dw fic: "The Best Soy Latte That You Ever Had (And Me)"
The Best Soy-Latte That You Ever Had (And Me) Ten II/Rose, PG, post-Journey's End.
They hold hands and stare; their faces leaning forward into the steam of their beverages while underneath the table their feet have lost their shoes and are busy playing footsy with one-another. 1, 310.
Written for challenge 41 at then_theres_us
.
Now that she’s back in the atmosphere
I’m afraid that she might think of me as plain ol’ Jane
Told a story about a man who was too afraid to fly so he never did land.
- Train.
As Rose and the Doctor walk down the high street on a severely windy day in January, they debate whether or not it will snow later on tonight, with Rose relying on Torchwood’s meteorologist’s predictions, and the Doctor licking his finger and holding it up to the frigid air for a moment.
(For the record, the Doctor is right in the end, and he celebrates by nearly getting frostbite from prolonged snowman building at one in the morning...)
They take shelter in a nearby coffee shop because the Doctor has had enough of falling over in the ice. Even if it does mean Rose has to help him up and brush the water out of his hair with her gloved palm; giving him that small smile that says she’s concerned but mostly amused.
(The second time he fell over, he launched forward onto the pavement and cut his lip. Luckily a trained professional was on hand to kiss it better.)
In the queue for caffeine they stare gleefully at the muffins and cakes and various sandwich items begging to be bought. The Doctor can’t choose, so Rose suggests the chocolate muffin knowing full well that he’ll be pleasantly surprised by the surprise melted chocolate within.
When she opens her wallet in the queue, he sees a flash of her Torchwood ID shining behind the plastic pocket. Her eyes seem darker, and her soft features are marred by some holographic security seal. He catches her eye and she smiles in response. He can’t help wonder if this Rose is still the same one that helped create the dimension cannon in the first place. And then he can’t help but wonder if he’s the same Doctor that let her go in the first place, or is he just a really good imposter.
He wonders how long it’ll be until she finds him out. He hopes she never does.
He orders a black coffee and instantly regrets it when he tries it at their table. He resists the urge to throw the scalding tar outside into the ice and instead pushes it to the far side of the table.
“Why did you order it if you don’t like it?”
“I rather thought I did. Different taste-buds I guess.” He frowns, running his tongue along his teeth, reminding Rose of those days long ago in the TARDIS.
“Why don’t you try it with some sugar and milk?” Rose suggests, wrapping her hands around the large mug in front of her and taking a grateful sip from the warm coffee.
“What are you drinking?”
“It’s a Caramel Machiatto, try some.” Rose pushes her cup closer to him. She laughs when the drizzled caramel sticks to his nose, and rolls her eyes when instead of using a napkin; the Doctor tries to clean up the foam with his tongue. She finds it strange that something so juvenile still makes her heart swell.
“Lovely,” she smirks, reaching out with the serviette and wiping his nose clean. He smiles at her and all at once feels both madly in love and incredibly patronised, though for the former he does not mind the latter.
“That’s far too sweet.” He complains. “And sugary and strong and just very quite odd.”
“So we can cross black coffee and caramel machiatto off the list then.”
“What’s a frappuccino?” He asks, craning his head to look at the board behind the counter.
“That’s cold, don’t have that, it’s Winter.”
“And I suppose the same logic applies to the iced coffee?”
“Yes.”
“Rightey-o. That leaves...quite a lot actually.”
The Doctor reads everything on the board out loud to Rose. She elaborates with her own deductions if she’s tried them before and if not, she shakes her head, all the while staring up at the map on the wall next to them. All around them there are empty tables, and the Doctor, John, picks the one next to the map. For a fleeting second she fears he’s bored of her, and that all he wants to do is travel, and run away. He did warn her that domesticity wasn’t for him.
Granted they were on a spaceship orbiting a black hole at the time. But here they are in a coffee shop, having come to the city for the day, away from their domestic house, and domestic fence and domestic garden and-
“Rose?” He interrupts her stupor, staring at her as she stares at the map.
“Sorry, what?”
“I said I was going to up to the counter for a closer look, did you want another?”
She looks down at the empty and cooling mug in front of her and suddenly longs for more.
“As if you’d get it right.” She teases, deciding to join him, though she regrets it five minutes later when the Doctor won’t stop badgering the barista with his torrent of questions.
“But what does it taste like?”
The barista frowns, and Rose in turn groans.
“Why don’t I get some sample cups...?” The barista suggests, clearly out of options on how to serve his strange customer, and getting to work on making teeny tiny coffees.
The Doctor announces that the flat white is too bitter and he that he can’t taste anything but foam in the cappuccino. The shot of espresso makes his eye twitch and he complains that the latte is far too milky. Rose doesn’t bring up the fact that the first time she offered him a coffee he wanted nothing but milk...
Instead she calls him Goldilocks for the rest of the day, and when they finally make their way to the till, Rose orders a soy-latte and the Doctor asks if they make tea.
“Yes sir, we do, what kind would you like?”
“I don’t suppose you have any Darjeeling, do you?” The barista smiles, and so does the Doctor. “Brilliant, I’ll have that with some lemon then, please.”
“Coming right up.”
“After all that, you ordered tea?” Rose hisses, as she pays the man double what she owes for the trouble, and drags John to wait for their order.
“Well I’ve just had six different kinds of coffee, I thought it was time for a change.”
The Doctor tries desperately not to grin because Rose looks like she’s about to hit him, and she hits rather hard if he’s completely honest, but then her eyes soften, and she wraps her fingers around his palm.
“What are you like, eh?”
Their table is still free when they return with their second round of orders.
They hold hands and stare; their faces leaning forward into the steam of their beverages while underneath the table their feet have lost their shoes and are busy playing footsy with one-another. Thick-bobbled socks run up Rose’s ankles, while her black tights caress the Doctor’s leg in response. They both stare up at the map of South America and without missing a beat, John whispers, “Shall we?”
Rose smiles and thinks of how hot it would be there this time of year, and feels comforted in the Doctor’s suggestion of the both of them travelling and not simply him running away.
“Definitely.”
The Doctor doesn’t dream of visiting far off galaxies anymore, he’s more than happy to stick with the Milky Way.
He might have seen every inch of this planet before, but he hasn’t seen everything with Rose by his side, and he can’t help but think how amazing it is that a map can be that much more exciting when you’re planning an adventure with the one person you’re going to spend the rest of your life with.
Yes that’ll do nicely.
--Fin.
( link to original post )
They hold hands and stare; their faces leaning forward into the steam of their beverages while underneath the table their feet have lost their shoes and are busy playing footsy with one-another. 1, 310.
Written for challenge 41 at then_theres_us
.
Now that she’s back in the atmosphere
I’m afraid that she might think of me as plain ol’ Jane
Told a story about a man who was too afraid to fly so he never did land.
- Train.
As Rose and the Doctor walk down the high street on a severely windy day in January, they debate whether or not it will snow later on tonight, with Rose relying on Torchwood’s meteorologist’s predictions, and the Doctor licking his finger and holding it up to the frigid air for a moment.
(For the record, the Doctor is right in the end, and he celebrates by nearly getting frostbite from prolonged snowman building at one in the morning...)
They take shelter in a nearby coffee shop because the Doctor has had enough of falling over in the ice. Even if it does mean Rose has to help him up and brush the water out of his hair with her gloved palm; giving him that small smile that says she’s concerned but mostly amused.
(The second time he fell over, he launched forward onto the pavement and cut his lip. Luckily a trained professional was on hand to kiss it better.)
In the queue for caffeine they stare gleefully at the muffins and cakes and various sandwich items begging to be bought. The Doctor can’t choose, so Rose suggests the chocolate muffin knowing full well that he’ll be pleasantly surprised by the surprise melted chocolate within.
When she opens her wallet in the queue, he sees a flash of her Torchwood ID shining behind the plastic pocket. Her eyes seem darker, and her soft features are marred by some holographic security seal. He catches her eye and she smiles in response. He can’t help wonder if this Rose is still the same one that helped create the dimension cannon in the first place. And then he can’t help but wonder if he’s the same Doctor that let her go in the first place, or is he just a really good imposter.
He wonders how long it’ll be until she finds him out. He hopes she never does.
He orders a black coffee and instantly regrets it when he tries it at their table. He resists the urge to throw the scalding tar outside into the ice and instead pushes it to the far side of the table.
“Why did you order it if you don’t like it?”
“I rather thought I did. Different taste-buds I guess.” He frowns, running his tongue along his teeth, reminding Rose of those days long ago in the TARDIS.
“Why don’t you try it with some sugar and milk?” Rose suggests, wrapping her hands around the large mug in front of her and taking a grateful sip from the warm coffee.
“What are you drinking?”
“It’s a Caramel Machiatto, try some.” Rose pushes her cup closer to him. She laughs when the drizzled caramel sticks to his nose, and rolls her eyes when instead of using a napkin; the Doctor tries to clean up the foam with his tongue. She finds it strange that something so juvenile still makes her heart swell.
“Lovely,” she smirks, reaching out with the serviette and wiping his nose clean. He smiles at her and all at once feels both madly in love and incredibly patronised, though for the former he does not mind the latter.
“That’s far too sweet.” He complains. “And sugary and strong and just very quite odd.”
“So we can cross black coffee and caramel machiatto off the list then.”
“What’s a frappuccino?” He asks, craning his head to look at the board behind the counter.
“That’s cold, don’t have that, it’s Winter.”
“And I suppose the same logic applies to the iced coffee?”
“Yes.”
“Rightey-o. That leaves...quite a lot actually.”
The Doctor reads everything on the board out loud to Rose. She elaborates with her own deductions if she’s tried them before and if not, she shakes her head, all the while staring up at the map on the wall next to them. All around them there are empty tables, and the Doctor, John, picks the one next to the map. For a fleeting second she fears he’s bored of her, and that all he wants to do is travel, and run away. He did warn her that domesticity wasn’t for him.
Granted they were on a spaceship orbiting a black hole at the time. But here they are in a coffee shop, having come to the city for the day, away from their domestic house, and domestic fence and domestic garden and-
“Rose?” He interrupts her stupor, staring at her as she stares at the map.
“Sorry, what?”
“I said I was going to up to the counter for a closer look, did you want another?”
She looks down at the empty and cooling mug in front of her and suddenly longs for more.
“As if you’d get it right.” She teases, deciding to join him, though she regrets it five minutes later when the Doctor won’t stop badgering the barista with his torrent of questions.
“But what does it taste like?”
The barista frowns, and Rose in turn groans.
“Why don’t I get some sample cups...?” The barista suggests, clearly out of options on how to serve his strange customer, and getting to work on making teeny tiny coffees.
The Doctor announces that the flat white is too bitter and he that he can’t taste anything but foam in the cappuccino. The shot of espresso makes his eye twitch and he complains that the latte is far too milky. Rose doesn’t bring up the fact that the first time she offered him a coffee he wanted nothing but milk...
Instead she calls him Goldilocks for the rest of the day, and when they finally make their way to the till, Rose orders a soy-latte and the Doctor asks if they make tea.
“Yes sir, we do, what kind would you like?”
“I don’t suppose you have any Darjeeling, do you?” The barista smiles, and so does the Doctor. “Brilliant, I’ll have that with some lemon then, please.”
“Coming right up.”
“After all that, you ordered tea?” Rose hisses, as she pays the man double what she owes for the trouble, and drags John to wait for their order.
“Well I’ve just had six different kinds of coffee, I thought it was time for a change.”
The Doctor tries desperately not to grin because Rose looks like she’s about to hit him, and she hits rather hard if he’s completely honest, but then her eyes soften, and she wraps her fingers around his palm.
“What are you like, eh?”
Their table is still free when they return with their second round of orders.
They hold hands and stare; their faces leaning forward into the steam of their beverages while underneath the table their feet have lost their shoes and are busy playing footsy with one-another. Thick-bobbled socks run up Rose’s ankles, while her black tights caress the Doctor’s leg in response. They both stare up at the map of South America and without missing a beat, John whispers, “Shall we?”
Rose smiles and thinks of how hot it would be there this time of year, and feels comforted in the Doctor’s suggestion of the both of them travelling and not simply him running away.
“Definitely.”
The Doctor doesn’t dream of visiting far off galaxies anymore, he’s more than happy to stick with the Milky Way.
He might have seen every inch of this planet before, but he hasn’t seen everything with Rose by his side, and he can’t help but think how amazing it is that a map can be that much more exciting when you’re planning an adventure with the one person you’re going to spend the rest of your life with.
Yes that’ll do nicely.
--Fin.
( link to original post )