#i hope they do bc it would add some neat flavor to it all

[lastbluetardis]

Chemical Potential (7/11)

Summary: Slightly homesick and stressed about her abysmal chemistry grade, Rose Tyler meets quirky James Smith, the boy who sits in front of her in their chemistry class. They become fast friends as James makes it his personal mission to help Rose get through the semester.

Ten x Rose University AU

This chapter: ~4200 words, teen (bc Rose is horny)

Notes: This was written for the lovely @thegreenfairy13 as part of the @dwsecretsanta gift exchange.

AO3 | Ch1 | Ch2 | Ch3 | Ch4 | Ch5 | Ch6 | Ch7 | Ch8 | Ch9 | Ch10 | epilogue

Rose’s heart thundered as she shut herself into the guest bedroom. Her cheeks were hot and her stomach was in knots. She’d made an utter fool of herself. How on Earth was she supposed to face James again?

She’d thought he had been going in for a kiss, but what if she was mistaken? What if he’d been shifting around and she’d misinterpreted, and in fleeing, she roused James’s suspicions? And what if he had been going in for a kiss? Had he actually meant it, or had the wine lowered his inhibitions?

If he’d only been going in for a kiss because he was drunk, she was glad she’d stopped it. It would break her heart more than it already was if he kissed her then regretted it when he was sober.

But if he had meant to kiss her and wanted to kiss her, she’d rejected him and thus probably dashed any hopes of kissing him in the future.

“Goddammit,” she growled under her breath.

Perhaps it’s for the best, though, she thought to herself, hoping to soothe the hurt, frustration, and mortification coursing through her. Because what if he had meant to kiss her and, for some reason, wanted to embark on some sort of relationship with her. What if they tried it, and it just… didn’t work? What if he broke her heart? Or worse… what if she broke his?

“Goddammit,” she hissed again, rubbing the heels of her hands into her eyes until bright colors bloomed behind her lids.

She stood pressed to the door for quite some time, listening to the quiet shuffling of James as he moved about the house. After a while, she heard him walk down the hall, then the quiet snick of his bedroom door opening and closing again. She stayed still for another five minutes, just to be safe, before she grabbed her overnight bad and slipped across the hall into the loo to get ready for bed.

Rose slept better than she expected, what with her racing thoughts, and not to mention it being a strange bed in a strange house. James’s scent lingered in the room, mostly coming from the vicinity of the bay window, and it calmed her and soothed her and provided her with pleasant dreams.

She dreamt that she hadn’t fled, and that James wanted her as much as she wanted him, that he loved her as she loved him. She dreamt that he’d held her with more gentleness and tenderness than anyone ever had before as she sat in his lap and kissed him. She could so vividly feel the press of his lips against hers, the clutch of his hands at her back, the texture of his hair in her fingers. She could hear his soft, needy sighs and grunts as he pulled her closer, closer, closer…

When she awoke, her body was flushed with desire and frustration. Then when she remembered what, exactly, had transpired the night before, her heart broke all over again.

Even though it was much earlier than her typical wake-up time, she crept across the hall for a shower and to get ready for the day. Half an hour later, Rose snuck back into the bedroom and packed up everything into her bag again, then made the bed.

She heard clanging coming from the kitchen, and when she walked down the hall, her breath caught at the sight. James, still in his pajamas, was moving around the room, tending to various pans as delicious smells wafted ‘round the room.

She took a selfish moment to observe him and appreciate his figure. His shirt looked incredibly soft and it clung to his chest, giving her a decent enough view of the flexing muscles in his shoulders and back as he worked. It draped down to his hips, where his pajama bottoms rode low enough to tease her with small slivers of skin whenever he raised his arms above his head. His bum was perfectly toned and round, and she bit her lip hard at the memory of her dream-self grabbing it to hold him against her.

A shiver of desire rippled down her spine, leaving her aching inside. She was in a three-year dry spell, with nothing but her own hands and a vibrator to satisfy her physical needs. It was almost unfair how fit he was. She craved the feeling of his hands on her body, and her hands on his. She wanted to touch every inch of his tall, lithe figure. To have his skin pressing against hers. To hold him completely within her and be held by him in return.

“Morning!”

Her cheeks burned with half embarrassment, half arousal. Her core was throbbing with need, and she was annoyed with herself for letting her imagination get the best of her. She prayed he didn’t notice the way she’d been ogling him. Or the lecherous thoughts she’d been entertaining.

“Morning,” she replied, clearing her throat against the husky rasp of her voice.

She stepped into the kitchen cautiously, but there was no sign of awkwardness or discomfort from the night before.

James turned back around to tend to the griddle of pancakes he was making, then to the frying pan of sizzling, popping bacon.

“Can I help with something?” she asked.

“Can you mind the bacon?” he asked. “And take them off whenever they’re to your liking. Do you prefer crispy or squishy bacon?”

Rose made a face. “Definitely crispy. I don’t want my bacon to still be oinking at me whilst I eat it, ta.”

James chuckled, then expertly flipped the array of six pancakes on the griddle.

As Rose cooked the bacon, flipping it around the pan as needed, she watched James out of the corner of her eye. Nothing seemed amiss. Were they just going to pretend that last night hadn’t been the most awkward situation in the world? Well. The last five minutes of it, at least. The rest of the night had been magical, and Rose wanted more than anything for those memories to overshadow any awkwardness that had eventually arisen.

Rose was nearly overwhelmed by the domesticity and casualness of their movements. They worked around each other as though they’d been preparing breakfast together for years. A lump lodged itself in her throat as a deep, crushing yearning overtook her. Jimmy had never helped her make breakfast. Or any meal, for that matter. And if she were being honest, she’d never had a desire to cook anything special for him. But for James… For James, she wanted to spend the rest of her life making breakfast, lunch, and dinner with him.

Firmly ignoring those thoughts, she said, “This all looks delicious.”

“Thanks,” he said. “I love making breakfast. I love breakfast. Most important meal of the day, innit?”

Rose smiled at him, and paused before saying, “I never put much effort into it.”

He was quiet for a moment, then said, “Not even… with Jimmy?”

She shook her head. “No.”

“I loved helping my dad make breakfast,” he said softly, gazing intently at the pancakes as he arranged them in a neat stack on a serving plate. “I’ve always been an early riser. My dad eventually became one too when my parents realized I was never going to let them sleep in. My mum was awful with mornings, so it was often just me and Dad. Some mornings, we’d work together and make these big special breakfasts, then go surprise my mum with breakfast in bed.”

Rose’s chest cracked at the sadness in his voice. She reached over and rested her hand at his forearm, but he casually slid his arm away from her. She tried not to let her hurt show, and instead she whispered, “I’m sorry.”

“Me too.” He sighed. “I miss the small things the most, y’know?”

“Yeah. Whenever I think back on Jimmy… obviously he broke my heart, but I fell in love with him for a reason. And there are days when I miss the way things used to be. The small things. But we can’t turn back time, and I think all we can do is try to remember the good things from the past but move on to the good things to come.”

James’s eyes were shiny, and he turned away from her. But she saw his cheeks pulling up in a smile before he said, “That’s very deep and philosophical for seven-thirty in the morning.”

Rose rolled her eyes and poked her finger into his ribs. He squirmed and laughed, and she couldn’t help but laugh with him.

As they finished cooking breakfast, James started heating a kettle then filled his coffee maker with water and grounds. The kitchen was soon filled with the scent of brewing coffee, and Rose appreciated the smell. It seemed to add to the homeyness of the morning.

James pointed her in the direction of the teabags while he prepared his own mug of coffee.

“Not adding ten scoops of sugar?” Rose teased when she saw him add creamer and nothing else to his coffee.

“Nah. It’s flavored cream—hazelnut. I love hazelnut cream—and it’s quite sweet on its own. Have a taste.”

Rose ran her finger across the lip of the bottle, where a drop was slowly running down the side, and sucked the white liquid off her fingertip.

The taste was sickly sweet. “Blech!”

James burst out laughing, and took the bottle from her.

“See?” he said with a grin. “Plenty sweet enough for me.”

“To each their own,” she muttered, smacking her tongue against the roof of her mouth to dispel the taste.

He stuck his tongue out at her, then went to a cabinet for two plates.

Moments later, they were seated on opposite sides of the kitchen table, leisurely enjoying their breakfast. They didn’t talk much, but the quiet was comfortable. Rose had to concentrate on keeping her feet firmly planted on the floor by her chair rather than sprawled closer to his like she wanted. It was as though her body was drawn to him like magnets. She wanted to constantly be close to him, or touching him.

This is ridiculous, she scolded herself. Utterly ridiculous. Keep it in your pants, Rose.

Thankfully, James seemed utterly oblivious to her and her lustful thoughts.

“Where are Pippin and Merry?” Rose blurted out, trying to give herself something to focus on that wasn’t James.

“I shut them in my room,” he answered. “I put their food bowls in there. They have awful table manners, as I said last night.”

“I wouldn’t have minded,” she said.

“Not until Pippin ate your entire plate of pancakes,” James said, rolling his eyes. “And got himself sticky with syrup. Nope. Anytime I’m eating something messy, I shut him away so I don’t have to give him a bath. One time I left pancakes unattended to save Merry from Gollum, and I came back to see Pippin covered in syrup, with half my stack of pancakes on the floor. The idiot decided he wanted the middle one. He scratched the hell out of my arms when I went to bathe him.”

Rose laughed at the picture, even as James pouted.

“Have you no sympathy, Rose Tyler?” he squawked.

“Hmm, not really,” she said, sticking her tongue out as she smiled.

He blew a raspberry at her, then took a swig from his steaming mug of coffee.

As though the cat realized he was being talked about, a rather pathetic meow came from down the hallway.

“Poor thing,” Rose cooed. Since they were both done eating, she asked, “Can I let them out?”

James nodded, and she moved down the hall to the crying cat. He was just starting to scratch at the door when she opened it.

Pippin screamed happily at her and ran into her legs, rubbing himself against her. Merry was lounging on James’s unmade bed, but he gave a soft chirp of acknowledgement.

Rose selfishly took a moment to observe the bedroom. It was very… James. It was sparsely decorated, but filled with furniture. Two walls were completely lined with bookcases, with a desk and dresser shoved along another wall. His queen-sized bed had only two pillows on it, and his nightstand had a pile of four books, a lamp, and a box of tissues.

It smelled so much like him that her stomach panged.

She forced herself out of the room, and kept the door open behind her. Pippin was still circling her feet, but trotted along beside her as she made her way down the hall. His footfalls created little tapping sounds, and his meows wavered in time with the beats.

James was still sitting at the table when she returned, but the plates had been removed.

Pippin leaped onto the table and headbutted James. Rose’s heart melted when James nudged his nose into the cat’s forehead, then pressed a kiss to it.

“Hiya, bud,” he murmured. “Want a pancake?”

Rose then saw that James had ripped up small pieces of a pancake and placed them on a napkin.

Pippin noticed them after a moment, and went directly towards them, scarfing them down as though he hadn’t been fed that morning.

A half hour later, after James showered and Rose made sure she packed everything she’d brought, James drove to Rose’s flat so she could grab her school bag, then he took them into the university.

“I wonder if Professor Young will have graded our exams yet,” James mused as they walked towards the science building.

Rose stumbled a step. “Oh, God. I’d completely forgotten we took an exam.”

Her brain whirred frantically as she was choked with anxiety at the prospect of getting a grade back. She remembered the panic of taking that exam—had it only been two days ago? It felt like a lifetime had passed since then—and of not having enough time to finish it.

Rose’s worries were temporarily soothed when the professor started the class by saying the exams hadn’t been graded yet, but they would get them back on Friday. At least she could ignore her fears for another two days.

Rose took full advantage of her blissful ignorance, and used the post-exam lull to relax and not think about school. All of her classes seemed to have lightened up, and it was a relief to not be completely swamped with work and studying.

But inevitably, Friday arrived.

“With the few remaining minutes of class,” the professor said at the end of the lecture period, “I’ll hand back your exams. Come up and tell me your last name.”

Rose’s stomach coiled with dread. She put away her notes and shrugged on her jacket before she and James joined the mass of students surrounding their professor.

It took a few minutes before they reached the front of the queue, but finally they each approached the professor, gave their last name, and were handed the exam. Rose mangled it into a rolled-up rod as she ducked away from the crowd of people, James close on her heels as they exited the lecture hall.

“Well?” he asked expectantly, jutting his chin towards her exam.

“I dunno. Haven’t looked,” she admitted.

He furrowed his brows.

“I don’t think it went well,” she sighed.

“Well, you won’t know unless you look,” he reasoned.

She gritted her teeth. He couldn’t possibly understand what she was feeling. He’d never had to endure the nauseating terror of having his failure and stupidity scribbled in red ink across a page. She doubted he’d ever failed anything in his life.

Though she knew he didn’t mean to, that he was only trying to help, she couldn’t help but feel condescended to.

She breathed in deeply as she unraveled her exam, then the air left her lungs in a sharp whoosh as she beheld the circled 59%.

Her ears were ringing and tears burned behind her eyes. All that time—all that effort—and she’d still failed.

“That’s a great improvement over your first—”

“Shut up,” she hissed, squeezing her eyes tightly shut even as tears began to leak from behind her lids. “Just… shut up.”

She was numb and tingling all over, her body too hot and too cold at the same time, and she wondered if she was going to vomit. Or pass out.

A warm, familiar hand rested on her lower back, then James’s voice was in her ear. “Follow me.”

Rose sniffed hard and opened her eyes to see other students in their class looking at her sympathetically. The sight made more tears well up in her eyes, so she dropped her head to watch the tiles of the floor go by as James guided her down the corridor.

Her chest ached with disappointment and sorrow as she followed James to the single-person loo. He locked the door behind them, then she was instantly in his arms. When her front pressed to his and his hand went up to cradle the back of her head, she lost all semblance of control.

Loud, wheezing sobs ripped up her throat until she was full-on ugly-crying into his coat. He held her tightly, not saying anything. Instead, he stroked long, soothing lines up and down her back.

When the worst had passed, Rose pulled away from him and rubbed the heels of her hands into her eyes.

“I’m so fucking stupid,” she whimpered.

“No, you’re not,” he said gently.

“Fifty-nine percent,” she said scathingly, dropping her hands from her face to glare at him.

“Chemistry isn’t your strong suit,” he said with a shrug. “But that doesn’t mean you’re stupid, Rose.”

“Whatever,” she mumbled, moving to the sink to wash her mascara off her hands and cheeks. She really needed to avoid makeup on days when she was due to get a chemistry grade back.

“Why do you talk down about yourself?” Rose looked at James through the mirror. He was leaning back against the wall with his arms crossed in front of his chest—the picture of relaxed. But there was a tightness to his face and body that belied his nonchalance. “Why call yourself stupid?”

“Because I am,” she snapped.

Anger flashed across his face.

“You’re doing it again. Why are you tying your worth and perceived intelligence to one single subject?”

Rose didn’t bother to reply, and instead she grabbed a handful of scratchy paper towels to scrub her face clean.

“It’s not healthy to expect perfection of yourself,” James continued. “Everyone has strengths and weaknesses, things that they’re good and bad at. You can’t be perfect at everything.”

“You are,” she muttered under her breath.

He heard it, though. “Have you seen me attempt to draw? Blimey, I think a five-year-old has better skill than me.”

In spite of herself, Rose snorted.

“Was that a smile?”

She pursed her lips.

“No.”

“That was a smile,” he said in a sing-song voice. “You smiled.”

“No, I didn’t.” But she felt the way her lips were curled up at the ends. It slipped, though, when she remembered what they were originally discussing. “Doesn’t matter if you’re not good at drawing. You’re amazing at so many other things.”

“So are you,” he countered.

“Not the important stuff.”

He frowned. “Who says drawing’s not important?”

She shrugged, but James’s face was expectant.

Rose heaved a huge sigh and admitted, “I told Jimmy I wanted to go back to school for art. He laughed. Told me if I was to go back to school, I should go for something real. Something useful.” Her heart broke all over again as she remembered his scoffed, condescending words. “Mum said something similar, too, when I told her my major.”

Rose as staring resolutely at the sink, but from her peripheral view of the mirror, she saw James approach.

“Jimmy is an absolute wanker,” he said, his voice sounding strangled. “And so’s your mum. Er… no offense. Well. Sort of offense. I mean… the most respectful offense…”

Rose giggled through her renewed tears, and she said, “My mum… has a very grim view of the world. She and I don’t see eye to eye on many things. S’one of the reasons I came to America.”

“Don’t listen to them.” His hand landed on her shoulder, tugging. After a moment, she spun around, but kept her gaze down at his feet. There was a piece of dead leaf clinging to one of his shoelaces; she wanted to reach down and pick it off. But his hand went under her jaw, and gently tilted her head back. His face was pinched with a fierceness she didn’t quite understand. “Don’t you listen to them, Rose. Okay? You are incredible. You are so smart in ways that I can’t begin to comprehend. So what if you’re rubbish at maths and chemistry. You create beauty in this world, and that’s a very important thing. Without people like you, this world would be a very ugly, boring old place to be. Do not compare yourself to anybody else, because everybody is different. Just be the very best version of yourself that you can be, because I lo- I rather enjoy the Rose Tyler I’ve befriended.”

Rose couldn’t help the small, tentative smile that spread across her face.

She moved away from him then to splash cold water on her heated cheeks. Her hands went numb after the third rinse, but at least her face wasn’t uncomfortably hot anymore, and the cold water soothed her aching eyes.

When she’d dried her face, she turned and saw James had his iPad out.

“Everything isn’t as hopeless as you think it is,” he said, stepping up beside her. He had an Excel spreadsheet open, and Rose realized it was the grade calculator he’d made for her.

“You’ve kept it updated?” she said, surprised.

His cheeks went a little pink. He stared at the iPad screen and said, “Well, you know me. Maths geek. Can’t help it. Anyway, look. You’re doing amazingly on your homework and labs. Much better than my suggested ninety-percent. So really, you only need to do a tiny bit better on exam three and the final exam to get a passing grade.”

Rose sighed. How much harder would she have to work in order to do better on the next exam and the final?

But despite that, she was comforted by the numbers James was showing to her. If she could scrape together a sixty-seven percent on the next exam as well as on the final, she would just manage a C in the class. Assuming she continued to get near-perfect scores on her homework and labs, and didn’t utterly fail the next quiz in the class.

Slowly a glimmer of hope rose up inside of her, eating away the depression and self-loathing that had overtaken her minutes ago.

“Thanks, James,” she whispered, near-tears again. But not tears of sorrow and frustration, but of relief and thankfulness.

He smiled at her, then snapped the cover over his iPad shut and stuffed it into his bag.

“Feel better?”

“Yeah.” She gnawed at her lip, then reached out to touch his upper arm. “Thank you. You’re an amazing friend.”

His smile looked a little stiff, showing too much teeth even though it didn’t crinkle his eyes. But he then turned and plucked up her backpack from the floor and handed it to her.

She slung it over her shoulder, then opened the door to the loo.

“What in God’s name were you two doing in there?!”

Rose jumped as she and James exited the loo only to see one of the chemistry professors walking down the corridor.

“Oh! It’s… erm… well… It’s not what it looks like!” James stammered, his cheeks going scarlet. “Really! Promise! We weren’t doing anything!”

The professor looked dubiously at the two of them, then his gaze landed on Rose. He must have seen her red-rimmed eyes and splotchy cheeks, because his expression hardened and became frosty.

“Are you all right, miss?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Rose croaked. She cleared her throat and tried again. “Yeah. Wasn’t feeling well is all. James helped me to the loo.”

The professor still wasn’t convinced, and he continued glaring at James, who squirmed in discomfort.

“Do you need me to call someone, miss?” he asked gently.

Rose shook her head. “Seriously. I’m fine. Chemistry grade came back as shit is all.”

A flash of understanding crossed the man’s face. Before he could say anything else, James took her hand and slowly began backing down the hall.

“Thanks for your concern,” James said, then he turned and rested his hand on Rose’s lower back as he ushered her outside.

When the doors clicked shut behind them, Rose burst into peals of laughter that bent her over and had her clutching her sides.

“Oh, my God,” she wheezed.

“Oh, my God,” James muttered, his face still bright pink. “I can’t believe that just happened. He’s probably going to tell the entire faculty I’m a licentious pervert and to watch out for me taking unsuspecting girls into the loo.”

Tears of laughter streamed down Rose’s face, even as she felt a small pang of pity for James.

“Oh well,” he sighed. Rose felt his eyes on her as she attempted to compose herself. “You’re never gonna let me live this down, are you?”

“Never,” she promised, grinning.

He smiled softly at her, then said, “Wanna grab a coffee? Er. Or tea?”

Rose nodded, wiped her eyes on her sleeve, and followed him to the dining hall.

#thegreenfairy13 #dwsecretsanta #ficandchips #doctorroseprompts #dwfic #doctor who #ten x rose #au #ten x rose au #university au #my fic #chemical potential