Summary: "Show them your valiance. Show them — you are not a place for the faint of heart." Rose Tyler has always created herself. When two familiar words make a sudden reappearance, she finds that even bad wolves can be good. Ten/Rose, hints of multi!Doctor/Rose.
Disclaimer: I don’t own Doctor Who.
a man might befriend a wolf, even break a wolf, but no man could truly tame a wolf. – george r. r. martin
It starts with a fortune-teller.
He takes her to a street fair in the thirty-third century, on a planet she’s already forgotten the name of. He wanders off with the excuse of hunting down a part for the TARDIS, leaving her with an unlimited amount of credits and absolutely nothing to spend them on.
That’s when she finds the tent.
Really, she doesn’t believe in fortune-tellers, has always brushed them off as charlatans. But there’s something in the old, humanoid woman’s rheumy gray eyes that draws her in, compels her to take a seat and listen a spell. Six credits for a palm reading, she says, and the blonde across from her plays along good-naturedly.
Long, spindly fingers run across the heartlines on her hand, pausing only when she hits the lines crawling up towards her index finger. “You’re afraid,” the woman murmurs after a moment, still tracing one particular line, back and forth, back and forth.
Cloudy gray eyes lift to meet hers, clearing for just a fraction of a moment before they go back to normal. “Of the Big Bad Wolf, of course.”
Rose stares at the fortune-teller for only half a second more before she snatches her hand back, feeling hot. She slams the needed credits down on the table before stalking away on shaking legs.
Charlatans, she thinks. All of them.