Bigger on the inside: Space, Time Travel, Alien Criminals (A Space Time Travel Mystery Book 1)

by Alianna Smith

  Rose looked at that photo for a very long time, and when she remained silent he went to his desk to get the print with her mirroring the portrait. He hadn’t wanted to show it to her yet because he was afraid of upsetting her. But when he held her portrait next to his he noticed that this was the reason for her silence. This was a pair of photos — they were expressive on their own, but they only really worked when seen together. Rose inhaled sharply.

  She had turned her face slightly so the light from the window made the contrast of the black ink on the pale apple of her cheek even starker. Her lips were slightly parted, and if held up next to his it seemed as if she were whispering to him.

  “They aren’t perfect.”

  “But they are,” she said eventually, looking up. “They’re us.” She looked down at the two photos and back at him. “I don’t know what to say.”

  “You don’t have to say anything,” he lied, unsure of whether she liked them. He wanted her to tell him how she felt about the photos, but he couldn’t bring himself to press her.

  “They’re stunning,” she said.

  His stared at her. Had she...?

  “Dave, what’s wrong?” she asked.

  “Rose, I...”

  She reached for his cheek, but he caught her hand in mid-air and pulled it, wrapped in his fingers, against his chest. “Please don’t get me wrong,” he said. “Sometimes I’m just not sure if you’re reading my mind. Just before you said that they’re stunning, I wanted you to tell me because I wasn’t sure.”

  “And you think I went inside your mind,” Rose concluded.

  His cheeks tickled as embarrassment rushed into them.

  “I’d never slip inside your thoughts unbidden,” Rose said sincerely. “Besides, you’d know it.”

  He nodded, feeling silly. Her explanation made sense. “Am I that easy to read? My expressions, I mean?”

  Rose nodded, placing her other hand on his chest as well. “Am I right to assume that you’ve been manipulated because of it?”

  The tickling sensation returned to his cheeks; he felt like a little boy at that moment. “I’m a big old softie.”

  “And that is exactly what I love about you,” Rose said, smiling. She rose on her toes, bracing herself on him so she could reach his lips to kiss him. “I’m not like that. Manipulative, I mean.”

  “I know,” he squeaked, holding on to her waist as she rocked back onto her heels.

  “You said something about hot photos?” she asked, her tone suddenly playful. He was glad for her mercurial shift of mood; it certainly helped to pull him away from the dark path his thoughts had started to take.

  He pulled the photo of him with the wet sheet from the folder. It was like a wet t-shirt contest for blokes, and he closed his eyes as he passed it to Rose. He couldn’t have felt more naked standing in front of her without his clothes. The wet cotton clung to him like a second skin, leaving enough to the imagination to make this one of the hottest photos he’d ever seen. His face was in the shadows, hair flopping over the edge of the mask that was just visible. His nipples had pebbled against the cold and the ridge of his cock was distinguishable from the folds of the wet material.

  “Oh my,” Rose whispered softly. “I did that?”

  Was she talking about the erection or the photo? He chewed the inside of his cheek.

  “You’re beautiful,” Rose said.

  If he’d been embarrassed before, he was mortified now. He was no such thing.

  “It’s true,” Rose insisted. “And you’re right.”

  “About what?”

  “The hotness.”

  “Rose.”

  Rose put the photo down, turning it upside down as she did so. “I suppose it’s only fair to look at one of mine now, don’t you think?”

  “You’re beautiful,” he said, echoing her earlier words as he gave her his favourite shot of her. No matter how well he’d managed not to think of the real Rose as he’d worked on the photo, he failed miserably at being professional now. He could feel pleasure pool low in his stomach, and was ashamed for it. This hadn’t been a good idea, but they’d gone too far now to stop now.

  He had taken the photo as Rose had shifted on the floor, her hair fanned out on the rough floorboards, one arm thrown above her head so his eye had followed the long line of her body from her wrist, along the pale inside of her arm, over the swell of her breast and down to her waist. She’d drawn up her leg so her pubis was hidden, but he’d wanted to reach out and cup her hipbone and trail his fingers along the length of her leg, right down to her ankle. Moles stood out darkly along that line and he’d imagined kissing every single one of them. Half of her body was concealed in the shadows, and the map of her scars stood out clearly. What he loved best about the shot was that, despite the mask, she looked dreamy and at peace with the world. There were no traces of her tears any more.

  “You can count my ribs,” Rose said. “And look at that hipbone.”

  I’d love to kiss it, Dave thought.

  “It’s my favourite,” he said instead. “You are beautiful.”

  Rose looked at him for a few beats, her eyes searching his. “That’s how we see each other. It isn’t for the other to decide if we’re right or wrong.”

  “We just have to trust each other,” Dave added.

  Rose nodded. They looked at each other but then the moment was gone. “Are there any other photos?”

  “Yes, but I haven’t worked on them yet, and I’d rather not show them to you yet. If that’s okay.”

  “As I said, they’re yours.”

  “No, Rose,” he said. “They’re ours. You took some of them.” He gestured at the portrait shots.

  “But they aren’t really part of the Emptiness Folder, are they? I bet I made a ton of mistakes.”

  “You did, but you’re not a photographer, eh? Besides, your photos are very good,” he said. When she saw she was about to protest he covered her mouth with his hand. “Hush now, Rose.”

  He could hear her muffled protest.

  “Hush!” he said, laughing.

  When she protested again, tickling his palm with her lips and breath, he let go of her only to draw her towards him for a deep kiss. The taste of strawberries and coffee was almost gone and he delighted in tasting her. She pressed against him as if she wanted to crawl inside him, and the feel and taste and shape of her — and the sounds she made — rekindled the pleasure that had warmed his abdomen earlier and he grew hard against her. He held her very close, resisting the urge to snake his hands to her bum and pull her closer. While he knew he was ready to take this further he didn’t want to rush her. She had seemed so vulnerable as she’d told him about the wall and the mirror and he didn’t want to take advantage of her.

  Eventually, he let go of her to cup her face with his hands. They couldn’t let go of each other at once, sharing several short kisses before they were ready to stop. Her lips were red and swollen and it was almost impossible to resist her. So he just brushed his right thumb over them.

  “Hey,” he said softly.

  “Dave, I’m... I don’t think the studio is the right place,” she said.

  “No, it’s not,” he agreed, caressing her face.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “What for?”

  “For...” Her eyes darted down between them and she moved slightly away from him.

  “I’ll survive,” he said.

  “No, I really am. But I... I can’t. Not today.”

  “Hey,” he said softly, tilting her head up gently. “It’s okay. Aye? It really is.” He tried to put as much sincerity into his eyes as possible, willing her to read him. She looked at him for a while, her eyes searching and, when she’d found what she was looking for, she nodded.

  “What about a drink?”

  They curled up on the red sofa, nursing their cups of tea. Rose had snuggled up to him as soon as he sat down, drawing her legs up with a sigh.

  “Are you all right?” he asked.


  “I am now. I’ve had cramps all morning, and curling up really helps.”

  “Oh. Why didn’t you say? I’ve got some painkillers. Somewhere. If you want them.”

  “I’m fine now. Just hold me, yeah?”

  He pulled her a bit closer to him and dropped a kiss on top of her head. They sat in silence for a while and when he noticed that Rose hadn’t touched her tea he realised that she had nodded off. “’s all right, love,” he whispered. He leaned his cheek against her head and closed his eyes, enjoying the warmth of her body against his, her arm slung around his stomach, the other resting along his thigh. He hadn’t felt so much at peace with himself in a long time, not even before what happened. For a moment he thought he ought to feel guilty for that thought, but he also knew that Rose and Rita were entirely different women. And he loved them both.

  Chapter 23

  When one of Dave’s kids came down with chicken pox at the end of the week Rose asked Dominic for the ointment that had helped ease the itch when Tony and she had suffered from it a couple of years earlier. The ointment was very good but only available through Torchwood. Rose sent the unmarked jar in which Dominic had poured the clear substance to Dave at the studio with a note to ring her when he got it.

  “You got chicken pox as an adult?” Dave asked, not a little amused.

  “I had it as a child, but it seems that the version in this world is different. So yeah, I got it too, “ Rose explained, leaning back in her office chair.

  “So what’s this you sent me?”

  “It’s the ointment Mum used to ease the itch. It really helped. It’s a special concoction of our GP’s. Put it on thinly and your wee one will feel a lot better.”

  He was silent for a bit. “I don’t want to sound ungrateful, but Rita was very... particular about medicine.”

  “It’s perfectly safe,” Rose reassured him. “Mum wouldn’t have let it near Tony if it weren’t.”

  “Thank you.” He sounded relieved.

  “I miss you,” Rose said after a short pause.

  “And I you,” he said, sighing. “We could meet for a quick drink after footie practice on Sunday. I’ll tell the guys it’s Lottie’s night off.”

  “I wouldn’t want to keep you from them,” Rose said.

  “I want to see you, Rose. I’d skip it altogether.”

  Rose sighed, rubbing her hand over her eyes. As much as she missed Dave, she didn’t want to keep him from his life just as she didn’t want to stay away from her new dancing class. Dominic had given her a clean bill of health — officially speaking — and she’d decided to take up dancing again. It helped her to focus on herself and take her mind off things as well as offering a kind of workout that she enjoyed. She hated going to the gym, and she just didn’t make it to the pool as often as she wanted because she didn’t really know anyone there to look forward to meeting up with that would help her stick to her plan.

  “I don’t want that. Do you eat before or after practice?” she asked. “I’d love to prepare a little something for you to eat.”

  “Only if you join me.”

  “To make sure I’m eating properly?” she teased, but deep down she felt touched.

  “Aye.”

  “It’s a date then.”

  He squeaked adorably when he agreed to the plan.

  “Now go home and pamper your wee one,” she instructed.

  When he came to her house on Sunday he devoured the pasta salad she’d made but he was too sore to snuggle on the sofa with her afterwards. He had crashed into the goal post, and when she made him pull up his shirt an angry, elongated bruise had appeared on his left side just below his shoulder.

  “You don’t have an ointment for that, do you?” he asked, wincing as he assessed the damage with his fingertips.

  “I’m afraid not,” Rose said, concentrating on sounding sympathetic. “But I could kiss it better.” His eyes went wide at her suggestion, and she covered the awkward moment with a new question. “How’s your wee one?”

  “Much better, thank you,” Dave said, pulling down his shirt. “The ointment works wonders. But I’m glad the others have already had chicken pox so we won’t need it any more.”

  “They are pretty bad in this universe," Rose said, shuddering in horror at the memory.

  “Would you tell me about life... over there?” he asked. He was about to lean back gingerly when Rose gestured for him to lie down with his head on her lap.

  “What would you like to hear?” she asked, dropping one hand into his hair and the other onto his chest where Dave held it in place with his.

  “What was growing up with only your mother like?” He looked at her, surprised at his own boldness.

  “I was a baby when Dad died so I didn’t know the difference until I met him again... over here,” she began. “The main thing is that when you fight you’re on your own, there’s no one to referee.”

  He smiled briefly at her metaphor and picked up her hand to plant a kiss in her palm.

  “Other than that, our relationship was very close. We still are. Life at the estate wasn’t easy, but we made the best of it. There were quite a few kids with single parents so it wasn’t anything out of the ordinary.”

  “Ah.”

  “It must be so much more difficult for you and the children,” she mused, drawing her fingers through his freshly washed hair.

  “Sometimes I don’t think I’ll pull through,” Dave admitted eventually. “You know what the worst thing is? Rita loved them. Dearly. But she’s never been much of a cuddler. She was affectionate in her own way but she never gave us a hug just because... she felt like it. So I held back because... because I didn’t want to hurt her. But the children need physical closeness so much and they’ve never asked for it and it’s so hard... We’re learning, though. We’re getting better at it.”

  “That’s funny.”

  “Why?”

  “You’re such a cuddler yourself, I find it hard to believe. But I see where you’re coming from,” she explained.

  “Big ol’ softie, me,” he grinned.

  Rose felt a jolt go through her at the familiar turn of phrase. She hadn’t heard it in a long time; her second Doctor hadn’t used it, but it was one of the things about him she’d fallen in love with when she first met him.

  “Rose?”

  She pushed the thought aside and smiled. “I was just thinking how nice this is.”

  “I’m sorry I’m such a wreck tonight,” he said. “I guess I’m getting old.”

  “Nonsense.” She said, stroking his pecs through his shirt. “You’ve bruised your ribs; anyone would feel sore. Are you sure you didn’t hit your head?”

  “Aye,” he said, yawning. “I’m sorry. It’s been a long day. I suppose I’d better go home now.”

  “I wish —” Rose began but bit her lip. I wish you could stay the night, she finished in her thoughts.

  Dave pushed himself into a sitting position and kissed her. “I know.”

  -:-

  “That’s a very sad picture,” Paul said, gesturing at Dave’s laptop. Dave had been so absorbed putting putting Ewan and Evie's Viking masterpiece up on the wall, that he hadn’t heard his son enter the dining room. They had drawn the poster to cover up the ugly patches of peeling paint in the kitchen itself. “To make it pretty again until we find a nice colour for the wall,” Evie had explained.

  Dave joined Paul to look at the photo in question. It was the shot of the toy car and the teddy bear in the abandoned room. The picture hadn’t lost any of its power over him, and it had taken him several attempt to be able to look at it without his chest becoming tight. It was, however, a very good photo that needed just a little bit of touching up, and he didn’t want to keep it from Rose. It was such an important picture among the many they had taken.

  He closed the image viewer. “Aye.”

  “Dad?”

  “Aye?” Dave looked at Paul.

  “This was in the post today,” Paul said, holding ou
t a torn envelope for him.

  “What is it?” Dave asked, taking it from him.

  “It’s a letter from Lucy.”

  Dave froze, staring at his daughter’s handwriting. She had addressed the letter to everyone in the house, which was why Paul had opened it in the first place. He must have found it in the letter basket when he’d gotten home early from school. Dave stared at the letter, unsure if he wanted to know what Lucy had to tell them. He was afraid she’d chosen to stay in Edinburgh, and if Paul’s sorrowful expression was anything to go by, he was probably right.