âStop it,â the Doctor says harshly, as he adjusts the circlet of yellow flowers perched on his head.
Rose, who has not stopped laughing since the moment she entered the room several minutes ago, is entirely too busy howling with mirth to pay him any mind. âNever,â she chokes out, around a helpless giggle. âI am never gonna stop laughinâ about the fact that youâre wearinâ a yellow flower crown and a big gold dress.â
âItâs not a dress,â the Doctor insists, indignantly. âItâs a â a full-body ceremonial sash.â He waves his arms, which are still encased in leather, even if his jacket, jumper, and jeans are mostly hidden by a sweeping, expansive swath of marigold fabric. âI do not wear dresses.â He pauses for a moment before amending, âAt least not recently.â
âI donât know, Doc,â Jack drawls. Heâs sprawled on the divan in the back room of the temple theyâve been shown to, eating some sort of turquoise berries out of a bowl of fruit. âA dress might suit you. Something in black, with a nice square neckline? Itâd really set off those broad shoulders of yours.â
The Doctor shoots Jack what is probably intended to be a scathing look. Unfortunately for him, any intimidating effect is mitigated by the absolutely ludicrous effect of the too-large flower crown sliding lower on his head. His ears, in the end, are the only thing that keep it from sliding off his head and down around his neck.
âSo, all thisââ Rose says, once her giggles have subsided enough to allow for speech, âthis is all âcause they think youâre a god?â
The Doctor simply glowers at her.
Jack, however, answers her. âOh, but Rose, it gets better.â His grin is equal parts wicked and delighted. âThe god of sound. On account of the ears.â He flicks at his own ears, then cocks his head in the direction of the Doctor, who is still scowling at both of them, clearly strongly displeased with the whole affair.
Rose stifles another bout of giggles. âI dunno,â she says. âThe ears are pretty impressive, Doctor, but I think youâd make a better god ofâŚengines, or something. Machines, or mechanics.â
âLord of the banana groves,â Jack suggests airily.
âGod of travelers.â
âPatron saint of bad timing.â
âPatron saint of good timing.â
âAre you two quite done?â the Doctor finally snaps, shooting sour looks at both of them. âIâm not interested in beinâ a god of anything, thank you very much.â
âOh, but Rose,â Jacks interjects brightly, ignoring the Doctor altogether. âYou still havenât heard the best part.â
âWhat?â She grins. âWhatâs the best part?â
Jackâs answering grin is absolutely filthy. âThey think youâre his consort.â
---
Two hours later, Rose has well and truly stopped laughing.
âAll right,â she says, as theyâre marched towards the altar, where they are apparently meant to be sacrificed as an offering of appeasement to the local âhigherâ gods. She turns towards the Doctor, who is being marched alongside her, and sighs, âIâll admit it. Itâs not funny anymore.â
For his part, the Doctor is staring at Rose with a rather dazed expression on his face â like sheâs something impossible, something rare and fascinating.
Rose scowls at him and barks, âOi, Doctor.â He snaps to at the sound of his name, eyes jumping up to lock with her own. âYou in there? Plan? Escape? Sometime soon, maybe?â
âSorry,â he mumbles, looking a bit embarrassed. âItâs justââ he waves a hand at her, rather helplessly. ââthat dress â you look â you look nice, is all.â
Rose looks down at the dress the temple attendants had foisted on her. Itâs knee-length and shimmery, done up in the same bright marigold shade as the Doctorâs so-called âceremonial sashâ, but otherwise rather plain. âNothinâ special,â she says, shrugging. âNot a patch on your grand ball gown there, for sure.â
She expects a goofy grin and a teasing remark in response. Instead, the Doctor just smiles, his face going soft in that very rare way Rose has only seen a handful of times. âYou look beautiful,â he says, simply.
Rose waits for the qualifier â for the for a human or the inevitable snide comment about his attire being far more fetching â but one, two, three, four, five seconds tick by, then five more, and it still doesnât come.
âYou both look lovely.â Jack breaks the silence with a hissing whisper, from his place just behind them in the marching column. âBut Iâd like to jump on the âescape planâ train right about now, since I think weâre all treading quite close to fiery death pretty quick here.â
---
Thankfully, there is no fiery death, in the end. There isnât even any fire, which is just wonderful as far as Rose is concerned.
(No fire means she can salvage the dress).