Fic: That's how it could have happened. (Ten/Rose, PG)
Title: That’s how it could have happened.
Author: principia_coh
Characters: The Doctor, Rose Tyler, Mickey Smith, and the guest characters from The Girl in the Fireplace
Spoilers: Through the end of TGitF, with a hint towards one event in Doomsday.
Rating: PG
Betas: The fantastic ginamak and leighleighla!
Author’s Notes: My canon-compliant The Girl in The Fireplace fic for the Time in Flux ficathon.
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The Doctor folded Reinette’s letter closed, and returned it to the inner pocket of his jacket. He tapped the buttons necessary for the TARDIS to deactivate the fireplace for good, and watched mournfully as its light was snuffed out for the last time. He slipped his hands into the pockets of his coat and soberly considered the sight on the monitor.
He glanced up and around the now-empty console room, which only a few hours ago had been ringing with the voices of friends old and new. The Doctor wasn’t certain where to head next, but he knew he needed to be away from this cold, barren ship, though by his leaving its secrets would remain entombed there. Today he would not have his answers. The TARDIS dematerialised and took her occupants into the Vortex, there to rest untouched by the outside world.
Reinette would have died on a cold, rainy spring day in 1764, trip to the stars or no. Her life had been full and rich, if challenging and regrettably brief, and she'd surrounded herself with luxury and the finest minds and talents of her time. The sting of disappointment in her letter hadn't come from that life or in its passing-it had come from him, his failure to reappear when she once again needed him most. Another friend left with no goodbyes.
He’d found out almost straightaway about the fireplace’s instability; he should have known better than to play dice with that portal if he'd truly wanted to see Reinette again. He could have had Rose and Mickey stay close by to keep the interface active and locked. But he’d been more concerned about Rose’s safety and had wanted her safely ensconced within the TARDIS should the droids' vessel have decided to take active measures against her. Them. Wouldn't do to have anything happen to young Mr. Smith.
But if he admitted the full truth, if only to himself, he knew perfectly well why he'd sent them to wait in the TARDIS. He’d been more than a little worried about what Rose might see while waiting at the fireplace, that she might get the wrong idea about his intentions towards Reinette-or the lack thereof. And she might well have got the entirely right idea about Reinette's towards him. Despite his initial merriment at having been enthusiastically snogged by the future Marquise, the thought of Rose's reaction had she witnessed it now sickened him. She'd looked so utterly demoralised the other night, at what she'd thought was proof that she couldn't possibly be special to him, not in the way she hoped. That look was one he never wanted to be the cause of again. Especially since her belief couldn't be further from the truth. If that Krillitane hadn't interrupted them, he might well have blurted it all out like some teenaged human, anything to take that look off her face, the pain that caused it.
Mickey's taunting of Rose over the past few days hadn't been lost on him either, regardless of the boy's certainty that he'd either not heard or not been paying him sufficient mind to notice. He didn't want to embarrass Rose by calling attention to it, but the last thing he needed to do was add further fuel to that fire.
He should’ve given Madame de Pompadour a proper farewell when he'd repaired the fireplace, and let her resume her place in history. Left well enough alone, rather than trying to show off and impress someone who already was all too fond of him and knew more of him than he’d ever have shared voluntarily. Or to use her to prove that he’d learnt his lesson, that he had changed, that he wouldn’t just leave his friends to wonder where he’d gone, what had happened to him, if he was ever coming back. And instead that was exactly what he’d done to all of them, including Mr. Mickey, who already half-expected to be left in a skip on Pluto. How could you have been such a bloody fool?
His head swam with images of all the things that could have gone so terribly wrong, the horrors that could have befallen his companions, or the havoc that would've been wreaked on history had the droids made good on their plans. Yet still he kept coming back to the compassion and tenderness in Rose’s expression when he'd returned alone, another case of the empathy she held for anyone in pain, for him, after what he’d put her through of late. The friendship freely given, even in the face of the doubts he'd sown with his cravenness. His adamant refusal to either openly acknowledge their mutual feelings or to send her home was shameful. He didn't doubt she could find someone else to share herself with that truly deserved her, that she'd move forward with her life and go on to be brilliant without him, but it wasn't for her sake that he couldn't let her go.
It would be one thing if he were still denying to himself how deeply he felt for Rose, or how she clearly felt for him (whether you deserve it or not), but now...
“Maybe now would be a good time to start that recalibration work on the secondary translocation buffer sequence,” he said to no-one in particular, except perhaps the TARDIS herself. “It certainly wouldn’t hurt to give it a dusting off.”
The Doctor shed his long coat, slinging it haphazardly across the captain’s chair, then crouched down to lift the nearby grating so he could access the strongboxes underneath. He was going to need T for Tools.
********************************
After a good hour or two twisting and turning underneath the TARDIS’ console, engaged in what was, frankly, busy work, the Doctor heard the clearing of a throat behind and above him. He crawled out just enough to shift around and see a pair of denim-clad legs atop a pair of short brown boots. Not Mr. Mickey then. He climbed out and up, pushing the tools casually strewn nearby out of his way.
Rose Tyler stood at the edge of the centre platform, looking wide-eyed at the carefully assembled chaos he’d surrounded himself with, gratings askew and loose panels tilted up against various railings. The Doctor quickly moved on his hands and knees to put things back to rights, or at least less likely to immediately result in a warning and stiff fine from Health and Safety.
“‘m sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt,” she said, not very convincingly.
“No, no, it’s fine, I’m almost finished. Weeeeell, not really, but then a woman’s work is never done. Nor a Time Lord’s,” he quipped with forced cheerfulness, patting the base of the console for good measure.
As he scooted about, he registered that Rose was holding something in her hands. Two somethings. One of the random assortment of mugs from the main kitchen, and a plate. And lightly tucked into her left front jeans pocket was what appeared to be a linen towel from the selfsame kitchen. If it had been over her arm she would’ve looked like a headwaiter.
The Doctor continued banging this and clanging that as he carried out sorting the immediate vicinity. “Too bad we don’t have Tergeo TARDIS, eh? Or Reparo? Course then we’d have magic, which is a whole different set of problems right there. Speaking of tergeo, any chance that towel’s for me?”
“That was the general idea, yeah,” Rose answered dryly.
The Doctor put back the final loose panel, then plucked the thin towel out of Rose’s pocket with a flourish and sat at the base of the captain’s chair, wiping the grime from his hands. She’d brought one of the ones from that market on Slaarcruvius that were treated to attract grease and dirt like soap without the need to rinse afterwards and without becoming stained. Superior to a hot towel and far more dignified than a human child’s wet wipe.
“I think Mickey was disappointed to see it’s a mostly-normal kitchen. He was expecting ‘Tea. Earl Grey. Hot,’ or something.”
The Doctor hrmmed in acknowledgment, fussed with the towel for another minute, then hoiked himself up by the front of the chair and perched on the edge of the right-hand seat, checking his nails. Rose was still in the same spot, regarding him with feigned patience.
She stepped around the front of the chair and thrust the plate into his view. “Instead, grilled Nutella and banana sandwiches. Mickey used up the last of the marshmallow fluff, and this magnificent feast,” she indicated, waving the mug at the plate, “represents the last of the bread and the milk. Dunno that Mickey’s gonna be too excited about popping home so soon, but I think he was thrown enough by the colour of the bread that he’s not going to mind so much.”
Tea and sympathy, eh?
On the plate rested a diagonally-cut sandwich that admittedly seemed to be pictured on a film negative, with flattened jet-black trapezoidal bread and a bit of dark brown spread oozing out from the edges.
“Hot sarnie for your thoughts. Warm at this point, anyway. You should have something to eat before Mickey works up the courage to come ask for seconds.”
He stared at the plate blankly, idly wondering if he could send her away without hurting her feelings. Again. It shouldn't be up to her to make him feel better about today. The Doctor peered up to see Rose smiling tentatively at him, and took the solace she was trying to extend to him. She nudged him with her shoulder, and he patted the seat next to him.
“Tell ya what, I’ll go halvsies with ya,” she offered. Rose set the plate down on the chair, picked up half of the oddly angular sandwich, and took a bite, following it up with a sip of milk from the mug she still held. The Doctor scooped up the other half, sniffed at it speculatively, then began munching quietly. Rose’s mouth quirked as she chewed and watched him eat, and they passed the mug between them wordlessly, taking turns with the milk.
“This tastes a bit different. Spicy.”
“We only had the Y’raxian Blues left. That and the a!chI bread,” she said apologetically.
“No, no, i’s good,” he mumbled around a mouthful of sandwich, then swallowed. “Do wonder what Mickey thought of it, though.”
Rose thrust out her jaw slightly and barked “What the hell is that,” in a fairly solid imitation of her former boyfriend, “I thought you said we were having sandwiches, not roof tiles.”
Former? When had that become his default mode of thinking about Mickey Smith? When it was still only wishful thinking? Since the kiss that saved her life and irrevocably changed his own? Or the kiss that wasn't really all from Cassandra?
“This might be the only time anyone ever willingly gets his help with the shopping. I’d take full advantage if I were you,” Rose teased.
On the other hand, if she was willing to have a dance around the events of the past few days, so was he. The Doctor smiled gamely. “Speaking of, what’s the good Mr. Smith up to at the moment?”
“We were having a bit of a wander on the way to the kitchen-”
At that, he gave a sharpish glance to the TARDIS’ central rotor. He didn't much care for having things rearranged without his say-so, no matter that it was herself she was rearranging. Rose caught the look, and elbowed him. “It’s fine. We were having a wander, and ended up in the garage.”
Before he could look properly askance, she continued. “Oh, excuse me, vehicle maintenance bay. He was checking out some old-timey yellow job, said something about it being worth a fortune on the collector’s market.”
Now wait just a bloody… “Oi!” the Doctor bellowed, momentarily jolted out of his doldrums by sheer horror.
“I’m kidding,” she rushed to assure him. “No-one’s going to hurt Bessie.”
He distinctly didn’t remember telling her about the car. In fact, he remembered very much not telling her about that era at all.
“Sarah Jane might’ve mentioned your beloved car,” she teased.
He had to stop himself from correcting her on her choice of adjective. Instead, he finished the last bite of his sandwich half, and eyed up Rose’s remaining portion. She rolled her eyes and passed it to him.
As he bit into it gratefully, she added “And the capes. Plural.”
He swallowed hard and groaned. Sarah Jane would have to tell Rose about the capes. Thankfully, Rose chose that moment to come back to the subject at hand.
“At any rate, he might have a go at that one with the three headlights-”
“-that’d be the Tucker-” he informed her calmly.
“Okay, the Tucker.” She considered him appraisingly. “You seem okay with that one.”
“Good guess on his part, then,” the Doctor countered breezily.
“It might’ve had something to do with the oversized Post-Its saying YES and NO all over everything in there. You’d almost think you were planning on him being here.”
The Doctor started guiltily, as Rose took the mug back from him for the last swig of the milk.
“Mickey told me,” she said plainly.
His head filled with a buzzing sensation. Rose was evidently waiting for him to speak, but he hoped he didn’t know where this was going.
“About how you’d invited…”
Not “he’d” or “the other you.” Good to know she was over it. On days like today, he wasn't sure he was.
“…him on board, and he’d said no.”
The Doctor watched her with a guarded expression.
“And how you covered for him. So I wouldn’t think he was completely hopeless.”
Rose was looking into the distance, apparently remembering that day, then focused back in the room, and turned to him with a mellow, appreciative smile on her face. “You knew I could’ve been angry with you for not ‘letting’ him come, might’ve decided to stay there. That wasn’t a chance you had to take. Thank you.”
Thank me? Back then, he hadn’t questioned the wisdom of not only keeping mum, but playing it up for Mickey’s benefit. He had thought it more than a fair trade for helping to save the world. If the situation were presented afresh, though, he had to admit he wasn’t sure he’d do the same.
“And I’m sorry. About being all shirty over Sarah Jane.”
“Rose, it’s okay-” he interjected.
“No,” she continued firmly, seeming to have come to some sort of a decision, likely before she'd come to the room. “No, it’s not. That wasn’t fair, not to you or to her.”
She paused, took a deep breath, and kept going. “Or about Mickey. Here I thought you were just having him along to spite me, to prove something, and all you were really doing was keeping a promise.”
She was apologizing to him?
“And I guess you were doing the same thing earlier. With Madame de Pompadour.”
Rose was gazing down into the mug now, looking thoroughly chastised. The Doctor's stomach twisted into fresh knots. He hastily removed the plate from the chair and bent forward to wedge it onto the console between two levers. He gestured to Rose for the mug, and she handed it to him, then quickly glanced back at her hands. He frowned at the mug, dropped it into his front pocket, and scooted closer to her on the chair. She jumped slightly as he took her hands, hands that were almost as cold as his. They should never be that cold.
“Rose, I-”
Still looking down, she interrupted “You know, she really was impressive. And important.”
The Doctor's brows drew together in a puzzled frown.
“Five and a half hours is a lot of time to putter around the TARDIS databanks.”
Oh, Rose. Had she seen more than he'd thought, imagined that he'd been presented with some dazzling standard she couldn't hope to live up to? That if he didn't want Reinette, he couldn't possibly want her?
“Rose, you don’t have to try to…compare CVs with her. She is-was-wholly different from you. From a different time, a different place, with different mores and motivations. But she’s not the woman sitting here with me right now.”
“She would have been,” Rose said quietly, manifestly trying her hardest not to sound resentful of a dead woman whom she now probably knew hadn’t died under pleasant circumstances.
Or worse still, did she think he'd given to Reinette what he'd obstinately withheld from her? And she thought less of herself for having any of those thoughts?
“Rose,” he continued firmly, “I never invited her to stay. It would’ve been one last present from that man who first popped up in her fireplace when she was a little girl and saved her from some monsters. And then it would have been goodbye.”
Rose gave him a disbelieving look.
“It got complicated. I’m fully aware of that.” He remembered how he’d unwittingly and unwillingly shared his memories with Reinette, and blew out a long breath, running his hands through his hair, his cheeks puffing.
“She was right, you know,” Rose said thoughtfully.
What? He stared at her, bemused.
“We can’t have you without the monsters. And you can’t have us without this. Knew her barely long enough to need tea, and that was her whole life. And all the stuff humans think is so crucial, and it’s just…no wonder you didn’t, you don’t…”
Rose Tyler had faced down so much in such a brief span of time, from seeing the end of her world, to the Dalek Emperor, to his own metamorphosis, and come through it all undefeated and unbowed. And yet here he was, watching his cowardice break her before his very eyes.
She sniffled, and regarded him bravely. “It’s okay, I understand. I think I get that now.”
The Doctor felt a wave of utter fury at himself wash over him. Why should she have to be brave for him? What was wrong with him? “No,” he retorted sharply.
“What?” She sounded lost, so unknowing, in truth more so than when they’d been rowing in front of the coffee house. How had he let it get to this?
“That’s not enough. It’s not good enough for you. You deserve so much more,” he said fervently.
Rose opened her mouth to protest, then closed it, her teeth coming together with an audible click. She went pale and quiet, her face filled with dread, her breaths shallow and sharp. Then in an instant her expression morphed from dread to anger, and she grasped his hands tight.
“And so. Do. You,” she said fiercely, her eyes filling with hot tears.
But I don't. I can't...
He gazed into Rose's eyes, bright with determination, and profound love. For him.
Why not?
The Doctor darted forward, nearly knocking both Rose and himself off of the chair with the force of his kiss. Rose, startled, boggled for a moment, then leaned into the embrace, squeezing his hands. After a moment she released them, and ran her hands quickly up his arms, up the back of his neck, and into his hair. A delightful shiver ran up the Doctor's spine.
He wrapped his arms around Rose and pulled her to him, then slid his right hand from between her shoulders to her hair, delicately lacing his fingers into the soft waves. Her lips parted, and she brushed her tongue against his lips in request. The Doctor moaned, then met her tongue with his own. Rose purred into his mouth and pressed herself even closer to him.
The Doctor lost track of the seconds. Finally needing to part for breath, he eased the kiss back into a gentle series of nibbles, then shifted back to nuzzle his Rose. He brought his right hand up under her chin, and brushed her lower lip with his thumb in a soothing, steady pattern. Her eyes fluttered open as the flush of her face faded slightly and her breathing eased. He glided his other hand to the small of her back, and traced light circles there.
“As I was saying, you deserve the whole enchilada,” he resumed, punctuating his words with a kiss to her forehead.
“The deluxe thali?” Rose replied, and placed a kiss on the tip of his nose.
“The supreme pizza with all the toppings.” Another kiss.
Rose giggled, grazing her teeth across her lower lip. “Did you just compare yourself to a pizza?”
“I think,” he intoned, “that yes, yes, I did.”
“Now I know it’s been a long day,” she muttered. “Either that or you're really bloody hungry.”
“That it has,” he murmured in assent, letting the issue of his various hungers go.
“We do still need to talk,” she cautioned him, continuing to play with his hair.
Of course. If she kept doing that, he wouldn’t object to much of anything, ever.
“I know. But we should probably make our presence felt elsewhere, no?”
Rose retreated abruptly, looking sheepish. “Mickey! Blimey,” she chuckled nervously, straightening her shirt. “He could’ve turned up just now.”
“Do you honestly think he doesn’t already know?” the Doctor queried mildly. “Whether he likes it is another matter entirely.”
“The way he’s been acting, he must know,” Rose conceded, looking slightly chagrined.
“See, even the idiot knew before I did,” the Doctor joked, earning a grin from Rose. “Or we could give it a little while longer. Seeing as you seem to think he’s halfway up a car.”
“A little while longer of what, exactly?” she asked, a mischievous smile spreading across her face.
“I imagine we can come up with something to fill the time.”
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The End... for now.
Author: principia_coh
Characters: The Doctor, Rose Tyler, Mickey Smith, and the guest characters from The Girl in the Fireplace
Spoilers: Through the end of TGitF, with a hint towards one event in Doomsday.
Rating: PG
Betas: The fantastic ginamak and leighleighla!
Author’s Notes: My canon-compliant The Girl in The Fireplace fic for the Time in Flux ficathon.
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The Doctor folded Reinette’s letter closed, and returned it to the inner pocket of his jacket. He tapped the buttons necessary for the TARDIS to deactivate the fireplace for good, and watched mournfully as its light was snuffed out for the last time. He slipped his hands into the pockets of his coat and soberly considered the sight on the monitor.
He glanced up and around the now-empty console room, which only a few hours ago had been ringing with the voices of friends old and new. The Doctor wasn’t certain where to head next, but he knew he needed to be away from this cold, barren ship, though by his leaving its secrets would remain entombed there. Today he would not have his answers. The TARDIS dematerialised and took her occupants into the Vortex, there to rest untouched by the outside world.
Reinette would have died on a cold, rainy spring day in 1764, trip to the stars or no. Her life had been full and rich, if challenging and regrettably brief, and she'd surrounded herself with luxury and the finest minds and talents of her time. The sting of disappointment in her letter hadn't come from that life or in its passing-it had come from him, his failure to reappear when she once again needed him most. Another friend left with no goodbyes.
He’d found out almost straightaway about the fireplace’s instability; he should have known better than to play dice with that portal if he'd truly wanted to see Reinette again. He could have had Rose and Mickey stay close by to keep the interface active and locked. But he’d been more concerned about Rose’s safety and had wanted her safely ensconced within the TARDIS should the droids' vessel have decided to take active measures against her. Them. Wouldn't do to have anything happen to young Mr. Smith.
But if he admitted the full truth, if only to himself, he knew perfectly well why he'd sent them to wait in the TARDIS. He’d been more than a little worried about what Rose might see while waiting at the fireplace, that she might get the wrong idea about his intentions towards Reinette-or the lack thereof. And she might well have got the entirely right idea about Reinette's towards him. Despite his initial merriment at having been enthusiastically snogged by the future Marquise, the thought of Rose's reaction had she witnessed it now sickened him. She'd looked so utterly demoralised the other night, at what she'd thought was proof that she couldn't possibly be special to him, not in the way she hoped. That look was one he never wanted to be the cause of again. Especially since her belief couldn't be further from the truth. If that Krillitane hadn't interrupted them, he might well have blurted it all out like some teenaged human, anything to take that look off her face, the pain that caused it.
Mickey's taunting of Rose over the past few days hadn't been lost on him either, regardless of the boy's certainty that he'd either not heard or not been paying him sufficient mind to notice. He didn't want to embarrass Rose by calling attention to it, but the last thing he needed to do was add further fuel to that fire.
He should’ve given Madame de Pompadour a proper farewell when he'd repaired the fireplace, and let her resume her place in history. Left well enough alone, rather than trying to show off and impress someone who already was all too fond of him and knew more of him than he’d ever have shared voluntarily. Or to use her to prove that he’d learnt his lesson, that he had changed, that he wouldn’t just leave his friends to wonder where he’d gone, what had happened to him, if he was ever coming back. And instead that was exactly what he’d done to all of them, including Mr. Mickey, who already half-expected to be left in a skip on Pluto. How could you have been such a bloody fool?
His head swam with images of all the things that could have gone so terribly wrong, the horrors that could have befallen his companions, or the havoc that would've been wreaked on history had the droids made good on their plans. Yet still he kept coming back to the compassion and tenderness in Rose’s expression when he'd returned alone, another case of the empathy she held for anyone in pain, for him, after what he’d put her through of late. The friendship freely given, even in the face of the doubts he'd sown with his cravenness. His adamant refusal to either openly acknowledge their mutual feelings or to send her home was shameful. He didn't doubt she could find someone else to share herself with that truly deserved her, that she'd move forward with her life and go on to be brilliant without him, but it wasn't for her sake that he couldn't let her go.
It would be one thing if he were still denying to himself how deeply he felt for Rose, or how she clearly felt for him (whether you deserve it or not), but now...
“Maybe now would be a good time to start that recalibration work on the secondary translocation buffer sequence,” he said to no-one in particular, except perhaps the TARDIS herself. “It certainly wouldn’t hurt to give it a dusting off.”
The Doctor shed his long coat, slinging it haphazardly across the captain’s chair, then crouched down to lift the nearby grating so he could access the strongboxes underneath. He was going to need T for Tools.
********************************
After a good hour or two twisting and turning underneath the TARDIS’ console, engaged in what was, frankly, busy work, the Doctor heard the clearing of a throat behind and above him. He crawled out just enough to shift around and see a pair of denim-clad legs atop a pair of short brown boots. Not Mr. Mickey then. He climbed out and up, pushing the tools casually strewn nearby out of his way.
Rose Tyler stood at the edge of the centre platform, looking wide-eyed at the carefully assembled chaos he’d surrounded himself with, gratings askew and loose panels tilted up against various railings. The Doctor quickly moved on his hands and knees to put things back to rights, or at least less likely to immediately result in a warning and stiff fine from Health and Safety.
“‘m sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt,” she said, not very convincingly.
“No, no, it’s fine, I’m almost finished. Weeeeell, not really, but then a woman’s work is never done. Nor a Time Lord’s,” he quipped with forced cheerfulness, patting the base of the console for good measure.
As he scooted about, he registered that Rose was holding something in her hands. Two somethings. One of the random assortment of mugs from the main kitchen, and a plate. And lightly tucked into her left front jeans pocket was what appeared to be a linen towel from the selfsame kitchen. If it had been over her arm she would’ve looked like a headwaiter.
The Doctor continued banging this and clanging that as he carried out sorting the immediate vicinity. “Too bad we don’t have Tergeo TARDIS, eh? Or Reparo? Course then we’d have magic, which is a whole different set of problems right there. Speaking of tergeo, any chance that towel’s for me?”
“That was the general idea, yeah,” Rose answered dryly.
The Doctor put back the final loose panel, then plucked the thin towel out of Rose’s pocket with a flourish and sat at the base of the captain’s chair, wiping the grime from his hands. She’d brought one of the ones from that market on Slaarcruvius that were treated to attract grease and dirt like soap without the need to rinse afterwards and without becoming stained. Superior to a hot towel and far more dignified than a human child’s wet wipe.
“I think Mickey was disappointed to see it’s a mostly-normal kitchen. He was expecting ‘Tea. Earl Grey. Hot,’ or something.”
The Doctor hrmmed in acknowledgment, fussed with the towel for another minute, then hoiked himself up by the front of the chair and perched on the edge of the right-hand seat, checking his nails. Rose was still in the same spot, regarding him with feigned patience.
She stepped around the front of the chair and thrust the plate into his view. “Instead, grilled Nutella and banana sandwiches. Mickey used up the last of the marshmallow fluff, and this magnificent feast,” she indicated, waving the mug at the plate, “represents the last of the bread and the milk. Dunno that Mickey’s gonna be too excited about popping home so soon, but I think he was thrown enough by the colour of the bread that he’s not going to mind so much.”
Tea and sympathy, eh?
On the plate rested a diagonally-cut sandwich that admittedly seemed to be pictured on a film negative, with flattened jet-black trapezoidal bread and a bit of dark brown spread oozing out from the edges.
“Hot sarnie for your thoughts. Warm at this point, anyway. You should have something to eat before Mickey works up the courage to come ask for seconds.”
He stared at the plate blankly, idly wondering if he could send her away without hurting her feelings. Again. It shouldn't be up to her to make him feel better about today. The Doctor peered up to see Rose smiling tentatively at him, and took the solace she was trying to extend to him. She nudged him with her shoulder, and he patted the seat next to him.
“Tell ya what, I’ll go halvsies with ya,” she offered. Rose set the plate down on the chair, picked up half of the oddly angular sandwich, and took a bite, following it up with a sip of milk from the mug she still held. The Doctor scooped up the other half, sniffed at it speculatively, then began munching quietly. Rose’s mouth quirked as she chewed and watched him eat, and they passed the mug between them wordlessly, taking turns with the milk.
“This tastes a bit different. Spicy.”
“We only had the Y’raxian Blues left. That and the a!chI bread,” she said apologetically.
“No, no, i’s good,” he mumbled around a mouthful of sandwich, then swallowed. “Do wonder what Mickey thought of it, though.”
Rose thrust out her jaw slightly and barked “What the hell is that,” in a fairly solid imitation of her former boyfriend, “I thought you said we were having sandwiches, not roof tiles.”
Former? When had that become his default mode of thinking about Mickey Smith? When it was still only wishful thinking? Since the kiss that saved her life and irrevocably changed his own? Or the kiss that wasn't really all from Cassandra?
“This might be the only time anyone ever willingly gets his help with the shopping. I’d take full advantage if I were you,” Rose teased.
On the other hand, if she was willing to have a dance around the events of the past few days, so was he. The Doctor smiled gamely. “Speaking of, what’s the good Mr. Smith up to at the moment?”
“We were having a bit of a wander on the way to the kitchen-”
At that, he gave a sharpish glance to the TARDIS’ central rotor. He didn't much care for having things rearranged without his say-so, no matter that it was herself she was rearranging. Rose caught the look, and elbowed him. “It’s fine. We were having a wander, and ended up in the garage.”
Before he could look properly askance, she continued. “Oh, excuse me, vehicle maintenance bay. He was checking out some old-timey yellow job, said something about it being worth a fortune on the collector’s market.”
Now wait just a bloody… “Oi!” the Doctor bellowed, momentarily jolted out of his doldrums by sheer horror.
“I’m kidding,” she rushed to assure him. “No-one’s going to hurt Bessie.”
He distinctly didn’t remember telling her about the car. In fact, he remembered very much not telling her about that era at all.
“Sarah Jane might’ve mentioned your beloved car,” she teased.
He had to stop himself from correcting her on her choice of adjective. Instead, he finished the last bite of his sandwich half, and eyed up Rose’s remaining portion. She rolled her eyes and passed it to him.
As he bit into it gratefully, she added “And the capes. Plural.”
He swallowed hard and groaned. Sarah Jane would have to tell Rose about the capes. Thankfully, Rose chose that moment to come back to the subject at hand.
“At any rate, he might have a go at that one with the three headlights-”
“-that’d be the Tucker-” he informed her calmly.
“Okay, the Tucker.” She considered him appraisingly. “You seem okay with that one.”
“Good guess on his part, then,” the Doctor countered breezily.
“It might’ve had something to do with the oversized Post-Its saying YES and NO all over everything in there. You’d almost think you were planning on him being here.”
The Doctor started guiltily, as Rose took the mug back from him for the last swig of the milk.
“Mickey told me,” she said plainly.
His head filled with a buzzing sensation. Rose was evidently waiting for him to speak, but he hoped he didn’t know where this was going.
“About how you’d invited…”
Not “he’d” or “the other you.” Good to know she was over it. On days like today, he wasn't sure he was.
“…him on board, and he’d said no.”
The Doctor watched her with a guarded expression.
“And how you covered for him. So I wouldn’t think he was completely hopeless.”
Rose was looking into the distance, apparently remembering that day, then focused back in the room, and turned to him with a mellow, appreciative smile on her face. “You knew I could’ve been angry with you for not ‘letting’ him come, might’ve decided to stay there. That wasn’t a chance you had to take. Thank you.”
Thank me? Back then, he hadn’t questioned the wisdom of not only keeping mum, but playing it up for Mickey’s benefit. He had thought it more than a fair trade for helping to save the world. If the situation were presented afresh, though, he had to admit he wasn’t sure he’d do the same.
“And I’m sorry. About being all shirty over Sarah Jane.”
“Rose, it’s okay-” he interjected.
“No,” she continued firmly, seeming to have come to some sort of a decision, likely before she'd come to the room. “No, it’s not. That wasn’t fair, not to you or to her.”
She paused, took a deep breath, and kept going. “Or about Mickey. Here I thought you were just having him along to spite me, to prove something, and all you were really doing was keeping a promise.”
She was apologizing to him?
“And I guess you were doing the same thing earlier. With Madame de Pompadour.”
Rose was gazing down into the mug now, looking thoroughly chastised. The Doctor's stomach twisted into fresh knots. He hastily removed the plate from the chair and bent forward to wedge it onto the console between two levers. He gestured to Rose for the mug, and she handed it to him, then quickly glanced back at her hands. He frowned at the mug, dropped it into his front pocket, and scooted closer to her on the chair. She jumped slightly as he took her hands, hands that were almost as cold as his. They should never be that cold.
“Rose, I-”
Still looking down, she interrupted “You know, she really was impressive. And important.”
The Doctor's brows drew together in a puzzled frown.
“Five and a half hours is a lot of time to putter around the TARDIS databanks.”
Oh, Rose. Had she seen more than he'd thought, imagined that he'd been presented with some dazzling standard she couldn't hope to live up to? That if he didn't want Reinette, he couldn't possibly want her?
“Rose, you don’t have to try to…compare CVs with her. She is-was-wholly different from you. From a different time, a different place, with different mores and motivations. But she’s not the woman sitting here with me right now.”
“She would have been,” Rose said quietly, manifestly trying her hardest not to sound resentful of a dead woman whom she now probably knew hadn’t died under pleasant circumstances.
Or worse still, did she think he'd given to Reinette what he'd obstinately withheld from her? And she thought less of herself for having any of those thoughts?
“Rose,” he continued firmly, “I never invited her to stay. It would’ve been one last present from that man who first popped up in her fireplace when she was a little girl and saved her from some monsters. And then it would have been goodbye.”
Rose gave him a disbelieving look.
“It got complicated. I’m fully aware of that.” He remembered how he’d unwittingly and unwillingly shared his memories with Reinette, and blew out a long breath, running his hands through his hair, his cheeks puffing.
“She was right, you know,” Rose said thoughtfully.
What? He stared at her, bemused.
“We can’t have you without the monsters. And you can’t have us without this. Knew her barely long enough to need tea, and that was her whole life. And all the stuff humans think is so crucial, and it’s just…no wonder you didn’t, you don’t…”
Rose Tyler had faced down so much in such a brief span of time, from seeing the end of her world, to the Dalek Emperor, to his own metamorphosis, and come through it all undefeated and unbowed. And yet here he was, watching his cowardice break her before his very eyes.
She sniffled, and regarded him bravely. “It’s okay, I understand. I think I get that now.”
The Doctor felt a wave of utter fury at himself wash over him. Why should she have to be brave for him? What was wrong with him? “No,” he retorted sharply.
“What?” She sounded lost, so unknowing, in truth more so than when they’d been rowing in front of the coffee house. How had he let it get to this?
“That’s not enough. It’s not good enough for you. You deserve so much more,” he said fervently.
Rose opened her mouth to protest, then closed it, her teeth coming together with an audible click. She went pale and quiet, her face filled with dread, her breaths shallow and sharp. Then in an instant her expression morphed from dread to anger, and she grasped his hands tight.
“And so. Do. You,” she said fiercely, her eyes filling with hot tears.
But I don't. I can't...
He gazed into Rose's eyes, bright with determination, and profound love. For him.
Why not?
The Doctor darted forward, nearly knocking both Rose and himself off of the chair with the force of his kiss. Rose, startled, boggled for a moment, then leaned into the embrace, squeezing his hands. After a moment she released them, and ran her hands quickly up his arms, up the back of his neck, and into his hair. A delightful shiver ran up the Doctor's spine.
He wrapped his arms around Rose and pulled her to him, then slid his right hand from between her shoulders to her hair, delicately lacing his fingers into the soft waves. Her lips parted, and she brushed her tongue against his lips in request. The Doctor moaned, then met her tongue with his own. Rose purred into his mouth and pressed herself even closer to him.
The Doctor lost track of the seconds. Finally needing to part for breath, he eased the kiss back into a gentle series of nibbles, then shifted back to nuzzle his Rose. He brought his right hand up under her chin, and brushed her lower lip with his thumb in a soothing, steady pattern. Her eyes fluttered open as the flush of her face faded slightly and her breathing eased. He glided his other hand to the small of her back, and traced light circles there.
“As I was saying, you deserve the whole enchilada,” he resumed, punctuating his words with a kiss to her forehead.
“The deluxe thali?” Rose replied, and placed a kiss on the tip of his nose.
“The supreme pizza with all the toppings.” Another kiss.
Rose giggled, grazing her teeth across her lower lip. “Did you just compare yourself to a pizza?”
“I think,” he intoned, “that yes, yes, I did.”
“Now I know it’s been a long day,” she muttered. “Either that or you're really bloody hungry.”
“That it has,” he murmured in assent, letting the issue of his various hungers go.
“We do still need to talk,” she cautioned him, continuing to play with his hair.
Of course. If she kept doing that, he wouldn’t object to much of anything, ever.
“I know. But we should probably make our presence felt elsewhere, no?”
Rose retreated abruptly, looking sheepish. “Mickey! Blimey,” she chuckled nervously, straightening her shirt. “He could’ve turned up just now.”
“Do you honestly think he doesn’t already know?” the Doctor queried mildly. “Whether he likes it is another matter entirely.”
“The way he’s been acting, he must know,” Rose conceded, looking slightly chagrined.
“See, even the idiot knew before I did,” the Doctor joked, earning a grin from Rose. “Or we could give it a little while longer. Seeing as you seem to think he’s halfway up a car.”
“A little while longer of what, exactly?” she asked, a mischievous smile spreading across her face.
“I imagine we can come up with something to fill the time.”
--------------------
The End... for now.