#11xrose

“Hello,” Rose smiled back, letting her tongue catch between her teeth; she didn’t go for married men, but certainly wasn’t above a bit of flirting – it usually resulted in an extra sale, and was always fun.  When he didn’t say anything else she raised her eyebrows; a glance down at the girl showed her preoccupied with the selection.  “Can I help you?”

He came back to life, adjusting his bow tie and coughing.  “Yes!  Hi.  Hello.  How are you?  Ow.”  He looked down at his daughter.  “Did you just kick me?”

Wise beyond her years, the girl shook her head.  “I’m Susan, this is Daddy.  John.  He gets weird when he talks to pretty girls.  Can you focus, please?”

Rose and the man- John- both turned red.

“Yes, my love, of course,” he recovered first.  “Erm, tomorrow’s picture day, and we’ve got to have one of these for it.  She’s been talking about them since term started.”

“They’re so pretty, and all the popular girls have one.  I had to get top marks on my maths test to have one, and I did!”

Rose crouched down to be more at eye level with Susan and the bows.  “Congratulations!  I always struggled with Maths, so sounds like you well earned it.”

Susan nodded fiercely.  “I worked soooo hard.  Now I get to have my bow, so I can be beautiful!”

“Hey, hey, you are beautiful, just the way you are,” her father chided, squatting as well.  “Can you say that for me?”

“I’m beautiful just the way I am,” she repeated dutifully.  “But see how much beautifuller I am with one of these!”  And she jammed on a headband full of bejeweled bows; it ended up at a funny angle, but it didn’t seem to bother her as she inspected herself in the mirror.  “So more beautifuller.”

Both adults straightened up, him groaning before giving her a wry smile.  “It’s a work in progress.”

Rose just laughed, shaking her head.  “Blimey, wish I had her confidence- now, let alone at her age!”

“Why?  You’re gorgeous.”

They stared at each other, Rose almost taken aback at how matter-of-factly he’d said it.

“I’m sorry, that was completely inappropriate.  True, but still… Susan, have you decided yet?”  He rubbed at the back of his neck, cheeks pink, and it was a damn shame he was almost certainly married; Rose wanted to see how far the flush went.

Get yourself together.  Kneeling on the floor for better balance, she bit back a laugh; Susan had continued her sampling, but rather than take one off and try a new one, she’d continued to stick the bows in her hair, nearly covering her head.  “Well, they all look great, but maybe you should try to match your outfit?  What color shirt are you wearing for picture day?”

“Pink!” was the unsurprising reply; besides being what Rose sold the most of, nearly all of the bows Susan wore were some shade of it.  “It’s my favorite.”

“Mine too!  What shade is your shirt?”

Susan gave her a blank look.

Badly disguising his laughter as a cough, the man- John- pointed to a blush shade.  “Like that?”

“No, Daddy,” she shook her head, bows wobbling precariously.

“Oh, okay.  More like that?”  Rather than move more into the pinks he went the other way, pointing to a peach color.

Susan heaved a sigh that seemed too big for her little body, making a face at Rose.  “He thinks he’s funny.”

“Oi!  Am too funny.”

“Funny looking.”

Rose couldn’t help but giggle, both at the deadpan delivery and his offended expression.

“Seven going on seventeen,” he muttered.  “God help me.  Now, quit mouthing off if you want your prize and pick something out; we’re late for Mummy.”

Why are the good ones always happily married?

“I have to look pretty for Mummy,” Susan said firmly, trying on a few different ones.  “But she’s not gonna even know.”  A fuchsia-colored headband seemed to be the winner as she tried it on a third time, meeting Rose’s eye in the mirror.  “Mummy’s an angel.  She died ‘cause I was born.”

“When,” her father spoke sharply, kneeling and turning her to face him.  “Mummy died when you were born, not because you were born.  And now she’s your guardian angel.  Okay?”

She nodded.

“Say it, please.”

“Mummy died when I was born.  Don’t see how that’s different, though.”  She looked up at Rose.  “What’s this one called?”

“Fuchsia.”

The little girl beamed.  “That was Mummy’s favorite, right?”

Looking like he wanted to continue the when/because conversation, he nonetheless let it go.  “It was.  You look very pretty.  Is this the one?”

“It’s the color,” she corrected.  “Now I gotta pick the- what’s it called?”

“Style?”

“That’s it!”

-

Twenty minutes later Rose finally checked them out; one of each style, all fuchsia.  The girl was a proper chatterbox, and Rose now knew everything about her, from favorite food (fish sticks and custard), subjects in school (maths and science) to friends in school, though she got the sense the last list was embellished.

Pulling out his wallet as he watched his daughter explore the rhinestone tiaras, he cleared his throat.  “Uh, sorry.  We’re still working on what’s appropriate to tell complete strangers.”

“She’s precious,” Rose said sincerely.  “I loved chatting with her.  And, erm, sorry for your loss.”

“Thanks.  It’s not easy, but… she’s worth it.  And it’s been years, now.”

Rose shook her head.  “Doesn’t really matter.  I was a baby when my dad died – not a day goes by I don’t think about him.”  She grimaced.  “Sorry, that was probably the opposite of helpful.”

“Eh,” he shrugged.  “It’s hard to miss someone you never knew.  Just have other peoples’ memories to lean on.”

They watched together as Susan held a pair of earrings up to her ear, and he gave a full body shudder.  “God, she’s going to be a teenager any second, and I am not ready.”

Laughing, Rose said, “She might already be; but she’ll be fine, and you’ll get through it, reasonably in one piece.”

He smiled, and her treacherous heart thumped.  Just ‘cause he’s a widow doesn’t mean he’s available.  “Right, munchkin, time to go,” he announced, gathering the gift bag with their purchases.  “Thank you for your help, Rose.”

“Thanks, Rose!”

Thump thump thump.  “Thanks for coming in.  If you’re ever passing by, stop in and let me know how picture day goes!”

She waved goodbye as they left, Susan contorting herself around to wave until they were out of sight.

“Cute kid.”  Rose sighed.  “Hot dad.”

-

Chewing his pizza, John watched his daughter.  She was picking at her food more than eating it, and he wondered yet again whether their ritual of Tuesday pizza graveside was healthy for her.  River would know.  “You know, munchkin, you can always talk to me.  About anything you’re thinking, or feeling.  Any questions.  I’m always here for you.”

Her lower lip caught between her teeth, Susan lowed her slice back to the plate, toying with her napkin.  “I do have a question.”

“Shoot.”

She looked up.  “D’you think if you and Rose got married I could get free hairbows?”

The fuck?  “Wha- the girl from the bow store?”

“Uh huh.”  Her dark ponytail bobbed.  “She was pretty, and she liked you.  You liked her too.  You’d have pretty babies.”

John pinched himself, certain he’d fallen down a rabbit hole.  “You think the pretty girl from the store and I should get married and have babies?  So that you can get free hairbows?”  His voice got progressively higher pitched, and by the time he was done, she was giggling.

Jaw hanging, he didn’t know where to start, spluttering for a long moment (to further laugher), before managing, “What makes you think either of us would like that?”

“She’s pretty, and nice, and she kept looking at your bum and smiling.  I bet she’d kiss you if you asked nicely.”

Forget seventeen, I’ve got a matchmaking grandmother over here!  He looked at the headstone next to him.  “What do you think?  Do you hear what your daughter is saying?"

“You always say Mummy would want us to be happy,” Susan pointed out logically.  “That we should remember her and honor her, but we have to keep moving with our lives.  Don’t you want to be happy, Daddy?”

That was a path he wanted no part of, so he circled back.  “Okay, let’s say she did like me.  What makes you think I like her?”

A smile so like River’s it made his breath catch stole over Susan’s face; like he’d stumbled into her trap and she held the upper hand.  “’Cause if you didn’t, you’d’a just said not happening and changed the subject.  Tha’s what you usually do.  You liiiike her.  You wanna kisss her,” she taunted.  “Can I be the flower girl?”

With no good retort, and blown away at the conversation, all he could manage was, “Eat your pizza, Susan.”

Her little smirk said she wasn’t fooled, but she took an oversized bit all the same.

-

It would be a lie to say she’d forgotten the little family, but it took her a week to stop looking up with hope every time the bell chimed, only to be disappointed it wasn’t them.

Oh, come on, Rose groaned, when the bell tinkled.  Five more minutes and I can go home to a bottle of wine.

“One second,” she called, straightening up her paperwork before stepping back out onto the shop floor.  “How can I- Susan!  Hi!”

The pair were standing in front of the register, Susan in a dress, while John tugged at his bowtie.

“See?” the little girl said smugly to her father, making him sigh and shake his head.

“Proves nothing.”

“Don’t be a coward.”

Rose snorted, though their conversation went past her.  “Don’t you both look nice and dressed up.  Going out?  How did picture day go?”

Susan looked up at him with an expectant expression, and it was amusing to watch the contortions his face went through.

“If you don’t like this idea, blame Susan,” he started off.  “We- ow, stop kicking me!”  Susan won the exchange of glares, so he cleared his throat and started again.  “I was wondering if you might be interested in hearing about it over dinner.  With us.  Both of us.  We’re kind of- well not kind of, we are- a package deal.”

Two anxious faces looked at Rose, and she took a moment to compose her thoughts, though a smile was threatening to overtake her face.  “Is this a date?”

He said no while Susan said yes, and the withering look coming from the seven-year-old could’ve made a grown man cry.

Rose raised an eyebrow, enjoying the show.  I would definitely like to spend more time with this family.  “Which is it?”

“It can be a date, if that’s what you want,” John said, swallowing nervously.  “Or a friendship thing.”

“What do you want?” she asked gently, watching his face.

“Date!” chirped Susan, earning her an exasperated look from her father.

“Don’t you wanna go see if there’s new bows or something?”

She shook her head.  “Uh uh.  It took me weeeeeks to get you in here!  Hurry uuuuup!  Mooo!  Moooooooo!”

“Moo?”

John rolled his eyes fondly at that.  “Coward – cow – moo.  Coward was the word of the day, and it’s unfortunately her new favorite.  Especially after a trip to Scotland over the summer.”

Rose smiled, tongue catching between her teeth, watching his Adam’s apple bob again.  “I like steak.”

“How’s Italian?  Daddy promised me stuffed shells,” Susan asked, oblivious, but John’s eyes went dark as he caught her meaning.

“Yeah?”

“Susan?  Does Daddy make breakfast?”

“Uh huh!  His waffles are the best.”

Rose and John exchanged a steamy look, and she licked her lips, eyes lingering over him.  “Give me ten minutes to close up.  Italian sounds great.”

“Yay!”

-

“Boarding pass.”

Rose handed it over, trying not to be irritated; the woman was just trying to do her job, and while her customer service could use some work, it was after one in the morning.  Everyone was exhausted.

“Oh!” Madison let out, scanning Rose’s boarding pass.  “I’m sorry Miss Tyler, let me find you the next available flight.”  Attitude doing a one-eighty, she gave Rose a smile.  “My niece is a huge fan of your books. I’m actually the one who introduced her to them.”

Rose merely gave a polite smile in reply; while such a sentiment usually warmed her heart, she’d heard some variation of it from nearly everyone she’d met over her fifteen-day book tour throughout the States.  Now, though, she just wanted to go home.  I should be halfway to New York by now.

“All set, same seat, leaves at 4:30 tomorrow afternoon with a layover in LA.”

“LA?”  Her brow furrowed, trying to picture a map of the country.  “Isn’t that the wrong direction?”

Madison nodded, already printing off the new boarding pass.  “Yeah, but it’s that with a one-hour layover or Miami, with an eight-hour layover and a plane change.  It’ll be fine, and actually does save you time.”

It only took another minute to finalize the transaction, and soon enough Rose was headed for the airport exit, lugging her carry-on with her and so, so glad she’d taken her mother’s advice to keep a set of clothes with her and not check it all.  She hadn’t liked the idea of keeping the small rolling suitcase with her when she checked in, wanting to be less bogged down, but now, she was glad to have resisted the urge.  Thanks, Mum.

Footsteps behind her caught her attention, and a moment later, the man who’d been talking to the agent next to her pulled astride.  “Terribly unlucky, aren’t we?” he lamented in a slightly posher version of her own accent. “Best case is home for Christmas Eve.”

“The storm should be over tomorrow, so it’ll be fine,” she replied politely, taking him in out of the corner of her eye.  Roughly her age, he nonetheless had the distinct look of a sixty-something maths professor, complete with tweed jacket and elbow patches.  But his eyes were kind, and he was attractive in that tall, lanky sort of way, with floppy brown hair and a bowtie.

“Hope so.  I promised my niece I’d be there.”  He seemed to deflate slightly, before rallying.  “Listen, this may be terribly forward of me, but- would you like to get a drink?  I realize it’s ‘Las Vegas’, but the idea of drinking alone at Christmas just seems… sad.”

They reached the escalator then, and Rose took the opportunity of the ride down to consider the idea.  And the likely outcome.  He was reasonably handsome, if in a dorky way, and certainly seemed kind enough.  She could use the release of an anonymous shag – if nothing else, it would probably make for a good story once home.

“Sure.  Why not?”

-

Beep. Beep.  Beep.

The bleating of the alarm startled Rose awake, her head feeling as though it had been split open, her mouth dry and fuzzy.  A lucky swat silenced the alarm, none too soon.  “Oh, fuck,” she moaned, sinking back into the mattress and squeezing her eyes shut against the brightness.  “Ow.”

A pitiful sound of agreement came from her right, reminding her of how she’d gotten into such a sorry state.  As she’d predicted, one drink had turned to two, then three, then…  Damn. I actually take the chance on a one-night stand, and don’t remember the actual sex?  Just my luck.

“Why is it making that noise,” her bedpartner mumbled, sheets rustling as he shuffled around; a moment later, the heavy weight of his head settled on the dip in her bare back.  “Wanna sleep.”

“Flight home.  Miss it, and won’t be home ‘til Christmas.”  She took another chance at opening her eyes, managing to keep them that way this time despite having to squint.  “Better get ready.”

He grunted in reply, instead pressing kisses to her lower back.  “I can think of much more enjoyable things we could be doing.”

Rose merely swatted him away, rolling out of bed and managing to land on her feet, if somewhat shaky.  I hope I remember his name soon.  This might get awkward.  “Lovely as that sounds, ‘m not missing Christmas for it.”  She stretched her arms overhead, pleased at the lingering ache in certain muscles as her body started to wake up.  She might not remember their escapades, but it appeared she’d more than enjoyed them.  “Shower.”

He didn’t try to join her, which she was equally happy and disappointed with; she needed some time to let the warm water bring her back to vaguely-human levels of processing ability, but a quickie sounded good too.

This sent her mind down a warm and steamy path, and by the time she’d toweled off and donned a dressing gown, she was very much interested in a morning shag, strolling out to the bedroom to tell John- his name had come to her in the shower, thankfully- about her change of opinion, only to find him standing naked at the desk, hands on his hips.

Taking a moment to let her eyes linger on his generous assets, she didn’t immediately recognize his tense posture. “Something wrong?”

He jumped, turning to face her, eyes going wide and one hand scrambling to cover his package.  “NO!”  His gaze darted down to the desktop, expression growing a bit more fearful. “Well…”

“What?”  Concerned now, Rose stepped up to his side, distracted at first by how good he smelled.  How’s that possible, after a night of sex and drinking and hours spent at the airport?  Then she looked down, and her heart stopped.  “Please tell me that marriage license doesn’t belong to us.”

“Uh…  I dunno about you, but, yeah… that’s me.”

Rose read it over again, unable to comprehend what her eyes were telling her.  Certificate of Marriage… 22nd of December… Rose Marion Tyler…  John Matthew Smith…  “I don’t believe it,” she said faintly, looking up at him. “This isn’t- I don’t do this sort of thing.”

“Neither do I!” John protested. “Erm, is that- are you- the Rose Tyler, of the Bad Wolf books?”

Hesitantly, she nodded.

“Ah.”  He shifted uncomfortably.  “I didn’t know.  It’s just- well- I’m…” He took a deep breath, anxiety clawing at Rose’s stomach as she waited.  “I’m J.M. Smith.  I write the ‘The Doctor’ series.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“Oh, fuck me.”  Rose closed her eyes, groaning.  Of all the people in the world, I hook up with my closest competitor.  They’d spent the last three years dueling on the bestseller’s lists, fighting for first in children’s fiction.  It was infuriating, and now here they were, post-coital, and married.  This cannot be real.  “How?”  Then, realizing what she said, her eyes snapped open.  “Don’t answer that.”

He nodded.  “What… do you want to do?”

“You’re on the same flight I am, right?”

Another nod.

“Let’s just… get ready and go back to the airport.  I can’t even begin to think about dealing with this yet.”

-

Upon arrival at the airport Rose was able to slip away from him, pulling a beanie on and parking herself at the next gate over; close enough to hear the announcements, but hopefully harder to spot.  When he rolled up to the gate several minutes after her, obviously looking around, she just sank lower in her chair; thankfully he seemed to overlook her, choosing a seat that put his back to her, and she relaxed marginally.

Pulling out her mobile she connected to the airport wifi, a quick search confirming that marriages in Las Vegas were legal, and worse, were recognized by the British government.  Shit.  An annulment appeared to be reasonably possible, thankfully not requiring Nevada residency.

Right.  So.  Once we get home, file for annulment, and if we’re lucky, no one ever needs to know. Including Mum.

-

Still stowing her carryon bag under the seat in front of her, Rose paid no attention to the person who plopped into the seat beside her, resettling herself before turning to look at who it was – and sighing heavily.

“I’m starting to think you’re stalking me.”

John arched a paper-thin eyebrow in response.  “I’m starting to think you’re avoiding me.”

“Oh, gee, what gave you that idea?” Huffing, she turned away from him, lifting the window shade to peer out the window.  There wasn’t much to see other than the plane at the next gate and blue skies, but she’d spend every second of the flight staring out if it meant avoiding her seatmate.  Husband.

Thankfully, he left her alone until take-off, but the reprieve was short-lived.  As she pulled out her laptop to keep working on the next draft of her story, John made a noise beside her.

“Don’t you think we should talk?”

“No.”  With more force than necessary, she pecked out her password one-handed, using the other to hide the keys.  “What’s to talk about?  We go home, we file for annulment, and with any luck, by New Year’s this will be a distant memory, and someday, perhaps even a funny story.  But today- today, this is nothing.”

Opening her manuscript, she glanced over to find him staring at her, and angled her body- and the screen- away from him. “Now you’re being creepy.”

“But aren’t you curious?”

“About what?”

“What happened?  And why?”

Rose looked at him blankly.  “We got drunk.  In Las Vegas.  And apparently have watched too many movies with that very premise.  End of story.”

“I don’t believe that,” John shook his head, fringe falling across his brow.  “What if there’s more?  What if it was fate bringing us together?”

“God, do you hear yourself? It was a terrible coincidence.  We’re competitors.  End of story.”  She glared at the screen.  “It was nothing, it meant nothing, and it will be nothing once we’re home and able to call a lawyer.  Now piss off, I have a deadline due.”  Shoving earbuds into her ears and cranking some music, she did what she could to drown him – and herself- out.

Focus on work. That’s all that matters right now.

-

The flight to LA was short, and given that she didn’t need to change planes, she didn’t have to move, though she was given the option to deplane.  Out of the corner of her eye she noticed John leave, which relaxed her somewhat; by the time passengers started boarding she’d put the earbuds away and was sitting back with her eyes closed.

A small voice chattering away caught her attention, particularly at the words “and that’s why I like the Bad Wolf books more!  Sorry.” Opening one eye to see, she found to her amusement the child, a girl around eleven, was talking to John, settling herself across the aisle from him as he reclaimed his seat.

Her eyes snapped shut, and she kept her breathing deep and even, curious as to his response.

“Can I tell you a secret?”

Rose squinted, and was positioned in such a way she could see the girl nod.

“I like the Bad Wolf books too.”

“You do?”  For being a pre-teen, the girl had skepticism down pat, and Rose had to hold in giggles.

“Oh, very much so,” John said seriously. “There are lots of books out there like mine for boys- though I try to write so anyone would enjoy- but the Bad Wolf books are special.  I think it’s so cool to see a character like that – when I was your age, pretty much all the books of the genre were about boys.  But the Bad Wolf books… anyone can connect with Thorn, and see themselves in her- she’s so real.  She’s not perfect, and she doesn’t always get it right, but who does?  In Book 3- did you read Book 3?  Good, I don’t want to spoil it- but at the end… I had almost the same thing happen to me, only it was both of my parents, and Thorn reacted exactly as I did.  And above all – never apologize for liking something more than something else.  Your opinion is exactly that – so as long as you’re not trying to hurt someone, then don’t be ashamed of what you like. Okay?”

The girl nodded, staring at John in fascination.  “You really like the books then, huh?”

“I really do.”

“What’s your favorite part?”

John inhaled through his teeth. “Ooh, that’s a difficult one.  I think- the one scene I keep coming back to is when Thorn realizes she’s grown apart from her childhood friends.  It’s really sad, yeah?  But that’s life- nearly everyone experiences that at some point, everyone drifts away from people they loved.  I’ve never read of another series or character that makes that moment so visceral.  But what about you?  What’s your favorite part?”

Turning over so her back was to them, Rose half-listened to the conversation as her mind raced.  The scene he’d referenced was fairly small, and by its nature, would only be known by someone who had read the book.

Does John Smith read my books?

-

Once they were underway and the conversation between her seatmate and the girl had long since stopped, Rose started moving around as if just waking up, complete with yawning and stretching.

“Hi.”

“Oh!”  His yelp drew her gaze; he’d been reading, the book snapping shut and quickly tucked out of view, but not before she recognized her own artwork for her most recent release; in fact, the very book she’d been crossing the country to promote.  “Hello.”

“Hi,” she repeated, sitting up and looking at him curiously.  “Were you reading my book?”

His cheeks flushed, and after a moment, he returned the book to the tray table; based on the bookmark, he’d started it before they’d met, as he hadn’t done much (or any) reading since.  “Erm, yeah.”  He gave her a sheepish smile.  “You’re a fantastic writer.”

“Thank you.”  She’d had time to think, about what he’d said about her books, how willing he’d been to discuss them- and not his own- with the young girl who appeared to be flying solo.  It had softened her approach towards him- somewhat.  “I think there’s a chance we got off on the wrong foot.”

“I agree.”

When he just stared at her, she knew she’d have to make the first move.  I was kind of a bitch to him, wasn’t I?  “Hi, I’m Rose.”

“John.”

They shook hands, Rose’s skin tingling where they touched.

“So, tell me about yourself.”

He arched a skeptical eyebrow.  “I thought you didn’t care, that we’ll just pretend none of this happened.  Harder to do knowing things about the other.”

Rose bit her lip, eyes darting down to her lap.  “Like Thorn, my dad died, only when I was a baby.  Mum always said to hold on to precious moments.  And… I don’t trust easy, so clearly, something about you made me give you the benefit of the doubt.” Taking a deep breath, she met his gaze again.  “You’ve got until we land in London to convince me to- to extend that faith.  If you want to.  We’ll see from there.  What do you say?”

Green eyes searched hers, and she kept her expression soft, nervous despite her words.  They would both be interviewing the other for position of spouse, and suddenly, it was one she wanted to pass with flying colors.

“All right,” he agreed slowly. “Let’s see what happens.”

-

The next book in each series was a cross-over, where secret agent Thorn, codenamed Bad Wolf, is rescued by an unlikely hero, The Doctor, and his strange-looking timeship, and it is only through a combination of their unique skillsets they’re able to save the day. With cover-art by Rose Tyler and a foreword from John Smith, the book was an overachieving best-seller, outdoing the previous books in each series and earning an armful of awards.

The picture on the back featured the authors with their arms around each other, he in a suit, and she in a white dress.

Both bios, at the end of the book, ended with the same phrase.

He pressed a kiss to the curve of her bum as she flipped the phone open, causing her “Hello?” to come out as more of a breathy sigh.

“Sorry, bad time?” Amy stifled a laugh.  “I can call back.”

“Hi, Amy,” Rose rolled her eyes, turning over and sitting up as she pushed the Doctor away from her, wincing when he landed on the floor.  “Oops.”

“I’m okay!”

“What’s up?” she returned to the phone call, listening with one ear as she watched the Doctor stand and make a show of dusting himself off.

After a few minutes of catch-up chit chat, Amy got to the point.  “So, it’s Christmas next week, and we want you to be there,” she said bluntly. “No excuses, including poor driving.”

“We’ll be there,” Rose promised with a laugh.  “What d’you want us to bring?”

“Oooh, I wouldn’t say no to some of that wine from Gelara,” her friend considered.  “Or a cake from Velmora.  The black forest one?”

Finding a scrap of paper and a pen on her bedside table, Rose jotted the requests down.  “Consider them done.”

“Also…”

“Yes?”

“We’re doing a theme this year, and asking everyone- and by everyone I mean you two and Brian- to wear Ugly Christmas Jumpers.”

“No,” the Doctor said emphatically from his spot next to Rose, wrestling the mobile away from her to address their friend directly.  “Absolutely not!”

Rose wrenched the phone away from him with a glare, putting it on speaker.  “Not a problem, anything else?”

“Rose!”

She narrowed her eyes further and he let it go, though that didn’t stop his under-the-breath mutterings. “No problem,” she repeated, “when should we be there?”

“Two.”  A shout of Amy’s name came from the other end of the line, and she sighed.  “Listen, I’ve got to get back to work, but I’m looking forward to seeing you both – it’s been too long.”

“We’ll see you soon. Have a good day!”

The line went dead, and Rose replaced the mobile on the nightstand.  “Now, Doctor-”

“I hate ugly jumpers,” he whined, “or jumpers at all, really, in this body.  I’m not made for jumpers this time around.  Ro-ose, please!”

She looked at him carefully, the pouty lower lip, the crossed arms… even his hair seemed to be protesting, drooping down across one eye, and deemed his unhappiness to be more about grumpiness than actual detest for the item.

“Now, listen,” she said calmly, “let me present my case, and then you can decide if it’s worth making our friends happy or not.”

He still looked mutinous, but after a moment, he nodded.  “You can try,” he warned, “but you won’t convince me.”

A smirk flittered across her mouth; if he was saying that, it meant she had excellent odds of doing just that.  “Right.”

Shifting on the mattress she knelt by his hip, using one hand to push his chest back towards the headboard and the other to whip away the sheet he’d draped over his lap for modesty. Meeting his eye and holding it, she licked her lips and bent over, pressing a soft kiss to his lower belly.

“You don’t play fair,” he sulked, already tangling one hand in her hair in anticipation.  “Why don’t you ever make your case with words?”

Laughing, knowing he was already resigning himself to the jumper, she flicked her tongue over the area she’d just kissed.  “Because this is so much more fun, wouldn’t you agree?”

His strangled groan and whispers of love a short while later during her ‘closing statements’ indicated he did, very much.

-

Rose turned in the mirror, smoothing down her skirt and examining her reflection.  They’d ended up shopping on a planet dedicated to all things ugly jumper, proving if nothing else that there really was a planet for every niche interest.

She’d matched a fitted black mini-skirt with black stockings and ankle boots, to avoid drawing attention away from the jumper she’d chosen.  It was, in her eyes, an adorable monstrosity of Christmas cheer.  Designed to look like a button down jumper over a white buttoned shirt, it was red with green trim and covered in symbols of the holiday: trees and wreaths, gingerbread men and Santa, presents and snowflakes and ornaments.  But the pièce de résistance, the reason she chose it over literally thousands of options, was for the big green bowtie.

“Rose?”

“Coming,” she called back, running a brush through her hair one last time before declaring herself ready. Making her way out to the console room, she worried her lower lip over the Doctor’s outfit.  She’d begrudgingly allowed him to choose without any supervision (this regeneration required significantly more of that than the previous two), and just hoped he’d picked something at all, and that it would be appropriate.

She didn’t relish a repeat of a visit to Martha and Mickey’s son’s Christmas pageant – he’d turned up in a ‘festive’ Christmas jumper she didn’t know about, only for Rose to realize after a few minutes’ snickering first from Jack then Ianto and Mickey that the ‘cute gingerbread couple’ were doing something decidedly not appropriate for children’s eyes.

It had taken the Doctor far longer than he cared to admit to earn back everyone’s trust when it came to dressing himself.

Please, please, please let it be appropriate, she begged the universe, stepping into the console room.  “Right, let me see before you land.”

He turned to her, spreading his arms and beaming as they examined each other’s jumpers.

And promptly began to laugh.

“Oh, wow,” he marveled, snorting.  “You can’t say I picked a bad one this year!”

“Are you kidding me?” Rose asked, jaw dropping as she took him in.  “Mum’s right- we really have been married too long.”

They were wearing the same jumper.

Exactly the same jumper, down to the bowtie.

“I should’ve know,” she shook her head, resigning herself to it.  “I mean, it had a bowtie- how could you resist?”

“I couldn’t.  Besides, why would I want to?  Bowties are cool.”  And he tweaked the one on the shirt just as he would normally.

The ship landed then, and Rose realized that as bad as this was, they would soon have to step out into the Ponds’ home, where Amy would relentlessly mock them the whole evening.

“Well, this’ll be fun.”

-

It took Amy at least twenty minutes to stop laughing long enough to gasp out, “Happy Christmas!”  By that time they’d made it into the sitting room, greeted Rory and his father Brian, and been served drinks as she rolled on the floor, howling.

“It’s been a tough few months,” Rory apologized, sitting on the plush chair by the fireplace and watching his wife try to breathe on the rug.  “I guess she needed that.”

“Clearly,” the Doctor grumped from his spot wedged in the corner of the couch.  “So glad we could amuse.”

Rose patted his knee comfortingly.  “Don’t be like that- it’s just a sign of how connected we are,” she soothed.  “Thinking alike and all that.”

“‘Great minds think alike’,” Brian said wisely.

The Doctor snorted.  “‘And fools seldom differ.’”

Rose, Rory, and Brian stared at him for a moment before she said slowly, “Are you suggesting I’m a fool?”

Realizing his error his eyes widened as he straightened up.  “Uh…”  Adjusting his bowtie he glanced helplessly at the other three.  “No?”

“I didn’t think so.”  Lips curling up, she turned back to her hosts. “So, what’s new?”

-

The moment they stepped in the TARDIS the Doctor pulled off the jumper, throwing it away with a distasteful expression.  “Ugh, finally.”  Stalking over to the console he sent them into flight, bracing himself on the panel before looking up at where she still stood, leaning against the railing.  “I know it was Christmas but…”

“Is this because you didn’t get a present?” she asked, lips twitching.  “I told you Amy said we weren’t going to exchange.”

He stuck his lower lip out, batting his eyes at her.  “It was Christmas, there should be gifts,” he maintained.  “Trinkets, at least.”  Then he frowned down at her jumper, and tugged at the hem.  “Why’re you still wearing this?”

Rose let her smile blossom, running her fingers through his fringe before tracing them down along the side of his face.  “Because, if you’ll quit pouting, I’ll get two birds with one stone.”

“How so?”  His curiosity piqued, he stared expectantly. “Well?”

Taking a step back towards the door that led further into the ship, she gave a casual shrug.

“Because…”  Crossing her arms in front of her, she gripped the hem and slowly raised it to mid-stomach.  “Taking it off is a present.”

“It is?”  Hungry eyes focused on her bare navel belied the innocent tone.  “Or is it the wrapping?”

Still backing slowly towards the door, she raised the fabric another inch.  “I suppose that depends on what you do with it.”  Tongue peeking out from between her teeth the raised the jumper over her head, revealing a particularly festive and skimpy bra that left little to the imagination, mostly consisting of sheer lace and a few strategically placed appliques for modesty.  By the time the jumper hit the grating her skirt had joined it, leaving her in matching panties, thigh high stockings, and the boots.

“What d’you think?”

Rolling to her side, she studied his face.  She was still learning it after a month, and the middle of night was the best time for reflection; when he was awake, he was usually too busy bouncing from one subject and room to another to sit still, even worse than his last body.

Now, fast asleep and stripped of his armor, he looked young.  Quiet.

Peaceful.

He’d had precious few moments of peace since Canary Wharf, she knew.  No one had said anything to her, not really, but it was clear in the way they watched him, all through the struggle with Davos.  Their concern was more than his regeneration mid-crisis, and Sarah Jane’s hug and quiet whisper “I’m so glad your back, he needs you,” said it all.

Now she was home, and they’d been alone since, leaving everyone in London and holing up on the TARDIS to reconnect and relearn each other.  Four years for him, five for her, the time apart had changed both of them dramatically.

But, slowly, they were finding themselves again.  Routines were being established, habits being settled into.

So far, Rose’s favorite was when one would wake the other in the middle of the night, and they would make sleepy, slow love.

During the day it was usually quick, an unexpected explosion of need you NOW wherever they happened to be in the TARDIS, but at night, under the cover of darkness and safe in their bed, they took their time.

The memory of their frantic encounter in the corridor that afternoon heated her blood, and she skated her fingers over his features before settling them on his chest between his hearts. They traced over his clavicles before moving to his sternum, darting back up to tweak his nipples.  That earned her a sigh, his head rolling in her direction, but he didn’t wake.

She traced meaningless shapes across his chest, swooping curves and circles, gradually moving lower over his belly to his thighs.  After long minutes when he still didn’t wake she shifted closer, pressing her chest to his side as she wrapped her hand around him.  Pumping slowly she brought him to life, his sighs getting deeper, becoming more restless.

When she was certain he was now feigning sleep she released him, throwing off the sheet and kneeling between his ankles.  “You awake?”

He didn’t reply, going so far as to fake a snore, and she rolled her eyes.  She took him in hand again, making a tighter fist this time as she moved it over him.

“Doctor.”

Another snore.

Dipping her head she licked at the tip like an ice cream cone, smirking when his stomach tensed and breath hitched.

“Doctor,” she sang teasingly, “are you awake?”

He moaned softly, eyes staying resolutely shut as she considered what to do with him.  Giving the head a quick suck, she let him go and rolled back to her side of the bed.

“All right, if you’re not interested…”

She was barely flat on her back before he was on top of her, bodies pressed tightly together as he plundered her mouth.  Rose let him, giving what she got, wrapping her limbs around him and holding him to her as they kissed.

Hands roamed, his tangling in her hair as her own grasped him bum and held him still as she rocked up against him.

“What brought this on?” the Doctor murmured, breaking the kiss to let her breath and moving his mouth to her pulsepoint, sucking at it.

“Does it matter?”  Taking advantage of his distraction she rolled them, laughing victoriously when he blinked in confusion at being suddenly on his back, her rising above him.  “I mean, you’re not complaining, are you?” she continued, planting her hands above his shoulders and rocking down against him, his erection trapped between them.

“N- no,” he rasped out, hands settling on her hips keeping her pressed against him.  “Never.”

“Good.”  Rose dipped her head, kissing him deeply and sucking at his tongue before straightening up again.  “Touch me.”

His hands moved, one massaging her breast, the other burying itself between them and zeroing in on her clit, expertly toying with it exactly how she liked.

“Shit, yes.”  Rose ground down harder on him in thanks, throwing her head back in pleasure.  “Doctor!”

He sat up, pushing her backwards until he was on top again, her head at the bottom of the mattress. “Hello.”

“Hi,” she pouted up at him, grabbing his forearms and stroking her nails along the sensitive skin.

“Looks like I’ve caught myself a prize,” he teased, tweaking her nipple.

“Whatever will you do with me?”

“I have some ideas. Actually, too many ideas.”  He frowned, staring up at the ceiling in thought.

Rose shifted to a more comfortable position, raising an eyebrow as he remained motionless. “Maybe you should pick one?” Bending her right leg, she settled her ankle on his shoulder in a blatant display of flexibility, trying to give him some encouragement.

“What do you want to do?”

Briefly closing her eyes, she gritted her teeth as she answered.  “You.  That’s why I woke you up.”

“Ah.”

When he didn’t do anything, she bumped her hips up against hers.  “Anytime, love.”

“Should I just…”

He trailed off, and fed up, Rose reached between them and guided him inside her, before pulling him down so they were skin to skin.

“Okay.”  The Doctor tentatively rocked his hips, pushing further into her, and she arched her back with a sigh.

“Mhmmm.”

He lowered his torso to meet hers, melding their mouths together as he found a rhythm.  “Okay?”

“More than.”  Rose kissed him languidly, gently scoring her fingernails down his spine.  Pleasure was starting to bubble through her veins, and she hitched her thighs higher on his hips to adjust the angle.  “Shit.”

Huffing out a laugh, the Doctor nuzzled his face in her neck as his thrusts picked up speed.

They rocked together, silent but for the occasional moan or whisper, getting lost in the feel of the other until Rose cried out, the Doctor shuddering moments later.

He eventually pulled away, cleaning them both up before they settled in together, cuddled close face to face, Rose’s fingers tracing his features as they stared at each other.

“I love you,” he whispered, turning slightly to catch her palm with his lips.

“I love you too.”

The peaceful expression had returned to his face, eyes sparkling and happy, soothing the still aching edges of her soul, ones that had longed for him for so long they still refused to believe they were together again.

Doubt crossed his eye, his mouth opened and shut.

“What?”

“Do you… I mean, are you bored?  Did you want to start travelling again?”

The idea brought worry to his eye, and while she did yearn for adventure, to leave the cocoon, she wanted more to bring back the peace.

“Not yet.”

A smile burst across his face, eyes lighting again, and she grinned in return.

Travelling would come in time.

“Not you.”  The Doctor rolled his eyes.  “Her, the TARDIS.  Why’re we here?  Where is here, anyway?”  He looked around, noting the barrenness instead of the civilization he was hoping for. There was nothing but bare trees, and snow.

Lots of snow.

For good measure he kicked the door, feeling an immediate pain in his toe and a flare of irritation from her across the bond between pilot and ship.

“Sorry, dear,” he muttered, before sighing.  “Sorry, Ponds, this isn’t where we were headed.  Let’s try again, shall we?”

He put his key in the lock, but it refused to turn.  “Oh, now you’re locking me out?  Brilliant. What’re we supposed to do?”

The ship doesn’t deign to answer, and he sighed again.

“Right, Ponds.  Into town.  Let’s go.”

Picking a direction at random he marches off, hoping it will lead somewhere sooner or later.

-

Half an hour later, one still-irritated Time Lord and two shivering companions stumbled upon a winter festival of sorts.  There were traditionally winter baked goods for sale, lots of apple this and cinnamon that, in addition to all types of crafts.

At the sight of it the Doctor stopped, not believing his eyes.  He’d suspected on the walk where they might be, but to find he’d been right…

He wondered what he’d done to the TARDIS to deserve this level of cruelty.

“D’you know where we are?” Amy asked, looking around with interest. “Can we shop?”

“We’re on Frorth Six. It’s the annual Winter Fair.  Shop if you like.”  The Doctor stalked over to the fountain, flopping down onto it and scowling at a happy couple a few feet away.

“What’s wrong?”  The Ponds sat next to him, one on either side. Normally he was grateful for their presence, but right now he just wanted to be left alone with his grief.

“Nothing.”

“You’ve been here before,” Rory guessed.

“Yes.”

“With someone who travelled with you before.”

“Yes.”

“Someone you miss.”

The Doctor turned his head slowly to the other man, seeing his age in his eyes.  Though Rory did a much better job that he did of pretending not to be millennia old, it still sometimes came through.

Just another reason to feel guilty.

He hesitated for a moment, before uncharacteristically for this regeneration sharing, “With every beat of my hearts.”

Rory’s eyes went wide and Amy gasped, but the cracked door immediately slammed shut on the topic.

“Go, have a good time, be a loving couple.  I can recommend the sleigh ride and the hot chocolate.  I’ll be here when you’re ready to go.”

Amy opened her mouth to argue but Rory beat her to it.  “If you’re sure.”

The Time Lord simply ignored them until they gave up and walked away, which took far longer than he would have liked.

His gaze kept coming back to the couple in the corner, slow dancing to the Christmas tunes piping into the square.  He was tall and she was blonde and though he knew it wasn’t them, the visual still tugged viciously at his heartstrings.

Looking anywhere but them, he tried desperately to distract himself from his memories, still burning brightly as if it had been ten minutes ago, not centuries.

The final straw came when the snowflakes began to fall.

One by one, they sprinkled down, and he felt each one that hit his skin as though they were knives to his hearts.  Each one brought a memory.

No matter how far or how fast he ran, the grief came for him, particularly in the snow, until all he could see was her.

That very first snowfall, her first trip to the past.  How hesitantly she’d stepped out into the powder, how awed she’d been by the entire experience.  Despite Gwyneth’s death and her own close call, she’d been utterly captivated by the flakes. How beautiful she’d been in that dress (considering nothing).

The first time he’d taken her to Woman Wept and they’d spent hours exploring the icy surface as she helped him see it another way, had healed one of many small wounds that remained in the immediate aftermath of the Time War.

The first time he’d brought her here, too much of a coward still to tell her what was already carved so deeply into his hearts.

Christmas 2007, when that him had been so new and eager to please, looking at her with stars in his eyes and love in his hearts when she agreed to stay with him.

Their return to Woman Wept where he’d bared his soul to her, scars and all, while she held him close and first promised him forever.

Their return here, ice skating and drinking hot chocolate, shopping and laughing before going home and making love in front of the fireplace in the library.

The hundred other places he’d taken her just to see her light up at the sight of the frozen water; she’d loved the snow, and he loved her, and the two became permanently linked in his memory.

That New Years Day, when he’d been so tired and sick, wanting to give up, to only see her face one last time, hear her voice.  If he hadn’t been in so much pain, there was a very real chance he’d ask her to run away with him; in the snow, he rather thought she might’ve.

His torturous slog down memory lane was abruptly ended by the paper cup thrust in his face.

“Here, you look half-frozen.”  The Doctor automatically accepted the cup, taking a sip and savoring the hot chocolate before turning to the stranger.

“Hello.”

“Hi,” she smiled, a bright grin that made his own lips twitch up.

“Why’d you give this to me?” He wanted to know, and she rolled her eyes.

“Looked like you could do with a hot drink.”

“Okay?”  Still confused, the Doctor looked at her suspiciously.  “Did Amy and Rory send you over?”

“No.  They your current companions?”

“Yes.  Who are you?”  She seemed familiar on a fundamental level, like her very soul was calling to him.

Her eyebrow quirked, before realization dawned.  “You really don’t know, do you?”

“Should I?”  He peered at her carefully, heart lurching when he realized that he hadn’t imagined it; she looked just like Rose.  Well, Rose with ginger hair.  “I…”

The woman took pity on him. “I’m Sarah.”

He only blinked at her, a dull roaring in his ears matching the way his time senses were going haywire.

Her smile faltered, eyes flicking behind him several times.  “You are the Doctor, aren’t you?”

He nodded slowly, mind racing.  “Yeah, I am. And you’re…”

“Your daughter,” she finished, biting her lip just as Rose did.  “Yours and Rose’s.”

His hearts stopped, before picking up double time.  He’d always wondered, the smallest kernel of doubt niggling in the back of his mind.

“Shouldn’t you be-”

“In Pete’s World?  I grew up there.  And now I’m here.”  She smiled kindly at him, letting him gape like a stunned mackerel.

“Alone?”  He managed, still trying to process the idea.

“No.”

It wasn’t the girl – his daughter – who spoke.

He spun to see the person behind him who had, and was somehow still shocked to see her.

Rose.

His mouth moved, but no sound came out as he stared desperately at her, wondering if he’d finally once and for all gone off the deep end.

She looked just as she always had, young and pretty, pink and yellow.

And she was here.

“How-”

“Does it matter?” Rose asked simply.  “I’m home, and I brought our daughter with me.  Isn’t that enough?  At least for now?”

He nodded slowly, unable to believe his eyes, certain he was about to wake up from a wonderful, horrible nightmare.

His still stunned reaction must not have been very reassuring, because Rose bit her lip and glanced around him at the girl – Sarah.

“Doctor-”

“Are you really home? This isn’t a dream?”  He burst out, and Rose shrugged shyly.

“Yes.  I mean, if you want.”

He didn’t know why it had taken him so long, but them being here in front of him explained so much; why the TARDIS had come here, why she’d refused to leave.

She knew.

“I love you.”

After so many centuries of holding the words in, of regretting missing his chance, the Doctor took the moment sitting in front of him.

Rose lit up, smiling widely that smile he loved so much, a hint of tongue peeking out.

“I love you too.”

Leaning forward, he brought one hand up to cradle her head as he pulled her towards him.  Their lips met in the middle, and it was as magical and inevitable as their very first.  As their mouths met again and again, he brought his other hand up to brush her temple; when she leaned her head firmly into the touch he connected their minds, diving deeply into the only place that had ever felt like home.

Over their temporary bond, they sent all the love in their hearts to each other.  The Doctor received all her worries and grief, her fear of starting over again with only their daughter.  Rose was almost overwhelmed by his grief and loneliness, by how desperately he’d missed her.

“Excuse me?”

Amy’s voice jolted him out of the kiss, fingers slipping from Rose’s temple and dropping their connection.

“What, Pond?”  He snapped, turning to give her a glimpse of the Oncoming Storm.

“What’s going on here? We leave you alone for an hour and come back to find you snogging a random girl.  What gives?”

“I’m Rose,” the random girl interrupted.  “You are?”

“Rory, and she’s Amy,” Rory jumped in, placing a calming hand on his wife’s arm.

“I’m guessing he’s never mentioned me?”  Rose asked, lips quirking at their confused looks.  That hurt a bit, but she got it – especially knowing how everything had gone down with Martha.  Still, she understood now Sarah Jane’s anger when they’d first met.

“Nope.  Maybe you’re not as important as you thought?”  Amy crossed her arms, giving the blonde a smirk as her husband sighed.

“Possibly,” Rose considered. “I’m only the mother of his child. But it has been centuries.”  She shrugged, as though she hadn’t just knowingly dropped a bomb.

“You are not,” Amy gasped in disbelief.

Smirking now herself, Rose pointed around the Doctor.  “That’s Sarah – our daughter.  We’ve been away, sort of, but we’re back now.”

“Right.”  Before Amy could say anymore, the Doctor jumped in, babbling away.

“Right!  So, let’s head back to the TARDIS, yeah?  We can discuss this more after the girls are settled.”

“Sounds perfect,” Rose commented, jumping to her feet.  “Then we can materialize your TARDIS around ours, keep her safe since she won’t work here.”

“Wrong energy source,” the Doctor realized, taking her hand and lacing their fingers as though no time had passed.

“Yep,” Rose and Sarah said in unison, popping the ‘p’ as he used to before bursting into giggles.

The three headed off, the Doctor trusting the Ponds to follow.  They’d only taken a few steps before snowflakes began to fall again, and he turned to Rose in time to see her pause to close her eyes and tilt her head back, tongue out to catch a stray flake.

Walking towards the TARDIS with Rose on one side and their daughter on the other, he couldn’t help but remember all the good history he had with this specific type of precipitation.