(Aka the obligatory post-GitF fic, for anyone else who ever wondered what might have taken place between a trip to France and an adventure in a parallel universe.)
This time, Rose smiled as she stepped outside into the city. The planet Hohm looked much the same as it had a few days priorâclear blue skies, three moons shining overhead, colorful pennants waving lazily in the breeze, white buildings practically glowing in the sunâbut there seemed to be a little extra pep in everyoneâs step, as the people and horse-people bustled about their business. Maybe Rose was just imagining it, but she didnât think so.
âSo,â she said, a grin spreading across her face as she turned to Dyana and Vareem. The two of them grinned at her in return, standing tall and proud in their elegant ceremonial Council robes; it was a look they were both well-suited-for, Rose thought. âReady for your next adventure?â she asked.
âYes,â replied Dyana firmly, as Vareem said, âNot even a little bit,â and they both burst out laughing.
âAt least we look the part,â Vareem chuckled, plucking at her robes. âThat counts for something, right?â
Rose laughed. âAbsolutely. That, and confidence, and cleverness, and a good heart. Luckily, you two have got all four in spades.â
âOh, stop,â said Vareem. âYouâre making me blush!â
âAnd if all else fails, you can always take the Doctorâs advice and just walk about like you own the place,â Rose told them. âCos, I guess you sort of do, now?â
âAnd itâs about time we left you to it,â piped up the Doctorâs voice; Rose turned to see him waltzing lazily in her direction, Mickey following close after. âWouldnât you say?â
Dyana frowned. âYouâre not leaving already?â
âOf course we are,â the Doctor said pleasantly. âWeâve done about all the damage we can do round here, best leave it in the hands of the experts now. Besides, youâll be far too busy to notice us being gone, what with your planet to rule and your people to help and your rotten system of oppression to dismantle.â
âAnd donât forget about the Championship, while youâre at it,â added Mickey. âMight want to consider taking a sledgehammer to that thing.â
âActually,â Vareem replied hesitantly, âweâre thinking we might keep it.â
Mickeyâs eyes widened in alarm and Rose and the Doctor both stared at her, nonplussed. âCome again?â asked the Doctor, eyebrow arching sharply.
âLook, much as I hate to admit it, the Council was right about one thing,â said Dyana. âThereâs a lot of money in the Championship. The Council was a bunch of greedy prigs about it all, but that money could really help our peopleâboost our economy, lift the town out of poverty, get everyone back on their feet.â
âAnd make technology available to everyone who wants it,â Vareem interjected.
âBesides, the idea of the Championship isnât badâitâs just the way the Council ran it,â Dyana continued.
Mickey and the Doctor didnât look convinced, but Rose was patient. She nodded at Dyana and Vareem, urging them to continue.
âSee, this time around, no oneâs gonna be forced into anything. Itâs all voluntary. You pay to get in, or you sponsor someone else getting in, or you pay to watch it all live,â Dyana explained. âAnd thereâs no deadly weapons, no bride-prizes, no killing. Just people competing against other people. Just regular sports, really.â
Vareem nodded. âThe groundworkâs already all laid out. A couple of easy adjustments and youâve got something thatâs, yâknow, actually fun for everyone involved. Weâll just recenter the event on showcasing everyoneâs athletic skills, just for the prestige of it.â
Mickeyâs face lit up at that. âSo it really is your planetâs version of the Olympics!â he laughed. âThatâs pretty awesome!â
âIt is indeed,â added the Doctor, beaming. âWell done, you two! Really well done.â
Dyana and Vareem both laughed, Vareem shaking her head, smiling shyly. But Dyana quieted down before too long, her expression growing thoughtful. âSeriously, though,â she said, her voice deep with sincerity. âThank you all, for everything you did for us.â
âAbsolutely,â Vareem chimed in. âThank you so much!â
âRose, you especially,â Dyana added, taking Roseâs hands in hers. âJustâthank you.â
âWhat are you thanking me for?â Rose laughed. âI hardly did anything!â
âNot true,â Dyana told her firmly. âSee, my sister and I had been planning things for ages, yeah, but when sheâafterââ
She swallowed, eyes clenching shut, and Vareem grasped her shoulder, humming in sympathy.
âAfter my sister was killed,â Dyana started again, and her voice only shook a little, âI was just...lost. I didnât know what to do, except go on with the plans weâd made. I felt like I owed it to her, to try. I mean, she died trying to make things better for the two of us. For everyone in the city, really. So if I couldnât carry on for me, I could at least do it for her, you know? But I was just going through the motions. It didnât feel like anything was possible, without her. Iâd lost hope. Truly.â
She squeezed Roseâs hands, tears welling up in her eyes. âThen I met you, and I saw how hard you fought for everything, no matter how bad things seemed to be, no matter how helpless or hopeless. You kept pushing on. You never gave up. Not ever.â
She drew in a deep, shuddering breath. âYou helped me have hope again, Rose.â
Feebly, Rose started to protestâshe didnât deserve such praise, really she didnâtâbut her gaze flickered to the Doctor to the Doctorâs just briefly, and she was surprised to see him softer than usual, somehow, a warm grin playing across his face. Like he knew something, maybe, that Rose didnât.
Like maybe Dyana was right.
Roseâs smile deepened, and she felt a prickle of moisture behind her own eyes. âThank you,â she said quietly, squeezing Dyanaâs hands in return.
âI just thought you were sort of neat,â Vareem interjected and the three of them laughed again.
Brushing away her unshed tears, Rose lunged for Dyana and Vareem, looping her arms about both of them in a snug embrace. âYouâre both brilliant, you know that, right?â she asked, hugging them both fiercely. âYouâre gonna do great things here. Youâre gonna make your sister proud.â
Both women hugged her back, just as tightly. âI really hope so,â said Dyana.
âWell, I just so happen to know so,â piped up the Doctor, âbecause Iâm fairly certain weâre about to enter Hohmâs New Enlightenment, more or less.â
âHey, now!â protested Mickey. âAre we allowed to say things like that?â
âOh no, not at all,â the Doctor replied. âAnyhoo! Time to hit the open road, put the pedal to the metal, weâre burninâ daylight here. Timeâs a-wastinâ.â The Doctor clapped his hands in illustration. âLetâs get this show on the road. Chop chop!â
Mickey and the Doctor both turned toward the TARDIS, but before she had a chance to move away, Dyana reached out to Rose for another hug. Rose happily accepted, squeezing tightly.
âThat Doctor blokeâs hopelessly in love with you,â Dyana whispered in her ear. âYou know that, right?â
Roseâs mouth fell open in response. Dyana pulled back with a saucy little wink. Roseâs cheeks flushed hotly in a way that had nothing to do with the sun beaming overhead.
âStay out of trouble, yeah?â Dyana added, grinning cheekily.
Stepping back, Rose laughed. âNo promises,â she said, hands spread wide as she stepped closer to the TARDIS.
âThatâs my girl!â Dyana called out, and Vareem blew her a kiss as the TARDIS doors closed.
 **
 âThatâs it, then?â Mickey asked once theyâd entered the Vortex, after the central column stopped grinding and the TARDIS calmed to its usual soothing hum. âWe just pop in, have a bit of an adventure, then boom, weâre done, off to the next thing?â
âThatâs it,â said the Doctor happily. He bounded round the console as he pressed a button here, threw a lever there. âAll round the universe, anywhere and everywhere and everywhen and everything in-between.â
âNever a dull moment, huh?â
âNot with Rose and the Doctor!â the Doctor replied.
âAnd Mickey,â added Rose, laughing as she climbed up the stairs to the console.
âIf you insist,â said the Doctor, and Mickey rolled his eyes. âNow the only question is: what next?â
Rose made a show of pretending to consider as she rounded the console, slowly approaching Mickey. âWhat, or where, or when?â she asked the Doctor, her tongue peeking out between her teeth.
âAny and all of the above,â said the Doctor, grinning. âAstrionâs still on the table, you know. Or Kabos Prime. Or ancient Egypt! Ooh, ancient Egypt. Who doesnât love a good sarcophagus every now and then?â
Laughing, Rose nudged Mickeyâs shoulder with hers. âRemember your Egypt phase, when you first saw Indiana Jones? Thisâd be right up your alley, I reckon!â
âWell, yeah,â said Mickey thoughtfully. âBut what about you, babe?â
âWhat about me?â
Mickey shrugged. âYou said one day, remember? One day, and then you were going home. Back to the Estate.â He crossed his arms, leaning back on the railing. âYou still wanna go home?â
It took a second for the words to sink in, for Rose to remember. Her grin faltering just a little bit, Rose glanced over at the Doctor, before she had a chance to think better of it. Normally he might be fussing about the console right now, making a show of being busy while he pretended not to overhear such a conversation. But now, his hands were still, his attention focused solely on her, his face carefully impassive. Neutral. Watching. Waiting.
(Some things, Sarah Jane had told her, are worth getting your heart broken for.
Rose wondered if those words had been meant for the Doctor, as well.)
She smiled.
âNah, we can always squeeze in another trip or two, or three,â Rose told Mickey, after a moment. âIâm not in any rush,â she said casually, looking at the Doctor.
The Doctor grinned at her, that soft, quiet grin, again, same as the one she saw before. She thought she might see something loosen in him, just a little bit.
âQuite right, too,â he replied softly.
âAll right, cool,â said Mickey, blissfully oblivious to the exchange that had just taken place. âSo, ancient Egypt, then? Iâd love to see the pyramids. Or a real-live pharaoh, even!â
âExcellent!â the Doctor laughed. He flipped a few switches and the central column lit up, starting its telltale grind and groan. âAncient Egypt it is, then! You lot ready?â
âReady!â called Mickey.
âReady?â the Doctor asked Rose.
She beamed at him. âReady.â
âFantastic,â said the Doctor. He pulled a lever on the console and the central column glowed golden, churning; the TARDIS shook and groaned all around them, sailing on the waves of the Vortex, on and out to the next adventure.
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for the writing meme: rose tyler and aziraphale #48. âNow, just hold on a diddly darn minute.â
((Oh god. I LOVE YOU. Thank you so much for sending me this. It turned out slightly differently than I planned, but hopefully you still like it!))
----
âWait.â
Rose stopped, ice cream cone dripping onto her hand as she turned to stare at Aziraphale.Â
âWhat?â
âYouâve never been to France. You said so. We talked about crepes.â
âI⌠yeah, Iâve never been to France. So?â
âHow could you have met Madame de Pompadour if youâve never been to France?âÂ
Rose looked down. âRather not talk about it, if itâs all the same.â
Aziraphale was many things. He wasnât much of a liar himself. But he could tell that Rose was hiding. The bow of her head, the way she let the ice cream in her hand droop, and more than that the splinter in the aura of joy and love she radiated always. But what could she have to hide?Â
(It was one of the things heâd most enjoyed since the strange time travelers had run into them during the Notpocalypse. Rose had an aura that no angel could ignore. The fact that she had a travelling companion whose face matched his demonâs was an⌠interesting fringe benefit. It also hadnât taken long for said alien and demon to start comparing vehicles, at which point Rose and tugged him away. âThe Doctorâll be at that for hours. Unless you like watching âim argue might as well find something better to do.â
âWhat did you have in mind?â
âChips? I can always go for chips. Or food in general. âM starvinâ.â
âHow do you feel about crepes?â
âI dunno. Never had âem.â
Aziraphale gasped and threw a look back at the arguing beings in across the street. Theyâd be lucky if the two emerged this century. âWell, you and I will have to correct that.â
âBet you ten quid they donât even notice weâre gone.â
He shook his head. âIâm an angel. I donât gamble.â
âNever?â
âNever. And certainly not on bets Iâm bound to lose.â
Rose laughed, and that had been that.)Â
He nodded, and the moment slipped past like a fish slipping a hook. Rose went back to her ice cream and they returned to their ramble about time and history and all the people Rose had met. (Aziraphale was not jealous that sheâd met Charles Dickens. Only slightly put out. Heâd never had the opportunity was all.)
âOh, I found that book you were looking for last visit!â
âThe one about impressionists?â
âYes! Itâs in the office, if you want to go and fetch it. Iâll gather the boys in.â
Even the book wasnât enough to budge the dark spot in Roseâs aura lingering beneath a layer of faux bright joy- like she was forcing herself to feel happy. It felt wrong, but he couldnât miracle it away- he had to know what to fix for one, and more importantly Rose would never forgive him. So that left asking the Doctor.
---
âNow wait just a diddly darn minute.âÂ
The Doctor gulped. Heâd learned early on in this odd friendship Rose had struck up with apparent angels and demons, that Aziraphale was actually the frightening one. Oh, Crowley hissed and sputtered and was a nuisance, but itâs hard to be frightened by someone who looks like you wearing bad contacts.Â
So when Aziraphale pulled the conversation to a halt, causing Rose to look at the three of them over her shoulder where she was perusing a book about impressionists, the Doctor knew something was wrong.
âYouâre telling me you left her? To go to France?â
âHonestly, youâre surprised he has bad taste, angel?â How the demon managed a piercing stare through a pair of sunglasses was a mystery.Â
âThereâs nothing wrong with France!â The Doctor found himself saying defensively. It wasnât a surprise that the angel had detected Roseâs discomfort over the issue. He was painfully well aware how much that action had cost. But it wasnât their business.Â
âOh no. No no no. Weâre not doinâ this.â Rose said, breaking through the looks that stretched between the three of them like knives.
âHe left you!â The angel was... angry.
âYeah, so did my dad, my first boyfriend and the cat. Sânot new. Iâm a big girl. Iâm fine. I donât need protectinâ. From anyone.â Roseâs tone was dry, but sad and that was enough to make guilt squirm in his gut.Â
âNot even a little bit?âÂ
âLook, Iâd rather have a friend than a guardian angel, if itâs all the same.â
A liquid moment stretched between them all before Aziraphale nodded sharply, eyes wide, his white hair bouncing with the motion. Crowley scrunched his mouth but shrugged, his head tilting to the left in a blasĂŠ facsimile of a nod.
Roseâs posture shifted as she smiled, sunshine bright and real, and the Doctor couldnât help the stab of jealousy that he felt when that smile was directed at other people. He pushed down on the feeling, the unwarranted jealousy. He watched Rose, and considered how theyâd come to be here. Even by his standards, this friendship was strange. But worth it, he thought, seeing Roseâs excited gushing over the book she held in her hands. Definitely worth it.Â
(Even if the look he was getting from the demon that wore his face said volumes about what would happen to him if anything else happened to make Rose sad. It was unnecessary - he was through running.)
Anon asked @doctorroseficreclists: do y'all know of a multichap fic with a chapter where an OC knows Rose and Ten in the future and Doc gets jealous cause he thinks its Roses future husband or something? I remember he sits between them at one point, and in another scene both the OC and Doc go to help her up after she fell down. The whole time, Doc and Rose are helping him find his sister who's being hunted by a creature. Sorry to bother, this has been driving me up the wall. Thanks!
Sorry, Nonny, we donât know this one. Can anyone else help? ~pyf
@buffyann23 has found it: Time Will Tell, by @lauraxxtennant. This is definitely the right one - thank you! ~pyf
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
After the events of GitF, the Doctor and Roseâs relationship changed. No longer would Rose allow him to string her along while he chased after other women. She was here for the adventure and the excitement of seeing the universe. And when he dropped her off in her Aberdeen, she would be ready. But after the Doctor loses his memories of events from just after their trip to New Earth, he isn't happy with the new arrangement. And he tries to get back into Rose's good graces with disastrous consequences.
Summary:Â The Doctor goes to the ball and overhears a very unexpected conversation before teaching a few people some very serious lessons.
Notes: Hello lovelies, here is ch2 of this prompt fic for @lizann5869ââs prompt âTen x Rose, value meâ. This was meant to be the final chapter but the Doctor disagreed, so there will be one more to resolve and wrap it all up. The muse ran way with me! LOL. Hope you like!
Ch 1Â I Ch 3
Also on A03Â and Teaspoon.
The Doctor stood in the wardrobe room, gaping after Rose. What was she on about, being too tired and turning down a chance to frock up? Rose had always been a bit of a night owl, begging him (well, the last him) to take her dancing, and taking great delight in dressing up and driving him mad. Obviously, she was in a bit of a strop about something and had gone off to sulk.
Humans.Â
(He deliberately suppressed the thought that she might be angry with him).
He shook his head and made his way into the corridor. Heâd go and talk some sense into her and sheâd come to the ball and have a brilliant time and heâd spend the evening watching her and not-staring at her, as he usually did. He supposed things had been a tad strained lately (he refused to contemplate why), and this should get things nicely back on track.
Except he couldnât find her room. It wasnât by the wardrobe, where it obviously had been, or by his own room as it usually was (although sheâd never known it) or the library or the galley or the gym or any of the usual spots. Heâd even checked by the garden (Rose liked the garden) to no avail; no room and no Rose.
He glared at the nearest coral strut. âWhat are you playing at, hiding her room?â
The TARDIS hummed angrily at him before falling silent altogether, their bond retreating to the furthermost corners of his mind.
He shook his head in disbelief. In all their years together the TARDIS had never done that. But then, he realised, sheâd also never chosen to listen to a companion over him, either.
What was that about?â
The TARDIS remained stubbornly silent.
He sighed. Obviously, Rose didnât want to be found, and obviously, the TARDIS was taking her side. He wouldnât find her room no matter how hard he looked. MaybeâŚmaybe the best thing he could do was to just go to the ball for a bit, give Rose and the TARDIS a chance to calm down. And maybe, just maybe, Rose might decide to come after all.
Yes, perhaps that was best.Â
Nodding sharply, he made for the door, ignoring the niggling sensation that it felt wrong to leave without Rose, that something was missing.
Sheâd come around.
++++++++
Two hours later, he conceded that Rose had meant what she said and wasnât coming. Heâd half expected to see her when heâd arrived, had been looking for her since, to no avail.
She wasnât there.
Suddenly sick of this party and the pretentious people whoâd glommed onto him from the moment heâd arrived, he turned to leave, only to run (literally) into the Prime Minister.
âSorry!â He said, steadying the blue-haired man. âDidnât look where I was going.â
âNot at all, honoured Doctor.â The other man bowed. âDo not think on it, I implore you.â
The Doctor said something equally fluffy and the other man seemed satisfied.Â
He also didnât seem inclined to leave.
âYou are enjoying our little celebration, Doctor?â
âSorry?â He turned from calculating the quickest route from the TARDIS. âOh yes, very nice! Very, er, festive festivities. The little cakes are brilliant.â
The Prime Minister seemed satisfied. âI am pleased that our humble efforts are acceptable to you after the great service you have rendered us, Lord Doctor.â
âOh well, all in a dayâs work you know,â he babbled, edging slightly towards the door. âRose and I do this sort of thing all the time.â
The Prime Minister looked at him knowingly. âYou are too modest, Doctor.â
Modest? Him? Especially this him? Not bloody likely (although heâd never admit it to anyone).
âEr, right, well, itâs been fun and all that but I need to get back to Rose-â
The Prime Ministerâs expression flickered ever so slightly at the mention of Rose. âAh, yes, yourâŚcompanionâŚ.is enjoying the celebrations also?
The Doctor narrowed his eyes slightly. What was that all about? âNo, sheâs back on the TARDIS- was feeling a bit crook, you see. She sends her apologies.â
The Prime Minister blinked again, looking momentarily satisfied before hiding the expression. âOf course. I hope her convalescence will not impede your work too greatly. If you will excuse me, Doctor?â
âOf course,â he muttered, mind racing. âOff you go.â
The other man bowed before gathering his cloak and swooping (had the man taken lessons from the late, great Alan Rickman at some point in his life?) towards a group of council members. After exchanging a few words, they moved out onto the balcony and of course, the Doctor followed.
Stopping several feet away from the balcony door under the guise of admiring a nearby (and truly awful) painting, he focused, his superior hearing easily picking out the voices of the council.
âHe is pleased then?â one councilman demanded.
âHe is,â the Prime Minister replied. âHe approves of our festivities and continues to look upon us with favour.â
âBy Hera and her Horsehoe, that is a great relief,â the other man exclaimed. âI never expected in all my years to meet one such as he. I heard tell of the dignity and power of the Time Lords from my great-grandfather, when I was boy, and he emphasised above all that one should never insult a Time Lord.â
âQuite,â the Prime Minister concurred. âI heard much the same from own great-uncle, whose ancestor was once the envoy toâŚ.â And here he lowered his voice further, âGallifrey.â
The Doctor flinched.
ââNever anger a Time Lordâ, he said, âand honour them always for they have powers the rest of us cannot fathom.â
The other men murmured their agreement.
âThere is much I would tolerate to avoid giving offence to a Time Lord,â another voice piped up. âI would even tolerate that chit of his among us tonight, if it would make him look on us with favour.â
âFortunately, she declined,â the Prime Minister smirked. âIt would appear she took my words to heart and has learned her place.â
The Doctor narrowed his eyes. What had that old snob said to Rose?
âI do not pretend to comprehend why he keeps the creature with him,â the Prime Minister went on. âShe is clearly a lower being of no value, even as a servant- she lacks even the basic skills for that office!â
The other men murmured their agreement even as the Doctor grit his teeth in anger.
âPerhaps she is his concubine,â one man suggested. âPerhaps a Time Lord is more open in such matters and so he does not hide her.â
âYou do not know of what you speak!â The Prime Minister scoffed. âThe Time Lords were notorious for their disdain for matters of the flesh and removed all such urges from their race millennia ago. Besides which, he does not even look at the chit! Have none of you noticed that? Little wonder, really, for all her savage lack of refinery and lack of beauty! He has looked at the Lady Birgitte more than his savage pet and he has scarcely looked at Birgitte at all! Not seriously.â The Prime Minister paused for a breath. âNo, mark my words, he does not want her, and if you had seen, as I have, how little he looks at her, how little he cares for her presence or what she does, you would not doubt me on this.â
The Doctorâs blood boiled at that even as his conscience screamed that what they said was true- he had paid her little or no attention and flirted with every eligible lady in the court besides. Little wonder they thought he held her in little or no esteem.
âWe do not doubt you,â one of the older men assured him. âLittle wonder if he doesnât want her for I am sure that I have hounds better trained that that creature.â
âI am sure that with a great deal of training, she could be of use in some fashion,â another man smirked. âShe has little beauty to recommend her, true enough, but her lipsâŚ.â
Enough!
Blood boiling, the Doctor strode onto the balcony, startling the men into silence.
âL-lord Doctor,â the Prime Minister stuttered. âI, we were just-â
âYes?â The Doctor growled, the rage of the storm in his eyes. âYou were just what?â
The men stuttered and stared, before falling silent.
âNothing to say?â he snarled. âIâm a bit surprised, considering you seemed to have plenty to say a few moments ago!
âI- we meant you no offence, revered Time Lord!â
âItâs a bit late for that,â he seethed. âI find everything you think, everything you are, offensive.â
âMy lord, I- I did not mean to offend! I will never speak of the Time Lords in such irreverent fashion again!â
The Doctor stared, and it seemed to the men on the balcony that the night grew darker, closer. âYou think this is about your babbling about a long dead race and their stifling dignity?â
âLord Doctor, please I do not understand-â
âThis is about Rose!â The Doctor shouted, trembling with rage. âHow dare you speak about her like that? How dare you treat her as if she didnât matter?â
The men stared and the Prime Minister stuttered. âThe girl? You are offended on behalf of the girl? But she is- â
âMore than you or I will ever be!â The Doctor snapped. âSheâs more than the lot of you put together! Sheâs brave and loyal and valiant and compassionate and make no mistake, sheâs the only reason Iâm holding back now.â
The men trembled.
âThat âworthless chitâ has given up more than youâll ever understand, has risked more than youâll ever know, for me, for the universe, and she deserves your respect! How dare you presume to judge her worth? How dare you presume to judge anyoneâs worth by your own pathetic standards?â
There was no response this time and the Doctor seethed with rage.
âYou think your so-called power, your wealth, your arbitrary social positions make you better, worth more than her or anyone else? I have power, more power than youâll ever know and let me tell you it means nothing. The worth of a person isnât in their background or their wealth or their power, and I pity you all for your poverty!â
âLord Doctor,â the Prime Minister choked. âWeâŚ.we apologise! We did not- that is, how can we restore your favour?â
The Doctor barked a bitter laugh. âMy favour is the last thing you should be worried about right now.â
âPlease, revered one!â
âYou want to appease me?â The Doctor demanded. âYou want to quell my rage? Then take off those fancy robes of yours and go and learn from your own people. Go and see what makes a person of worth, learn from people who are better than youâll ever be. Never speak of anyone the way you spoke of Rose tonight.â He stood there, chest heaving and growled in a low voice. âNow get out of my sight.â
With that, he made for the door and the TARDIS and Rose,.
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She wonders if itâs midnight, yet, if her carriage will poof back into a pumpkin and her gown return to rags.
(Certainly no prince will come calling after her, not after the way she behaved tonight.)
***
(ten/rose angsty post-gitf au/fixit; this part (and all parts on ff.net) is sfw (minor exception for brief language); be warned that the next chapter has teh smuts <3)
(full-size image)
Minuet, Part V
Part I | Part II | Part III | Part IVÂ | Part V | Part VIÂ | Part VII
Beneath a canopy of ever-brightening lightning dancing across the sky, dazzling white slicing through a canvas of sapphire-blues and bruise-purples and ominous reds, the afternoon slowly slides into the evening. Certainly, Rose is sure things happen during this time; sheâs equally sure she has no idea what they are, and she doesnât care.
(Uruud shows her to her room. Itâs fine. Itâs a room. Itâs got a bed. Before Rose has a chance to poke around anymore than that, Mickey stops by with an invitationâWeâre off to do some investigating, fancy a ride-along?âand that look on his face, all nervousness and uncertainty mixed with apprehensive hope, just cements in Roseâs mind how very bad everything is, if the Doctor canât even be arsed to come in here himself like he normally would. Rose begs off in favor of a nap, and ignores the worry that plays across Mickeyâs face after. But it wasnât entirely a lie, because blessedly, the bed has got a canopy to block out the light-show blaring through the glass ceiling above, and the temptation to smother her woes in an ocean of silky bedclothes and feather-stuffed pillows is indeed quite strong. But Rose just sits on the bed instead, arms crossed and toes tapping and eyes staring at nothing in particular while her brain replays the last twelve hours like some kind of horrid sitcom on syndication, playing over and over and over and over.)
Right on schedule, the first ritual beginsâor rather, the first âritualâ, as Rose thinks of it, considering that even if itâs presented like a Therran Communion, it seems a lot more like a threadbare excuse for the guests at the Temple to pull on fancy clothes and get blind-stinking drunk. Normally, the whole thing might delight Rose, the chance to doll up and immerse herself completely in the local culture, taste a range of fine alien libations and make new friends and maybe even flirt a little, but now it just seems sort of pointless and silly, a bunch of children playing at being adults with their fancy-dress and their fermented Britvic.
(Uruud brings a gown for Rose to wear to dinner. Rationally, she recognizes that itâs quite an elegant thing, all slim-fitted bodice and voluminous skirts and Prussian blue velvety-softness; less rationally, after Mickey pops back by her room with news of his and the Doctorâs escapadesâCanât find that High Chauncery bloke anywhere, none of the Votaries know where heâs got off to, what do you think of that?âRose wonders how the fabric would hold up if she tore it to straps and fashioned herself an escape rope, climbing out the window and deserting this stupid fancy place and its even stupider guests like a princess absconding from her tower. Planet-consuming lightning storms canât be all that dangerous, right?)
Dinner takes place, at some point, somewhere. A grand hall, probably, but Rose is three swallows deep into her third (or fourth?) glass of so-called âritual wineâ and things are starting to get just the littlest bit blurry around the edges. Mostly she notices that the hall is packed full of people, and itâs loud, and thereâs food, and a whole host of traditions accompanying it all. Each food item is laden with symbolic meaning, and eaten only after a session of chant-and-repeat, the entire dining hall buzzing with the rhythmic hum of people reciting scripture, lifting their faces toward the lightning scrawling overhead. Rose moves her lips along with everyone else, if only not to disrespect Uruud and the other Votaries, and after, she dutifully places the food into her mouth and chews and swallows, because itâs there, and she should, regardless of the protests of the seized-up beartrap that seems to have replaced her stomach. Probably some of the food she eats is tasty, and some of it isnât. She doesnât notice one way or the other.
(Uruud is kind enough to help Rose with her hair and makeup, styling both after the latest high Therran fashions, all gently sculptural curls and dew-glittering glaze painted on her skin. The whole process is so mirror-reminiscent of her time in France that Rose canât decide whether to laugh or cry; in an effort to convince herself that she has, in fact, been rescued by the Doctor, and is not still somehow trapped millennia in the past surrounded by strangers and unknown customs and unspoken rules, she asks Uruud any and every question she can think of, and absorbs herself in their replies. She inquires about their choice to become a Votary (they were Called) and if theyâve got any family (two parents, three siblings) and the meaning of the ornamental dots on each Therranâs face (one dot for every Allstorm theyâve survived, according to tradition hearkening back to the ancient times, and with a smile, Uruud places a gem beneath Roseâs lower lip, gifting her with a temporary honorary badge of her own). Rose encourages them to speak until the words flow as freely as the wine outside, and privately takes comfort in the paint they brush over her skin. When theyâre done, Roseâs collarbone sparkles as if covered with a necklace, her glitters as if topped with a tiara, and her back could almost sport a pair of wings glinting in the flashing light. It feels like a shield, a second skin, a mask, one that doesnât slip even when Rose reunites with Mickey and the Doctor in the dining hall and the latter barely manages to spare her a glance.)
Downing the rest of her fourth (possibly fifth) glass of wine, Rose tries not to stare at Mickey and the Doctor, but itâs sort of difficult considering that theyâre seated directly across from her. They both look quite sharp in their suits, tailored to perfection by talented Votaries, Rose assumes. (Distinctly tuxlike, their suits are; Rose wonders if they requested them specifically or if tuxes are just some sort of universal standard, somehow.) Between that and the Doctorâs customary chattiness, it isnât long before most of the occupants of their table start leaning in to hear more from this fascinating couple, this charming Doctor fellow and his pretty-boy husband Mickey.
(Unfortunately, Rose suspects thereâs nothing Uruud can do to help her with that particular mess.)
âAnd how did you two get together?â asks a friendly cat-person, ears swiveled forward in interest.
âHe stole my girlfriend,â Mickey deadpans.
Clapping him on the back, the Doctor laughs. âAww, what a sense of humor my beloved has!â he chuckles. âWe did meet through Rose, actuallyâyes, thatâs her right there, across the table, hullo Roseâbut there was no romance involved. At least, not at first,â he adds with a wink sent Mickeyâs way, and Rose struggles not to roll her eyes, or throw up, or both. âThatâs all he meant. Isnât that right, Honey Bear?â
âSure is, Fudge Nugget.â
âSee, Rose and I met through her workplace. You know how it goes, sheâs closing up shop, youâre scheduled to do demolition on said shop, you run into each other on the lift in a classic meeting-your-future-husbandâs-best-mate-meetcute. Instant friendship! Wouldnât you say, Pootsy-Pie?â
âWhatever you say, Pudgy McGee.â
âLetâs just say Rose found me very charming, once upon a time,â the Doctor continues, âand Mickey here, feeling jealous that someone was encroaching on the territory of his best mateâthatâs Rose, hullo again, Roseâwell, he decided that he should find out what all this cattywhumpus was about, meet this Doctor bloke that Rose couldnât stop raving over. And the rest, as they say, is history. Wouldnât you agree, my little Muffin Top?â
âYou got it, Sugar Tits.â
Rose watches as the Doctor chokes on his wine and Mickey pats him on the back perhaps just a little more enthusiastically than the situation warrants. The Doctor shoots him a teeth-gritted grin afterward and Mickey just smiles the universeâs most beatific serene smile. And that, for whatever reason, inspires Rose with a funny little thought.
âMy dear Doctor,â she says sweetly, indulging in a delicate sip of her wine, âthatâs all very good and well, but you must realize that isnât actually what our friend here was asking. She wants to know about how the two of you became a couple.â
Rose locks eyes with him over the table, affecting a friendly smile. âShe wants to know how the two of you fell in love.â
Itâs doubtful that anyone else at the table registers the shadow that flickers over the Doctorâs face; itâs gone as soon as it appears, and the Doctor answers with barely a hitch.
âWell, I think Iâve hogged the spotlight long enough,â he says to Mickey. âWhy donât you tell them, my love?â
Mickeyâs glee can barely restrain itself, oozing out the seams as he grins like a Cheshire cat. âOh, no, my pet,â he says, planting his elbows on the table and his chin in both hands, watching the Doctor with adoring eyes, âI insist that you tell them. You do it so wonderfully, after all.â
âThank you, sweetie,â replies the Doctor, his voice only a little strained as everyone awwâs around them, and Rose bites her lip to keep from laughing.
âSo, that part of the story isâhere we come to a part thatâsâwell, itâs a little difficult to know where to start, is all,â the Doctor says, tugging nervously on one ear. âIt just feels like weâve been in love for so long, you see, that itâs all sort of rolled together into one giantâŚlove mass. Sort of like, yâknow. The Thing or something.â
âOh, stop that,â Rose laughs. âHeâs just being shy,â she tells the rest of the table. âHe doesnât want any of you to know about all the late-night chats the two of us had together, with him just gushing on and on about how wonderful Mickey was, how handsome he is, how lucky the Doctor is to have him, all that.â
âAh, that might be just the slightest smidge of an exaggerationââ
âNo, no, go on,â Mickey says, his grin widening until his face might split from it. âTell everyone how wonderful I am!â
âHeâd wax poetical for hours about the beauty of Mickeyâs eyes,â Rose says when the Doctor doesnât reply.
âHeâd talk about how safe and warm he felt in Mickeyâs arms.â
âFront-row tickets to the gunshow, right here.â
âBut by far, I think his very favorite thing about Mickey has always been his intellect,â Rose continues, choking down her laughter as the Doctorâs mouth purses thinner and thinner. âIn fact, I used to stay up late reassuring him that, no, Mickey wasnât too smart for himââ
âAww, babe,â says Mickey, looping an arm around the Doctorâs shoulders.
ââbut he just insisted that no matter how hard he tried, heâd never be Mickeyâs intellectual equal,â Rose says, disguising her snickers as a cough. âIn fact, after their first kiss, the Doctor called me straightaway to tell meââ
âHis hands,â the Doctor blurts out, and everyone at the table turns back to him.
âSorry?â asks the cat-person from earlier.
The Doctor doesnât spare a glance for her; his eyes are locked squarely on Rose.
âJustâtheyâre nice hands,â the Doctor says, with a shrug. âGood for holding. Thatâs what itâs really all about, isnât it? A hand to hold. Wouldnât you say, Rose?â
She doesnât reply; sheâs too busy watching his fingers as they entwine with Mickeyâs hand on his shoulder, and once again, the table lights up with the sounds of an audience enraptured, the cat-person pressing her paw to her chest at the cuteness of it all. The conversation starts again, picking up where it left off, but itâs all just white noise to Roseâs ears now as she watches Mickey and the Doctor resituate themselves to clasp their hands together atop the table, practically beneath Roseâs nose. The Doctor even finishes his dinner one-handed to accommodate the whole thing, eating and drinking with his left hand like he does it all the time, and it might all be terribly funny if his thumb wasnât absentmindedly stroking over Mickeyâs knuckle, the way it does with Rose.
The way it used to do.
Something about the mindless meaninglessness of the gesture sets klaxons blaring in Roseâs head, screaming at her for her stupidity, for ever thinking anything the Doctor did anything meaningful, for ever thinking she was anything more than a joke to him, just a joke, a joke, a worthless stupid joke and nothing he says ever means anything and youâre an idiot for ever thinking it did and the words ricochet around her skull over and over until she drowns it out with another glass of wine.
âGood stuff, isnât it?â the Doctor asks cheerfully, and a second later, Rose realizes heâs talking to her. âTherran wine is quite lovelyâwhen youâre not choking on it, anyway.â
The other occupants at the table laugh politely, nodding along.
âJust a tad potent, though,â the Doctor adds. âA few glasses is really all anyone needs. Everything in moderation, hm?â
He looks at Rose meaningfully, eyes darting to the glass in her hand. She wonders if heâs been keeping track of her intake this whole time, if heâs trying to say, in that stupid precious roundabout way of his, that sheâs had enough, maybe more than. Probably the Doctor is right, but then again, probably if he thinks she should stop, then probably he should just come out and say it. Sheâs bloody well sick of all this dancing around.
With a serene smile of her own, Rose pours herself another glass. âCheers to moderation,â she says, tilting the glass in a toast before she downs its contents in one gulp.
âCheers!â shouts Mickey and everyone else along the table, following suit with their glasses clinking and wine-draining after, but the Doctor doesnât drink, doesnât cheer, doesnât tear his eyes away from Rose. She forces herself to hold his gaze, wills her face to turn to stone so nothing can show through. If he can do it whenever he wants, then so can she.
âWell, arenât we having a lovely time?â purrs a soft voice behind Rose, and she turns to see the scarlet-dressed woman from earlier, now swathed in a crimson gown so gorgeous it makes Roseâs eyes water. âWhatever is happening over here, itâs far more fascinating than the events transpiring at my table.â
âAh, then you should join us!â declares the Doctor. âNot at the table, though. We were just leaving.â
The woman piques an immaculate eyebrow in interest. âOh?â she says. âLeaving for where?â
âYeah,â Mickey says, confused, and Roseâs eyes narrow in suspicion. âLeaving for where?â
âNot entirely sure yet, but I thought we might nose about a bit,â explains the Doctor, standing up from the table. âGet the lay of the land, go for the inside scoop, poke our beaks in where they arenât wanted, so to speak. See what we can learn about this Allstorm business and why itâs suddenly taking place over the course of a month instead of a handful of days. The Votaries donât seem to know anything, the computers are functionally worthless, and for the life of me I canât seem to find any trace of the High Chauncery anywhere.â
Nodding, the woman frowns. âHe has not been seen for many years now, itâs true,â she says slowly.
âExactly. For all intents and purposes, heâs vanished, along with anyone else who might have a clue about whatâs going on. Itâs all just a little bit funny, donât you think?â
In her peripheral vision, Rose sees Mickey trying to catch her eyeâheâs alarmed at the Doctorâs sudden candor with this stranger, she knows. But Rose doesnât share his gaze, or his worries. She knows exactly what the Doctor is doing, or what it feels like heâs doing, anyway, and sheâs too busy sensing every ounce of the acid boiling up in her throat to weigh Mickeyâs concerns.
âOh, my,â the woman is saying now. âA conspiracy theory. How intriguing!â
âIt is, at that. Would you care to join us?â
As if she can sense the daggers that Rose is glaring at the Doctorâor if she can see them, which, she probably can, Rose is fairly certain sheâs being none-too-subtle at the momentâthe woman glances between the two of them, hesitating. âI wouldnât want to intrudeâŚâ
âExcellent,â Rose interjects, only wobbling a little bit as she stands up from the table. âWeâll just see you around, thenââ
âOh, nonsense, itâs no intrusion, none at all,â interrupts the Doctor, circling round the table so he can extend an elbow to the woman. âShall we?â
Once again, the woman looks back at Rose (what, is she asking permission? Is she gloating?) before accepting the Doctorâs offer, threading her arm through his with a gracious âI think we shall.â
Without waiting for Rose (or even his supposed husband, for that matter), the Doctor takes off, arm-in-arm with the strange woman. Rose watches them as they stride away, her hands balling into fists. Nonplussed, Mickey turns around just long enough to offer Rose a confused shrug before he jogs after the Doctor and his newfound friend, or the latest thing that captured his five-second attention span, or whatever this woman is.
Sighing darkly, Rose swipes a bottle of wine off a passing tray and starts drinking.
 **
 Naami, as the woman introduces herself, soon proves herself to be quite charming (not two minutes after theyâve left the dining hall, and already Mickey and the Doctor are more relaxed than theyâve been all day) as well as delicately humorous (as evidenced by Mickey and the Doctorâs smiles and laughter, and not in that polite why you do with strangers at a party) not to mention annoyingly diplomatic (as proven by her continual attempts to rope Rose into the conversation, no matter how noncommittal Roseâs responding hums and grunts become). Sheâs also devastatingly insightful, if the Doctorâs eager conversation with her regarding Therran politics and society are anything to go by. In short, Naami turns out to be the sort of person thatâs difficult to hateâwhich, of course, only makes you want to hate them all the more.
âSo, Rose,â says Naami conversationallyâas if the four of them arenât creeping quietly through the Temple archives, as if the Doctor didnât break them in with the sonic so he could hack into the information network, as if they arenât all constantly swiveling at every tiny noise and every flash of light up above because what if itâs a guard this time?ââFar be it from me to eavesdrop, but even from my table, I heard quite a bit about your companions this evening, and very little of you. Why donât you tell me about yourself?â
She shoots Rose a winning smile, perfect teeth framed by ideal sweetheart-shaped lips, and it lights up something somewhere in the dimming recesses of Roseâs alcohol-warmed brain. It occurs to her that this woman, this upper-class, gold-gilded, well-mannered prat, can probably smell an Estate girl from a hundred miles away, just like half the shrews at the French court before Reinette set them all to rights, or a shark scenting blood on the water. Any other day, Roseâs hackles might rise at the thought, but now, she just chuckles under her breath, swaying ever-so-slightly on her feet. What has she got to be ashamed of, what has she got to hide? It isnât like she can make this womanâs opinion of her any worse, nor, at this point, would she even care if she did.
âPretty general question. Why donât you be more specific?â Rose asks, swigging from her bottle.
âAll right. Where did you grow up?â
âA nice, big olâ trash-heap in the middle of nowhere,â Rose replies brightly.
Mickey clucks his tongue disapprovingly. âOh, come on, Rose. The Estateâs not that bad.â
âSure itâs not, if you donât mind a surplus of graffiti and crime and overflowing trash bins,â Rose shoots back. âNext question?â
The briefest flash of uncertainty flickers across Naamiâs features before she tries again, her smile sliding back into place like it never left. âWhat inspired you to go traveling with Mickey and the Doctor?â
âEh, you know how it is. Girl like me, youâve got three options: the bloke who hits you, the bloke who cheats on you, or the bloke who promises you adventure and then up and changes his personality on you, dragging you around like so much baggage from star to star,â Rose counts off, steadfastly ignoring whether or not the Doctor reacts to any of the words streaming out of her mouth. âSo I figure, hey, at least with the last option, Iâm out of the house. Next?â
âErm, very well, then,â says Naami, brow knitted in concern before she opts for what surely must seem like safe territory. âWhat about your friends, your significant other, your family? Tell me about them.â
âSure thing,â Rose replies, downing another gulp of wine. âWhich one would you like to hear about firstâmy single, lonely, unemployed mum, or my dead dad?â
âJesus, Rose,â Mickey breathes, as Naamiâs eyes widen with shock. Rose absolutely expects her to form that perfect mouth into the shape of a pout, her big beautiful eyes brimming with false tears as sublime and round as the most luxurious of pearls while she gently pats Roseâs hand, trying to hide her cringe as her delicate princess-skin comes into contact with such a low commoner, all while she murmurs some retch-worthy patronizing claptrap about Oh, you poor thing, you poor wretched little thing, no wonder these generous two men took such pity on you, no wonder youâre all alone.
Rose nearly jumps out of her skin when Naami gently grasps her shoulder instead. âMy gods, Iâm so sorry,â Naami says quietly, andâand is Rose imagining things, or does she look like she actually means it? âWas itâwas it very recent?â
Taken aback, Rose stammers, searching for words, but Naami just shakes herself. âOh, of course, Iâm so sorry, my dear; of course you donât want to talk about such things with a stranger,â she says. âI only thought to ask because you seemed unusually out-of-sorts for someone attending the Allstorm celebration, and stupid me, Iâm nosy even on the best of days and that just makes it even more of a problem with the attraction to emotionally unavailable peopleâbut you didnât ask about all that, Iâm sorry, Iâm babbling!â
She takes Roseâs free hand in both of hers, and she looks so sincere, so bleeding earnest, that Rose canât help but believe her. âPlease forgive my impudence,â Naami says, âand please accept my condolences for you and your mother. What a dreadful thing to happen. Iâm really so sorry, darling.â
âI wouldnât worry about it, Naami,â the Doctor pipes up, typing away at a computer terminal and frowning when he doesnât like what he sees. âIt happened a long time ago.â
âYeah,â Rose replies, her voice shaking. âWhy be upset about that when there are so many more current things to be angry about?â
The clickety-clack of the Doctorâs fingers over the keyboard grows a little louder, his fingers tapping the keys just a little harder. âOr perhaps you could retire for the night, stop drinking for five entire minutes.â
âOi, now, am I gonna have to separate you two?â Mickey jokes feebly, but Rose ignores him.
âWhy, whatâs wrong, Doctor?â she asks. âAm I embarrassing you?â
âYouâre embarrassing yourself,â is the quiet reply.
Shame floods through Rose, leaving her lightheaded. Distantly, she hears Mickey snapping at the Doctor, hears the anger in his voice as he leaps to her defense, but she canât hear his actual words over the sound of her blood rushing in her ears; she can only feel the hot anger of them, and the cool nothingness of the Doctorâs nonexistent reply. Roseâs cheeks burn and her stomach churns and she feels like she might be sick.
âActually, I could do with a bit of a rest myself,â Naami tells Rose, her well-manicured hands fidgeting nervously. âWould you like company on your walk back, Rose?â
âNo, ta,â says Rose tiredly, avoiding looking Naami in the eye; itâs exhausting to be so wrong about so many things all in one day, and sheâs not quite ready to admit to herself that Naami may actually be a decent person, that maybe she lashed out at her without reason. Just another thing to make her want to curl up into herself like a pillbug until she dries out on the front porch, nothing but a hollow little husk left behind. âDonât worry. Heâs all yours.â
She leaves before anyone can stop her, skirts gathered in one hand, wine bottle in the other. Before too long, she finds her room again and slips out of her shoes, leaving them behind her as she walks, like the worldâs most pathetic drunken Cinderella. She wonders if itâs midnight, yet, if her carriage will poof back into a pumpkin and her gown return to rags.
(Certainly no prince will come calling after her, not after the way she behaved tonight.)
Climbing into bed with her illicit treasure, Rose drinks until her eyes wonât stay open any longer.
Rose x Ten, post GitF-au/fixit; angst, fluff, romance, more angst, and possibly some smut later, but this part (and all parts on ff.net) is sfw (minor exception for brief language). And a huge thank you to everyone who left a comment encouraging me to continue, as well as everyone who didnât completely lose patience with me--this chapter is dedicated to you lovely peaches!!! <3 <3 <3
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Minuet, Part IV
Part I | Part IIÂ | Part IIIÂ | Part IV | Part V | Part VI | Part VII
The next day, the Doctorâs behavior can only be described as jumpy.
âAnd here we have the great lakes of Therran Vox!â he announces, throwing open the TARDIS doors to reveal a bleach-bright vision of sparkling water and dazzling white sky. âNot to be confused with Academy-Award-winning actress Charlize Theron, mind, nor the lakes of TheronnEx, though much of the plant life is certainly related, evolutionarily speaking.â
The Doctor plucks three umbrellas from their resting-place against the TARDIS wall, tossing one to Rose and Mickey each in turn before stepping out of the TARDIS with an umbrella of his own. âSomething like third cousins, maybe third cousins once removed, maybe twice,â he continues. âBit hard to know for certain, sort of tricky trying to gauge that sort of thing when your generations span centuries and solar systems. Speaking of reproduction, did you know that the Therranian water lily is one of the few angiosperms in the known universe that can reproduce via spores? Well, they donât technically reproduce via spores, per se, but their pollen has been known to hitch a ride on them a time or two. Sort of like a botanical hitchhiker, only on a semi-mesoscopic scale. And when youâre talking spores and pollen able to withstand the vaccums of space, well, that sort of explains the galaxy-hopping, doesnât it? Though the waterlilies on TheronnEx have a sort of unfortunate expired meat smell about themâŚâ
Rose stretches and yawns, ignoring the Doctorâs prattling in favor of taking in the sights all around her. Sheâs surrounded on all sides by an intricate network of perfectly round lakes, connected only by slim strips of grassy land. Reflecting the world aboveâeverything from willowy trees to the pearl-white sky to the metallic towerlike structures reaching high up, up, up into the swollen candyfloss cloudsâthe lakes glimmer and sparkle like a collection of mirrors, glasslike and silver and still. Stepping closer to one of the lakes, Rose inspects a tree by its banks, whose slender roots creep gently into the water. Her eyes travel over the trunk, which stretches high into the morning air, lifting its canopy of paper-thin roots far above the water surface. It doesnât take an architect to observe the similarity between the trees and the tower structures, whose engineers clearly looked to the willows for inspiration in constructing both the complex, interwoven-strut foundations of the towers as well as their observation decks spreading up above. Rose jumps as a handful of water droplets fall across her upturned face, just before a light drizzle descends all around, tiny water droplets singing through the air before they land with a series of dainty plops and splashes. Their touch on the grass releases a mild fragrance into the air, something delightfully fruitlike and soft.
Itâs absolutely wonderful, a proper exotic alien planet, and Rose lifts her face completely toward the sky, eyes closed as the rain peppers kisses on her cheeks. God, sheâs missed this.
Without even thinking about it, Rose reaches for the Doctorâs hand, but he sets off at a brisk pace before her hand can do anything more than brush against his, blathering on about para-symbiotic relationships and rhizomes and apomixis and god knows what else.
(Scratch that earlier thoughtâheâs ridiculously jumpy.)
âIs this normal?â Mickey asks under his breath.
Rose watches the Doctor as he wanders off, chattering loudly to no one in particular, and she tries to ignore the sick feeling bubbling up in her chest, the hurt aching in her gut. Itâs just because she didnât sleep well last night, she reasons. For all that she had dreamed of being back aboard the TARDIS, snuggling into her bed replete with plush foam and soft blankets and squishy pillows, she slept absolutely dreadfully. Probably sheâd just got used to the hard and unforgiving beds back at the palace; certainly the lack of sleep canât be blamed on anything else. Or anyone, for that matter.
Great fat rain droplets smack against her head like a dozen tiny missiles and Rose wipes water out of her face, deploying her umbrella with a sigh. âNo,â she replies. âThis is new.â
âDid something happen last night?â
âNo. Nothing happened.â
Rose knows Mickey doesnât believe her, would be able to tell by his suspicious silence even if she couldnât see the eyebrow arching off his forehead, but mercifully, he doesnât press for more. Instead, he proffers his arm to Rose, standing ramrod-straight like heâs posing for a school formal photo. He would look a little silly even if his umbrella wasnât covered in bright yellow smiley faces.
âCâmon, babe,â he says in response to her questioning look. âLetâs go for a stroll and you can tell me all about your adventures back in fancypants France.â
Rose smiles despite herself. âAre you sure youâd rather hear about that than whatever thrilling greenhouse trivia the Doctorâs throwing our way?â
âNah, weâll just make sure to toss a few uh-huhâs and oh how fascinatingâs his way every once in a while.â
Threading her arm through his, Rose laughs.
 **
 ââŚand here it is!â announces the Doctor, several thousand steps and two grumpy and wet-shoed humans later. The trail stops at an impressive, five-meter tall wall, rainbow-bismuth-colored and extending as far as the eye can see in either direction; the Doctor presents it all with a flourish of his umbrella. âThe main attraction, the big to-do, the pièce de rĂŠsistanceâthe grand Temple of the High Chauncery, perfect for viewing Therran Voxâs universe-renowned celebration of transient luminous events!â
He turns to Rose and Mickey with a wide grin, only to be met by a pair of identical blank stares. âOh, come on,â says the Doctor, undeterred. âMickey, you must have heard me mention the High Chaunceryâs luminous wassail at least once!â
âPretty sure Iâve never heard any of those words in my life,â Mickey replies flatly.
âSo whatâs a transient luminous event?â asks Rose. âI mean, luminousâthat means light, right?â
âRight you are,â the Doctor replies, and is Rose just imagining it, or does he meet her gaze even less than usual? âThe term refers to electrical phenomena produced during a thunderstorm.â
âSo, lightning,â says Mickey, unimpressed.
âWell, yes, if you want to be reductive,â the Doctor responds, rolling his eyes. âBut itâs not just lightning, itâs spectacular lightning. Like I said, phenomenal. Lots of worlds experience it, Earth included, but on most planets the events flash by so quickly, so high in the atmosphere, that you canât observe them with the naked eye. Thatâs what makes the storms on Therran Vox so special; the chemical composition of the atmosphere here makes for an event thatâs far more visible. You can catch the light show in all its glory, from front-row seats! Nothing quite like it in the universe, but why would I tell you when I can just show you?â
He raps his knuckles against the gate wall and a small round window opens in the metallic surface, a liquid movement like oil springing away from soap. A humanoid face appears on the other side, her eyes a fascinating multicolor, her forehead bedecked in rows of ornamental dots.
âInvitation?â the owner of the face inquires.
The Doctor produces the psychic paper from his jacket-pocket. âSir Doctor and his traveling companions, Dame Tyler and Majordomo Smith of the Powell Estate,â he says rather grandly, âhere to view some of the universeâs finest luminescent theatre!â
âOf course, your Grace,â replies the gatekeeper, peering at the psychic paper through the rain. She turns around and issues a curt nod to her comrade (another humanoid, another set of ornamental dots), and the window in the wall slowly opens up, widening by inches into a round doorway.
âYour timing is most fortuitous, sirâall of the other guests have already arrived, and weâre closing the outer shield any moment now,â the gatekeeper continues. âPer your itinerary, the first ritual doesnât take place until the morning, but that gives you the evening to settle in and enjoy the first stirrings of the storm. In the meantime, Votary Uruud here will give you a quick tour through the Temple before showing you to your quarters, and weâre happy to take your luggage for you as wellââ
âSorry, sorry,â says the Doctor, his eyebrow arching in confusion. âOur quarters?â
âOur luggage?â asks Mickey under his breath.
âYes, Sir Doctor, your quarters. For the duration of the event.â
The Doctor blinks. âThe duration of the event,â he repeats, his eyebrow arching further.
âFor the month, sir.â
The Doctorâs eyebrow has now arched so high itâs in danger of disappearing into his hairline. âRight,â he says. âThe month-long ritual. The month-long ritual storm celebration. The month-long ritual storm celebration for which we are totally, completely, and utterly prepared. With luggage and toiletries and things. For a month.â He tugs on one ear. âExceptââ
âOh, silly us!â Rose interrupts, throwing her hands up in mock-surprise. âWe left all of our things back at our ship!â
âYes, quite!â the Doctor agrees. âSo weâll just run back and grab it all, shall we?â
Rose and Mickey nod vigorously.
Glancing at each of them, the gatekeeperâs face wrinkles in concern. âForgive my impudence, your Graces, but itâs too late to turn back now. You wonât reach your ship before the Allstorm arrives.â
âThe Allstorm?â Mickey asks, incredulous even as rain dodges his umbrella to splatter against his cheek. Rose elbows him in the ribs and he clears his throat. âI mean, of course, the Allstorm!â he laughs nervously. âI know what that is. Sure, why not?â
âThanks for the warning, but weâll take our chances,â says the Doctor. âBit of rain will do us more good than harm.â
âPlease, your Graces, I must protestâthe blessed High Chauncery is a generous man and will supply you with all that you could need. You mustnât remain outdoors any longer, itâs not safeââ
No sooner has the Doctor turned to leave than a great bolt of lightning splits open the sky, followed by a blast of thunder so violent it shakes the ground beneath everyoneâs feet, their ears ringing after. Looking skyward, Rose canât help but notice that the formerly friendly-looking clouds appear significantly more ominous now, less fluffy-pink and more threatening-red and heavy with rain. They cluster overhead, slowly blocking out the sun, and Rose watches as the world is painted crimson around them. She suddenly thinks of Sunday school, of pharaohs and plagues and endless night, of storms that send blood pouring from the skies and swelling in the rivers. She shudders.
Another barrage of thunder strikes, so loud Rose can feel it in her bones, rattling her teeth. The Doctor heaves an impatient sigh. âOur quarters it is, then,â he says reluctantly.
The gatekeeper beams at him. âOh, very good, sir. Thank you, sir. Welcome to the High Chaunceryâs Temple of the Allstorm!â
 **
 While the storm rages overhead, its searing white lightning and murderous clouds all-too-visible through a ceiling that, to all appearances, seems to be made of a thick stained glass, Votary Uruud leads the Doctor, Rose, and Mickey on a tour of the opulent beauty that is the Temple. They show the party through a marble-lined courtyard into a veranda replete with columns and overflowing in ornamental greenery and other Votaries carrying a generous surplus of niblets on trays. Mickey and Rose inspect the food eagerly, sampling things spicy and salty, sugary and sweet; Rose tries not to notice how the Doctor, strangely, avoids all of the niblets altogether. The veranda opens to a garden lush with flora of every color imaginable, vibrant vermillion and stunning cobalt and brilliant fuschia and everything in-between. Some of the flowers bloom as large as dinner plates, others as small as thimbles, and Rose watches in fascination as each of them slowly turn their faces toward the sky, almost as if theyâre looking for the storm, like they can sense it.
âTheyâre lumosynthetic,â the Doctor murmurs to Rose. âTheyâve evolved to feed off light from any source, even lightning in a storm. You should see them when the real storm starts.â
She nods in response, and wonders at how he doesnât lean in nearly as close as usual, how he draws away so much quicker.
The garden leads to a chamber of swimming pools nearly identical to the perfectly round lakes outside, save that their water glows with the otherworldy light of bioluminescent algae. At Uruudâs gentle urging, Rose and Mickey each dip a hand into the water and delight at the glow that dances across their skin, lingering in a smattering of ghostly footprints several moments after leaving the pool.
In addition to the wonders that call the Temple home, Rose, Mickey, and the Doctor also encounter other guests as they dutifully follow Uruud, people of all shapes and shades and sizes, everyone from other Therrans to bird-people with special goggles to fish-people with special suits to upright rhinoceri and even a group of New Earthâs cat folk, though thankfully, Rose notes, none of them appear to be nuns. Almost all of the Therrans bear the same dots on their faces as Uruud and the gatekeeper, all in different numbers and configurations. One such woman, a gorgeous figure clad in a semisheer gold and scarlet gown with facial markings to match, watches them from the safety of her richly-clad party, her eyes lingering on the Doctor long after he walks by.
(Half a year ago, Rose would have threaded her arm through the Doctorâs and shot the woman a dagger-filled glance until she drew back in surprise, would have done it without even thinking. Now she just bites her lip and silently wishes for the woman to slip on a banana-peel.)
As they pass through the menagerie afterward, peering through latticework enclosures at a host of incredible creatures (winged lizards and scaled mammoths and jewel-skinned snakes, oh my), Rose starts to notice the walls around themâwide as they are, and as full as the space is between them, itâs sort of difficult to tell, but she could almost swear they were curved. In fact, she thinks, stepping closer so she can fit her palm to one wallâs smooth surface, she would be willing to bet that all the rooms in the Temple are built this way, round-walled and circular like the lakes outside.
âItâs like a ripple,â she realizes aloud when the party reaches the entertainment library, whose walls are lined with curving shelves that are not packed with books or movies so much as hundreds upon hundreds of glowing white orbs.
âBeg pardon?â asks Votary Uruud with a polite small.
âThe Temple. Itâs built like a ripple, isnât it?â
Uruudâs smile brightens into something genuine then. âIt is indeed, your Grace!â
âYouâre not wrong,â says the Doctor thoughtfully. âThe Temple is made up of a series of concentric rings, each split into different chambers for different purposes. The deeper into the Temple you go, the smaller and more important the chambers becomeâentertainment and feasting and grand ritual gives way to spaces of study, sleep, work, and personal worship.â
He pauses for a moment, musing. âAnd with the glass ceiling exposing everything to the gods above, Iâd imagine youâre rightâfrom a birdâs-eye view, the structure would look just like a ripple. Well-spotted, Rose.â
âYour Graces are most observant,â says Uruud, beaming at each of them in turn. âAlthough few are as resplendent as the High Chaunceryâs Temple, each of the Allstorm Temples is inspired by the form of water in honor of They Who Provide.â
âWhoâs that? Like a bunch of gods?â Mickey asks, interest piqued.
âThey are one god,â Uruud replies, and then, continuing in much the same fashion as someone reciting an oft-spoken Bible verse, âfor just as our gods cannot be tamed by earthly will, neither can man nor woman tame the form of water.â
Confused, Rose and Mickey both turn to the Doctor. âThey Who Provide is the genderless water god,â he explains. âOur hosts donât really adhere to a binary the same way you lot tend to. Gender isnât assigned at birth, but rather chosen at the coming-of-age. You choose one or the other, or both, or neither, and you can change it at any time.â
âSo which one did you choose?â Mickey asks Uruud. âIf thatâs not a rude question or anything,â he adds hurriedly.
âI follow in the footsteps of They Who Provide,â replies Uruud, bowing their head in deference.
âSo, like, do you have a special party for it, or something? Like a bar mitzvah?â
Uruud laughs, quickly sobering after. âForgive me, your Graces! Iâm merely surprisedâeven though the Temple receives a great many honored guests for each Allstorm, most of them seem to prefer the delights of our leisure chambers and pleasure rituals rather than inquire after our ways. Storm bless them, butâŚâ
âLet me guess,â Rose cuts in with a grin. âTheyâre all either snooty prigs, entitled prats, or insufferable know-it-alls who love telling you how to do your job?â
âOh, I would never dare besmirch the name of our honored guests,â replies Uruud, the very picture of politeness even as a spark of mirth twinkles in their eyes. âBut I also wouldnât dare argue with the wise words of such an honored guest, either.â
âOf course not,â Rose replies, tapping the side of her nose.
A chirping sound fills the air then, and Uruud lifts their wrist to check their watch (or at least Rose assumes itâs a watch, though she imagines they probably call it a timekeeper or something fancy like that). âAnd now, your Graces, I must assume my other duties for the evening,â says Uruud. âHowever, I would be happy to show you to your quarters first!â
They rap their knuckles on a blank patch of wall, just like the Doctor did earlier, and just like before, a round doorway opens up, widening like a mouth. Uruud steps through, Mickey following after; the Doctor pauses, however, so Rose does as well. She watches him as he stares up through the ceiling, his hands tucked in his pockets, his brow wrinkled in deep consideration.
Rose draws a deep breath. All right. Theyâre alone, now. Just the two of them. No big deal. They can still be normal. Right?
âPenny for your thoughts?â Rose prompts.
The Doctorâs eyes narrow at a particularly bright arc of lightning dancing overhead. âIâm still mulling over what the gatekeeper said. For the duration of the event, for the month. But I checked and double-checked the TARDIS chronometer before we stepped out, and this is the wrong time of year for the Allstorm, Iâm sure of it. I wanted to show you two the sights, to be sure, but this isnât quite what I had in mind. Itâs like trying to buy a dog and receiving a coyote instead. I wouldnât have brought us here if Iâd knownâŚâ
Sighing, he shakes his head. âAt any rate, why would so many people willingly lock themselves up in one building for an entire month? Spectacular lightning-show or no, thatâs a dreadfully long time to be cooped up in the same building.â
âWell, Uruud mentioned other stuff too, pleasure rituals and whatnot,â Rose points out. An unfortunate thought pops into her head and her eyes widen in alarm. âOh god, thatâs not like a fertility ritual or forced-mating thing, is it?â
âWhat? No!â laughs the Doctor. âItâs just regular olâ fun, sanctioned by the god of your choice. Feasts and plays and weddings and galas and drinking a little too much of the holy libations, that sort of thing. An Allstorm is always an excuse for celebration.â
âEven if itâs taking place at the wrong time?â
âEven if.â The Doctor quiets then, suddenly thoughtful. âStill, though. An entire month? Granted, itâs been a few decades since my last visit. Not to mention, they donât call it the Allstorm for nothingâit covers the whole planet, wrapping all of Therran Vox in a brilliant display of water and light. But youâre talking about something that lasts a few days, a week, tops. Certainly not a whole month!â
âWell, Iâm sure Uruud would be happy to tell us more about it, if we asked,â Rose suggests. âMaybe itâs a one-off thing, orâI donât know, maybe things are just different now.â
The Doctorâs gaze shifts to her, and Rose could swear a shadow flickered across his face for just the briefest second. If she didnât know any better, she would say it looked a little like sadness. Or worse, resignation.
âYep,â he says, his voice clipped even as he smiles. âYouâre probably right.â
Rose frowns. It feels like something just happened, like she just said the wrong word and the Doctor shuttered the gates after, but she canât put her finger on it, and the Doctor hardly seems in the mood to help. He brushes past her without another word, following after Mickey and Uruud through the round doorway, hands firmly tucked in his pockets.
Worrying her lower lip between her teeth, Rose lingers for a moment after, wondering. Guilt and frustration bubble up in her gut, churning in equal measure. Is this just how itâs going to be between them, now? Awkward and distant and stiff, and forever?
(How the hell is she supposed to fix this?)
 **
 âMy sincerest apologies,â says Uruud, frowning as they peruse the screen of their wristwatch. The light from the screen bathes their face in a gentle blue, highlighting their dots in stark relief. âIâm so sorry, but I cannot seem to find your names in the database. I can only think the electrical interference from the Allstorm is affecting our information networkâŚâ
âOh, itâs no worries,â replies the Doctor with a breezy wave of the hand. âJust chuck a few rooms our way, any rooms will do.â
âOf course, sir. I have two rooms available; will that suit the needs of your party?â
âIf you need additional space,â calls a soft voice behind them, smooth and silken, âI would be delighted to share.â
Rose and the Doctor turn to see the red-and-gold woman from before, her immaculately-painted crimson mouth spread in a beatific smile, and god, sheâs even more beautiful up close. Voluminous black hair, eyes as blue as lapis, features that couldnât be more perfect if theyâd been chiseled by a master sculptor; Rose canât blame the woman for being so beautiful, or showcasing it so well (how can she, when even she canât tear her eyes away?), but the self-assurance she projects, the confidence in her gait as she strolls up to their party, looking the Doctor up and down, makes something burn in Roseâs chest, twisting and growling like a tiny little green-eyed beast. This, Rose thinks, is a woman who has received everything she has ever wanted, and has no doubts now that anything else she wants will soon be hers as well.
And then thereâs the fact that the Doctor hasnât said anything to rebuff her, and Rose fumes, and worries, and wonders ifâ
"Heâs taken,â she blurts out.
In her periphery, Rose sees the Doctor glance her way, his expression unreadable. The woman, however, offers her an imperious look that she knows all too well. Her gaze travels over Rose, appraising. Rose is suddenly very aware of what she must look like right now, all damp jeans and dripping umbrella and shoes squelching with mud. But she didnât spend half a year in the French court for nothing; she draws herself up to her full height, chin up, and looks the woman square in the eye, offering a sly smile.
âThank you for your kind offer, but Iâm afraid we canât accept,â Rose says, the words falling into place like the dials on a slot machine. âSee, heâs marriedââ
âTo Mickey!â the Doctor interrupts with a mad grin.
Now itâs Roseâs turn to stare.
What?
The Doctor just beams at the noblewoman, his smile gigawatt-bright. Rose turns to Mickey for help, for a dose of sanity, for anything, but he canât offer anything useful; heâs too busy looking surprised.
âAh, it feels like it was just yesterday,â the Doctor says wistfully, looping an arm around Mickeyâs shoulders. âQuite possibly because it was just yesterday. Itâs all still very new, you see. Bit of a whirlwind affair. Almost completely unexpected. But the heart wants what the heart wants. Isnât that right, Peaches?â
âErm,â says Mickey.
âAnd we thought, what better place to honeymoon than Therran Vox during the Allstorm?â continues the Doctor. âI wanted a trip to Barcelona, personally, but I just canât say no to this face.â He tenderly pinches Mickeyâs chin and Mickey looks very much like he wouldnât mind being swallowed up by the floor right about now. âHeâs a dreadful romantic, my Mickey.â
âPeaches?â Mickey asks, voice faint.
âWeâre still figuring out the pet names,â the Doctor whispers conspiratorially to the noblewoman, and Rose fights the urge to roll her eyes, or stomp her foot, or maybe to scream. âLike I said, itâs all very new. But weâre very much in love, isnât that right?â
Mickey shoots Rose an uncertain look, and the Doctor tightens his arm around Mickeyâs shoulders until he yelps in surprise. âSo in love, right, darling?â
âSo in love itâs almost unbelievable,â Mickey replies through a teeth-gritted smile.
âSo in conclusion, my dove and I would be more than happy to share a room,â the Doctor finishes.
âVery good, sir,â replies Uruud, relief washing over their face. âNow, if youâll just follow me, weâll get you settled in!â
âAnyway, thanks again for the generous offer!â the Doctor calls back to the red-and-gold woman as he follows Uruud down the corridor. Mickey trails after the two of them in something of a daze, as if he still canât quite believe whatâs going on. Rose canât say she blames him. Sheâs having a little trouble processing it all herself.
(So is she just supposed to pretend that everything is normal, then, except when the Doctor starts to feel flighty? Five and a half months she waits for him, she waits, and at the end of it heâll shout and then fall silent and then act all remorseful, heâll insult Rose and then apologize and then, out of nowhere, apropos of nothing, grab her and kiss her, not six hours after he was ready to jump through that window and leave her and Mickey stranded, not six hours after he was kissing another woman? And then after all that, the mood swings and the almost-confessions and the bullshit refusal to discuss anything that truly matters, and now heâs the one pushing her away? And what, is Rose just supposed to accept it, roll with the punches, fall in line like a good little tin soldier? Sheâs just supposed to stand there and take it?)
The guilt from earlier subsides, a tide drawing back to reveal a shore littered in broken shells and bits of glass and something black and sticky, an oil spill slowly staining the sand.
âRose?â Mickey calls from down the corridor, stopping to wait for her.
Hands balled into fists, Rose follows after them, wondering how her day could possibly get any worse.
Rose x Ten, post GitF-au/fixit; angst, fluff, romance, more angst, and possibly some smut later, but this part (and all parts on ff.net) is sfw (minor exception for brief language).
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Minuet, Part III
Part I | Part IIÂ | Part III |Â Part IVÂ |Â Part V | Part VIÂ | Part VII
Stunned, Rose canât summon the words to argue with himâPlease donât take me home, at least let me say goodbye to my friends first, please just talk to me, pleaseâthey all just drift around uselessly, unable to climb their way out of her throat.
Silently, she follows after him.
***
The first thing Rose hears upon setting foot in the TARDIS is the sound of her own name, nearly lost amidst the full solid weight of Mickey barreling into her like a freight train.
âOh my god, I canât believe it, I thought youâd never make it back!â Mickey half-laughs, half-shouts into her ear. His arms wind snugly around her, a pair of friendly boa constrictors squeezing her in happiness. Rose hugs him back just as tightly, barely managing to blink back tears; she didnât expect to cry right now, but god, it just feels so comfortable and warm, and itâs been so long since anyone hugged her.
âThe Doctor said all the links were severed when you when through the mirror,â Mickey continues. âHe said it was impossible, he saidââ
Suddenly Mickey steps back, his nose scrunched in confusion. âHang on,â he says, holding Rose at armsâ length while he looks her up and down, eyes traveling over her coiffed hair, her heavy silken gown. âWow. You look different.â
âWow,â Rose teases. âYou donât.â
âWell, itâs only been a few hours for meâwhat about you?â
âAbout six months.â
Mickeyâs face darkens, his eyes flickering over to the Doctor. âSix months?â
âYep, looks like my calculations were a bit off,â the Doctor says, his voice tight as he breezes past them up the ramp. He rounds the console, tossing a switch here, a lever there. âWell, to be fair, itâs less to do with my calculations, more to do with an unstable time windowâdifficult to predict, those, especially when theyâre in such a sad state of disrepair. But luckily for us,â he says, and his gaze very carefully avoids Rose at that last word, âthere was a loose connection.â
The TARDIS shudders around them as it dematerializes, and Rose closes her eyes at the sound of the time rotor grinding, the still-familiar vworp-vworp noise and the soft and gentle buzz-hum underneath. She places a hand against a coral strut, relishing the sandpaper-roughness beneath her fingers, and this time she doesnât fight the tear that trickles down her cheek. Itâs as if a hole was gnawing away in her chest over the last half-year, no matter how she tried to ignore it, but now itâs filling in again. Good grief, but sheâs missed these sounds, this place.
âSo thatâs that,â the Doctor says, as if itâs final, somehow. Rose opens her eyes to find him galloping down the ramp, striding out of the console room. âEnd of one chapter, beginning of another. Welcome back to the TARDIS!â the Doctor shouts over his shoulder.
And just like that, heâs gone.
âHuh,â says Mickey, watching the Doctorâs retreating form. âThatâs weird.â
âWhatâs weird?â
âI dunno. I guess I expected him to, like, run in here holding your hand and babbling about all your adventures or professing his eternal love or something.â
Rose laughs, and itâs only a little sarcastic. âYeah, right. Me too.â
âIâm serious.â Mickey glances both ways before leaning in closer, his voice lower now, as if he fears being overheard. âHe wasnât half-mad while you were gone. He was downright manic. It was all sonic this and reverse the polarity that and maybe Iâll check some timey-wimey-whosie-whatsit and what if I could punch a hole in the local space-time continuum without compromising the fabric of reality and blah blah blah, just a bunch of muttering to himself while he ran around the TARDIS and pulled at his hair.â
Running a hand over his own hair, Mickey shudders. âItâs a wonder he didnât yank it all out.â
âYeah, well,â Rose replies, fidgeting uncomfortably. âMaintaining the timelines and all thatâs sort of stressful, I guess.â
âIt was almost scary, the look in his eyes,â Mickey continues, crossing his arms over his chest, protecting himself against the memory. âLike he was a wounded animal or somethingâyou know how they get in the movies, like when theyâre cornered, but theyâve got nothing to lose, nothing left in âem but the fight, and then everything goes to hell? It was just like that. He couldnât see or hear anything in front of him, couldnât think about anything that wasnât you.â
Something sickly bubbles up in Roseâs stomach, weighing heavily at the pit of it, and she has a sinking suspicion itâs got nothing to do with the corset cinched around her waist. She can picture the Doctor just as Mickey described him, stalking about the console room, alternately muttering under his breath and shouting at the top of his lungs, his frame shaking with the effort to contain the desperate energy inside. She imagines the way his hands would fist in his hair and his mouth would contort in a grimace, his eyes scanning frantically over everything while his mind raced through nearly a thousand yearsâ worth of memories and facts and tricks and hints. Rose has seen it all before, when theyâre trapped at the end of the line, no way out, the fate of a life or a town or a planet or a galaxy weighing on the Doctorâs shoulders.
(She has never seen him act this way because of her.)
âAnyway,â says Mickey, snapping out of his reverie, âGlad thatâs done with. Bloody terrifying, that was. Not to mention exhausting. Feels like I havenât slept in days.â
He punches Rose lightly in the arm. âWhat about you, though? Howâve you been? Six months, thatâs impressive. Probably got a whole truckload of new stories to tell, yeah?â
Distantly, Rose hears everything coming out of Mickeyâs mouth, but for some reason, she canât seem to focus on it, much less discern any meaning. She canât stop her gaze from wandering over to the corridor where the Doctor disappeared, twisting her hands together while her teeth sink into her lower lip.
âSo, you gonna go after him, or what?â
Rose blinks. âSorry?â
Mickey offers her a wistful grin. âYou waited for him all that time, didnât even know if heâd find you againâbut you still love him, donât you?â
Rose canât find the words to reply, but really, she doesnât need to; her silence seems to tell Mickey everything he needs to know.
âYou know heâs not good enough for you, right?â Mickey chuckles. âYou deserve better.â
Smiling, Rose wraps her arms around Mickey in a tight hug, pecking a kiss on his cheek afterward for good measure. âSo do you.â
âDonât I know it. Now run your arse over there so I can go get some sleep!â
**
Rose doesnât try to find the Doctor straightaway. Instead, she takes her time, wandering through the halls of the TARDIS. She kicks off her heels and sighs in relief, delights in the coolness of the floor beneath her aching feet, one hand running along the wall as she walks. Its pebbly surface rasps against her fingertips until theyâre pleasantly numbâshe imagines itâs like a series of little kisses from the TARDIS, welcoming her back.
âGlad to have your wolf again, hmm?â she asks quietly, and maybe sheâs just imagining things again, but she can almost feel the hum shifting in the back of her head, its pitch changing ever-so-briefly, like a little flash of golden happiness in her skull. Grinning, Rose pats the wall. âMissed you too,â she whispers.
She thinks of stopping by her room. This dress isnât getting any more comfortable, after all, and a hot shower or relaxing bubble bath sounds absolutely divine. But that sick feeling still burbles in her stomach, and Rose knows that no amount of scalding water or fruity soaps will drive it away.
Rose could play dumb, if she wanted, checking the garden or the pool or the galley or any other room first, to buy herself some time, to rehearse her words in her head, but she knows exactly where the Doctor is, and she allows her feet to carry her there.
She finds him, of course, in the library.
Evidence strewn about the coffee table in front of the settee suggests that the Doctor must have been tinkering, books and papers and tools and sonic screwdriver all piled atop each other in a miniature mountainous landscape. Amidst everything else is a small globe of some sortâastrolabe is the word that comes to Roseâs mind, except that she doesnât actually have a clue what an astrolabe is, or even how she heard of it in the first placeâbut it has been long-since abandoned, its mechanical guts spilled and forgotten. As for the Doctor, he leans back on the settee, his hands clenched over his face, pushing his specs up into his hair.
He doesnât move when Rose steps into the room. She tries to remember the last time she was able to sneak up on him like this. She canât.
Rose clears her throat and the Doctor snaps to, slipping his specs back down and reaching for the globe and the sonic as if he never let them go.
âDid you need something?â the Doctor asks. Rose canât help but notice how tired he looks; she swears the lines around his eyes run deeper than they used to.
âYeah,â she says. âIâŚâ
She hesitates. Silently, she berates herself for her cowardice. Why canât she just talk to himâwhy canât she just say whatâs on her mind? Sheâs never had this problem with anyone else, not ever, never had to stopper her words or tiptoe on a thousand invisible eggshell-thin rules the way she does around him. Squirming in her gown (god, but itâs absolutely murdering her ribcage), Rose casts about for the best words to open this discussion, because she absolutely is going to initiate this discussion, sheâs not going to let him squirm away from her this time, she spent more than enough time putting up with pinching shoes and heavy underskirts and beyond-stupid 18th-century customs and sheâs had enough of the bloody damn rules. Sheâs not going to let him close around her like a corset, cinching her closer and closer only to push her away when things get too tight; sheâs going to put her foot down and theyâre going to have a bloody talk because itâs ridiculous for them to keep brushing everything under the rug, and this dress is hot and scratchy, and heâs infuriating, and why didnât she just go take her dress off before this, and wouldnât it be so much better to have things out in the open instead?
Yes, she decides; yes, it would. Rose steels herself.
âI need help taking my dress off,â she blurts out.
The Doctorâs eyes raise a little in surprise, and Rose furiously fights the blush rising in her cheeksâof all possible things, why, why was that the one that popped out of her mouth?
âItâs just, back in France, there were people to help with this sort of thing,â she rushes, stumbling over her words. âAnd Mickeyâs already gone to bed, and, you know, it sort of seems like a bad idea to show up on the Estate wearing something out of the 1700âs.â
âThe Estate?â the Doctor asks, frowning.
âYeah.â She swallows. âYou said you were gonna take me home, remember?â
âRight,â says the Doctor, diverting his attention back to the instruments in his hands.
Rose waits for him to speak again, but heâs strangely quiet. âYou are still planning to take me home, right?â
âWell.â The Doctor fiddles with the globe, tapping the sonic against it in a rat-a-tat-tat. âCertainly, yes, I did say that. And. And I meant it. That was indeed a valid threat. No, not a threatâa promise. I am absolutely, positively, definitely taking you home.â
He sneaks a glance up at her. âUnless. You know. Youâre not ready to go home yet.â
Relief washing over her, Rose hides a smile. âI think I can wait a bit.â
âGood,â replies the Doctor just a little too quickly. When Rose can no longer hide her smile, he points an accusatory finger at her. âI did mean it, though,â he insists.
âSure.â
âI am taking you home. Just not right this instant.â
âGot it.â
âIt wasnât a bluff.â
ââCourse not.â
âJustâŚno reason to rush, right?â
Rose beams at him. âNo reason at all.â
âExcellent.â The Doctor brushes some nonexistent dirt off his trousers before standing up from the settee, placing his instruments back down on the table. âGlad thatâs sorted. So, Iâll see you tomorrow bright and early, then? Tomorrow and early being relative terms, of course.â
âSure, but, ermâŚâ
The Doctor watches her expectantly, and Roseâs cheeks grow warm beneath his gaze again. âI still need help,â she admits, gesturing over her shoulder, to the laces on the back of her dress.
Eyes following the line of her hand, the Doctorâs face goes blank. Rose thinks she can pinpoint the very moment realization dawns on him, his eyebrows arching once again in surprise.
âRight,â he says, shaking his head. âYes, of course.â Wordlessly, he spins his finger in a circle, a silent suggestion that Rose should do the same. Rose turns away, forces herself not to twitch at the coolness of his hand on her neck as he brushes a tendril of hair out of the way.
They both fall quiet, the silence only interrupted by the soft sounds of silk and linen whispering against each other while the Doctor works, deftly untying knots and unlacing laces. But for all that his fingers are talented, the Doctor isnât quite as adept at this as the women at court, and more than once, Roseâs breath hitches as the corset tightens before loosening.
Rose stifles a laugh. Sheâd be lying if she said she had never fantasized about this at least a little bit, the Doctor slowly peeling a gorgeous gown off her body, unwrapping her like a delectably rich gift. But between the pinch at her waist and the anxiety in her tummy and the ache in her ribs, this just might be one of the single unsexiest things she has ever experienced.
âSo, what did you two get up to while I was away?â Rose asksâshe tells herself itâs an attempt at playfulness, just a distraction, and not related in any way to what Mickey told her in the console room. (Itâs certainly not a quiet way to test him, definitely not a subtle way to see how far she can push.)
The Doctor pulls a lace a little too tight and Rose bites her tongue to stop herself from grunting. âNot much,â the Doctor replies, and Rose could almost believe him. âWe mostly just did a bit of research, poked around until I figured out how to get back to yâhow to sort things out.â
âYeah, Mickey said it was only a few hours here.â
âYeah,â the Doctor echoes, but something about the way he says it is flat, empty.
His fingers still at her back. âRose, Iâm sorry.â
Rose shrugs, squirming in her half-done corset. âEh, youâre doing your best. Eighteenth-century underwearâs a right bitch.â
âIâm sorry I didnât come back sooner.â
Roseâs lips part in surprise. âAh,â she says, softly.
The Doctor resumes his task, pulling at the laces once again. âIt shouldnât have taken me so long to figure it out, the loose connection in the fireplace,â he continues. âItâs ridiculous, really. I donât know what came over me.â
At that, Mickeyâs words resound in her ears. He wasnât half-mad while you were gone.
âDonât worry, it wonât happen again,â says the Doctor. âBut still: I apologize. Six months is a long period for a human to be stranded anywhere, especially three hundred years out of their own time.â
âIt was only five and a half months,â Rose mumbles halfheartedly.
âStill. I should have done better.â
âEh,â says Rose. âItâs all right. I knew what I was getting into, crashing through that mirror. I mean, you were pretty explicit about what would happen.â
She drinks in a deep breath now that her ribcage has the room to expand. She can tell by the position of the Doctorâs hands at the small of her back that heâll be done loosening the corset soon; she tells herself that if sheâs going to talk to the Doctor, really properly talk to him, she needs to do it now, while neither of them can see the otherâs face. She tells herself it will be easier that way, even if she can imagine exactly expression his eyes and mouth will make.
âIâm actually more upset about how you treated me afterward,â she admits, her pulse thundering at the confession.
The Doctor falls silent once againâdoesnât even emit an irritated sigh or let loose an explanatory bit of babble. He just works on pulling the last of the laces loose, his pace steady and never-changing. Lightheadedness suffuses Roseâs head, filling it like a dull fog, and she knows this time itâs got nothing to do with the corset.
âLook, I know you were just frustrated, and concerned about the timelines, andâand maybe a little worried about me, too,â Rose rushes. (A wounded animal, she remembers Mickey saying; Couldnât see or hear anything in front of him.) God, she hopes the Doctor doesnât notice the way the back of her neck flushes. âBut you can talk to me about it, yeah? Just let me know those things are going through your head, instead of being all mean and angry at me.â
âI was never angry with you,â the Doctor murmurs.
Brow wrinkling in confusion, Rose glances over her shoulder. âWhat?â
At last, the gown and corset completely loosen around Rose, enough that she has to clutch her arms to herself to keep the garments from slumping to the floor. âAll done,â says the Doctor, and Rose hears him step back, step away. âYouâre good to go.â
Pulling together the last threads of her courage, Rose whirls around to face him.
âDoctorââ
He stops, hands shoved in pockets, mouth stretched thin. He waits.
âJust please tell me whatâs going on,â Rose says, pushing the words out before she has a chance to overthink them.
Glancing around the roomâat the books on the shelves, the other books scattered on the floor, the faded rugs and comfortable old afghans, the imitation Tiffany lamp (or a genuine Tiffany lamp, one never knows)âthe Doctor plays for time. âIâm sorry I was so unpleasant to you earlier,â he tells her slowly. Carefully. âYouâre right. It was unnecessary. I let my frustration get the better of me. And you didnât deserve that. YouâŚyou only did what I would have done, after all.â
Shaking her head, Rose allows her corset and gown to fall to the floor, leaving her in nothing but a thin white shift. She steps out of the garments, toward him, watching him as he watches her. If the Doctor registers how bare she suddenly is, he doesnât show it; somehow, despite being fully-clothed, despite the gates shuttering his face, he seems more naked than she does.
Rose approaches him slowly (gently, so she doesnât scare him off). âPlease.â
âWhat more could you possibly want from me?â the Doctor pleads tiredly.
âDoctor,â Rose breathes, her stocking-feet padding silently over the wood-paneled floor until they come to a stop opposite his plimsolls. She stands very close to him, now, close enough to count every single one of his eyelashes, chart a starfield out of his freckles.
(Rose wonders if Reinette noticed any of these things. Did she admire the shape of his mouth when he spoke excitedly of science and adventure and awe at the majesty of the universe and the turn of the earthâdid she feel a warm glow in her chest when his eyes landed on her face, did she sense his double-heartsbeat when they drew close for a kiss?)
âWhen everythingâs said and done, what do you think youâll regret more?â Rose asks, her voice gone quiet and soft, and maybe just a little sad. âEverything you said and didâor everything you didnât?â
The Doctorâs hands ball into fists in his pockets, and Rose fully expects him to turn and flee. But before Rose has a chance to react, his hands are no longer in his pocketsâinstead theyâre cupping around her jaw, shocking her with their coolness as he draws her face upward for a harsh and bruising kiss.
A strange buzzing fills Roseâs head and her mind goes completely blank.
For a moment that stretches into eternity, she canât hear anything but her pulse rushing and roaring in her ears, canât feel anything but the cool pressure of the Doctorâs hands framing her face and the warmth of his breath on her lips. She stiffens, mouth parting in surprise as her brain races to catch up with everything thatâs happening. She half-expects the Doctor to take advantage of the opening, invade her mouth with his tongue like any other bloke would do, pushing past the swell of her lower lip and tasting her like sheâs a whole new world for him to explore, but he doesnât; for all that the kiss is frantic and she can feel his teeth in it, itâs surprisingly chaste.
Itâs still too much.
Overwhelmed by the intensity of it all, by the Doctorâs closeness and the way he trembles as he clutches her, by the hormones fizzing up drunkenly in her head, raging a fierce battle with everything else crowding in thereâthe confusion, the hurt, the shock, and yes, the want, of course the want, the want that kept her going in France, kept her awake more nights on the TARDIS than sheâd ever admit, the want that had burned so hot and so shamefully and so deep in her gut that it was easier to pretend it wasnât there than to acknowledge its scorching existence, always the wantâ
(But the look on his face when he talked about Reinette, but the things sheâd heard and seen back on that spaceshipâ)
Couldnât think about anything that wasnât you
âRose shoves at the Doctorâs chest, pushing hard so she can break away with a ragged gasp. The Doctor staggers backward, panting a bit himself, his eyes blown as wide as Rose has ever seen them.
Chest heaving, Rose stammers incoherently, steadying herself against a bookshelf. Her mind fishes about for something to say (absolutely anything will do, anything, anything please), but her heart flutters madly in her chest and she canât think of anything else but that and the taste of the Doctor on her lips.
The Doctor blinks the shock out of his eyes and pushes a hand through his hair. âIâm sorry,â he blurts out.
Rose knows she should reply, but her vocal chords donât seem to work at the moment.
âIâm so sorry,â the Doctor repeats breathlessly as he pushes past her out of the room.
Rose doesnât turn to watch him leave; sheâs stuck in place, her feet frozen and unmoving as if they were glued to the floor. The only thing she can do is shiver, and whether she should blame the cold or something else entirely is anyoneâs guess.