[ He's absolutely criminal, really, to dare list his grievances when she can see he's denied her the pleasure of undoing his tie herself. Or had he rushed over before even tying it? His behavior is a bit manic at first, and she watches with trailing eyes while he paces, even attempting to drop her smile when he accuses her of weaponizing it.
It's a bit of a failure, given that he cheats when his footfalls finally still and his voice softens. His touch makes it impossible for her to keep a straight face, but then isn't she allowed to be pleased by a gamble gone right for once?
The lilt to her voice is coy as she sets the bouquet gently down onto the desk beside her, leaning slightly against the edge. ]
Did I?
[ Of course she did. But...perhaps she hadn't really let herself believe he would. ]
[ He had taken a bit longer in getting here, perhaps, than he should have. A Time Lord who is always late by most standards, yet perfectly on time by his measure. He's here now and as always happens when he's with Vanessa, he's not eager to leave.
Their proximity naturally loosens some of the tension of his remaining worry, though he hasn't dropped the matter entirely. She's distracting him so thoroughly and he's very put out, yet equally captivated.
Biting his lip a little to try and quell a smile that's threatening to be too ebullient (he can't let her think this is simply okay, after all), the Doctor is only too quick to play the game. ]
So presumptuous, Miss Ives. To assume I'd just always give you exactly what you want, is that it? You think you're so clever. [ His tone is light and breezy, a coy smirk on his own face. ]
What am I going to do about you, honestly? Unacceptable behavior. Really only one option, as I see it. You're going to do what I want. And what I want is to take you out, away from here, eh? We're due for it, long overdue. A trip to Eidris, what do you say?
[ It's a bold command that draws a bit of flare from her gaze, like she might consider rising to the challenge. There's always an innate resistance when being told what to do; even when it intrigues her, even when it's what she wants. Doctor's orders? The corner of her smile tilts unevenly, and she tips her head to look through the hooded eyes of a viper for the passing of only a few breaths. As though Vanessa might feel like proving that if she wished it, the front door wouldn't open again until nightfall.
The desire to give him what he asks is an easy win in this case, however, because there's a certain new delight in hearing him say exactly what he wants.
Maybe there ought to be more trepidation on her part for the sake of common decency. There's no proof yet that any of their efforts for the city have been successful, and they are surrounded by variables and tragedy. Who are they to be enjoying themselves?
But if anything like happiness can be found amongst the dark corners of Serthica, even for an hour or a day at a time, aren't they of all people long due? At least until the beacon separates them, hasn't she decided that she would like to search alongside him for when the flecks of sunlight occasionally scatter the shadows? That consideration brings a different twinkle to her eyes, one much softer than only moments prior. ]
You leave me helpless to your whims, Doctor. I say that I had best get my coat.
[ If they're to make it back to Eidris while the cities are still connected, they can't waste time, so for now she'll be entirely agreeable and move to step around him so that she can go to fetch her coat. And her gloves, of course, for the public. ]
[ There is something remarkably unfamiliar and thrilling about this to the Doctor. As much as he's seen and done in his long years, it's rare indeed that the Doctor allows himself to get this close - literally, physically, in this case - and doesn't move. He's always fidgeting, moving in circles, gliding about as though unmoored to his own existence. The fact that Vanessa stands so close to him, gracing him with a series of expressions that are an intriguing puzzle (at least to him) and yet, he feels no urgency to put a distance between them, makes his mind turn and spin about with frenetic uncertainty.
He doesn't stand this close to people, he just doesn't. But he's broken so many rules with her thus far, which continues to be beyond his understanding. He only knows that he enjoys this and he's delighted when she agrees.
Still, before he can agree to let her pass, he needs to assure himself of a few things. ]
Just a moment.
[ They don't have time to waste and he doesn't intend to, but this is important. He reaches for her wrist now, his touch light. He doesn't bother to warn or explain to her what he's doing, he simply cradles her wrist in his hand and measures her pulse with his other hand, eyes focused on her skin.]
Good! Steady. [ Still looking at her wrist, he reaches for her other hand now, cradling them and turning them over slowly, gently, examining her skin. He's not expecting she's hidden injuries from him, but he needs to be sure. He worries over the scratches still, but they're fading, thankfully. It's the shallow cut to her palm that's new, though, and he runs the tips of his fingers over it briefly before leaning in to press a kiss there. Squeezing both hands before letting go, the Doctor now circles around her, looking her up and down before facing her again. ]
It's my professional and highly qualified opinion that you're going to be fine but I did come just in time! You've been stuck in this dreary place far too long. You fetch your coat now and I'll be just outside.
[ Despite his little flirtations in acting as a concerned doctor, his touch and his appraisal are nothing like Victor's consultations. Her hands still tingle when he releases them, and as he circles her, she feels everywhere his eyes search. Of course, he'll find nothing telling, not with her pose or thorough dress, but inwardly something squirms in delight at his inspection. Something that fears and craves that exposure. See me? ]
Hold.
[ Her hands are on his tie before he can set off, halting him rather suddenly and pulling him close. Perhaps he had set off the whole way here with it undone, after all, but either way she won't let him forget again. Her fingers know their way around a bow tie, but she takes her time despite the implied urgency, letting each fold settle and crease just right before she pulls and wraps the next part, completely silent until it's set and posed at the center of his collar. She smooths it out. Pleased by her work, her hand momentarily rests over his waistcoat, giving it a bit of a tug to center the cut of it beneath the tie.
[ Oh, he does like this. Why has he never thought to have this tied by anyone else before? It only takes a second, though, for the dawning realization that he wouldn't have enjoyed such focused attention from anyone else before. No, this is reserved strictly for Vanessa, he'll insist. He might even manufacture situations where he'll need it tied and fixed by her; he's not above that.
The attention she gives him, briefly, feels selfish and indulgent, yet he can't seem to muster the strength to deprive himself of it, either. With everything going on, perhaps a day out might seem to be the most frivolous way they could be spending their time, but he's always found importance in enjoying the moments as they come.
Grinning with the biggest smile he can muster, he only parts from her after a kiss to her forehead, a silent, Thank you.
Off he goes, then, though not before stopping to converse with her droid again. The Doctor has had experience with all manner of robots in his lifetime, of course, and he's seen both the worst and best of them. He's even built his own robots before, fondly recalling K9 with a sense of nostalgia. Vanessa's droid certainly hovers excessively, to say the least, but seems to mostly mean well. The Doctor has taken to conversing with it more often of late, and so before he steps outside, they're locked in a discussion about Oliver's culinary repertoire and how Vanessa would be better served by some variation in meals, a bit more spice perhaps, something exciting.
"Next time I come 'round, I'll show you a few things. You're not terrible, don't get me wrong, but could do with improvements. It's alright, you've never been shown the proper way of cooking, how are you to know? I'll set you to rights."
The droid is affable enough, from the Doctor's perspective, though doesn't say nearly as much in return, which the Doctor takes as tacit agreement for it to be given cooking lessons at a future date.
Their conversation is interrupted when Vanessa distracts the droid with a task to perform, which is probably the best thing for it, otherwise they'll never get out of here without a chaperone. Bidding his little metal friend farewell with a mock salute and a smile, he steps outside now to wait for Vanessa, fidgeting a bit uncertainly, smoothing his hair back and patting his waistcoat down to free it of any wrinkles. ]
[ Given how skilled the droid is at tidying up the place when Vanessa's ennui takes over, she trusts it with delicate tasks most of the time. She'll pick out the vase, one taken from an old and discarded arrangement brought by a forgettable suitor and sets the bouquet into it with care, but she knows she can trust the droid to carry it to her room without too much fuss.
Although Vanessa prefers her silk gloves, those are long gone after the near-drowning, so the fine leather ones will have to suffice. Her things are in the foyer, so it's a quick farewell once the droid is set to task. Momentarily, she pauses to lift the thin sheet draped over the tall mirror, glancing over her hair to make certain that it isn't in any sort of state.
Outside, there's a lightness to her step when she glides down the stairs to stop at his side. ]
Tell me, what in Eidris are we to marvel at today?
[ He wouldn't be able to identify why, precisely, given the unique way his mind works as opposed to a human's, but the moment the Doctor sees her, Vanessa's beauty strikes him. He can't elucidate on the particulars that well and often, these aren't the sorts of things he notices at all. The Doctor doesn't see beauty the way so many others do and he's not especially superficial, but he knows intrinsically when something is beautiful, and she is, most assuredly.
Yet, to say it out loud would seem insufficient. She's tidied up her hair, yes, she's dressed well, these are all facts about her appearance which truly have nothing to do with her beauty in his mind. It's simply a fact of her nature; Vanessa is beautiful the way the light from a distant sun casts out the shadows, and he is powerless to do anything but orbit around her, grateful for a time to be worthy of her magnificence.
As she comes closer, he puffs his chest out a little, smiling at her tenderly before he offers her his arm. ]
The markets! They'll be lively today, merchants all wandering about selling their wares, various street performers, I expect. Dancing, if we're lucky! And I'm quite sure we will be.
[ Vanessa is rarely shy, but she feels nearly thus with how he looks at her, and there's a duck to her chin as she nods to encourage this idea. She doesn't usually travel to Eidris for leisure and there's much she's never seen. To enjoy them for the first time at his side seems not only fitting, but most desired. It may be the closest he ever gets to showing her the universe.
Taking his arm with both of hers, Vanessa hugs close to his side while they walk, lightly thumbing at his sleeve when they need to slow for 'traffic'. She can't help but shake her head somewhat at the mention of dancing, but only because she can't believe how relentless he is on the matter. Has a man ever been so determined?
Vanessa would like to believe in luck; the good sort. ]
[ For all that he talks up his dancing 'skills,' it's entirely possible (and likely) that from Vanessa's perspective, he will have greatly over exaggerated his actual prowess. Though, he would certainly never see it that way at all; his dancing is a thing to behold, but he hasn't actually danced with anyone quite the way it's traditionally done. At least, not in a very long time.
For any who might observe them passing through from one citadel to the next, the soft and tender look on the Doctor's face as he guides Vanessa through the crowd might look effortlessly comfortable and at ease, a sense of belonging.
The most noticeable difference as they enter Eidris is the majestic architecture towering above them. He's seen it often enough, but the Doctor still gazes up at the towers with a sense of wonder. There's none such gazing today, though, because he'd rather watch Vanessa's reaction to all of it. It's the first time he's been with her here in Eidris and he loves being an observer when someone is seeing things like this alongside him.
Just up ahead to their right is a long alleyway packed with the bustling market he'd spoken of, and he grins in anticipation, but he doesn't lead her too far too quickly. ]
[ So quickly and rarely that it might as well have been a half-remembered dream, and the sheer scale of this half of the city is always going to be worth marveling at. She might swear there's even more color. Perhaps there is, but it could also be the magic of dragons instead of airships. It could be the sunlight drawing out the hidden parts of every little thing (when has she last really enjoyed any sun?). Perhaps it's the company seeming to ever brighten her spirits as he sweetly leads her along.
A small puppet show off to the side draws her attention for a moment, and there's a quirk to her smile when a child yells something obscene at one of the puppets. ]
The air differs here. There is a vibrancy.
[ She holds close to him to avoid the touch of others. How many of them are even real, she would rather not ponder on for now. She might be able to check, but why? To tarnish their day? They've done what they can to help. Now they can only hope that it's enough, and take notice of what few pleasures this strange demimonde lets slip through.
Suddenly, she's terribly curious about the markets. Not the markets, really, but the Doctor and the markets. Is there somewhere he likes to go most of all? A favorite food? A friend he's made who shares passing secret jests? Is there a spot where he goes to lose himself in wonderment? What about when he's tired and through from the excursions, from his chatter and his adventure? What about when his knees are weak and his breaths are short and his smile becomes a grimace? Where does he go, then? The need to know is striking. ]
Tell me, there must be a thing among the crowds that you have come to love. Show it to me.
[ There are so many things he can and wants to show her here, it's why he brought her, of course. He's not sure where to start, truthfully, having settled on just wandering with her through the market to show her all the sights. He wants to buy her something nice, too; if he had his TARDIS, it'd be easy for her to change her wardrobe as she chooses, but this is the best he can manage. If she finds anything which interests her, that is.
The aroma of food being grilled, drinks being spiced and doled out, dough being fried and dipped in sugar, all wafts through the air. He'd have her sampling everything if it were possible, but Vanessa's prompting suddenly provides him with the stricter focus he needs. ]
What I love...oh, so many things, but-
[ Something particular. He suddenly glances at his wristwatch, then back to the crowd in front of them. ]
We're just on time. [ He grins as though he's sharing the most spectacular secret with her, and he deftly guides her through the crowd to a more sparsely populated corner. Then he gently lets go of her arm so that he can move to position his hands on her shoulders, guiding her to stand in a specific spot. He looks up at the sky, ahead to the crowd, and then to his left. Then, standing behind her, he guides her one more step to the right, his hands still resting on her shoulders. ]
Right here. Thirty seconds. Look up when I point.
[ Out of the corner of his eye, the Doctor sees a young performer set up with his instrument, something similar to a mandolin from Earth. Just up ahead, there's a small house where a mother will be leaving with her children in tow for the day, and the youngest child will step outside and see a vendor across the street bagging up a few fried dough balls tipped in cinnamon just for the child.
And now, the perfect moment, and the Doctor points, drawing Vanessa's eyes up to the sky, where a great dragon soars above them on its way to the Palace of the Sun, something it does every day at this exact time. There's the slightest of breezes from the beautiful creature's wings flapping, and as it curves just to the left, the sun hits the building at the perfect angle, light arcing off the windows and projecting a rainbow of color across the marketplace. ]
Do you hear it? Do you feel it?
[ It's intangible, the wonder and joy from this moment. A dragon flying through the sky overhead, a child laughing in delight, a street performer plucking an uncertain melody that tries to be steady and beautiful, and rise above all the other noise. ]
[ The placement is so particular, and Vanessa almost becomes sheepish as she lets him lead her step-for-step until they're in a spot that seems unremarkable on its own, except for the fact that the Doctor is standing directly behind her and she's keenly aware of it in the beginning. It's a vulnerable state, after all, but he's attempting to point her focus forward, and so she follows his guidance. She needs little of it, once she stops looking over her shoulder at him.
The sight of the mother is particularly captivating for Vanessa, who carries a frown pinched with love while she fusses at the coat of her daughter. Neither of them are moved by the breeze that rustles from the dragon's passing, but when it tickles at the few loose wisps of Vanessa's hair and the Doctor points up, she tilts her head back with a new appreciation of what astonishment feels like. It's like falling off a cliff.
Having seen them through the pocket watch is entirely a different experience, and something visceral cuts through her in that moment of the great beast's flight. Her eyelids feel heavy, and a fog drifts over her gaze. There's a thrum in the air that beats out the other sounds, something only she can hear.
But then it's gone and so is her memory of it, and the colors pierce the fog so that she might smile again. Everything here is so perfect in its flaws, even. There may be more dead than alive within the citadel, or living as mannequins if that isn't worse, but she isn't sure that should negate the beauty of how they survive. They shouldn't be discredited, and there's such incredible value in observing, even sharing this moment in time with others making their way along the market. It is beautiful.
Yet, there's a sweet pain when regarding this tapestry of life with unlife and reality with fantasy. Even here where he's been trapped, he adores people and their exuberance with such a freedom, no matter where they have come from or where they may end up. Yet, even when standing where he loves most, he wields that love from a distance.
She can't help it if there's a sadness to her smile, but that doesn't weaken her soft awe at regard for the moment that he shares with her. Though she doesn't say anything aloud, Vanessa reaches back to rest a gloved hand over his, holding it against her shoulder with a little squeeze of acknowledgment. ]
[ He doesn't quite belong with any of them, these people he admires so well from afar. Not only because of the fact of their circumstances (none of them technically belong here), but by his nature. That's always been true for the Doctor, though. He doesn't fit anywhere, he's just passing through. Always when he observes in such a way, there's a feeling of known otherness within him; he's part of it, but not. The only difference now is that usually, it's the Doctor standing solitary on the fringes, but Vanessa stands with him and he feels a silent understanding pass between them as she rests her hand over his.
For those who have been so often and intimately acquainted with the dark, who but the pair of them could linger here in the last place the light touches, in this quiet corner straddling the boundaries between life and death, ruin and hope? As he moves his hand to squeeze Vanessa's, it strikes the Doctor for the second time in less than a minute that she understands what he was trying to say beyond just a simple enjoyment of the vibrancy around them. There were deeper things he hoped to convey, things he wouldn't have ever known how to say aloud. She reaches for him, though; as if he might belong somewhere with her in the fracture of a moment that exists all too briefly for them alone. ]
Did that answer your question?
[ True that it wasn't a question so much as a command, but the query was inherent in her prompting. She wanted to know more about him, and he can't seem to deny her that.
He wants to know what her favorite things are, in kind. Not just here, though the thought of that pleases him as well. He wants to know everything about her, her favorite food, favorite poem, what makes her smile, what makes her cry, what she thinks about when she's alone in the dark, what terrors wake her up at night, what she runs from, what she runs towards, and how, in all the chaos, he might be able to steady her. ]
[ Sorrowful, yet beautiful. The sadness could abate, she thinks, if he weren't always so lonely. The memory of his loneliness still lingers inside her, holding tight to the memory of his wonderment. There's a need to take that loneliness and dash it away, but whatever connection there undoubtedly is to the Doctor, Vanessa knows that she's like to tarnish any wonderment remaining within him. It's inevitable. His pursuits are too noble.
Vanessa fears that even now, gazing about the marketplace as it bustles to its distorted type of 'life' in the early hours, she sees more of the shadows than the light that casts them. The luminance above is something she might not have noticed at all without his reminding, however, and no matter her acknowledgment of her trailing curse, she wants so very much to reach for it, like a moth to flame.
Even when she was young, when beaches were bright and skies were blue, Vanessa had danced under the sunlight while yearning for the ocean's depths. She had wanted it all; to skip, swim, and bellycrawl her way through the world until she had kissed everything—beautiful and decrepit—and made all of it hers. It was a wondrous desire, and in a moment like this, she yearns for its resurrection. To share it with someone else.
Something inside him must understand that, she knows it, but he has a balance to his inner workings that she ought to only hover near with gentle touch, or it may skew off-kilter. He is too important to too many.
...Yet, he clutches back, and her throat is tight. She would never have known this singular moment if not for his touch. ]
What though the radiance which was once so bright, be now forever taken from my sight... Though nothing can bring back the hour of splendour in the grass, of glory in the flower;
[ He ought to know that she may never rise to his level of grace; that part of her is dead, cut out by her own blade. He ought to know that this vision is shared with what remains: a fractured thing with splintered sight. ]
We will grieve not, rather find— [ She leans, tilts so that she can look over her shoulder and up at him. ] —strength in what remains behind. In the primal sympathy, which having been must ever be; In the soothing thoughts that spring out of human suffering; [ A little smile remains; hesitant. ] In the faith that looks through death, in years that bring the philosophic mind.
[ Turned like this, somewhat to the side, Vanessa can reach with her other hand to cradle his cheek in a momentary caress before pulling it away again. Her touch is always more cautious in public, but he does make it difficult to resist when so close. ]
And O, ye Fountains, Meadows, Hills, and Groves... Forebode not any severing of our loves.
[ The words resonate so deeply for the Doctor that he feels a sense of gratitude for her deliberate choice in this moment. Perhaps it was for her sake alone, but he would swear that for these few seconds they share together in the half-light, Wordsworth had written this for them.
The smile on his face now is tinged with a sadness he rarely reveals. It's only been with Vanessa that he can...allow it, for a moment, because she has seen and felt it already. What is there to hide in that regard? ]
Thanks to the human heart by which we live... [ For the Doctor - human and not. More than human and less than. Seeking an understanding of what it means; to be human, to love them but never to know every part of that most precious of human connections, that of a different kind of love that's eluded him all these long years, because it must. Yet, he feels it tug at him, the idea of it, the shape of it. ] Thanks to its tenderness, its joys, and fears - [ A few wisps of Vanessa's hair run free and he lightly strokes with his fingers, marveling at the softness. ] To me the meanest flower that blows can give... [ A pause, a breath, a consideration for the moment that feels so important. ] Thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears.
[ Though he can't possibly know it, his own scattered and abundant thoughts parallel hers. He'd wanted to share this moment with her, to show her some of the most beautiful things he's seen here, until he can take her away from all of this, pluck a star from the sky, fold her hand around it, and promise her all the time he has to give. But isn't that precisely why he'd shown her this moment? Because in the back of his mind, as much as he aches for her company - for her - he knows he will ruin her. If he allows his hearts to fully understand what whispers at him when he thinks of her, he fears himself, fears what he'll do to her. They've shared so much between them already, isn't it selfish to burden her with such a fate?
Selfishly, though, he wants every second she'll allow him, as long as she will. This, too, is why she deserves far better than the man who has stood on the very edge of the universe on the very last day of all the light going out, and thought it beautiful and sad and longed to stand there holding someone's hand. He thinks no one else can understand that quite like Vanessa, their talks of destruction and hope alike. But he should want to protect her from himself and because he doesn't want that at all right now, wanting to just be with her, it's precisely why he's meant to be alone.
But she's touched his cheek and he remains, at least for today, powerless. Finally, a soft question. ]
[ She doesn't need any of her powers to sense the conflict within him; she can gauge the flicker in his eye and the beating of his hearts and know that he wrestles against wants and fears that she can suspect. He carries a monster within, but she doesn't fear it causing her any pain beyond abandonment. That would be crueler than any murder. An inevitable cruelty given the nature of their quests, but that's the cost of wanting to be indulgent even for a day. She understands that the higher she rises, the further she'll fall. And the Doctor? She'll have to trust that he will be so loved by his companions that he won't miss her.
Vanessa knows she can survive the struggle of it long enough to take on her enemy, but beyond that? Beyond, beyond... She's thought about 'beyond' so often that it's lost all meaning. It may no longer exist for her.
For him, though...what she would do to ensure that he might continue to take in all of the poetry and pain in the universe, so that he might turn it into kindness.
His query draws her out of her conclusion so that she can tilt her head just a touch, with a flutter in her chest. Even without knowing what he means, it feels so much more than just a small question. ]
[ How do you do that? he asked, and it's a question with multiple threads. How does she stand here with him, even after the things he's said, the terrifying images he's conjured not only with his own words, but the visions she'd seen in his mind? How does she look him in the eyes and find something worthy of brief tenderness, the touch of her hand?
She's a wonder to him, in so many ways. She may not understand it at all, would likely reject the notion entirely, but the Doctor is in awe of her strength, her bravery, to persist. To see what she's seen - things he still doesn't entirely know the scope of - and to not be felled entirely by it. She doesn't consider herself with fondness as he does, but he can at least try to convey her importance to him.
Reaching for her gloved hand, he moves to stand in front of her, tugging her hand to his chest, to rest between his hearts. ]
You settle me.
[ Will she understand the full depth of his meaning? His life is chaos. His mind is always going, bouncing from one thought to the next. He runs because he's terrified of stopping, but when he's forced to stop now, as he has been, and when his entire being seems to tremble with uncertainty, she is, inexplicably, an anchor amidst the storms of his life.
Before he can say or do anything else, there's a noise from the growing crowd behind them, an uproar of excited laughter, as a small quartet gathers to perform. ]
[ As far as she knows, she's never been thought of in such a way. To settle. To slow, to comfort? To...belong? From youth, she's been chaos bound in lace. Friends, few and precious, know that much. Rarely did anyone succeed in taming her once she heard the call of her next desire, save for truces made out of necessity or shame. Even in friendship and intimacy, her whims hurt more than they helped. It's frightening to think that anyone might see her as someone to rely on, because she knows that there's nothing she wouldn't do for such a person. Vanessa might wish to be someone worthier of such a tender thought. She might rely on them, and that has never been a benefit.
But she would like to wish for a home in the midst of the tempest, the only spot that 'peace' might be found; the most she could ever tolerate. Could he take her to witness the death of a god and let her wish upon a fistful of its stardust? Could they return to a house built of spun sugar and storm clouds each night, breathless from and for it all?
Moments earlier, she had been nearly overwhelmed when the marketplace had bewitched her, but he looks at her and speaks in such a manner that others around her seem to fade…as if he's cast a spell to banish any not welcome within this moment. It happens too often for her not to take notice, his gift for saying exactly what's needed to seize her heart; as if he can hear that primeval ache in her breast and knows just how to answer it.
You thrill me with a madness. Her hand curls against his shirt, firm against his chest while she stares up and searches for her own bravery. You give me such serenity.
Before she can form any such response, though, the sound of the crowd is just loud enough to break the spell and draw her attention, if only for one reason. If he comes here often enough to know the milling patterns of the denizens, then he must have known there would eventually be music. His tenacity should be rewarded, and maybe she might allow herself a little pleasure in the process.
Vanessa isn't going to forget what he's said. She's going to bask in it.
But something does occur to her as she takes his hand in hers, lining up their palms. Playful, as much as she dares. ]
Do Time Lords know the waltz?
[ He knows so much poetry, how could he not know all the dances? Perhaps it isn't the sort of dance to fit his usual tempo. She's rather curious what other dances he must know. It could be fun to learn. ]
[ The Doctor is not unaware of the effect his words have, of course, though sometimes, it may be true that he's careless with how he wields them. Should he have really said that, and now, of all times? When their futures here are uncertain, when he can make promises long into the night without any confidence he'll be able to keep them?
If he were a better man, he might have been more thoughtful and cautious. But he's a selfish man who wants to dance with her while they can, and who dreams of taking her away from the terrors that await her. There is so much they can see together, and there's no fear in showing her all of it. Every horror, every joy, every good day and every bad day. In his travels, his friends have been witness to destruction, madness, the worst of things at times. Yet, it's something else entirely to contemplate standing at the edge of the universe for the pleasure of it and finding it just as beautiful as the birth of the first star. Vanessa would understand it.
Before he can get lost in any further thought, she moves his hand to line up their palms and a delighted grin passes over his face. ]
The forbidden dance. Quite the scandal, in its early days. Do you know the history of it? Fascinating, really! Started in the countryside, small village near Vienna - [ He stops himself abruptly, a slightly sheepish look on his face. His rambling isn't out of the ordinary, but his unsteadiness is a new thing. For all that he's talked of this dance, for all his bluster, he's a bit nervous now, confronted with the reality of it. ]
I know it! But it's been...a very long time. It's not shaking your hips, clapping and waving your hands about, is it? [ Again, a bit of levity as he fumbles his way through this. He does know this dance, knows many of them, but now Vanessa is right in front of him and he won't be able to escape her eyes; it's thrilling and terrifying, yet he wants this more than anything else at all right now. ]
[ She knows that it wasn't always popular, but her smile is still sincere when he begins a tangent, more than eager to hear him share whatever other historical facts or anecdotes he was about to lead into. Vanessa loves it when he talks about anything, really. He can make nearly anything burst with passion.
Her head tilts when he cuts himself short, but the imagery he creates with his next suggestion is enough to distract her with raised eyebrow and a befuddled sort of amusement. How can it not? Talk about scandal. One she'd love to see. ]
I believe that you will need to show me that dance.
[ Though she doesn't know if she would be brave enough to try it herself. Besides, her clothing would make a 'shaking of the hips' rather difficult, given the constriction at her waist.
Where they stand, there isn't much room for any sort of real dance without risk of bumping into others. The crowd is likely to grow as the morning stretches on. A simple box step might manage, and is probably best given his sudden bashfulness. She doesn't think she's ever seen him in such a sweet little fluster, and more than anything Vanessa wants to hold him close for the sake of it.
Keeping their palms resting so that their touch is light, Vanessa takes his other hand to guide it behind her waist, high up enough to suggest intimacy without threatening modesty. ]
Here, you proceed more gently. You trust your partner's next step...and you keep your eyes on theirs.
[ The music has barely started, but she's already pulling, just so, into a sway. The first step will be small. ]
[ It being, of course, his strange, whirling, twirling, off-kilter and nonsensical dance. More like a full-body jerking movement than a dance, really, though he would never agree.
The Doctor is used to being so assured about everything that his uncertainty now with his movements makes him feel younger than he has in a long time. Young and unencumbered, in a way that he hardly deserves. As if the slight touching of their hands might loosen a hundred lifetimes worth of sorrow.
As she guides his hand, the Doctor's equilibrium pivots and where only a moment ago he felt like he was standing on a single wooden plank in the middle of a maelstrom, he now feels steady and certain, anchored to the infinite universe in Vanessa's eyes. What depths she holds there, he still can only wonder at, but she lets him look. What will she see in his own eyes, he wonders? What does he hold there for her that she hasn't already seen? Can she understand the things he still doesn't fully know himself? The thought, once again, terrifies and thrills him.
A slow remembrance of the waltz's movements returns to him, and the Doctor keeps his eyes locked on Vanessa's. A bit more sure of himself, as they move, he goes back to explaining the history of the waltz, something to speak about so he doesn't get too completely lost in her, otherwise he might forget the way out. He can't be sure of himself with her lately. ]
Did you know the novelist, Sophie von La Roche, called the waltz the 'shameless, indecent whirling-dance of the Germans'? Of course, like everything, once the nobility latched onto it, it was entirely acceptable.
[ She knows by now that he enjoys telling her things, relating facts and what he knows, but this particular conversation is a distraction for his own sake, from how wonderful it feels being close to her. ]
[ As the music picks up and so too does the noise of the crowd, it's clear that their tempo is not to match, but Vanessa hardly notices. She's transfixed again, an eyebrow perched with mild amusement at the knowledge he does choose to share. Is it the history he likes, or the scandal?
She remembers Sir Malcolm remarking on the difference between the eyes of predators, and it's something she had noticed as well when given to taxidermy. The predators that hunted by stalking were usually the ones with paler eyes. Yet the prey, and the predators that chased them, would often sport darker eye colors. As if there's little distinction for the pale-eyed, like Vanessa, who watches them both and primes for opportunity.
She watches the Doctor with intent.
His eyes seem both light and dark as they sway and step and–carefully–turn. A shadow passes and they're soft, yet luminous, like moss after a gentle rain. In sunlight, when the green flashes bright and his pupils constrict, she can see flecks of umber and bronze. She could stalk from the misty English coast to the burning sands of Egypt in eyes like his. ]
It was never quite acceptable to my father, though there was little he could do once I followed my mother's fondness for it.
[ How could Vanessa not have been eager to master the dance as soon as she was able to begin lessons? Peter had not been a very exciting practice partner, it was true, but Vanessa had made the most of it for the sake of balls. It's easy to understand why it was once so unpopular, given the closeness it forced. With the waltz, one no longer shared their partner with others in breezy passes; their hands and their eyes were for one another alone. Dorian had been more than correct when assessing Vanessa's desires. She likes to watch, to observe; she wants to touch, to experience. It may not be the same with gloves on, but the implication is present.
Is it any wonder that her father never stopped quoting an outdated magazine whenever her mother forced him into a dance? ]
A wicked dance of violent embraces, he claimed, ever since reading it in The Belgravia.
[ She doesn't often share much of her life, especially any of what came before, but it seems almost too easy to bring it up around him now. The thought of him knowing more is frightening, but she must start somewhere. Pointless knowledge to some, but everything to her. ]
[ It's no small thing, to hear talk of her past, to be allowed a glimpse of it. She'd asked him once why he didn't simply read everyone's mind here. Though his abilities have never worked quite like that, he could have long ago devised a way to look into her mind, manipulated memories in an effort to help her. Equally, though, Vanessa could have looked more into his own past more. She could have warned others against him, after the things she'd seen and hadn't quite understood. Between the two of them, they could have ruined each other and for his own part, he still fears that he might; not for any other reason than that it seems to be what he's unfailingly good at.
Yet, she's shared as much with him that she's responsible for her own pain and that of others. How many broken bodies and shattered hearts have they walked on separately to stand here now, together, dancing as though time might deign to slow itself for the sake of their momentary joy?
Everything she gives him now is a gift. The trust between them, the way the Doctor is keenly aware that she knows him in ways he never has to actually explain, the way their pain is a shared thing.
When has he ever danced like this? Oh, there were moments of being outside of it through the years, so many. Times spent fluttering through the lives of various friends, making acquaintances and crashing their parties, inviting himself in briefly and then disappearing forever. He'd glimpse these dances, he'd even be part of them for a short time until he felt the pull of all the sorrow waiting for him from the edges of the universe.
He should stop now. Why is it any different this time? He's going to lose Vanessa, inevitably, like he loses everyone else. But she knows him, she quiets his mind, she makes him feel...steady, and when his eyes lock onto hers, for the first time in centuries, he's not afraid to look away. He can already feel the crushing blow of sadness yet to come, but he's not going to think about it now. He wants to see her smile, he wants to know everything he can while he can. He needs this. For her, there's a happy smile, a playful smile, and he gets lost in her eyes that are so like the sky before a storm. ]
I doubt we would have ever set his mind at ease about it. [ Admittedly, this is tame, compared to other dances, but it's the closeness they share that makes the scandal, and it's all the more thrilling. Since she's allowed him a glimpse of her past, he'll venture down the road a bit. ]
Bit of a rebel were you? Oh, the stories I could tell you about me. Another time. [ And maybe they won't have that time, but he likes to pretend for a little while. Now, he only wants to hear about her. Whatever she'll allow. ] There were balls then, and you danced this wicked dance? I can almost see it.
[ Vanessa had wanted to hear, her lips slightly parted in anticipation for a tale about rebellion, but then he dares to return the topic to her own incredibly dull beginnings. Her smile is sincere in return for his attentions, but there's a bit of a hapless quirk, as if admitting to her own folly. ]
A bit.
[ More than a bit of a rebel by the standards of any good lady. In some ways, it was easier to be rebellious when living away from the city. So close to the beach and away from the restricting crowds of London, her and Mina's families lived in a world all their own. ...For a time. Until Vanessa had learned that the closeness of their families prevented complete freedom. Some rebellions had mortal consequences.
There will always be a hint of sadness when she recollects her past, even when she smiles in fondness or even shameful mirth. Her father hadn't approved of how Vanessa carried on, but he had never been cruel about his discontent. At least he favored her dancing far more than he did her taxidermy. ]
Not as often as I would have liked. [ She had never shown as brightly as Mina, nor did she try to. ] And then, most dancing I enjoyed was with a childhood friend, or solicitors of my father trying to keep in his good grace.
[ She's attended balls since leaving her childhood home, of course, but rarely. So often it served another purpose. The last ball that she had hoped to attend for her own pleasure, she'd had to go alone. ]
Balls were rare for me when I grew older. I believe that I've danced to silence more often than not.
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It's a bit of a failure, given that he cheats when his footfalls finally still and his voice softens. His touch makes it impossible for her to keep a straight face, but then isn't she allowed to be pleased by a gamble gone right for once?
The lilt to her voice is coy as she sets the bouquet gently down onto the desk beside her, leaning slightly against the edge. ]
Did I?
[ Of course she did. But...perhaps she hadn't really let herself believe he would. ]
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Their proximity naturally loosens some of the tension of his remaining worry, though he hasn't dropped the matter entirely. She's distracting him so thoroughly and he's very put out, yet equally captivated.
Biting his lip a little to try and quell a smile that's threatening to be too ebullient (he can't let her think this is simply okay, after all), the Doctor is only too quick to play the game. ]
So presumptuous, Miss Ives. To assume I'd just always give you exactly what you want, is that it? You think you're so clever. [ His tone is light and breezy, a coy smirk on his own face. ]
What am I going to do about you, honestly? Unacceptable behavior. Really only one option, as I see it. You're going to do what I want. And what I want is to take you out, away from here, eh? We're due for it, long overdue. A trip to Eidris, what do you say?
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The desire to give him what he asks is an easy win in this case, however, because there's a certain new delight in hearing him say exactly what he wants.
Maybe there ought to be more trepidation on her part for the sake of common decency. There's no proof yet that any of their efforts for the city have been successful, and they are surrounded by variables and tragedy. Who are they to be enjoying themselves?
But if anything like happiness can be found amongst the dark corners of Serthica, even for an hour or a day at a time, aren't they of all people long due? At least until the beacon separates them, hasn't she decided that she would like to search alongside him for when the flecks of sunlight occasionally scatter the shadows? That consideration brings a different twinkle to her eyes, one much softer than only moments prior. ]
You leave me helpless to your whims, Doctor. I say that I had best get my coat.
[ If they're to make it back to Eidris while the cities are still connected, they can't waste time, so for now she'll be entirely agreeable and move to step around him so that she can go to fetch her coat. And her gloves, of course, for the public. ]
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He doesn't stand this close to people, he just doesn't. But he's broken so many rules with her thus far, which continues to be beyond his understanding. He only knows that he enjoys this and he's delighted when she agrees.
Still, before he can agree to let her pass, he needs to assure himself of a few things. ]
Just a moment.
[ They don't have time to waste and he doesn't intend to, but this is important. He reaches for her wrist now, his touch light. He doesn't bother to warn or explain to her what he's doing, he simply cradles her wrist in his hand and measures her pulse with his other hand, eyes focused on her skin.]
Good! Steady. [ Still looking at her wrist, he reaches for her other hand now, cradling them and turning them over slowly, gently, examining her skin. He's not expecting she's hidden injuries from him, but he needs to be sure. He worries over the scratches still, but they're fading, thankfully. It's the shallow cut to her palm that's new, though, and he runs the tips of his fingers over it briefly before leaning in to press a kiss there. Squeezing both hands before letting go, the Doctor now circles around her, looking her up and down before facing her again. ]
It's my professional and highly qualified opinion that you're going to be fine but I did come just in time! You've been stuck in this dreary place far too long. You fetch your coat now and I'll be just outside.
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Hold.
[ Her hands are on his tie before he can set off, halting him rather suddenly and pulling him close. Perhaps he had set off the whole way here with it undone, after all, but either way she won't let him forget again. Her fingers know their way around a bow tie, but she takes her time despite the implied urgency, letting each fold settle and crease just right before she pulls and wraps the next part, completely silent until it's set and posed at the center of his collar. She smooths it out. Pleased by her work, her hand momentarily rests over his waistcoat, giving it a bit of a tug to center the cut of it beneath the tie.
Now, he may go. ]
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The attention she gives him, briefly, feels selfish and indulgent, yet he can't seem to muster the strength to deprive himself of it, either. With everything going on, perhaps a day out might seem to be the most frivolous way they could be spending their time, but he's always found importance in enjoying the moments as they come.
Grinning with the biggest smile he can muster, he only parts from her after a kiss to her forehead, a silent, Thank you.
Off he goes, then, though not before stopping to converse with her droid again. The Doctor has had experience with all manner of robots in his lifetime, of course, and he's seen both the worst and best of them. He's even built his own robots before, fondly recalling K9 with a sense of nostalgia. Vanessa's droid certainly hovers excessively, to say the least, but seems to mostly mean well. The Doctor has taken to conversing with it more often of late, and so before he steps outside, they're locked in a discussion about Oliver's culinary repertoire and how Vanessa would be better served by some variation in meals, a bit more spice perhaps, something exciting.
"Next time I come 'round, I'll show you a few things. You're not terrible, don't get me wrong, but could do with improvements. It's alright, you've never been shown the proper way of cooking, how are you to know? I'll set you to rights."
The droid is affable enough, from the Doctor's perspective, though doesn't say nearly as much in return, which the Doctor takes as tacit agreement for it to be given cooking lessons at a future date.
Their conversation is interrupted when Vanessa distracts the droid with a task to perform, which is probably the best thing for it, otherwise they'll never get out of here without a chaperone. Bidding his little metal friend farewell with a mock salute and a smile, he steps outside now to wait for Vanessa, fidgeting a bit uncertainly, smoothing his hair back and patting his waistcoat down to free it of any wrinkles. ]
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Although Vanessa prefers her silk gloves, those are long gone after the near-drowning, so the fine leather ones will have to suffice. Her things are in the foyer, so it's a quick farewell once the droid is set to task. Momentarily, she pauses to lift the thin sheet draped over the tall mirror, glancing over her hair to make certain that it isn't in any sort of state.
Outside, there's a lightness to her step when she glides down the stairs to stop at his side. ]
Tell me, what in Eidris are we to marvel at today?
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Yet, to say it out loud would seem insufficient. She's tidied up her hair, yes, she's dressed well, these are all facts about her appearance which truly have nothing to do with her beauty in his mind. It's simply a fact of her nature; Vanessa is beautiful the way the light from a distant sun casts out the shadows, and he is powerless to do anything but orbit around her, grateful for a time to be worthy of her magnificence.
As she comes closer, he puffs his chest out a little, smiling at her tenderly before he offers her his arm. ]
The markets! They'll be lively today, merchants all wandering about selling their wares, various street performers, I expect. Dancing, if we're lucky! And I'm quite sure we will be.
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Taking his arm with both of hers, Vanessa hugs close to his side while they walk, lightly thumbing at his sleeve when they need to slow for 'traffic'. She can't help but shake her head somewhat at the mention of dancing, but only because she can't believe how relentless he is on the matter. Has a man ever been so determined?
Vanessa would like to believe in luck; the good sort. ]
An adventure, then.
[ The most exhilarating kind, really. ]
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For any who might observe them passing through from one citadel to the next, the soft and tender look on the Doctor's face as he guides Vanessa through the crowd might look effortlessly comfortable and at ease, a sense of belonging.
The most noticeable difference as they enter Eidris is the majestic architecture towering above them. He's seen it often enough, but the Doctor still gazes up at the towers with a sense of wonder. There's none such gazing today, though, because he'd rather watch Vanessa's reaction to all of it. It's the first time he's been with her here in Eidris and he loves being an observer when someone is seeing things like this alongside him.
Just up ahead to their right is a long alleyway packed with the bustling market he'd spoken of, and he grins in anticipation, but he doesn't lead her too far too quickly. ]
Have you seen this part of the citadel before?
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[ So quickly and rarely that it might as well have been a half-remembered dream, and the sheer scale of this half of the city is always going to be worth marveling at. She might swear there's even more color. Perhaps there is, but it could also be the magic of dragons instead of airships. It could be the sunlight drawing out the hidden parts of every little thing (when has she last really enjoyed any sun?). Perhaps it's the company seeming to ever brighten her spirits as he sweetly leads her along.
A small puppet show off to the side draws her attention for a moment, and there's a quirk to her smile when a child yells something obscene at one of the puppets. ]
The air differs here. There is a vibrancy.
[ She holds close to him to avoid the touch of others. How many of them are even real, she would rather not ponder on for now. She might be able to check, but why? To tarnish their day? They've done what they can to help. Now they can only hope that it's enough, and take notice of what few pleasures this strange demimonde lets slip through.
Suddenly, she's terribly curious about the markets. Not the markets, really, but the Doctor and the markets. Is there somewhere he likes to go most of all? A favorite food? A friend he's made who shares passing secret jests? Is there a spot where he goes to lose himself in wonderment? What about when he's tired and through from the excursions, from his chatter and his adventure? What about when his knees are weak and his breaths are short and his smile becomes a grimace? Where does he go, then? The need to know is striking. ]
Tell me, there must be a thing among the crowds that you have come to love. Show it to me.
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The aroma of food being grilled, drinks being spiced and doled out, dough being fried and dipped in sugar, all wafts through the air. He'd have her sampling everything if it were possible, but Vanessa's prompting suddenly provides him with the stricter focus he needs. ]
What I love...oh, so many things, but-
[ Something particular. He suddenly glances at his wristwatch, then back to the crowd in front of them. ]
We're just on time. [ He grins as though he's sharing the most spectacular secret with her, and he deftly guides her through the crowd to a more sparsely populated corner. Then he gently lets go of her arm so that he can move to position his hands on her shoulders, guiding her to stand in a specific spot. He looks up at the sky, ahead to the crowd, and then to his left. Then, standing behind her, he guides her one more step to the right, his hands still resting on her shoulders. ]
Right here. Thirty seconds. Look up when I point.
[ Out of the corner of his eye, the Doctor sees a young performer set up with his instrument, something similar to a mandolin from Earth. Just up ahead, there's a small house where a mother will be leaving with her children in tow for the day, and the youngest child will step outside and see a vendor across the street bagging up a few fried dough balls tipped in cinnamon just for the child.
And now, the perfect moment, and the Doctor points, drawing Vanessa's eyes up to the sky, where a great dragon soars above them on its way to the Palace of the Sun, something it does every day at this exact time. There's the slightest of breezes from the beautiful creature's wings flapping, and as it curves just to the left, the sun hits the building at the perfect angle, light arcing off the windows and projecting a rainbow of color across the marketplace. ]
Do you hear it? Do you feel it?
[ It's intangible, the wonder and joy from this moment. A dragon flying through the sky overhead, a child laughing in delight, a street performer plucking an uncertain melody that tries to be steady and beautiful, and rise above all the other noise. ]
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The sight of the mother is particularly captivating for Vanessa, who carries a frown pinched with love while she fusses at the coat of her daughter. Neither of them are moved by the breeze that rustles from the dragon's passing, but when it tickles at the few loose wisps of Vanessa's hair and the Doctor points up, she tilts her head back with a new appreciation of what astonishment feels like. It's like falling off a cliff.
Having seen them through the pocket watch is entirely a different experience, and something visceral cuts through her in that moment of the great beast's flight. Her eyelids feel heavy, and a fog drifts over her gaze. There's a thrum in the air that beats out the other sounds, something only she can hear.
But then it's gone and so is her memory of it, and the colors pierce the fog so that she might smile again. Everything here is so perfect in its flaws, even. There may be more dead than alive within the citadel, or living as mannequins if that isn't worse, but she isn't sure that should negate the beauty of how they survive. They shouldn't be discredited, and there's such incredible value in observing, even sharing this moment in time with others making their way along the market. It is beautiful.
Yet, there's a sweet pain when regarding this tapestry of life with unlife and reality with fantasy. Even here where he's been trapped, he adores people and their exuberance with such a freedom, no matter where they have come from or where they may end up. Yet, even when standing where he loves most, he wields that love from a distance.
She can't help it if there's a sadness to her smile, but that doesn't weaken her soft awe at regard for the moment that he shares with her. Though she doesn't say anything aloud, Vanessa reaches back to rest a gloved hand over his, holding it against her shoulder with a little squeeze of acknowledgment. ]
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For those who have been so often and intimately acquainted with the dark, who but the pair of them could linger here in the last place the light touches, in this quiet corner straddling the boundaries between life and death, ruin and hope? As he moves his hand to squeeze Vanessa's, it strikes the Doctor for the second time in less than a minute that she understands what he was trying to say beyond just a simple enjoyment of the vibrancy around them. There were deeper things he hoped to convey, things he wouldn't have ever known how to say aloud. She reaches for him, though; as if he might belong somewhere with her in the fracture of a moment that exists all too briefly for them alone. ]
Did that answer your question?
[ True that it wasn't a question so much as a command, but the query was inherent in her prompting. She wanted to know more about him, and he can't seem to deny her that.
He wants to know what her favorite things are, in kind. Not just here, though the thought of that pleases him as well. He wants to know everything about her, her favorite food, favorite poem, what makes her smile, what makes her cry, what she thinks about when she's alone in the dark, what terrors wake her up at night, what she runs from, what she runs towards, and how, in all the chaos, he might be able to steady her. ]
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Vanessa fears that even now, gazing about the marketplace as it bustles to its distorted type of 'life' in the early hours, she sees more of the shadows than the light that casts them. The luminance above is something she might not have noticed at all without his reminding, however, and no matter her acknowledgment of her trailing curse, she wants so very much to reach for it, like a moth to flame.
Even when she was young, when beaches were bright and skies were blue, Vanessa had danced under the sunlight while yearning for the ocean's depths. She had wanted it all; to skip, swim, and bellycrawl her way through the world until she had kissed everything—beautiful and decrepit—and made all of it hers. It was a wondrous desire, and in a moment like this, she yearns for its resurrection. To share it with someone else.
Something inside him must understand that, she knows it, but he has a balance to his inner workings that she ought to only hover near with gentle touch, or it may skew off-kilter. He is too important to too many.
...Yet, he clutches back, and her throat is tight. She would never have known this singular moment if not for his touch. ]
What though the radiance which was once so bright, be now forever taken from my sight... Though nothing can bring back the hour of splendour in the grass, of glory in the flower;
[ He ought to know that she may never rise to his level of grace; that part of her is dead, cut out by her own blade. He ought to know that this vision is shared with what remains: a fractured thing with splintered sight. ]
We will grieve not, rather find— [ She leans, tilts so that she can look over her shoulder and up at him. ] —strength in what remains behind. In the primal sympathy, which having been must ever be; In the soothing thoughts that spring out of human suffering; [ A little smile remains; hesitant. ] In the faith that looks through death, in years that bring the philosophic mind.
[ Turned like this, somewhat to the side, Vanessa can reach with her other hand to cradle his cheek in a momentary caress before pulling it away again. Her touch is always more cautious in public, but he does make it difficult to resist when so close. ]
And O, ye Fountains, Meadows, Hills, and Groves... Forebode not any severing of our loves.
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The smile on his face now is tinged with a sadness he rarely reveals. It's only been with Vanessa that he can...allow it, for a moment, because she has seen and felt it already. What is there to hide in that regard? ]
Thanks to the human heart by which we live... [ For the Doctor - human and not. More than human and less than. Seeking an understanding of what it means; to be human, to love them but never to know every part of that most precious of human connections, that of a different kind of love that's eluded him all these long years, because it must. Yet, he feels it tug at him, the idea of it, the shape of it. ] Thanks to its tenderness, its joys, and fears - [ A few wisps of Vanessa's hair run free and he lightly strokes with his fingers, marveling at the softness. ] To me the meanest flower that blows can give... [ A pause, a breath, a consideration for the moment that feels so important. ] Thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears.
[ Though he can't possibly know it, his own scattered and abundant thoughts parallel hers. He'd wanted to share this moment with her, to show her some of the most beautiful things he's seen here, until he can take her away from all of this, pluck a star from the sky, fold her hand around it, and promise her all the time he has to give. But isn't that precisely why he'd shown her this moment? Because in the back of his mind, as much as he aches for her company - for her - he knows he will ruin her. If he allows his hearts to fully understand what whispers at him when he thinks of her, he fears himself, fears what he'll do to her. They've shared so much between them already, isn't it selfish to burden her with such a fate?
Selfishly, though, he wants every second she'll allow him, as long as she will. This, too, is why she deserves far better than the man who has stood on the very edge of the universe on the very last day of all the light going out, and thought it beautiful and sad and longed to stand there holding someone's hand. He thinks no one else can understand that quite like Vanessa, their talks of destruction and hope alike. But he should want to protect her from himself and because he doesn't want that at all right now, wanting to just be with her, it's precisely why he's meant to be alone.
But she's touched his cheek and he remains, at least for today, powerless. Finally, a soft question. ]
How do you do that?
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Vanessa knows she can survive the struggle of it long enough to take on her enemy, but beyond that? Beyond, beyond... She's thought about 'beyond' so often that it's lost all meaning. It may no longer exist for her.
For him, though...what she would do to ensure that he might continue to take in all of the poetry and pain in the universe, so that he might turn it into kindness.
His query draws her out of her conclusion so that she can tilt her head just a touch, with a flutter in her chest. Even without knowing what he means, it feels so much more than just a small question. ]
What?
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She's a wonder to him, in so many ways. She may not understand it at all, would likely reject the notion entirely, but the Doctor is in awe of her strength, her bravery, to persist. To see what she's seen - things he still doesn't entirely know the scope of - and to not be felled entirely by it. She doesn't consider herself with fondness as he does, but he can at least try to convey her importance to him.
Reaching for her gloved hand, he moves to stand in front of her, tugging her hand to his chest, to rest between his hearts. ]
You settle me.
[ Will she understand the full depth of his meaning? His life is chaos. His mind is always going, bouncing from one thought to the next. He runs because he's terrified of stopping, but when he's forced to stop now, as he has been, and when his entire being seems to tremble with uncertainty, she is, inexplicably, an anchor amidst the storms of his life.
Before he can say or do anything else, there's a noise from the growing crowd behind them, an uproar of excited laughter, as a small quartet gathers to perform. ]
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But she would like to wish for a home in the midst of the tempest, the only spot that 'peace' might be found; the most she could ever tolerate. Could he take her to witness the death of a god and let her wish upon a fistful of its stardust? Could they return to a house built of spun sugar and storm clouds each night, breathless from and for it all?
Moments earlier, she had been nearly overwhelmed when the marketplace had bewitched her, but he looks at her and speaks in such a manner that others around her seem to fade…as if he's cast a spell to banish any not welcome within this moment. It happens too often for her not to take notice, his gift for saying exactly what's needed to seize her heart; as if he can hear that primeval ache in her breast and knows just how to answer it.
You thrill me with a madness. Her hand curls against his shirt, firm against his chest while she stares up and searches for her own bravery. You give me such serenity.
Before she can form any such response, though, the sound of the crowd is just loud enough to break the spell and draw her attention, if only for one reason. If he comes here often enough to know the milling patterns of the denizens, then he must have known there would eventually be music. His tenacity should be rewarded, and maybe she might allow herself a little pleasure in the process.
Vanessa isn't going to forget what he's said. She's going to bask in it.
But something does occur to her as she takes his hand in hers, lining up their palms. Playful, as much as she dares. ]
Do Time Lords know the waltz?
[ He knows so much poetry, how could he not know all the dances? Perhaps it isn't the sort of dance to fit his usual tempo. She's rather curious what other dances he must know. It could be fun to learn. ]
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If he were a better man, he might have been more thoughtful and cautious. But he's a selfish man who wants to dance with her while they can, and who dreams of taking her away from the terrors that await her. There is so much they can see together, and there's no fear in showing her all of it. Every horror, every joy, every good day and every bad day. In his travels, his friends have been witness to destruction, madness, the worst of things at times. Yet, it's something else entirely to contemplate standing at the edge of the universe for the pleasure of it and finding it just as beautiful as the birth of the first star. Vanessa would understand it.
Before he can get lost in any further thought, she moves his hand to line up their palms and a delighted grin passes over his face. ]
The forbidden dance. Quite the scandal, in its early days. Do you know the history of it? Fascinating, really! Started in the countryside, small village near Vienna - [ He stops himself abruptly, a slightly sheepish look on his face. His rambling isn't out of the ordinary, but his unsteadiness is a new thing. For all that he's talked of this dance, for all his bluster, he's a bit nervous now, confronted with the reality of it. ]
I know it! But it's been...a very long time. It's not shaking your hips, clapping and waving your hands about, is it? [ Again, a bit of levity as he fumbles his way through this. He does know this dance, knows many of them, but now Vanessa is right in front of him and he won't be able to escape her eyes; it's thrilling and terrifying, yet he wants this more than anything else at all right now. ]
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Her head tilts when he cuts himself short, but the imagery he creates with his next suggestion is enough to distract her with raised eyebrow and a befuddled sort of amusement. How can it not? Talk about scandal. One she'd love to see. ]
I believe that you will need to show me that dance.
[ Though she doesn't know if she would be brave enough to try it herself. Besides, her clothing would make a 'shaking of the hips' rather difficult, given the constriction at her waist.
Where they stand, there isn't much room for any sort of real dance without risk of bumping into others. The crowd is likely to grow as the morning stretches on. A simple box step might manage, and is probably best given his sudden bashfulness. She doesn't think she's ever seen him in such a sweet little fluster, and more than anything Vanessa wants to hold him close for the sake of it.
Keeping their palms resting so that their touch is light, Vanessa takes his other hand to guide it behind her waist, high up enough to suggest intimacy without threatening modesty. ]
Here, you proceed more gently. You trust your partner's next step...and you keep your eyes on theirs.
[ The music has barely started, but she's already pulling, just so, into a sway. The first step will be small. ]
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[ It being, of course, his strange, whirling, twirling, off-kilter and nonsensical dance. More like a full-body jerking movement than a dance, really, though he would never agree.
The Doctor is used to being so assured about everything that his uncertainty now with his movements makes him feel younger than he has in a long time. Young and unencumbered, in a way that he hardly deserves. As if the slight touching of their hands might loosen a hundred lifetimes worth of sorrow.
As she guides his hand, the Doctor's equilibrium pivots and where only a moment ago he felt like he was standing on a single wooden plank in the middle of a maelstrom, he now feels steady and certain, anchored to the infinite universe in Vanessa's eyes. What depths she holds there, he still can only wonder at, but she lets him look. What will she see in his own eyes, he wonders? What does he hold there for her that she hasn't already seen? Can she understand the things he still doesn't fully know himself? The thought, once again, terrifies and thrills him.
A slow remembrance of the waltz's movements returns to him, and the Doctor keeps his eyes locked on Vanessa's. A bit more sure of himself, as they move, he goes back to explaining the history of the waltz, something to speak about so he doesn't get too completely lost in her, otherwise he might forget the way out. He can't be sure of himself with her lately. ]
Did you know the novelist, Sophie von La Roche, called the waltz the 'shameless, indecent whirling-dance of the Germans'? Of course, like everything, once the nobility latched onto it, it was entirely acceptable.
[ She knows by now that he enjoys telling her things, relating facts and what he knows, but this particular conversation is a distraction for his own sake, from how wonderful it feels being close to her. ]
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She remembers Sir Malcolm remarking on the difference between the eyes of predators, and it's something she had noticed as well when given to taxidermy. The predators that hunted by stalking were usually the ones with paler eyes. Yet the prey, and the predators that chased them, would often sport darker eye colors. As if there's little distinction for the pale-eyed, like Vanessa, who watches them both and primes for opportunity.
She watches the Doctor with intent.
His eyes seem both light and dark as they sway and step and–carefully–turn. A shadow passes and they're soft, yet luminous, like moss after a gentle rain. In sunlight, when the green flashes bright and his pupils constrict, she can see flecks of umber and bronze. She could stalk from the misty English coast to the burning sands of Egypt in eyes like his. ]
It was never quite acceptable to my father, though there was little he could do once I followed my mother's fondness for it.
[ How could Vanessa not have been eager to master the dance as soon as she was able to begin lessons? Peter had not been a very exciting practice partner, it was true, but Vanessa had made the most of it for the sake of balls. It's easy to understand why it was once so unpopular, given the closeness it forced. With the waltz, one no longer shared their partner with others in breezy passes; their hands and their eyes were for one another alone. Dorian had been more than correct when assessing Vanessa's desires. She likes to watch, to observe; she wants to touch, to experience. It may not be the same with gloves on, but the implication is present.
Is it any wonder that her father never stopped quoting an outdated magazine whenever her mother forced him into a dance? ]
A wicked dance of violent embraces, he claimed, ever since reading it in The Belgravia.
[ She doesn't often share much of her life, especially any of what came before, but it seems almost too easy to bring it up around him now. The thought of him knowing more is frightening, but she must start somewhere. Pointless knowledge to some, but everything to her. ]
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Yet, she's shared as much with him that she's responsible for her own pain and that of others. How many broken bodies and shattered hearts have they walked on separately to stand here now, together, dancing as though time might deign to slow itself for the sake of their momentary joy?
Everything she gives him now is a gift. The trust between them, the way the Doctor is keenly aware that she knows him in ways he never has to actually explain, the way their pain is a shared thing.
When has he ever danced like this? Oh, there were moments of being outside of it through the years, so many. Times spent fluttering through the lives of various friends, making acquaintances and crashing their parties, inviting himself in briefly and then disappearing forever. He'd glimpse these dances, he'd even be part of them for a short time until he felt the pull of all the sorrow waiting for him from the edges of the universe.
He should stop now. Why is it any different this time? He's going to lose Vanessa, inevitably, like he loses everyone else. But she knows him, she quiets his mind, she makes him feel...steady, and when his eyes lock onto hers, for the first time in centuries, he's not afraid to look away. He can already feel the crushing blow of sadness yet to come, but he's not going to think about it now. He wants to see her smile, he wants to know everything he can while he can. He needs this. For her, there's a happy smile, a playful smile, and he gets lost in her eyes that are so like the sky before a storm. ]
I doubt we would have ever set his mind at ease about it. [ Admittedly, this is tame, compared to other dances, but it's the closeness they share that makes the scandal, and it's all the more thrilling. Since she's allowed him a glimpse of her past, he'll venture down the road a bit. ]
Bit of a rebel were you? Oh, the stories I could tell you about me. Another time. [ And maybe they won't have that time, but he likes to pretend for a little while. Now, he only wants to hear about her. Whatever she'll allow. ] There were balls then, and you danced this wicked dance? I can almost see it.
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A bit.
[ More than a bit of a rebel by the standards of any good lady. In some ways, it was easier to be rebellious when living away from the city. So close to the beach and away from the restricting crowds of London, her and Mina's families lived in a world all their own. ...For a time. Until Vanessa had learned that the closeness of their families prevented complete freedom. Some rebellions had mortal consequences.
There will always be a hint of sadness when she recollects her past, even when she smiles in fondness or even shameful mirth. Her father hadn't approved of how Vanessa carried on, but he had never been cruel about his discontent. At least he favored her dancing far more than he did her taxidermy. ]
Not as often as I would have liked. [ She had never shown as brightly as Mina, nor did she try to. ] And then, most dancing I enjoyed was with a childhood friend, or solicitors of my father trying to keep in his good grace.
[ She's attended balls since leaving her childhood home, of course, but rarely. So often it served another purpose. The last ball that she had hoped to attend for her own pleasure, she'd had to go alone. ]
Balls were rare for me when I grew older. I believe that I've danced to silence more often than not.
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