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Doctor Who fic: Of Eros and of Dust (Four/Romana II)
This started out as fluff and wound up rather angstier than I'd expected...

Title: Of Eros and of Dust
Author: Gwynnega
Rating: R
Author's Notes: Four/Romana II. Spoilers from "Destiny of the Daleks" through "Logopolis." Title and quotation from W.H. Auden, "September 1, 1939."
Dedication: For loneraven!




The first time it occurred to the Doctor that it might be very pleasant to kiss Romana, they were hiding behind a large slab of concrete and spying on a funeral, on a desolate planet that turned out to be Skaro. The mourners placed stones over a corpse. They moved so slowly, Romana said they reminded her of the living dead.

"With one basic difference, the living are very much like the dead," the Doctor murmured. "Who was it said the living are just the dead on holiday?" His face was close to hers - her new face, which already he was beginning to think of as exclusively Romana's, not Princess Astra's.

"If you should meet one, you can always tell a genuine zombie," the Doctor whispered.

"How?" Romana asked, drawing closer.

"The skin is cold to the touch." He would only have to move slightly, and his lips would touch hers. The idea surprised him, but this was hardly the time or the place.

***

Soon after, and it was like a nightmare, he was looking at a pile of rocks with a gravestone that read: ROMANA. He scrabbled at the rocks, trying to get to her.

From the corner of his eye he saw a flash of blonde hair. He looked up, and there she was, brushing the dust from her pink coat. "Romana! I thought you were dead." He began to laugh, so glad, so very glad.

"Well, the only way to escape the Daleks was to feign death." Her voice was cool, competent as always.

There was much to do then, what with his suspicions about what the Daleks were up to. But even as the Doctor searched for Davros, he still felt compelled to grab Romana's arm and tell her, "You gave me quite a start back there, you know." It was more than that. He'd felt something turn, shift, in himself - or perhaps he had only just become aware of it, in the instant he'd thought he'd lost her.

***

"I rather think I'm in love with you," he told her when they were back on the TARDIS.

"Really? How extraordinary!" she said, in the same tone she might have used if he'd told her K9 had learned to fly. His hearts sank. "Are you sure, Doctor?"

He hesitated, thought to recant. But he nodded ruefully. "Quite sure. Quite passionately in love," he added, bracing himself for her disdain. When she said nothing, he continued: "I think you're marvelous, you know."

Then she smiled broadly, that smile like a flower blooming. "I think you're marvelous as well, Doctor," she said in a low voice. "And I rather think I'm in love with you, too."

He let out a surprised laugh. "Really? How extraordinary!"

An hour or two later, in his bed, she grinned and said, "I knew you liked my new incarnation more than you were letting on."

He hadn't expected ever to be so close to one of his people again, but she was home to him. She was, in bed, as she was everywhere else, inventive and single-minded. But how surprisingly sweet she was, and how loud in the throes of pleasure. More than once, K9 rolled into the room, thinking his mistress in pain or danger. "It's all right, K9," the Doctor said, laughing, Romana laughing too, and blushing delectably.

When, eventually, they managed to get out of bed, he took her to Paris, which only seemed fitting.

Things went on in this delightful way for awhile. They went to Chloris and Cambridge, Brighton and Tigella and so many places. They saved planets, and they vacationed. Like him, she was brilliant and knew it. And like him, she didn't want to go home.

***

He'd never seen her look so dejected as when she told him the Time Lords wanted her back. He actually found her moping on her bed. He hadn't realized she could mope. "Doctor, I don't want to spend the rest of my life on Gallifrey. After all this!"

He didn't offer to defy the Time Lords on her behalf - quite the contrary. "You can't fight Time Lords," he said.

"You did, once."

"And lost." He didn't want her to be hurt. He hoped she understood that. But why didn't he think of a way for her to stay with him? His companions always did leave, sooner or later. Perhaps he took that for granted.

He didn't make a goodbye scene when she decided to stay behind in E-Space, rather than return to Gallifrey. He threw out casually that he would miss her. It happened so quickly. She had made the right choice. She would be superb. But he felt he'd failed her - or, perhaps, he'd only failed himself.

He was surprised at how tired he felt, after she left. Tired and old. When she'd been traveling with him, he hadn't stopped to think about how happy he was. Now he found himself remembering: Romana reclining in the punt on a beautiful autumn day, looking up at him from her book. She wore a silly, charming hat laden with fake cherries. She smiled and spoke of Isaac Newton. Happiness. He hadn't realized.

We must love one another or die, a poem she liked said. He thought about that, after she was gone. Auden had revised the line, even refused to put the poem in his collected works. The Doctor was tempted to go visit the chap to ask him why - no, to shout at him that those were the truest words he'd ever written, didn't he see that? But there hadn't been time.

We must love one another or die. For some reason he kept thinking of those words, at Traken. Then, on Logopolis, when he saw his own pale shadow, his death approaching, at last he understood.