FIC: Of Fairs and Ferris Wheels
Title: Of Fairs and Ferris Wheels
Author: krabapple
Fandom: Doctor Who (new series)
Pairing: Gen; Ten, Rose, OC
Disclaimer: I own nothing that belongs to the BBC or anyone else.
Summary: There's a reason the Doctor lets Rose go after Pete Tyler; it's because he can only hope that in the same situation, his girl would come after him.
Author's Notes: Spoilers for series one and vague spoilers for series two, through Fear Her. Quick wash beta, so all mistakes are mine. I'm new to Who, and as such am not completely up on canon, though it seems to me that very few people can agree on what's canon after forty years anyway. My point is, I pretty much completely made this up in regards to a line the Doctor has in Fear Her. That's it. Adoption, biology, looming . . . this is just one take on it.
Seriously, looming? ;)
For regala_electra who started the whole thing about Doctor as Daddy fic. More or less. I sincerely hope it doesn't suck.
3,112 words.
He knows he shouldn't be doing it, but he does it anyway. Upon reflection, he realizes that statement could apply to any number of things in his life, regenerated body, plane of existence, whatever it is that he calls waking up every morning and breathing involuntarily these days, but in his heart (the right one) it means only one thing. Ever since he said the words to Rose, aloud, it is as if the experience finally, suddenly, bloomed into life, though of course it had been there all along. One of his earliest experiences, but one of the most important, one he'd hidden away in that part of his mind he tried to visit only rarely. Out of mind, out of sight.
Rose understands him enough not to ask about it again, though he knows she's curious. He's curious, too, or else he wouldn't be doing this; it's too dangerous otherwise. Everything he's ever known about rifts, portals between dimensions, alternate realities, wounds in time, all of that could happen if, just once, for just an instant, something goes wrong. Or none of it could happen. He rather doubts the latter is a possibility, actually, and he's honest enough with himself to acknowledge that, but it still doesn't stop him.
He and Rose visit the 1970 Italy/Germany World Cup match in Mexico. They go to medieval England. Rose gets sunburned at the North Pole in July. There's Gamma Eleven, and the human-sized gerbil race of Nerthikal. Tidal waves on Mars and dust storms on Tribecca, eight galaxies away. The Doctor and Rose travel to all of those places, and many more times, like the travelers and troublemakers (problem solvers) they are.
Rose, of course, thinks it's only the usual traveling, and he takes her to other places and times, and home to her mum, often enough that this doesn't start to look like a pattern. Even the Doctor doesn't recognize it as a pattern; he knows there's some drive to why he picks the places and times he does, in the timeline that he does, but it's not chronological, or any other logic he can name, so he tries to think of it as random, and not like he's laying out a map of his own grief, or love, or despair.
The Doctor knows he shouldn't be visiting times and places where his daughter exists, but he's doing it anyway. He takes as many precautions (he thinks they are precautions) as possible. The list of Things That Must Never, Ever Occur, Really, Not Ever include any of his former selves coming into contact with this new one (paradox), and his current self coming into contact with her (dangerous), or the Worst Possible Outcome, Rose meeting any of his former selves or his daughter. None of those things are to happen. He looks, but doesn't get close; he observes, but he doesn't touch. He goes so far as to duck behind dumpsters as necessary, but he makes sure that when there are two of him in a place and time, the two shall never meet. He prepares himself fully (in every way possible) never to go to her.
Therefore, it is a complete surprise when she comes to him.
***
It is the Minnesota State Fair, 1979. It's really unexceptional as state fairs go (Vanfranten, now that planet has a fair), but the Doctor knows it's a place and time he's visited before, and more importantly he knows he visited it with her, so he and Rose go anyway. Rose seems pleased, happy enough to ride the ferris wheel and eat more of that vile cotton candy than any one person should be able to consume. The Doctor is happy to be with her there, too, to enjoy her simple pleasure at the carnival games, though he is less than amused with her preoccupation with the rides. She laughs at him for his squeamishness, as is likely only proper, considering, as Rose so righteously points out, he is someone who has ridden in a time machine for more or less nine hundred years. Intergalactic travel is fine, but the carousel makes him queasy.
So, all things considered, the Doctor is what can only be thought of as relieved when Rose makes friends with one of the local girls (who is home for the summer from MSU) and they go off together, laughing and sharing more of the damnable cotton candy. It's pink, for the love of everything holy. And sticky. It's his very idea of hell, really, and he's the bloke who actually met Satan.
Besides, it gives the Doctor more of a chance to quietly walk around and seek out what he really came here for, anyway. So far, he's seen no sign of himself or of her, and he can't decide if this is a good thing or not. Good, as it will mean less chance of ending the world and killing everyone around him and more; bad, as not even a glimpse will leave him disappointed and oddly guilty. Also, frankly, it makes him wonder if his memory is starting to go, and that's a very disturbing thought.
He's standing to the side of the main fairway, trying to get his bearings and thinking things over, when he feels a distinct tap somewhere in the vicinity of his knee. He does the inexplicable and scans the area at his own eye level, as if that will tell him what's going on closer to the ground. He's about to write it off when the tap comes again, only a little harder, and this time he actually looks down, only to have both hearts rise up into his throat.
There she is, standing next to his left leg, looking up at him. She's only around four years old, which is as he remembered for this trip (he'd wanted to see her young, so very young), and she looks every bit like a four year old human, which is also as he remembered. What strikes him now is how very much she looks like him, like this body; it's a stronger resemblance to him than in any of his previous incarnations, and he shakes a bit at the thought. Her brown hair is long, but a bit unruly, two braids that he (his former self) must have attempted starting to come undone, unraveling about her face and shoulders. She's looking up at him through large, warm brown eyes, eyes that are inquisitive and happy, though there's a bit of distress in them at the moment. It's that, more than anything, that brings him to his knees in front of her, so that he's at her level, even though everything he knows about time and space is screaming at him about How Wrong and Very Bad this is, and how he should walk away.
"Er . . . did you just hit me," the Doctor says, and immediately thinks that on the list of Stupid Things to Say (a very long list), this is probably near the top.
To his surprise though, she smiles, and says, "Yes. I need some help."
"Really?" Again, with the obvious.
"It's just that . . ." and here she pauses, tilts her head, and looks at him. Her scrutiny is strangely shrewd, and looks incongruous on a little girl with brown braids dressed in jeans, a t-shirt with small blue flowers on it, and trainers. "It's just that," she continues, "well, my dad is busy helping with the fireworks for later."
"Oh." The Doctor thinks. Fireworks? He doesn't remember anything about fireworks. Except . . . oh, yes. Deedinites try to invade the Earth through a portal in the funhouse during the 1979 Minnesota State Fair. An odd way to try to gain access to the planet, he'd always thought, but then again, he has to admit that it's a stealthier approach than Downing Street, that's certain. He'd forgotten this was a working trip. An impromptu working trip, as he recalls, but that doesn't help him much now that he's landed himself and Rose here, when he's also already here. Talk about becoming a part of events. He sighs involuntarily, and this causes the girl to step back a bit.
"Oh," the Doctor tries again. "That's nice. Fireworks are good." In between kicking himself for his sudden inarticulateness, the Doctor's mind is working furiously to figure out a way in which this will not end in disaster. It's not a good sign that he's not coming up with one quickly.
"Yeah, I love fireworks. They're nice and loud," she says, and the Doctor stops thinking so hard and suddenly grins, because that's so very much his girl. Forget the pretty colors and designs; it's the noise that's really the good part.
The grin must make her feel a bit bolder, because suddenly she hurries on, barely pausing for breath. "Anyway, whenever my daddy is working, and can't be with me, he tells me to try to find a nice person to spend some time with, so they can look out for me for a while. You were here, and you looked nice, but you were all by yourself, so I thought you might be a good person for that."
How such small lungs can fortify such a speech the Doctor can't say, but he is trying to contemplate if he would ever give such directions to any child, much less his own. Who would do that? Apparently he would, but he can't remember . . . oh. Yes. He used to do just that. Well, that's a bit stupid of him, actually. He of all people should know that worlds are dangerous places, and you can't just let a little girl wander around by herself, hoping to depend on the kindness of strangers --
"Oh," the Doctor manages again, noting she's looking more and more distressed, because it must look like he's going to say no, as if he could, even if he wanted to. Which he realizes with not much surprise that he doesn't. "Well, okay. I suppose I can look after you for a while. Brilliant." He grins again, and she matches it.
"Good. I was worried you were going to say no. Lots of people say no."
"Well not me! No, no. I mean, yes. I mean . . . hello!"
"Hi. My name's Emmeline. Some people call me Em."
"Hello there, Em," the Doctor says, reaching out and shaking her hand, making her giggle. "I'm." Here he catches himself. "I'm - Jack."
"Hi, Jack," she says.
"Er . . . I suppose you might want to see more of the fair?" the Doctor offers.
Em's face brightens. "I haven't been on the carousel yet!"
The Doctor takes one look at her face and says, "Well. We'd better fix that, shouldn't we?" He stands up, and offers her his hand.
She automatically fits her smaller hand inside of his larger one; her palm is tiny and dry, and their fingers wrap around each other of their own accord. Em smiles up at him, open and warm and trusting, and the Doctor's heart (his left) breaks in two.
***
They take two rides on the carousel, three on the ferris wheel, and one ride on the teacups that leaves the Doctor so woozy they have to sit down only a few feet away while the Doctor fights to keep his stomach down where it belongs. Em finds his delicate system about as amusing as Rose does, though she doesn't have the affinity for cotton candy, which relieves the Doctor to no end.
Despite the lack of enthusiasm for cotton candy, the Doctor finds he has no trouble plying the small girl full of other treats all afternoon: popcorn, candy apples, Coke. He has enough experience with her digestive system to know when to stop, but he does realize he's put his earlier self in a bit of a pickle when it comes to trying to put a hyper little Time Lady to bed tonight. He finds he doesn't really care all that much about that, though.
He wins the game with the bottles and the baseball rather handily (it's only physics, really) and she picks out the very largest teddy bear of the bunch; it's a florid purple, and too big for her to carry around, so the Doctor hauls it around for her all afternoon. There are games (that whack-a-mole thing is pretty vicious) and treats, though they avoid the funhouse; there's an explanation of how glow rods work, and the Doctor discovers more than he remembers how easy it is to make Em laugh, and how good it sounds.
In short, he spends the afternoon spoiling her rotten, and he loves every minute of it.
By the time night falls, rather late even for a Minnesota summer, the Doctor has fed Em a dinner of a hot dog and more popcorn. She's tired, thoroughly worn out, though she refuses to fall asleep, even though her feet begin to drag and they walk slower than ever. The Doctor picks her up and carries her on his shoulders to the field where people are setting up on the grass, picnicking and anticipating the fireworks. Her small hands fist in his hair, hanging on; she tugs a bit, truth be told, but the Doctor doesn't complain, instead memorizing the way her hands feel, how small they are, how his scalp tingles when her fingertips slide down.
They end up settling down on the grass on their backs so they can see the stars as they appear in the sky; the Doctor takes his suit jacket off so they can use it as a pillow. Em's voice is sleepy but content as they gaze up. She begins to name the stars, the constellations, and he points to them one by one, waiting for her to come up with the names and praising her when she does (she's his clever, clever girl). She laughs when he tells a joke about the dog star, and then tells him one back about a puppy that really doesn't make much sense to him, but they laugh together anyway.
As the sky grows even darker, Em begins to quiet; her head comes to rest on the Doctor's shoulder and lolls a bit, and her breathing becomes so relaxed and even he checks out of the corner of his eye to see if she's asleep. She's not, just looking up at the sky, happy to be with her own thoughts. The Doctor concentrates on the feel of her head on his shoulder, the weight and rightness of it, and on how soft her hair is where it tickles his neck and chin.
Suddenly the sky is ablaze with light, blue and red and green stars that go off with a loud boom. The crowd ooohs and aaaahs on cue, and Emmeline sits up suddenly, her profile lit by the last of the red fireworks before they fade out of existence. She turns to the Doctor eagerly, her face aglow from something other than the fireworks.
"My dad said it would be okay to go find him when the fireworks start; he'd be done working by then," she says, and the Doctor remembers that this is indeed true, that he'd timed the departure of the Deedinites' ship with the start of the show. He sits up, too.
"Oh," the Doctor says, doing his best to keep the lump out of his throat and his voice. "Well, you'd better go do that, then. I'm sure he's worried about you." It's true, still; hundreds of years and the loss of Gallifrey later, he worries about her all the time.
She grins. "I had a really good time today. Thank you, Jack," she says, and holds out her hand so he can shake it (his polite, well-mannered girl).
The Doctor does shake her hand, and grins back. "You are very welcome. Very, very welcome," he says, letting go of her hand.
"Okay. Bye!" Em says, and she turns, about to go, before she suddenly turns back.
Before he knows what's happening, she has her arms around his neck, giving him a quick, child-like hug. His arms wrap around her automatically, and he allows himself to clutch her to him, just for a moment, before he lets go. She plants a kiss on his cheek (rather wet) before sprinting away. She turns once, to shout "Bye!" one more time before she vanishes into the darkness.
"Good-bye," the Doctor calls after her, his voice barely a whisper.
***
He finds Rose in the lights under the ferris wheel after the fireworks show is over. Her face is awash in the moving lights above her, and she smiles widely when she sees him.
She must sense something in either his face or his posture, because she automatically takes his arm, her own arm warm and solid against his own. "Are you okay, Doctor?"
The Doctor looks up at the ferris wheel, and nods. "I'm fine. Delightful. Splendid."
He can see even out of the corner of his eye that Rose doesn't seem to accept this completely, but she doesn't press further, just nods, and squeezes his arm a little with her hand.
"Nice bear," she says.
The Doctor looks down at his other hand, which is holding the big teddy bear he won for Emmeline, that she left behind.
"Thanks. It's all just physics." He makes a clicking sound with his mouth.
"I always thought those were rigged."
The Doctor puts on a grin. "Not for me."
Rose drops the subject with a smile and a roll of her eyes. "So . . . where do you want to go next?" she asks, starting to steer him away from the ferris wheel and towards the TARDIS.
The Doctor continues to look up as they walk, and he stops before they get very far. "I was thinking . . . maybe one last ride on the ferris wheel?"
"You. Want to go on that?" Rose asks. "You?"
"Oh, pish. How bad can it actually be?"
Rose raises an eyebrow.
"Oh, come now Rose Tyler. Where's your sense of adventure?"
"It's not my senses I'm worried about, Doctor."
The Doctor stops looking up, and looks at Rose. "I'll be fine. Let's go."
Rose smiles and shakes her head. She pulls a ticket from her pocket. "I do have one ticket left."
The Doctor grins. "Perfect," he says, and takes her hand as they walk back to take one more ride, the two of them and one stuffed bear, before leaving the Minnesota State Fair, 1979.
Author: krabapple
Fandom: Doctor Who (new series)
Pairing: Gen; Ten, Rose, OC
Disclaimer: I own nothing that belongs to the BBC or anyone else.
Summary: There's a reason the Doctor lets Rose go after Pete Tyler; it's because he can only hope that in the same situation, his girl would come after him.
Author's Notes: Spoilers for series one and vague spoilers for series two, through Fear Her. Quick wash beta, so all mistakes are mine. I'm new to Who, and as such am not completely up on canon, though it seems to me that very few people can agree on what's canon after forty years anyway. My point is, I pretty much completely made this up in regards to a line the Doctor has in Fear Her. That's it. Adoption, biology, looming . . . this is just one take on it.
Seriously, looming? ;)
For regala_electra who started the whole thing about Doctor as Daddy fic. More or less. I sincerely hope it doesn't suck.
3,112 words.
He knows he shouldn't be doing it, but he does it anyway. Upon reflection, he realizes that statement could apply to any number of things in his life, regenerated body, plane of existence, whatever it is that he calls waking up every morning and breathing involuntarily these days, but in his heart (the right one) it means only one thing. Ever since he said the words to Rose, aloud, it is as if the experience finally, suddenly, bloomed into life, though of course it had been there all along. One of his earliest experiences, but one of the most important, one he'd hidden away in that part of his mind he tried to visit only rarely. Out of mind, out of sight.
Rose understands him enough not to ask about it again, though he knows she's curious. He's curious, too, or else he wouldn't be doing this; it's too dangerous otherwise. Everything he's ever known about rifts, portals between dimensions, alternate realities, wounds in time, all of that could happen if, just once, for just an instant, something goes wrong. Or none of it could happen. He rather doubts the latter is a possibility, actually, and he's honest enough with himself to acknowledge that, but it still doesn't stop him.
He and Rose visit the 1970 Italy/Germany World Cup match in Mexico. They go to medieval England. Rose gets sunburned at the North Pole in July. There's Gamma Eleven, and the human-sized gerbil race of Nerthikal. Tidal waves on Mars and dust storms on Tribecca, eight galaxies away. The Doctor and Rose travel to all of those places, and many more times, like the travelers and troublemakers (problem solvers) they are.
Rose, of course, thinks it's only the usual traveling, and he takes her to other places and times, and home to her mum, often enough that this doesn't start to look like a pattern. Even the Doctor doesn't recognize it as a pattern; he knows there's some drive to why he picks the places and times he does, in the timeline that he does, but it's not chronological, or any other logic he can name, so he tries to think of it as random, and not like he's laying out a map of his own grief, or love, or despair.
The Doctor knows he shouldn't be visiting times and places where his daughter exists, but he's doing it anyway. He takes as many precautions (he thinks they are precautions) as possible. The list of Things That Must Never, Ever Occur, Really, Not Ever include any of his former selves coming into contact with this new one (paradox), and his current self coming into contact with her (dangerous), or the Worst Possible Outcome, Rose meeting any of his former selves or his daughter. None of those things are to happen. He looks, but doesn't get close; he observes, but he doesn't touch. He goes so far as to duck behind dumpsters as necessary, but he makes sure that when there are two of him in a place and time, the two shall never meet. He prepares himself fully (in every way possible) never to go to her.
Therefore, it is a complete surprise when she comes to him.
***
It is the Minnesota State Fair, 1979. It's really unexceptional as state fairs go (Vanfranten, now that planet has a fair), but the Doctor knows it's a place and time he's visited before, and more importantly he knows he visited it with her, so he and Rose go anyway. Rose seems pleased, happy enough to ride the ferris wheel and eat more of that vile cotton candy than any one person should be able to consume. The Doctor is happy to be with her there, too, to enjoy her simple pleasure at the carnival games, though he is less than amused with her preoccupation with the rides. She laughs at him for his squeamishness, as is likely only proper, considering, as Rose so righteously points out, he is someone who has ridden in a time machine for more or less nine hundred years. Intergalactic travel is fine, but the carousel makes him queasy.
So, all things considered, the Doctor is what can only be thought of as relieved when Rose makes friends with one of the local girls (who is home for the summer from MSU) and they go off together, laughing and sharing more of the damnable cotton candy. It's pink, for the love of everything holy. And sticky. It's his very idea of hell, really, and he's the bloke who actually met Satan.
Besides, it gives the Doctor more of a chance to quietly walk around and seek out what he really came here for, anyway. So far, he's seen no sign of himself or of her, and he can't decide if this is a good thing or not. Good, as it will mean less chance of ending the world and killing everyone around him and more; bad, as not even a glimpse will leave him disappointed and oddly guilty. Also, frankly, it makes him wonder if his memory is starting to go, and that's a very disturbing thought.
He's standing to the side of the main fairway, trying to get his bearings and thinking things over, when he feels a distinct tap somewhere in the vicinity of his knee. He does the inexplicable and scans the area at his own eye level, as if that will tell him what's going on closer to the ground. He's about to write it off when the tap comes again, only a little harder, and this time he actually looks down, only to have both hearts rise up into his throat.
There she is, standing next to his left leg, looking up at him. She's only around four years old, which is as he remembered for this trip (he'd wanted to see her young, so very young), and she looks every bit like a four year old human, which is also as he remembered. What strikes him now is how very much she looks like him, like this body; it's a stronger resemblance to him than in any of his previous incarnations, and he shakes a bit at the thought. Her brown hair is long, but a bit unruly, two braids that he (his former self) must have attempted starting to come undone, unraveling about her face and shoulders. She's looking up at him through large, warm brown eyes, eyes that are inquisitive and happy, though there's a bit of distress in them at the moment. It's that, more than anything, that brings him to his knees in front of her, so that he's at her level, even though everything he knows about time and space is screaming at him about How Wrong and Very Bad this is, and how he should walk away.
"Er . . . did you just hit me," the Doctor says, and immediately thinks that on the list of Stupid Things to Say (a very long list), this is probably near the top.
To his surprise though, she smiles, and says, "Yes. I need some help."
"Really?" Again, with the obvious.
"It's just that . . ." and here she pauses, tilts her head, and looks at him. Her scrutiny is strangely shrewd, and looks incongruous on a little girl with brown braids dressed in jeans, a t-shirt with small blue flowers on it, and trainers. "It's just that," she continues, "well, my dad is busy helping with the fireworks for later."
"Oh." The Doctor thinks. Fireworks? He doesn't remember anything about fireworks. Except . . . oh, yes. Deedinites try to invade the Earth through a portal in the funhouse during the 1979 Minnesota State Fair. An odd way to try to gain access to the planet, he'd always thought, but then again, he has to admit that it's a stealthier approach than Downing Street, that's certain. He'd forgotten this was a working trip. An impromptu working trip, as he recalls, but that doesn't help him much now that he's landed himself and Rose here, when he's also already here. Talk about becoming a part of events. He sighs involuntarily, and this causes the girl to step back a bit.
"Oh," the Doctor tries again. "That's nice. Fireworks are good." In between kicking himself for his sudden inarticulateness, the Doctor's mind is working furiously to figure out a way in which this will not end in disaster. It's not a good sign that he's not coming up with one quickly.
"Yeah, I love fireworks. They're nice and loud," she says, and the Doctor stops thinking so hard and suddenly grins, because that's so very much his girl. Forget the pretty colors and designs; it's the noise that's really the good part.
The grin must make her feel a bit bolder, because suddenly she hurries on, barely pausing for breath. "Anyway, whenever my daddy is working, and can't be with me, he tells me to try to find a nice person to spend some time with, so they can look out for me for a while. You were here, and you looked nice, but you were all by yourself, so I thought you might be a good person for that."
How such small lungs can fortify such a speech the Doctor can't say, but he is trying to contemplate if he would ever give such directions to any child, much less his own. Who would do that? Apparently he would, but he can't remember . . . oh. Yes. He used to do just that. Well, that's a bit stupid of him, actually. He of all people should know that worlds are dangerous places, and you can't just let a little girl wander around by herself, hoping to depend on the kindness of strangers --
"Oh," the Doctor manages again, noting she's looking more and more distressed, because it must look like he's going to say no, as if he could, even if he wanted to. Which he realizes with not much surprise that he doesn't. "Well, okay. I suppose I can look after you for a while. Brilliant." He grins again, and she matches it.
"Good. I was worried you were going to say no. Lots of people say no."
"Well not me! No, no. I mean, yes. I mean . . . hello!"
"Hi. My name's Emmeline. Some people call me Em."
"Hello there, Em," the Doctor says, reaching out and shaking her hand, making her giggle. "I'm." Here he catches himself. "I'm - Jack."
"Hi, Jack," she says.
"Er . . . I suppose you might want to see more of the fair?" the Doctor offers.
Em's face brightens. "I haven't been on the carousel yet!"
The Doctor takes one look at her face and says, "Well. We'd better fix that, shouldn't we?" He stands up, and offers her his hand.
She automatically fits her smaller hand inside of his larger one; her palm is tiny and dry, and their fingers wrap around each other of their own accord. Em smiles up at him, open and warm and trusting, and the Doctor's heart (his left) breaks in two.
***
They take two rides on the carousel, three on the ferris wheel, and one ride on the teacups that leaves the Doctor so woozy they have to sit down only a few feet away while the Doctor fights to keep his stomach down where it belongs. Em finds his delicate system about as amusing as Rose does, though she doesn't have the affinity for cotton candy, which relieves the Doctor to no end.
Despite the lack of enthusiasm for cotton candy, the Doctor finds he has no trouble plying the small girl full of other treats all afternoon: popcorn, candy apples, Coke. He has enough experience with her digestive system to know when to stop, but he does realize he's put his earlier self in a bit of a pickle when it comes to trying to put a hyper little Time Lady to bed tonight. He finds he doesn't really care all that much about that, though.
He wins the game with the bottles and the baseball rather handily (it's only physics, really) and she picks out the very largest teddy bear of the bunch; it's a florid purple, and too big for her to carry around, so the Doctor hauls it around for her all afternoon. There are games (that whack-a-mole thing is pretty vicious) and treats, though they avoid the funhouse; there's an explanation of how glow rods work, and the Doctor discovers more than he remembers how easy it is to make Em laugh, and how good it sounds.
In short, he spends the afternoon spoiling her rotten, and he loves every minute of it.
By the time night falls, rather late even for a Minnesota summer, the Doctor has fed Em a dinner of a hot dog and more popcorn. She's tired, thoroughly worn out, though she refuses to fall asleep, even though her feet begin to drag and they walk slower than ever. The Doctor picks her up and carries her on his shoulders to the field where people are setting up on the grass, picnicking and anticipating the fireworks. Her small hands fist in his hair, hanging on; she tugs a bit, truth be told, but the Doctor doesn't complain, instead memorizing the way her hands feel, how small they are, how his scalp tingles when her fingertips slide down.
They end up settling down on the grass on their backs so they can see the stars as they appear in the sky; the Doctor takes his suit jacket off so they can use it as a pillow. Em's voice is sleepy but content as they gaze up. She begins to name the stars, the constellations, and he points to them one by one, waiting for her to come up with the names and praising her when she does (she's his clever, clever girl). She laughs when he tells a joke about the dog star, and then tells him one back about a puppy that really doesn't make much sense to him, but they laugh together anyway.
As the sky grows even darker, Em begins to quiet; her head comes to rest on the Doctor's shoulder and lolls a bit, and her breathing becomes so relaxed and even he checks out of the corner of his eye to see if she's asleep. She's not, just looking up at the sky, happy to be with her own thoughts. The Doctor concentrates on the feel of her head on his shoulder, the weight and rightness of it, and on how soft her hair is where it tickles his neck and chin.
Suddenly the sky is ablaze with light, blue and red and green stars that go off with a loud boom. The crowd ooohs and aaaahs on cue, and Emmeline sits up suddenly, her profile lit by the last of the red fireworks before they fade out of existence. She turns to the Doctor eagerly, her face aglow from something other than the fireworks.
"My dad said it would be okay to go find him when the fireworks start; he'd be done working by then," she says, and the Doctor remembers that this is indeed true, that he'd timed the departure of the Deedinites' ship with the start of the show. He sits up, too.
"Oh," the Doctor says, doing his best to keep the lump out of his throat and his voice. "Well, you'd better go do that, then. I'm sure he's worried about you." It's true, still; hundreds of years and the loss of Gallifrey later, he worries about her all the time.
She grins. "I had a really good time today. Thank you, Jack," she says, and holds out her hand so he can shake it (his polite, well-mannered girl).
The Doctor does shake her hand, and grins back. "You are very welcome. Very, very welcome," he says, letting go of her hand.
"Okay. Bye!" Em says, and she turns, about to go, before she suddenly turns back.
Before he knows what's happening, she has her arms around his neck, giving him a quick, child-like hug. His arms wrap around her automatically, and he allows himself to clutch her to him, just for a moment, before he lets go. She plants a kiss on his cheek (rather wet) before sprinting away. She turns once, to shout "Bye!" one more time before she vanishes into the darkness.
"Good-bye," the Doctor calls after her, his voice barely a whisper.
***
He finds Rose in the lights under the ferris wheel after the fireworks show is over. Her face is awash in the moving lights above her, and she smiles widely when she sees him.
She must sense something in either his face or his posture, because she automatically takes his arm, her own arm warm and solid against his own. "Are you okay, Doctor?"
The Doctor looks up at the ferris wheel, and nods. "I'm fine. Delightful. Splendid."
He can see even out of the corner of his eye that Rose doesn't seem to accept this completely, but she doesn't press further, just nods, and squeezes his arm a little with her hand.
"Nice bear," she says.
The Doctor looks down at his other hand, which is holding the big teddy bear he won for Emmeline, that she left behind.
"Thanks. It's all just physics." He makes a clicking sound with his mouth.
"I always thought those were rigged."
The Doctor puts on a grin. "Not for me."
Rose drops the subject with a smile and a roll of her eyes. "So . . . where do you want to go next?" she asks, starting to steer him away from the ferris wheel and towards the TARDIS.
The Doctor continues to look up as they walk, and he stops before they get very far. "I was thinking . . . maybe one last ride on the ferris wheel?"
"You. Want to go on that?" Rose asks. "You?"
"Oh, pish. How bad can it actually be?"
Rose raises an eyebrow.
"Oh, come now Rose Tyler. Where's your sense of adventure?"
"It's not my senses I'm worried about, Doctor."
The Doctor stops looking up, and looks at Rose. "I'll be fine. Let's go."
Rose smiles and shakes her head. She pulls a ticket from her pocket. "I do have one ticket left."
The Doctor grins. "Perfect," he says, and takes her hand as they walk back to take one more ride, the two of them and one stuffed bear, before leaving the Minnesota State Fair, 1979.