[ 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.
[ He loves this peek into her life, to know that she trusts him with even just these little glimpses. He takes note of the warring emotions behind her expressions, toiling about in her eyes. Talk of the past is often a minefield, he knows that well enough. He picks and chooses what he shares as well, and his very ancient past is perhaps one of the bigger mysteries.
There's usually never time for talking like this with anyone in his travels, but even if there was, he wouldn't have felt close enough to even consider it. Not for any lack of love or fondness, it's only that sharing such vulnerabilities is a rarer thing for the Doctor.
As she speaks and he keeps hold of her gloved hand, he thinks about asking to take off just one of her gloves briefly, wanting to feel the touch of her skin. He will. In a moment. ]
My first dance, the first ever, was unremarkable honestly. Bit of a letdown, you know, all the build up of it and the music was off-kilter, the company was middling at best. A good friend, he was, but a terrible dancer. I think I fell over more than we managed to dance! But I do quite vividly recall the most memorable dance I've ever shared with anyone.
[ And why? Because the most memorable is the dance they're sharing now. Will he tell her that, though?
Instead, he smiles at her and decides to get bold. ]
This glove just won't do. Let me hold your hand, for a moment? I mean, really hold it. I am holding it, I realize, by the strictest definition of the term, but - you know what I mean.
[ Though, he wouldn't push her if it's too much. He thinks she knows that by now, too. ]
[ Vanessa does her best to imagine the Doctor as a young man, awkwardly practicing with his friend, just as Vanessa had done what she could with Peter's inability to keep tempo. He had been all elbows and knees when they were of the age to learn, too, and Vanessa had been taller. He did eventually grow taller than her, but certainly not to tower.
She likes the Doctor's height. He's tall enough to envelop her with an embrace should he wish to, but not so high up that it's an imposition. It's just so that when they dance, the tilt of her head and curve of her neck feels natural, and she barely notices that the rest of the world has been skewed off-kilter beyond his singular presence.
Although she's eager to hear more about his most memorable dance, of which she is imagining must have taken place on a far away world with alien beauty, his sudden focus on her glove softens her smile to something different. Her steps slow, and with consideration, she'll glance to her hand.
Of course she knows it, but his hesitancy is still being disciplined. ]
If you want to take my hand...
[ Her already gentle grip on his hand lightens yet more, her thumb teasing against the lining of his palm. So much gentler than the glint in her eye. Is she to remove her glove for him, when it's his spoken desire? If it's what he wants, then he shouldn't waste time asking. ]
Well - [ The smile on his face now shifts from something light and breezy to something between enthralled and intrigued. As always with her lately, the Doctor feels pleasantly adrift in the world around him, anchored instead to every moment with Vanessa.
He won't waste time now, though he debates ripping it off or tugging it slowly. Moving slow throws them further out of step for their dance, but he's focused and intent on something else now. There's pleasure to be found in conquering quickly, yet as he's been learning here, it's sometimes far more rewarding to take things a bit slower. So he pulls at her glove, revealing her wrist, which he kisses softly. Only a half second more and the glove is off, with another kiss pressed to her palm. Her glove is tucked into his pocket as an after-thought, and then he presses his palm to hers before lacing their fingers together. ]
You won't be needing that glove back anytime soon. This is much better.
[ He couldn't be bothered to consider anyone else around them now. If asked, he would quite earnestly insist there must not be a crowd at all. It's only Vanessa, after all. She's all that he sees, in any case. Tugging her just slightly closer, he looks down at their feet briefly, then back up to her, clumsily guiding them back into a rhythm. ]
[ There are machinations turning behind his eyes, as if he seeks some secret path to reveal her hand when he begins pulling off her glove. Vanessa doesn't realize that her breath is caught until it's gone and her hand is exposed to the chill of the air–save for the warmth of little kisses that he has already taken to habit. Not the back of her hand like a gentleman would, but her wrist and her palm, like a lover.
Earlier he had not been bold enough, and now his boldness dares to draw attention. At least, it would garner glances on the plaza outside Grandage Place. He's never touched her so in public before, but nobody seems to be paying them any mind, so long as they remain out of people's way. This isn't Grandage Place, or anywhere in London. Whether or not they save these people, she'll never see them again. She'll never see him again. It's enough to let her indulge in such an intimate moment, with her pulse racing so fast that it's a hum in her ears. She can hear his voice through the drone of it, and that's all she cares to pay any attention to. The crowd is easily forgotten as she leans into his pull.
The twining of their fingers isn't standard for the dance, but she isn't to correct it, only gripping at his arm with her other hand a bit more tightly in turn. She had begun the dance, but here she's wanting for him to take the lead, for how dizzy such a simple touch has made her. Well, far more than the touch.
When she speaks, it's with a breathless start, as if just remembering now what he had been talking of earlier. Perhaps a distraction regarding his fantastical journeys will guide her back to her own reality. ]
[ His eyes flicker for the briefest of moments from her eyes to her lips, then back to her eyes. It's such a quick thing, involuntary, and there's a slight upturning of his own lips in a particularly languid manner, suggesting he's in no rush for this moment to ever end. But all moments do, he knows. Everything ends, so something can begin again.
What happens for them after this? Is it only an ending, or does a different beginning await them somewhere else, in a place far beyond where they stand together now?
It occurs to him belatedly that he's stepped them out of sequence for a waltz, even by the loosest definition of the word. No longer is this a waltz, though it is a coordinated dance nonetheless, and it's morphed into something far more intimate than he'd initially intended. Yet as his arm around her waist holds her steady and he leads her in a slow circle, he can't be bothered to mind. There are so many dances he wants to show her, but if this is to be their last, he'll make it count. ]
It hasn't finished yet, but I'm optimistic! This go 'round, my dance partner is far more interesting. Captivating, actually. I don't know how she does it, I'll have to ask her sometime. She makes sitting still or moving slowly just as interesting as moving about all the time. [ He scrunches up his face a little, as though generally confused and amazed. ] How does she do it, this Vanessa Ives?
[ His Vanessa. He'll allow it, for a moment. He'll allow the thought to pass through his mind, because it's only for his sake and because he already misses her. ]
[ So rarely does she get pleasant surprises, and this is one that strikes her enough that his claim summons a grin, then a laugh with her own momentary nose scrunch. Bashful at first, but the absolute mirth of such a ridiculous statement from a man who has wandered time and space for centuries. She knows he's experienced things that she can't even dream about, and yet she loves him for saying what he does. Vanessa almost believes him.
Slipping closer on the next turn, her hand moves up his arm to settle on his shoulder. Despite the noise beyond trying to assault them through indecipherable chatter and strange music, she manages to follow his steps with ease in their little bubble. ]
Such flattery borders accusation. I am innocent.
[ She's never been, but she can tease. It's only too easy with him. ]
You play the part very well. I might almost believe you.
[ Neither of them are innocent about anything at all, but it's what makes this dance between them - not this one, but the endless one - all the better, in his mind. ]
Do you believe me?
[ It would be difficult to, perhaps. It's not empty flattery for the Doctor. That he says the words to her at all means they are, by their very existence, entirely true. He's careless with words sometimes, yes, but not the ones like this that are ever so important. No, those words are harder to say, they take longer, they're all the more meaningful because of it. Yes, he's seen so many things in his travels, experienced so much. It's difficult for him to explain, then, why this moment between them matters and why it's such a unique experience for him. All of the words he should say right now, all of the words she deserves, elude him, so instead, he's still standing here with her and holding her hand, tightening his hold around her as much as he can, and he hopes that might be enough. ]
[ Almost, she could say, but her laughter subsides into something more of a fascinated silence as the Doctor persists and his grip tightens. Her own grip on his sleeve curls, clinching in sign that he needn't worry about her stepping away any time soon. How can he call her captivating, when his searching gaze has her so bedeviled?
They're moving so slow, perhaps they've even stopped, but it doesn't keep her head from spinning. If a glance falls to his lips while her racing thoughts beg slowness and consideration, she can hardly be blamed, given how close she clutches at him now.
I want to, she could say, because initially that seems the most earnest. But through her self-doubt, something in his assurance can never be ignored. He speaks and she hears him. It's beginning to be all that she hears, even when he isn't there to see or touch. It's why she had decided to believe his almost-promises that night that they had shared deep fears and a slice of banana crème cake. ]
[ Her laughter feels like coming home to a place he's never known before and yet always wanted. It could destroy him and he'd welcome it gladly. Such a beautiful laugh, one he hardly deserves, and yet feels greedy for nonetheless.
That one word, uttered with such conviction, feels like a gift and, strangely, a promise. To each other? To hope? To things beyond knowing right now? Whatever it is, he's not oblivious to how important it is, how meaningful that she's said it.
He dares to move a hand, to brush back a few stray wisps of hair, using the excuse to drag his thumb along her jawline briefly before he leans in to kiss her forehead with reverence and tenderness. His eyes close as his lips linger for the count of five seconds, an intimate duration, and when he pulls back, he smiles softly. ]
I believe you, Vanessa. I believe in you and for you and with you.
[ He gently tugs and guides one of her hands to his shoulder now; an abrupt shift from their tender exchange. ]
Just hold steady to me. I'm dipping you for a moment, you'll love it. I won't let you fall, not ever.
[ It's such a brief thing, a moment of being guided into uncertainty, falling back and trusting your partner to keep you close. He will, of course. He wants her to have that sensation, though, that worry for a moment that she might fall, only to be pulled back by him, his grip never wavering, his promise to her unbroken. ]
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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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There's usually never time for talking like this with anyone in his travels, but even if there was, he wouldn't have felt close enough to even consider it. Not for any lack of love or fondness, it's only that sharing such vulnerabilities is a rarer thing for the Doctor.
As she speaks and he keeps hold of her gloved hand, he thinks about asking to take off just one of her gloves briefly, wanting to feel the touch of her skin. He will. In a moment. ]
My first dance, the first ever, was unremarkable honestly. Bit of a letdown, you know, all the build up of it and the music was off-kilter, the company was middling at best. A good friend, he was, but a terrible dancer. I think I fell over more than we managed to dance! But I do quite vividly recall the most memorable dance I've ever shared with anyone.
[ And why? Because the most memorable is the dance they're sharing now. Will he tell her that, though?
Instead, he smiles at her and decides to get bold. ]
This glove just won't do. Let me hold your hand, for a moment? I mean, really hold it. I am holding it, I realize, by the strictest definition of the term, but - you know what I mean.
[ Though, he wouldn't push her if it's too much. He thinks she knows that by now, too. ]
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She likes the Doctor's height. He's tall enough to envelop her with an embrace should he wish to, but not so high up that it's an imposition. It's just so that when they dance, the tilt of her head and curve of her neck feels natural, and she barely notices that the rest of the world has been skewed off-kilter beyond his singular presence.
Although she's eager to hear more about his most memorable dance, of which she is imagining must have taken place on a far away world with alien beauty, his sudden focus on her glove softens her smile to something different. Her steps slow, and with consideration, she'll glance to her hand.
Of course she knows it, but his hesitancy is still being disciplined. ]
If you want to take my hand...
[ Her already gentle grip on his hand lightens yet more, her thumb teasing against the lining of his palm. So much gentler than the glint in her eye. Is she to remove her glove for him, when it's his spoken desire? If it's what he wants, then he shouldn't waste time asking. ]
...then take it.
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He won't waste time now, though he debates ripping it off or tugging it slowly. Moving slow throws them further out of step for their dance, but he's focused and intent on something else now. There's pleasure to be found in conquering quickly, yet as he's been learning here, it's sometimes far more rewarding to take things a bit slower. So he pulls at her glove, revealing her wrist, which he kisses softly. Only a half second more and the glove is off, with another kiss pressed to her palm. Her glove is tucked into his pocket as an after-thought, and then he presses his palm to hers before lacing their fingers together. ]
You won't be needing that glove back anytime soon. This is much better.
[ He couldn't be bothered to consider anyone else around them now. If asked, he would quite earnestly insist there must not be a crowd at all. It's only Vanessa, after all. She's all that he sees, in any case. Tugging her just slightly closer, he looks down at their feet briefly, then back up to her, clumsily guiding them back into a rhythm. ]
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Earlier he had not been bold enough, and now his boldness dares to draw attention. At least, it would garner glances on the plaza outside Grandage Place. He's never touched her so in public before, but nobody seems to be paying them any mind, so long as they remain out of people's way. This isn't Grandage Place, or anywhere in London. Whether or not they save these people, she'll never see them again. She'll never see him again. It's enough to let her indulge in such an intimate moment, with her pulse racing so fast that it's a hum in her ears. She can hear his voice through the drone of it, and that's all she cares to pay any attention to. The crowd is easily forgotten as she leans into his pull.
The twining of their fingers isn't standard for the dance, but she isn't to correct it, only gripping at his arm with her other hand a bit more tightly in turn. She had begun the dance, but here she's wanting for him to take the lead, for how dizzy such a simple touch has made her. Well, far more than the touch.
When she speaks, it's with a breathless start, as if just remembering now what he had been talking of earlier. Perhaps a distraction regarding his fantastical journeys will guide her back to her own reality. ]
And your most memorable dance?
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What happens for them after this? Is it only an ending, or does a different beginning await them somewhere else, in a place far beyond where they stand together now?
It occurs to him belatedly that he's stepped them out of sequence for a waltz, even by the loosest definition of the word. No longer is this a waltz, though it is a coordinated dance nonetheless, and it's morphed into something far more intimate than he'd initially intended. Yet as his arm around her waist holds her steady and he leads her in a slow circle, he can't be bothered to mind. There are so many dances he wants to show her, but if this is to be their last, he'll make it count. ]
It hasn't finished yet, but I'm optimistic! This go 'round, my dance partner is far more interesting. Captivating, actually. I don't know how she does it, I'll have to ask her sometime. She makes sitting still or moving slowly just as interesting as moving about all the time. [ He scrunches up his face a little, as though generally confused and amazed. ] How does she do it, this Vanessa Ives?
[ His Vanessa. He'll allow it, for a moment. He'll allow the thought to pass through his mind, because it's only for his sake and because he already misses her. ]
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Slipping closer on the next turn, her hand moves up his arm to settle on his shoulder. Despite the noise beyond trying to assault them through indecipherable chatter and strange music, she manages to follow his steps with ease in their little bubble. ]
Such flattery borders accusation. I am innocent.
[ She's never been, but she can tease. It's only too easy with him. ]
Perhaps Wonderland has cast a spell.
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[ Neither of them are innocent about anything at all, but it's what makes this dance between them - not this one, but the endless one - all the better, in his mind. ]
Do you believe me?
[ It would be difficult to, perhaps. It's not empty flattery for the Doctor. That he says the words to her at all means they are, by their very existence, entirely true. He's careless with words sometimes, yes, but not the ones like this that are ever so important. No, those words are harder to say, they take longer, they're all the more meaningful because of it. Yes, he's seen so many things in his travels, experienced so much. It's difficult for him to explain, then, why this moment between them matters and why it's such a unique experience for him. All of the words he should say right now, all of the words she deserves, elude him, so instead, he's still standing here with her and holding her hand, tightening his hold around her as much as he can, and he hopes that might be enough. ]
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They're moving so slow, perhaps they've even stopped, but it doesn't keep her head from spinning. If a glance falls to his lips while her racing thoughts beg slowness and consideration, she can hardly be blamed, given how close she clutches at him now.
I want to, she could say, because initially that seems the most earnest. But through her self-doubt, something in his assurance can never be ignored. He speaks and she hears him. It's beginning to be all that she hears, even when he isn't there to see or touch. It's why she had decided to believe his almost-promises that night that they had shared deep fears and a slice of banana crème cake. ]
Yes.
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That one word, uttered with such conviction, feels like a gift and, strangely, a promise. To each other? To hope? To things beyond knowing right now? Whatever it is, he's not oblivious to how important it is, how meaningful that she's said it.
He dares to move a hand, to brush back a few stray wisps of hair, using the excuse to drag his thumb along her jawline briefly before he leans in to kiss her forehead with reverence and tenderness. His eyes close as his lips linger for the count of five seconds, an intimate duration, and when he pulls back, he smiles softly. ]
I believe you, Vanessa. I believe in you and for you and with you.
[ He gently tugs and guides one of her hands to his shoulder now; an abrupt shift from their tender exchange. ]
Just hold steady to me. I'm dipping you for a moment, you'll love it. I won't let you fall, not ever.
[ It's such a brief thing, a moment of being guided into uncertainty, falling back and trusting your partner to keep you close. He will, of course. He wants her to have that sensation, though, that worry for a moment that she might fall, only to be pulled back by him, his grip never wavering, his promise to her unbroken. ]
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