Happy Birthday wickedgillie!
This also started out as a drabble. It's not. Hope you're having a happy day!
Milestone
“Aren’t you ready yet? We’re due at Mum’s in ten minutes.” Rose pushes open the door to the bedroom, where there’s a suspiciously Doctor-shaped lump under the duvet.
“Not going,” comes the muffled reply.
“Doctor…”
“Forty, Rose. It’s… unthinkable. I just… I refuse.”
Rose sits on the side of the bed and lays her hand on the lump. The lump sighs and presses back against her hand. She doesn’t say that the year of his birth is not only completely arbitrary, but was possibly influenced the tiniest bit by vanity when he chose it. She also doesn’t say that in some ways, he looks younger now than he did seven years ago, the last time he was him.
“The food’s going to be fantastic,” she offers.
The duvet makes a non-committal noise.
“Don’t you even want to see what I’m wearing?”
There’s a pause before the bedding shifts and the Doctor’s head emerges.
“Oh.” He blinks and sits up for a better look. “Is this my birthday present?” He reaches out a finger to trace the plunging neckline of her dress.
She bites her lip, grinning. “Your birthday present is underneath.”
His eyebrows rise. “I thought you were meant to be convincing me to leave the bed.”
Rose laughs, reaching for his hand as she stands. He takes it and allows her to pull him up.
“Just for a little while?” he asks hopefully.
“Just for a little while,” she agrees. “And then do you know what you get for the next forty years?”
“What?”
“Me.”
It’s one of those moments she can see all the centuries behind his eyes. But they’re deep with something much warmer than despair this time.
“Deal?” she whispers.
“Yes.”
Milestone
“Aren’t you ready yet? We’re due at Mum’s in ten minutes.” Rose pushes open the door to the bedroom, where there’s a suspiciously Doctor-shaped lump under the duvet.
“Not going,” comes the muffled reply.
“Doctor…”
“Forty, Rose. It’s… unthinkable. I just… I refuse.”
Rose sits on the side of the bed and lays her hand on the lump. The lump sighs and presses back against her hand. She doesn’t say that the year of his birth is not only completely arbitrary, but was possibly influenced the tiniest bit by vanity when he chose it. She also doesn’t say that in some ways, he looks younger now than he did seven years ago, the last time he was him.
“The food’s going to be fantastic,” she offers.
The duvet makes a non-committal noise.
“Don’t you even want to see what I’m wearing?”
There’s a pause before the bedding shifts and the Doctor’s head emerges.
“Oh.” He blinks and sits up for a better look. “Is this my birthday present?” He reaches out a finger to trace the plunging neckline of her dress.
She bites her lip, grinning. “Your birthday present is underneath.”
His eyebrows rise. “I thought you were meant to be convincing me to leave the bed.”
Rose laughs, reaching for his hand as she stands. He takes it and allows her to pull him up.
“Just for a little while?” he asks hopefully.
“Just for a little while,” she agrees. “And then do you know what you get for the next forty years?”
“What?”
“Me.”
It’s one of those moments she can see all the centuries behind his eyes. But they’re deep with something much warmer than despair this time.
“Deal?” she whispers.
“Yes.”