at him.

He turns a little, allowing his cheek to rest against the top of her head. At least a full minute must pass like this, nothing else said, only the Doctor taking note of every detail. How many seconds between each of her breaths and her heartbeats? The way her fingers curl against his tie. He thinks of the scratch marks on her skin again; punishing herself, trying to forget, trying to make it all go away, substituting one kind of pain for another? Maybe in holding each other like this, they can't beat back the dark, but they can be their own sort of light.

"A very brave woman saved me from it," he confesses at last. "I didn't even know her, but she sacrificed herself to help me. A hand reaching out in the dark."

He'd like to believe he could have saved himself. Perhaps he could have, if it was only him and the entity. Unfortunately, there were others trapped with him and they'd been certain he should be the one tossed out.

"I don't know what that thing was. Perhaps as old as time," he notes, his voice briefly a million miles away.

[matermali]

Older than time. Like a calling card, it agitates her insides, and Vanessa's cheek presses firm to his collarbone with fingers fanned and still just beside, locked over his hearts. Her throat feels dry as she swallows against the rising, familiar unease. It couldn't be, could it? There's no way to really know. The very possibility leaves her chilled, though. Could it have been a different creature? Just as old, just as dangerous? It could be, couldn't it? Can't she believe in anything after coming to Serthica?

"Did you think it should have been your sacrifice?"

It isn't her right to ask, it's unlike her, and Vanessa doesn't have the power to name what compels her to ask with a whisper that's somehow loud despite it's hush. Just as he does, Vanessa must acknowledge that a boundary has been crossed since the labyrinth. Her face is hidden, but her eyes are wide as she lifts a fingertip to idly stare at it.

"Or were you relieved that it wasn't?"

[thedreamer]

She's chipping away at him, slowly, in undeniable ways. He doesn't have to allow it, he could stop her and simply refuse to answer. He's still operating under the assumption that withholding the most intimate of details wouldn't cause her to suddenly stand in judgment of him, yet it would inhibit a greater intimacy between them. He's so rarely breached this line with anyone and part of him remains ever curious, ever more alarmed at the power she holds with her mere words and touch. He's not entirely sure how it happened and it's caught him off guard. Was he so desperate to be known that he's now latched on? What does he owe her?

Part of his willingness to answer, admittedly, is an almost scientific inquiry as well. How far will this go? What awaits them at the end of it? If he gives her what she asks of him, what might he gain in return? He can't begin to guess and he's unsure what he would hope to receive.

"No one should ever die for me," the Doctor's voice is firm, leaving no room for doubt in this.

But her second question gives him pause. He's not alarmed by it, given that he's asked equally intrusive questions of others in his time. It takes consideration to answer, not because it troubles him, but he's genuinely curious why she might like to know. Perhaps the why will reveal itself when he answers.

Covering her hand, he answers her with a truth that has a twist to it. Not a direct answer, but an answer all the same, and one that allows him more control over the way he wields his words and his perspective on what happened.

"This moment between us, it's a good one, I think, as moments go. Certainly, could do with a few improvements but...I'm glad to be here for it."

He's glad he didn't die and he's sad that someone else did. Like so many things with the Doctor, the two truths live together quite well in his head.

[matermali]

She knows that he wouldn't want someone else to die for him, but that hadn't been what she meant, and there's an appreciation for the way he attempts to answer such a delicate query. It isn't a simple one, and it will always be sad for someone with an understanding of the fragility of life. The woman who died for him is worth remembering.

Strange for him to relate any goodness to an exchange that's been mired in talk of loneliness and fear, but stranger still for her to take any concern with him rating it as anything less than perfect. Offense isn't taken, of course not; here she is asking him to dredge up his worst memories, so it shouldn't be a moment with rosy hue. It's a reminder that she is made for poor conversation, for poor company, and again it makes her wonder what he gains from staying near her.

No doubt the moment would also be improved if she did not look so disheveled, and there's a slight twitch as if she might try to pull her hand out from underneath his, to tuck and hide it back into her sleeves with her other hand, but she pauses and her shoulders decompress again. Selfishly, she stays still.

"I am glad for your being here."

Alive. Here.

"Despite my lamentable disposition of late. I wish that I did not..." She strains to find the words without losing the reins on her spiraling anxiety. Perhaps it's the most she can do to apologize for the moment being less than. She suspects they always will be with her. "I wish that I could ever peer out from beneath the shroud that hangs 'round me, yet all I seem to manage is to draw you back beneath it."

[thedreamer]

Their thoughts run astray, apart from each other briefly. This moment could be improved upon, in his mind, by grander things far beyond any shortcomings she may perceive in herself. Had he the ability and resources, they would be together in his TARDIS, journeying across the universe, dancing through the stars, watching a galaxy spark to life. He wants to show her the big, beautiful things she can't possibly fathom, and the small things even he forgets to pay attention to. Because she is worth all of that, and far more than he could ever hope to say aloud. Maybe one day he'll try.

That twitch in her hand, slight and almost imperceptible though it is, cannot be missed. He's too aware of her now, she's too close, and so the slight movement only compels his hand to tighten. She belongs here; here, with him, and he would be very against the notion if she tried to move.

"Lamentable disposition? Shroud?" He repeats her words back, something disagreeable in his tone. "No, no, no, you've got it all wrong. Lamentable - lamentable for whom exactly? Not for my sake. For yours, yes, but that's only because I like your smile. Very much, actually. Bit greedy for it, if we're being honest. I know there hasn't been reason enough for it lately, but we'll get there. It's what I meant by improving the moment. If I had my way - we'd be having that dance by now, at the very least," he smiles a little, in spite of anything. He doesn't know if it's real or not, but it's real enough for her sake.

"And your shroud, well, look at me." He speaks softly, though a bit insistent. "I mean it, really. Look at me. Would I rather be anywhere else? So we're beneath your shroud, so what? Both of us huddled under there together, keeping out the rain. Not so bad at the moment. We'll just shrug it off when we're ready to come up for air. And cake," he grins a little, stroking his thumb across her cheek.

[matermali]

There are moments where it seems so easy for him to take her concerns and send them away. Not dismissively, but gently, as if sending precious cargo down the stream to be tended to at another posting, later on. Not now. Now he only wants her to smile, and that makes her want to smile, so much that it hurts her cheeks even as tears threaten to sting behind her eyes. Only just behind, though.

With his unwavering presence, there's color beneath the shroud.

Vanessa does look for long while he talks, and then long after. She commits to memory the tremble of his lips when he speaks with conviction and tenderness. When he quiets, she lifts her other hand to press her thumbnail just below that lip, her fingertips gently grazing beneath his jawline. Ssshh. There he goes again with his dangerous sweetness.

Her thumb caresses beneath his lower lip, tracing the indent so softly it could be the tickle of air, and she'll indulge herself just enough by leaning up to brush her lips to his cheek in another soft, lingering touch.

"Cake, then. Why wait?"

Immediately, she's pulling away, which will also mean trying to tug that one hand free, so that she can show him where the cake in the kitchen is. That's twice he's brought it up, and that seems a more sensible indulgence than anything else.

[thedreamer]

If he were paying enough attention to his own self at the moment, the Doctor might question why it is that he's suddenly holding his breath far longer than is necessary, while Vanessa caresses perilously close to his lips.

Of course, he can hold his breath a remarkably long time, far longer than humans, but for the moment, he seems to be held in stasis by the promise of her touch alone. To take a breath now, even just the slightest movement, might cause her to pull away, or - dangerously - to draw closer. No, no, best not to move then. Better not to risk it either way. The kiss to his cheek is pleasantly soft and sweet, but then he's already moving on to the promise of cake, the safest and easiest treat to consider partaking in at the moment.

Though he does allow her to pull away now, simply for the sake of this promised sweet, his hand only parts from hers with a final kiss. There, now he's sated so he'll drop her hand and move to follow her.

"Always my motto of course! Why put off anything good when you can have it now," he grins. Truly, he's only speaking of the cake, though perhaps if thought at with any length, his words could have a double meaning he remains unaware of for now.