Interlude Triptych
written by ljg_fanfic
Interlude I
Rose leaned forward on the bench seat, resting her elbows on her knees. The Minneapolis Science Museum was rather nice and the exhibit of Rodents Of Unusual Size was small, as promised. She sighed and wiggled her toes. It was lovely to sit down, even if it was a children’s puppet show.
On the stage, an irritated orangutan was pontificating. Rose snorted and pressed her fingers over her lips. He sounded amazingly like the Doctor. But ginger. Out of the corner of her eye, Rose could see the Doctor nodding along. Oh, she bit the inside of her cheek, don’t laugh.
“I’m not a monkey!” The orangutan puppet exclaimed. “Chimpanzees, gorillas, bonobos and orangutans -we are the Great Apes.”
“And humans,” the Doctor muttered. “We … oh yes, we are on that list, too.”
Rose stilled, waiting, but the Doctor just sat, loose-limbed and with a slight smile on his face as he watched the children enjoy the show. “Look at that, Rose,” he said quietly, his head bent to hers. “Look at all those children sitting there, soaking up knowledge like little sponges. That right there,” he nodded his head toward the children, “that is human - teaching and learning, the electric spark of fascination that is passed from teacher to student and back again. It’s what makes humans great. Well,” he nodded, as if agreeing to some interior conversation, “one of the things.”
You stupid Ape! And now here he was, an ape amongst apes. She snuck a look at him, but he was smiling. Contrary git. How would she feel if she suddenly found herself some Cro-Magnon, Neanderthal, or worse, a bonobo?
But then, she couldn’t imagine falling in love with a Neanderthal, so maybe it wasn’t quite like that. He certainly didn’t treat her as if she was some lesser being.
Well … not recently.
The show concluded and the Doctor stood and stretched. “Are you hungry? I’m hungry.” He took her hand, pulled her up, grabbed the rucksack with his other hand and threw it over his shoulder. “But let’s not eat here. I saw this little sushi house around the corner that looked nice.”
Rose nodded, amiable. “Sushi it is.” She gave his arm a squeeze, “Lead on, McDuff.”
“Do you know,” the Doctor winced, “how much I hate it when people misquote Shakespeare?”
“Doesn’t count,” Rose raised a brow, archly. “It’s been misquoted so much that the misquote is more well known than the actual quote. I was quoting the misquote.”
The Doctor started to say something and then stopped. “You know…” he said slowly, “it’s quite fascinating to watch language bend and twist over time. Look at the word “nice”; did you know that in the thirteenth century, nice was an insult? It meant foolish or stupid. And it kept on changing, right through to the eighteenth century with meanings like wanton, extravagant, elegant, strange, modest, thin, and shy or coy. In the twentieth century, it began to mean good, pleasing, pleasant, or kind. And it’s changing again …” He pinched his bottom lip between his fingers, thinking. “There’s a connotation of smarminess, or maybe goody-two-shoes, don’t you think?”
Rose quirked her brow. “Mmm,” she nodded, “someone who’s not too bright, too.”
“Which brings it right back around to the original meaning!” They pushed through the museum doors and out into the early evening. “But when I said that the sushi place was nice, it didn’t mean that… hmmmm.” He flashed a sudden smile. “My first me, before I ever regenerated, used to say “hmmm” all of the time. I couldn’t seem to stop myself.”
Rose chuckled. “Couldn’t stop yourself? I can’t imagine!”
He started to reply and then snapped his mouth shut, looking annoyed. Rose bumped him with her hip, smiled and finally leaned into him, kissing him on the chin. “I couldn’t imagine you any other way.”
He stopped, his hand coming to her face and his eyes searching hers, and there on the sidewalk, wrapped his arms around her and kissed her until they were both breathless. Then he tucked her hand back into the crook of his elbow. “Sushi it is.”
The restaurant wasn't far, and not very busy. As they were being seated, Rose realized that she'd lost track of the days. Tuesday? Wednesday? She sighed and gave a mental shrug. Does it matter?
Their meals were served quickly and Rose dived into her dinner, coming up for air, chopsticks poised, when she noticed that the Doctor was chewing thoughtfully, head tipped to the side. Mouth full, she raised her eyebrows in question.
The tip of his tongue swept his upper lip, “It’s just … it tastes so different.”
Rose slowed down, concentrating on the taste of her chicken tempura. “Tastes like chicken.”
The Doctor let out a surprised guffaw, hastily bringing his hand up to cover his mouth. “No! I mean,” he swallowed, “everything that I’ve eaten since I … came into being in this body, tastes different.”
“Good different or bad different?”
“Well,” he leaned back in the chair, one hand on the chopsticks, idly pushing at bits of his supper, the other hand near his face, his index finger skimming his lips, “I don’t know that I’d call it good or bad. Just … different.”
She nudged him with her toes and his eyes met hers. “Must be odd, yeah?” She had the sudden urge to kiss him, but he was across the table, so she stroked the arch of her foot up and down his calf.
He leaned forward, rested his elbow on the table and his chin in his hand, and smiled. “Odd? You humans are so…” He blew air out in half a laugh. “Look at you, Rose Tyler! Ex-shop-girl, galaxy-hopping, universe-hopping …”
“Alien-loving,” Rose interjected.
“Mmm,” he nodded. “Do you remember the Krillitanes?” He blinked. “I wonder if there are Krillitanes in this universe? That’s a nasty thought.” His eyes strayed over her shoulder focusing in the distance. Rose waited patiently and he came back with a shiver. “Yeesss. Krillitanes. Brother Lassa called the Time Lords “ancient, dusty senators, so frightened of change and chaos.” And do you know what?” His eyes flicked away, drifting lightly around the restaurant. “He was right. They were so proud of their manufactured superiority. So … pleased with their cleverness.” His eyes touched hers and skipped away again. “But there’s a price to genetic manipulation.”
Rose searched her mind for a way out of this particular conversation; the last time, it’d ended up in a crying jag and talk of suicide. I suppose he could stab himself in the eye with a chopstick… Ick. She shuddered at the visual, set her chopsticks down, clenched her hands in her lap and looked casually around the dining room. No one was close enough to get hurt if she had to make a move. She considered the table, wondering if it was small enough to dive around, or if she should just go over the top.
“Rose?”
“Hmm?”
“Are you alright?”
She shook herself and looked at him, really looked at him.
He leaned forward with a slightly evil expression. “Relax. Breathe.” His sly smile twisted. “As much as the thought of you leaping over the table and wrestling me to the floor has its appeal, I hardly think this is the place for it, hmmm?”
Rose felt her cheeks warm. “Wot?”
And he gave her that look, that you-just-dribbled-on-your-shirt look. She hadn’t seen that look in ages! Her relief burgeoned suddenly into desire. Adrenalin rush, she knew, but she didn't care.
“What in heaven is going on in that odd little human brain of yours?”
“Let’s find a room, yeah? I think I want to shag you breathless.”
“Oh!” He sat back, bemused. “You…” His brow quirked. “You will tell me what just happened?”
“In the post-shag colloquy.”
He pushed his chair out and grabbed the rucksack. “I love the post-shag colloquy!”
Interlude II
Much later, in a small nondescript hotel, the Doctor lay dreaming. He knew he was dreaming, but the knowledge was spectacularly unhelpful. He couldn’t move. He could feel the hands, vise-like, dragging him to his death, but he couldn’t move a muscle. Not even his foot.
It’s called sleep paralysis. Rose had explained it to him. He had known of it, but had never experienced anything like it. Well. Except on Midnight, and he hadn’t been asleep. He wrenched himself out of the dream and focused on his breathing, tried to ignore his heartbeat, that slow, single beat that, by itself, had brought him panicked, gasping and clutching his chest, up from sleep so many times in his first weeks.
Breathe in.
Breathe out.
He counted ten breaths, twenty. He could move his fingers, his ankles. He listened. Earlier, Rose had turned off the horrible air conditioner and opened the window. He could hear trucks and autos now, zooming along the motorway. Far away, a dog barked. With a deep sigh, he bent his elbow and ran a shaking hand through his hair. Slowly, so not to awaken Rose, he slipped out of bed and padded naked to the window.
Earth’s single moon hung three-quarters full, low in the night sky. Near dawn, then. The dream and not-dream had left him feeling odd, as if the things around him were not quite real. The lack of his other senses gaped like an unexpected abyss. Reality wobbled and he teetered on the edge of a great chasm.
That impulse... that strange little impulse... that mad little voice saying -- go on... go on... go on... go over, go on...
His other senses had grounded him and let him know beyond doubt what was real and what was fancy. How did humans do this? How could they operate with such a paucity of information? You’ve got to learn to use your gut, Rose had explained.
He snorted and patted his slight midsection. Isn’t that just wizard.
Still, the voice inside him whispered, go on, go on, go on… Maybe that was his gut. Maybe he should listen to it. He fumbled in the dark for his clothes and pulled them on. He couldn’t find one of his shoes, so he left the socks and the single shoe by the bed and slipped out of the room, closing the door softly behind him.
He wasn’t used to going barefoot, and didn’t know what had compelled him. The carpet was soft and, out in the hotel lobby, the tile was slick and cold. His bare feet told him more about his environment, like an extra sense; a this-is-what-is-underneath-me sense. Not good for running, though.
There was a strip of lawn and some manicured garden outside the entrance doors. The smell of fresh mowed grass curled around his face, along with the darker smells of asphalt, diesel and cigarette smoke.
The sidewalk was slightly rough and cool as the tile had been. The grass was a very different thing. It prickled between his toes and against his arches. He walked slowly, setting his feet down with care. It was a very well cared for lawn - there were no sticks or rocks underfoot. He knelt, pushing his palms against the grass, stood and took another careful step. His soles felt the grass quite differently than his palms.
“You lose somethin’, buddy?”
A man was sitting on a big chunk of rose granite that graced the garden. He was holding a spade and a cigarette dangled from his lips.
“Oh! No. I … Um.”
“Couldn’t sleep, eh? I get that, sometimes.” He sucked on the cigarette and pulled it away, waving the hand. “This time of the mornin’ is nice. All quiet an’ fresh like.”
The Doctor looked up. The moon had set and dawn glowed in the east. “It’s very beautiful.”
The man with the spade sighed, carefully pinched the cinder off his cigarette and pocketed the filter. He closed his eyes and took a long, deep breath. “My people are the Anishnabe, what you whites call the Ojibwa. You’re an Englishman?”
“Close enough.” Streaks of pink and orange layered the eastern horizon.
“Nice to meet you. May this day bring you pleasure.” The man picked up his spade and began to make his way around the garden. “Remember,” he said over his shoulder, “that certain things catch your eye. But pursue only what captures your heart.”
The Doctor turned, but the man had gone.
Interlude III
Rose woke, rubbed a hand over her face and blinked up at the ceiling. For just a moment, she had no idea where she was. She lay still, wondering when the feeling of being rootless had become so comfortably normal. Her arm swept across the bed and she turned on her side, smoothing her hand across the hollow in the pillow beside hers. Now where's he gone off to? She had a sudden memory, the Doctor standing nude in the moonlight, looking out into the night.
Sighing, she pushed herself up and swung her legs out of bed. Her toes brushed across the carpet and stubbed against a shoe. A shoe? Rose frowned down at it -- one of the Doctor's white converse plimsols. She picked it up, turning it over in her hand.
Shower first, Doctor round-up later.
She was standing under the shower, face lifted into the hot water when she felt a push of cool air and heard the door click shut. Blinking water out of her eyes, she peeked past the shower curtain to see the Doctor kicking off his trousers.
"Oh, good," Rose murmured, reaching out and drawing him into the shower, under the spray. She slipped a flannel off the rack and opened the little cake of hotel soap, wetting them both and lathering the flannel. The Doctor was standing full under the spray, a look of bliss on his face. "I love the way that you live in the moment," Rose said thoughtfully, turning him about so that she could scrub his back. "I wish I was more like that."
"Takes practice," the Doctor said, rolling his shoulders under her hands. "Oh, that feels so good." He braced his arms against the shower wall, arching his back like a cat for a long moment and relaxing, lifting his face into the spray. With a satisfied rumble, he turned, letting the spray hit his back and taking the flannel from her. Sliding an arm around her waist, he snuggled against her and turned them both so that the water beat warm against her skin. "Centuries of practice." He stepped back and turned her around, running the flannel across her shoulders and down her spine.
Rose sighed under his ministrations, bending her head so that the spray hit the back of her neck. She blinked down at her feet and the water swirling around her toes. Little bits of grass were floating there. Rose squirmed sideways, looking down at the Doctor's feet. He obligingly wriggled his green toes at her.
Rose looked up into dancing brown eyes. "Green toes?"
The Doctor looked down and pulled a serious face. "Might be Serulian fungus. Or a Beta Thracian infection…"
"Mmm," Rose nodded. "Or Hanzan Fever, except then you'd be green all over…"
The Doctor made a play of looking himself over. "Do you think I might have a greenish cast?" He pushed at the skin of his belly and then turned his head, trying to look at his own back.
Rose sighed theatrically. "I guess I better check you out." She turned off the water and stepped out of the shower, grabbing two towels. The Doctor stepped out after her, taking one of the towels and rubbing his head. Rose toweled her own hair and her arms and legs. "Come here, then."
She rubbed the towel over the Doctor's chest and belly, and knelt to dry his thighs and calves. She very carefully dried his ankles and toes. "Still green." The Doctor's fingers brushed her shoulders and he stilled. Even now, there were times when he went shy and skittish, or he might turn away, dark and brooding. Rose caught her breath, waiting.
The green toes twitched. He wiggled his big toe at her. Oh, yes, that was definitely a playful, come hither toe wiggle. Rose let out her breath in a puff and sudden tears came to her eyes.
Without thinking, she bent her head and pressed a kiss right on his big toe. The Doctor made a low sound of protest and pulled her up, drawing her against his chest and bending his head so that their cheeks touched. "What was that?"
Rose shook her head, the words out of reach, and rested her forehead on his shoulder. "I just love your green toes."
Next: Episode Five
Interlude I
Rose leaned forward on the bench seat, resting her elbows on her knees. The Minneapolis Science Museum was rather nice and the exhibit of Rodents Of Unusual Size was small, as promised. She sighed and wiggled her toes. It was lovely to sit down, even if it was a children’s puppet show.
On the stage, an irritated orangutan was pontificating. Rose snorted and pressed her fingers over her lips. He sounded amazingly like the Doctor. But ginger. Out of the corner of her eye, Rose could see the Doctor nodding along. Oh, she bit the inside of her cheek, don’t laugh.
“I’m not a monkey!” The orangutan puppet exclaimed. “Chimpanzees, gorillas, bonobos and orangutans -we are the Great Apes.”
“And humans,” the Doctor muttered. “We … oh yes, we are on that list, too.”
Rose stilled, waiting, but the Doctor just sat, loose-limbed and with a slight smile on his face as he watched the children enjoy the show. “Look at that, Rose,” he said quietly, his head bent to hers. “Look at all those children sitting there, soaking up knowledge like little sponges. That right there,” he nodded his head toward the children, “that is human - teaching and learning, the electric spark of fascination that is passed from teacher to student and back again. It’s what makes humans great. Well,” he nodded, as if agreeing to some interior conversation, “one of the things.”
You stupid Ape! And now here he was, an ape amongst apes. She snuck a look at him, but he was smiling. Contrary git. How would she feel if she suddenly found herself some Cro-Magnon, Neanderthal, or worse, a bonobo?
But then, she couldn’t imagine falling in love with a Neanderthal, so maybe it wasn’t quite like that. He certainly didn’t treat her as if she was some lesser being.
Well … not recently.
The show concluded and the Doctor stood and stretched. “Are you hungry? I’m hungry.” He took her hand, pulled her up, grabbed the rucksack with his other hand and threw it over his shoulder. “But let’s not eat here. I saw this little sushi house around the corner that looked nice.”
Rose nodded, amiable. “Sushi it is.” She gave his arm a squeeze, “Lead on, McDuff.”
“Do you know,” the Doctor winced, “how much I hate it when people misquote Shakespeare?”
“Doesn’t count,” Rose raised a brow, archly. “It’s been misquoted so much that the misquote is more well known than the actual quote. I was quoting the misquote.”
The Doctor started to say something and then stopped. “You know…” he said slowly, “it’s quite fascinating to watch language bend and twist over time. Look at the word “nice”; did you know that in the thirteenth century, nice was an insult? It meant foolish or stupid. And it kept on changing, right through to the eighteenth century with meanings like wanton, extravagant, elegant, strange, modest, thin, and shy or coy. In the twentieth century, it began to mean good, pleasing, pleasant, or kind. And it’s changing again …” He pinched his bottom lip between his fingers, thinking. “There’s a connotation of smarminess, or maybe goody-two-shoes, don’t you think?”
Rose quirked her brow. “Mmm,” she nodded, “someone who’s not too bright, too.”
“Which brings it right back around to the original meaning!” They pushed through the museum doors and out into the early evening. “But when I said that the sushi place was nice, it didn’t mean that… hmmmm.” He flashed a sudden smile. “My first me, before I ever regenerated, used to say “hmmm” all of the time. I couldn’t seem to stop myself.”
Rose chuckled. “Couldn’t stop yourself? I can’t imagine!”
He started to reply and then snapped his mouth shut, looking annoyed. Rose bumped him with her hip, smiled and finally leaned into him, kissing him on the chin. “I couldn’t imagine you any other way.”
He stopped, his hand coming to her face and his eyes searching hers, and there on the sidewalk, wrapped his arms around her and kissed her until they were both breathless. Then he tucked her hand back into the crook of his elbow. “Sushi it is.”
The restaurant wasn't far, and not very busy. As they were being seated, Rose realized that she'd lost track of the days. Tuesday? Wednesday? She sighed and gave a mental shrug. Does it matter?
Their meals were served quickly and Rose dived into her dinner, coming up for air, chopsticks poised, when she noticed that the Doctor was chewing thoughtfully, head tipped to the side. Mouth full, she raised her eyebrows in question.
The tip of his tongue swept his upper lip, “It’s just … it tastes so different.”
Rose slowed down, concentrating on the taste of her chicken tempura. “Tastes like chicken.”
The Doctor let out a surprised guffaw, hastily bringing his hand up to cover his mouth. “No! I mean,” he swallowed, “everything that I’ve eaten since I … came into being in this body, tastes different.”
“Good different or bad different?”
“Well,” he leaned back in the chair, one hand on the chopsticks, idly pushing at bits of his supper, the other hand near his face, his index finger skimming his lips, “I don’t know that I’d call it good or bad. Just … different.”
She nudged him with her toes and his eyes met hers. “Must be odd, yeah?” She had the sudden urge to kiss him, but he was across the table, so she stroked the arch of her foot up and down his calf.
He leaned forward, rested his elbow on the table and his chin in his hand, and smiled. “Odd? You humans are so…” He blew air out in half a laugh. “Look at you, Rose Tyler! Ex-shop-girl, galaxy-hopping, universe-hopping …”
“Alien-loving,” Rose interjected.
“Mmm,” he nodded. “Do you remember the Krillitanes?” He blinked. “I wonder if there are Krillitanes in this universe? That’s a nasty thought.” His eyes strayed over her shoulder focusing in the distance. Rose waited patiently and he came back with a shiver. “Yeesss. Krillitanes. Brother Lassa called the Time Lords “ancient, dusty senators, so frightened of change and chaos.” And do you know what?” His eyes flicked away, drifting lightly around the restaurant. “He was right. They were so proud of their manufactured superiority. So … pleased with their cleverness.” His eyes touched hers and skipped away again. “But there’s a price to genetic manipulation.”
Rose searched her mind for a way out of this particular conversation; the last time, it’d ended up in a crying jag and talk of suicide. I suppose he could stab himself in the eye with a chopstick… Ick. She shuddered at the visual, set her chopsticks down, clenched her hands in her lap and looked casually around the dining room. No one was close enough to get hurt if she had to make a move. She considered the table, wondering if it was small enough to dive around, or if she should just go over the top.
“Rose?”
“Hmm?”
“Are you alright?”
She shook herself and looked at him, really looked at him.
He leaned forward with a slightly evil expression. “Relax. Breathe.” His sly smile twisted. “As much as the thought of you leaping over the table and wrestling me to the floor has its appeal, I hardly think this is the place for it, hmmm?”
Rose felt her cheeks warm. “Wot?”
And he gave her that look, that you-just-dribbled-on-your-shirt look. She hadn’t seen that look in ages! Her relief burgeoned suddenly into desire. Adrenalin rush, she knew, but she didn't care.
“What in heaven is going on in that odd little human brain of yours?”
“Let’s find a room, yeah? I think I want to shag you breathless.”
“Oh!” He sat back, bemused. “You…” His brow quirked. “You will tell me what just happened?”
“In the post-shag colloquy.”
He pushed his chair out and grabbed the rucksack. “I love the post-shag colloquy!”
Interlude II
Much later, in a small nondescript hotel, the Doctor lay dreaming. He knew he was dreaming, but the knowledge was spectacularly unhelpful. He couldn’t move. He could feel the hands, vise-like, dragging him to his death, but he couldn’t move a muscle. Not even his foot.
It’s called sleep paralysis. Rose had explained it to him. He had known of it, but had never experienced anything like it. Well. Except on Midnight, and he hadn’t been asleep. He wrenched himself out of the dream and focused on his breathing, tried to ignore his heartbeat, that slow, single beat that, by itself, had brought him panicked, gasping and clutching his chest, up from sleep so many times in his first weeks.
Breathe in.
Breathe out.
He counted ten breaths, twenty. He could move his fingers, his ankles. He listened. Earlier, Rose had turned off the horrible air conditioner and opened the window. He could hear trucks and autos now, zooming along the motorway. Far away, a dog barked. With a deep sigh, he bent his elbow and ran a shaking hand through his hair. Slowly, so not to awaken Rose, he slipped out of bed and padded naked to the window.
Earth’s single moon hung three-quarters full, low in the night sky. Near dawn, then. The dream and not-dream had left him feeling odd, as if the things around him were not quite real. The lack of his other senses gaped like an unexpected abyss. Reality wobbled and he teetered on the edge of a great chasm.
That impulse... that strange little impulse... that mad little voice saying -- go on... go on... go on... go over, go on...
His other senses had grounded him and let him know beyond doubt what was real and what was fancy. How did humans do this? How could they operate with such a paucity of information? You’ve got to learn to use your gut, Rose had explained.
He snorted and patted his slight midsection. Isn’t that just wizard.
Still, the voice inside him whispered, go on, go on, go on… Maybe that was his gut. Maybe he should listen to it. He fumbled in the dark for his clothes and pulled them on. He couldn’t find one of his shoes, so he left the socks and the single shoe by the bed and slipped out of the room, closing the door softly behind him.
He wasn’t used to going barefoot, and didn’t know what had compelled him. The carpet was soft and, out in the hotel lobby, the tile was slick and cold. His bare feet told him more about his environment, like an extra sense; a this-is-what-is-underneath-me sense. Not good for running, though.
There was a strip of lawn and some manicured garden outside the entrance doors. The smell of fresh mowed grass curled around his face, along with the darker smells of asphalt, diesel and cigarette smoke.
The sidewalk was slightly rough and cool as the tile had been. The grass was a very different thing. It prickled between his toes and against his arches. He walked slowly, setting his feet down with care. It was a very well cared for lawn - there were no sticks or rocks underfoot. He knelt, pushing his palms against the grass, stood and took another careful step. His soles felt the grass quite differently than his palms.
“You lose somethin’, buddy?”
A man was sitting on a big chunk of rose granite that graced the garden. He was holding a spade and a cigarette dangled from his lips.
“Oh! No. I … Um.”
“Couldn’t sleep, eh? I get that, sometimes.” He sucked on the cigarette and pulled it away, waving the hand. “This time of the mornin’ is nice. All quiet an’ fresh like.”
The Doctor looked up. The moon had set and dawn glowed in the east. “It’s very beautiful.”
The man with the spade sighed, carefully pinched the cinder off his cigarette and pocketed the filter. He closed his eyes and took a long, deep breath. “My people are the Anishnabe, what you whites call the Ojibwa. You’re an Englishman?”
“Close enough.” Streaks of pink and orange layered the eastern horizon.
“Nice to meet you. May this day bring you pleasure.” The man picked up his spade and began to make his way around the garden. “Remember,” he said over his shoulder, “that certain things catch your eye. But pursue only what captures your heart.”
The Doctor turned, but the man had gone.
Interlude III
Rose woke, rubbed a hand over her face and blinked up at the ceiling. For just a moment, she had no idea where she was. She lay still, wondering when the feeling of being rootless had become so comfortably normal. Her arm swept across the bed and she turned on her side, smoothing her hand across the hollow in the pillow beside hers. Now where's he gone off to? She had a sudden memory, the Doctor standing nude in the moonlight, looking out into the night.
Sighing, she pushed herself up and swung her legs out of bed. Her toes brushed across the carpet and stubbed against a shoe. A shoe? Rose frowned down at it -- one of the Doctor's white converse plimsols. She picked it up, turning it over in her hand.
Shower first, Doctor round-up later.
She was standing under the shower, face lifted into the hot water when she felt a push of cool air and heard the door click shut. Blinking water out of her eyes, she peeked past the shower curtain to see the Doctor kicking off his trousers.
"Oh, good," Rose murmured, reaching out and drawing him into the shower, under the spray. She slipped a flannel off the rack and opened the little cake of hotel soap, wetting them both and lathering the flannel. The Doctor was standing full under the spray, a look of bliss on his face. "I love the way that you live in the moment," Rose said thoughtfully, turning him about so that she could scrub his back. "I wish I was more like that."
"Takes practice," the Doctor said, rolling his shoulders under her hands. "Oh, that feels so good." He braced his arms against the shower wall, arching his back like a cat for a long moment and relaxing, lifting his face into the spray. With a satisfied rumble, he turned, letting the spray hit his back and taking the flannel from her. Sliding an arm around her waist, he snuggled against her and turned them both so that the water beat warm against her skin. "Centuries of practice." He stepped back and turned her around, running the flannel across her shoulders and down her spine.
Rose sighed under his ministrations, bending her head so that the spray hit the back of her neck. She blinked down at her feet and the water swirling around her toes. Little bits of grass were floating there. Rose squirmed sideways, looking down at the Doctor's feet. He obligingly wriggled his green toes at her.
Rose looked up into dancing brown eyes. "Green toes?"
The Doctor looked down and pulled a serious face. "Might be Serulian fungus. Or a Beta Thracian infection…"
"Mmm," Rose nodded. "Or Hanzan Fever, except then you'd be green all over…"
The Doctor made a play of looking himself over. "Do you think I might have a greenish cast?" He pushed at the skin of his belly and then turned his head, trying to look at his own back.
Rose sighed theatrically. "I guess I better check you out." She turned off the water and stepped out of the shower, grabbing two towels. The Doctor stepped out after her, taking one of the towels and rubbing his head. Rose toweled her own hair and her arms and legs. "Come here, then."
She rubbed the towel over the Doctor's chest and belly, and knelt to dry his thighs and calves. She very carefully dried his ankles and toes. "Still green." The Doctor's fingers brushed her shoulders and he stilled. Even now, there were times when he went shy and skittish, or he might turn away, dark and brooding. Rose caught her breath, waiting.
The green toes twitched. He wiggled his big toe at her. Oh, yes, that was definitely a playful, come hither toe wiggle. Rose let out her breath in a puff and sudden tears came to her eyes.
Without thinking, she bent her head and pressed a kiss right on his big toe. The Doctor made a low sound of protest and pulled her up, drawing her against his chest and bending his head so that their cheeks touched. "What was that?"
Rose shook her head, the words out of reach, and rested her forehead on his shoulder. "I just love your green toes."
Next: Episode Five