What You Wish For

[preserved_ginger]

Title: What You Wish For
Character(s): Rose Tyler, Ten II
Setting: Post Journey’s End. A Pete’s!World fic.
Beta: glory_jean
Rating: NC-17 (UK 18)
Warnings: Violence (both physical and emotional), consent issues. Rated NC-17 for a reason. Not safe for work, not child-friendly. You’ve been warned.
A/N: I wrote this predominantly in order to get the mental images out of my head. This is one view of how life in the alt!verse might go.
Summary: Be careful what you wish for; you may just get it.

He’d been taunting her and begging her both at once, and for what it was worth she didn’t really know what she wanted. She thought she did, back when the dimension cannon was first thought of and there was the possibility of getting back to him. And now she had him, or at least she thought she did (which, as it has turned out, wasn’t at all the same thing). But it was at times like these, when his oh-so-very-human patience showed every sign of fraying, that she was left to wonder if letting the Time Lord make the decision for her had not been her smartest move.

She missed him. She could be right beside him – the expression “like peas in a pod” could have been written with this particular pair in mind – and be possessed for a moment with a bone-deep longing for the one who had been left behind. That happened far more often than she was entirely comfortable with, especially since she hadn’t been able to find a way to hide it. She had the sort of face that showed everything.

He hated those moments. She knew he did, because he wasn’t shy about expressing his emotions. At first, like it had been on that beach that day, this had been something fresh and new that had delighted her. These days, when he expressed emotions it was usually something negative about her – and him. She couldn’t believe he was capable of being jealous of himself. Wouldn't have believed it, were it not for the evidence of her own ears. Dysfunctional would describe their relationship to a tee – or at least how it presently stood.

He’d seemed to be in a rare good mood when she’d left that morning to go to work, and she’d hoped that he would still be in a reasonable one that evening, but when it came time to go to bed that night she had realised with a sinking heart that it was not to be.

He had touched her softly enough to start with, she had to give him that. But as things developed, he became rougher and more careless with what and how he touched. And although she could not help the way her body told him she was uncomfortable with what he was doing, it didn’t stop him shouting at her. It never did.

“How long’s it going to take you, Rose?”

It had started again. She shut her eyes against the sight of him but could not shut her ears, and he kept on shouting at her.

“How long? Or is it always going to be his face you see? His hands on your skin, his mouth on yours?”

She couldn’t help it. These days, she found her mind slipping into the past more and more often, back to the man whose hands may have been cold in temperature but the opposite in intention. She’d noticed only recently that the more often this happened, the more frequently came the bouts of aching longing for a man she’d never see again. And this, she thought, is what truly lay behind his antagonism. He thought she wanted somebody else who wasn’t him, and she felt incredibly guilty because she knew it was true.

“How long’s it gonna take you to see me when I fuck you, Rose?”

She said nothing, because there was nothing that she couldsay that he could possibly want to hear. She’d been told, by that man she adored who had left her here with him, that the two of them were the same man. It hadn't taken her long to twig to the reality: it wasn’t the first time he’d lied to her, even if it was the last. And yet again, she wondered who had the better deal – if anybody did at all.

He asked her again – if ‘asked’ could possibly describe the way he more-or-less spat the question at her at volume. And, still silent because the only acceptable answer was one she adamantly refused to give him, she knew where this was going to end up. She’d been here before, after all, and she held herself taut. Waiting. One thought escaped the self-imposed prison of her mind:Here we go again.

She considered, briefly, the idea of pulling away or otherwise resisting. The thought held for a second or two before she let it go. The memory of what had happened the first (and last) time she had tried, and the punishment that had followed, had washed over her conscious memory and prevented her from trying to escape.

Once had been more than enough.

He stopped shouting. The silence that followed was deafening. She wondered if this time everything would be all right. For a few minutes, she let herself believe in her fantasy – her mind locked away with the memories of a man whom she knew wouldn’t willingly hurt her. Her mind, her essential Rose-ness, was hidden away somewhere even his duplicate couldn’t pollute it. A duplicate in almost everything, yes. An absolute copy of the original? Not so much.

By the time the first slap hit her she was back with her Doctor, back with the man she would always love best, and past feeling any pain. By the time he was finished she had a split lip (she could feel the blood oozing from it) and a seriously painful left eye that was probably going to turn into a hell of a bruise. Plus ce change, she thought, knowing she’d need to find another excuse to avoid her mother while she healed.

It would take only a few days – she’d noticed how she’d started healing more quickly than usual since the proper Doctor had left her, but she wasn’t ready to tell anybody yet, least of all his duplicate who could so easily use it against her. Still, it would mean lying to her mother and to Pete, and she hated lying. She also suspected her mother didn’t really believe a word she had to say any more on the subject of her relationship with the ‘Doctor’.

“Doctor?” She addressed his duplicate with the original’s title, as her mind – already slowly retreating from the mist, bringing with it a growing awareness of pain – tried to catch up with what was going on. “Doctor, is that you?”

That was her first mistake. Her second was to draw him to her in an embrace (he had no choice but to go, being dragged bodily into it, but he certainly didn’t go willingly), calling him “my Doctor”.

***

He kissed her silent, his mouth rough against hers, as he decided to accept her stated preference for the Time Lord version of himself – he hadn’t been known as ‘the Doctor’ since his Time Lord self had dumped them both here all those months ago – simply because he stood to gain something from it.

“Doctor?” Rose muttered again, and it was obvious to which of him she referred. He groped at her, not much caring if she received any pleasure out of it, but knowing that he at least needed to make a nominal effort if he wanted Rose to remain engaged.

His kisses became rougher still as he became less and less bothered with restraint: his hands were increasingly less gentle as they roamed over her body. Rose was at least giving the impression that she was enjoying herself, or so he told himself – even as a twinge of guilt passed through him. He slipped a finger inside her to find out if she was ready for him and heard her moan the Doctor’s name. It was certainly not him she was thinking of.

Jealous beyond words of his Time Lord self, he took advantage of her wetness and slid inside her – not gently, either – and started to move within her. The awareness of what his actions made him into was almost enough on its own to make him reconsider. But the tightness of her, the delicious friction of her walls around his cock – and the overwhelming desire he had to claim her as his, removing any claim his Time Lord self might still have on her – meant that he made no real effort to stop until he found himself climaxing inside of her.

As he softened, still inside her, the reality of what he had done started to dawn on him and a hot feeling of shame built up inside him. Unable to face her, or the evidence of what he had done – and the fact that this was not the first time – he hurriedly cleaned himself up, dressed, and left the apartment.

***

When Rose woke up to reality again some hours later, her head and thoughts comparatively clear, she was in a cold, wet bed with stickiness between her legs and in rapidly increasing pain. And, as became obvious on even a cursory examination of her surroundings, she was completely alone.