Until We Burn | Dr Who

Chapter Sixty-Three: Never Change

I wake with a weight on top of me. Frowning, I struggle to free my arms. The Doctor grumbles sleepily and settles back against me, his head burrowing into the crook of my neck.

I don't want to wake him but the clock is ticking. We can't stay in bed forever, as much as I'd like to. Reaching up, I scratch his head and receive a softer sigh of appreciation. He reminds me quite comfortingly of a cat, stretched out and purring, basking in the warm sunlight that creeps through the curtains in soft rays, painting his bare back gold.

He stirs again. I smile and nuzzle my cheek against his, inhaling that wonderfully familiar scent that now comes with a little something else. Something of me. "Good morning."

"Morning," he replies, his voice gravelly and dazed from sleep. Then, waking with a start, he rolls off of me. A hand combs through his extraordinarily tangled hair and rubs at his bleary eyes. His mouth falls open in a yawn. "Sorry."

I shuffle closer to him under the covers, fingers tracing the short tufts of hair on his chest that rises and falls steadily with peaceful breaths. He puts an arm around me and plays with my own locks, brushing them from my face. "It's all right. Actually, I quite like the idea of you crushing me like that."

His movements pause. "You scare me sometimes."

Sitting up to reach him better, I trail my hand up his chest, his throat, until it comes to a rest on his cheek, turning his face towards me. My lips hover against his. He tries to lean in and bridge the gap but I move away just a fraction, murmuring, "Damn. Only sometimes?"

All I get in response is a breath of laughter before he is kissing me with enough force to spin my mind back to the night before. His hands join in with the reminder, grasping my hips to hold me close to him.

A sharp ringing shatters the moment. Groaning, I pull away to shut off the alarm clock.

He has already grown impatient with the loss of attention, diverting his to my neck. It is still a little tender in places. As the cause of that, it only serves to boost his ego. His kisses travel along the ridge of my collarbone, up my shoulder and back to my lips, swallowing the little sounds I make. I shift even closer until I straddle him. One hand cradles the back of his head and the other pushes him down onto the pillows by his shoulder. His rest contently on the small of my back.

"In case you two are forgetting, we've got to head out in half an hour!" Martha calls from the other side of the door.

I curse under my breath, giving him one last kiss before climbing off. He makes no effort to leave the bed and simply watches as I potter about, gathering my clothes for the day and offering my prayers to the necklace hung by the window. With little option for burning sacrifices like I usually do, I managed to buy a small olive shrub which I water with my morning prayers.

The Doctor slips out partway through. By the time I'm finished and come through to the living area of our little flat, he has cooked a quick breakfast. A mug of coffee waits for me on the table by the sofa. I slump down beside Martha, who nurses her tea, staring dully at the peeling wallpaper. "Wishing you'd gone out on Friday instead?" I tease.

She takes another sip and grunts her agreement.

Going through the motions, we finish breakfast with a little less talk than usual, leave our plates in the sink and grab our coats and handbags. Martha sighs, "Well, we're off to work — receptionist and a shop-girl. Better than being a maid, I suppose. What's that you're working on?"

He looks up from the device in his hands, his sonic hovering over a small clock face that has been fused to its side. He holds it up with an air of pride. "Timey-wimey detector. It will let us know the exact moment this Billy Shipton pops back to 1969."