Until We Burn | Dr Who

Chapter Seventeen: Tooth and Claw

"Gods, are you kidding me?" My arms strain to reach between my shoulder blades, fingers wiggling desperately. Whichever way I move, I am unable to fasten the tiny buttons that hold the forest green satin of my dress together.

A knock comes from the door. I look to it through the ornate dressing table mirror, across a large bedroom of polished oak and scarlet upholstery. Night took hold quickly and now all I have to light my surroundings are a few gas lamps. They flicker softly, muted by the heavy air. "Inara? Everything all right in there?" the Doctor calls, his voice muffled.

I sigh in relief and return to my endeavours, "Yeah. You can come in."

"Really, woman! It's the nineteenth century. Where's your sense of propriety?" His back remains to me as he closes the door. I'm not even sure if he has seen my yet but I long to ascertain his opinion of me, willing him to turn.

I put on a chastising glare for the benefit of my sudden nerves. "Vanishing along with my good temper if you call me 'woman' again... man."

Scoffing, he turns to make another joke. His eyes land on me. Nothing comes.

I watch his reflection, suddenly aware of the stuffiness of the room and the numbness of the tip of my nose as he stands there, staring. "What?"

Quickly, his playful demeanour returns. He breaks into a wide smile and keeps his focus strictly on my face. "You clean up nicely, Miss Luscinia."

"Oh, don't tease."

"I'm not. You look nice."

The simplicity startles me but I shrug it off. "Please. Can't even fasten it. You'd think it would be easier to reach with a corset on, but I can barely breathe in this bloody thing." My complaint is punctuated with a few awkward stretches and huffs as I try again.

A soft chuckle can be heard. "That's because you've laced it too tightly. You need it for support, not restriction. Can I..." It comes as a question even if he doesn't dare to finish it.

I nod quietly and stand, leaning against the table. He gives a little shake to his trench coat as if to clear room to work. A glint of silver catches our attention as my necklace hangs away from honey skin, the owl pedant and a single key dangling side by side. The moments drag on and I watch the concentration on his face as he pushes the sides of the dress aside, starting to re-lace the corset.

The beginnings of stubble blur with freckles across the Doctor's uneven jaw. I am certain I haven't noticed quite how asymmetrical his features are. One eyelid droops a little, his lips leaning, his nose, too. Disrupted patterns often vex me but somehow it brings a satisfaction, even a deeper curiosity.

He glances up and I hurriedly divert my scrutiny to a crack running across one of the wall panels.

My eyes gradually close. The gentle pinches around my waist and chest aren't uncomfortable like the last time. I can feel him every so often, his touch grazing my waist, his breath against my back. The quiet exhalations fill the silence.

Just as I think that he's done, his hand brushes against the back of my neck. Tensing, I meet his suddenly anxious gaze with a frown. The disruption to his concentration leaves me guilty. "Your hands are cold," I explain.

It isn't a lie. Not truly. But the true shock came from the immediate electricity buzzing to life under his fingertips. It's like they have seared the memory of just a second's contact into my bones. I can still feel it.

"Sorry."

"It's fine. I don't mind."

He starts to fasten the delicate buttons and we fall into a soundless state once more. Focusing on my own appearance, I examine the elaborate braids in my hair, the silver necklace that rises and falls against my chest with each breath. Only now do I realise how its pace has quickened.