Disclaimer: I do not own Doctor Who.

Pairing: Ten 2.0/Rose

Summary: Rose and the Doctor play a game of tag in the morning.

The Thrill of the Chase

He glides from room to room, touching bits and pieces and shooting quick, happy glances out the window at the view that never changes. Living in a house that doesn't move holds no small amount of fascination for him.

He makes his way back to the room he started in, and this morning, like every morning, he bounds out of bed and yanks up the curtains, just enough to peek out. He sees the same tree, same yard, same slightly crooked mailbox. It's a strange sense of comfort to him, this usually tiring repetition of events. He soaks it up.

The sun filters in, peeking its' way through the slats, and falls like a caressing hand onto the other occupant of the bed. He reaches down and follows its path with his own hand, feather-light touches that still make her shiver slightly. A wide grin spreads across his face, and he cheekily wonders to himself just how he can have that effect on her when she's asleep. He pulls his hand back after a moment, holding himself back.

Her body rises and falls with the tides of her breathing, and when she twists to find a more comfortable position, the dark blue sheet slips farther down her exposed shoulder, and he realizes with a delicious sort of shudder that she's still in the state he left her in after last a few moments, his resolve can't take it, and he resumes his earlier pacing.

The sun's higher in the sky when she no longer sees only the back of her eyelids, rushing through the window and directly into her barely open eyes. She shuffles the blankets trapping her body like shackles until she can throw one hand over her forehead, blocking out most of the light. Sleep still threatens to crawl next to her and smother her with the ridiculously cushiony pillows the Doctor seems to love so much. She supposes he deserves a lot more than heavenly headrests, so she lets it go.

And then, all thoughts of sleep rush out of her head.

She's up in a hop, skip, and slightly painful jump, blanket wrapped tight under her arms and tucked in to cover all her more indecent pieces. She slams the window slats shut with a quick flick of her wrist, and when she can properly see, she heads out into the hall.

She's on a mission.

She wants a cuppa and her Doctor, not necessarily in that order.

His fingers beat out an impatient rhythm against the spine of the book he's been reading, or, more accurately, re-reading the same paragraph countless times without a word sinking into that thick skull of his. He sets it aside, ignoring the way it falls flat because he's thumbed through it so many times during so many moments like this.

You can't call him a patient man.

The floorboards creak overhead, a telltale sign that's she's awoken from the dead. He cocks his head to follow it, waggling his ample eyebrows. The creak transforms into a groan as she plops her feet on the top of the stairs and he rushes out to meet her.

He flies by the bottom banister, hooking his arm around it in one fluid motion and propelling his body close to halfway up the stairs. He lands lithely on his still bare feet, looking up, tongue between teeth. A shout of "Ta-da!" half forms on his lips, but falls short when he realizes there's no one there to hear it. Scratching his neck in confusion, he starts when he hears the soft echoes of a loud laugh he knows better than he knows himself.

He's after it in a second.

She dashes around yet another corner and clutches the blanket tight across her writhing middle. Laughs tumble out of her like rain out of a cloud as she carefully ambles into the open hallway. She stops suddenly, adrenaline rushing through her and making her ears ring, and relishes this familiar feeling. He's watching her from the other end of the hall, and she knows it. She notices how his eyes drink her in, like she's his first sip of cool water after a million lifetimes in the desert. When his eyes trickle down her face, past her neck, and mingle with the blanket, she clicks her tongue against the roof of her mouth softly. He turns his eyes on hers then, and it takes her breath away, always takes it away. He grins his grin, tongue still between teeth, and mischief practically radiates off of him. She moves first, raising her hand delicately to wave him a wave and wink at him coyly. She snorts when he tips two fingers in her direction, following it with a wink just as sultry as hers. He thinks he's caught her, but she's not about to go without a fight.

She leans forward, staring him down with a look that's a deadpan challenge. He rolls back on the balls of his feet, hands pushed deep inside the pockets of his flannel sleep pants. With a barely perceptible nod of his head, she realizes that it's game on. Awareness lights his eyes and he lurches towards her just as she twirls away and shoots down the closest corridor.

He pumps his legs harder, rounding the corner and knicking his shoulder on the wall. He doesn't notice. The carpet muffles his footsteps, and with one last turn he comes to a quick stop.

In the middle of the hall, a blanket has just floated to the ground. The dark blue color contrasts sharply with the beige plush beneath his feet and for a moment he can think no coherent thoughts. He knows that sheet. He's slept under that sheet, wrapped up with the person who, until just moments ago, had been wearing that sheet. As soon as he can get his legs to work properly again, he's back on the trail.

He rockets past door after door, hallway after hallway, and a small part of him wonders if there could possibly be as many rooms as he thought in the house. Then, he comes across an open door and he flings inside of it, most ungracefully.

He's caught her, he can feel it. The air's tumbling from where her hair's swung through it, he can almost sense her. Almost cart wheeling in, he spins, looking for her. He falls short. She's gone, again.

He groans, a low, rumbling, guttural thing, scratching at the back of his neck in frustration. From behind him, he hears her breath catch. The widest of grins slips across his face and he turns on his heel, stumbling slightly as she crashes into him. He uses the momentum and swings her up, laughing against the base of her neck. It tingles, and she sighs quietly. "Found you," he half whispers, half moans as she kisses his bottom lip softly. "I win."

He doesn't have much time to gloat as she clutches him closer to her.