[Doctor Who] "Old Clothes for New" (PG)
Author's Note: Written for comment_fic's Doctor Who, the Doctor, putting on the clothes of an earlier incarnation Featuring Nine, Rose and the TARDIS wardrobe
The wardrobe on board the TARDIS made Rose think of Aladdin's cave in the faery tales, only with clothes: much wider selection than Henrik's ever carried, and with things from every historical time she could recognize plus some she couldn't. For that matter, they might not even have come from Earth or they might come from future times.
"Roman togas, medieval togs -- got any armor?" she asked, running her hands over the garments, feeling the different textures and admiring the colors.
"Armor's not clothing. More like a weapon," the Doctor replied.
"But you wear it, you don't throw it. What makes it a weapon?"
"Not all weapons work on the offensive," the Doctor replied. "My wits do me just fine: don't need armor."
She came upon a long black coat and a pair of tartan trews slung on the same hanger, next to an off-white cricketer's jacket, like something out of a costume drama. On another hanger, she found a long, garish coat made of many colors and swatches of fabrics. "Quite a lot of stuff," she said, running her fingers over a scuffed brown leather jacket, cut not unlike the one the Doctor wore. "You wear all this stuff?"
"Not all at once," he quipped.
She snerked. "Didn't think so," she said, fingering a scarf made of a wacky selection of colors -- maroon, khaki, grey-purple, tan, gold -- that, as she unlooped it from its hanger, seemed to go on forever.
"'Ere, put that back," the Doctor said, all but snatching it from her -- no easy feat, given the length.
"Oh, you wore this one, at least," she said, smirking at him and letting him have the scarf.
"Wot makes you think that?" he demanded, though he raised one eyebrow inquisitively.
"Acting protective all of a sudden," she said. "So you did wear this, at least?"
"Wore several of these outfits," he said, gazing on the rack of clothes, his pale eyes softening, wistfully. "I was a different man, when I wore them. Clothes make the man, eh?"
"Go on, then, try something on," she said.
"No," he said, emphatically, but with a smile that would have signified an apology, if anyone else had smiled that way.
"Come on, I won't tell," she said. "Just you and me here."
"Sorry, but no. And wheedlin' won't do you no good," he replied, lightly, hanging up the scarf.
She glanced to the scuffed brown leather jacket. "What about this? It'd suit you well," she said.
He backed away a half step, shaking his head. "No. Not that in particular: wore that... well, not worth talkin' about. All in the past, eh?"
"Not a happy time, I take it," she said.
"Not one I care to talk about," he said, and the look on his face brooked no argument.
She didn't press him any further on the matter, nor on the clothes. She didn't think any more of it, as she went about the matter of getting her lunch. She had just finished dialing up the right code for fish (no luck with chips), when she heard footsteps approaching.
"Well, come on, have a look," the Doctor's voice said. She looked up to find him standing in the doorway to the galley, clad in a rust colored corduroy jacket over tweed trousers, topped off with a brown fedora worn straight on and that wacky colored scarf wound two or three times around his neck, with the ends dangling in front.
She laughed out loud. "You look like some hippy professor," she said.
"S'pose I wuz a bit o' one when I wore these," he said, sticking one hand into the deep pockets of the jacket and pulling out a yo-yo. He smirked at it before holding it up. "Used to use this to take gravity readings. Handy when y' visit a new planet."
"I can see you doin' that. Hippy part not so much, but you said you was a different man back then," she mused. "I like this look."
"Don't get too used to it: too much like a costume, this," he said.
"Wouldn't make you wear this for long," she said. "Good for a lark, but not for every day wear."
The wardrobe on board the TARDIS made Rose think of Aladdin's cave in the faery tales, only with clothes: much wider selection than Henrik's ever carried, and with things from every historical time she could recognize plus some she couldn't. For that matter, they might not even have come from Earth or they might come from future times.
"Roman togas, medieval togs -- got any armor?" she asked, running her hands over the garments, feeling the different textures and admiring the colors.
"Armor's not clothing. More like a weapon," the Doctor replied.
"But you wear it, you don't throw it. What makes it a weapon?"
"Not all weapons work on the offensive," the Doctor replied. "My wits do me just fine: don't need armor."
She came upon a long black coat and a pair of tartan trews slung on the same hanger, next to an off-white cricketer's jacket, like something out of a costume drama. On another hanger, she found a long, garish coat made of many colors and swatches of fabrics. "Quite a lot of stuff," she said, running her fingers over a scuffed brown leather jacket, cut not unlike the one the Doctor wore. "You wear all this stuff?"
"Not all at once," he quipped.
She snerked. "Didn't think so," she said, fingering a scarf made of a wacky selection of colors -- maroon, khaki, grey-purple, tan, gold -- that, as she unlooped it from its hanger, seemed to go on forever.
"'Ere, put that back," the Doctor said, all but snatching it from her -- no easy feat, given the length.
"Oh, you wore this one, at least," she said, smirking at him and letting him have the scarf.
"Wot makes you think that?" he demanded, though he raised one eyebrow inquisitively.
"Acting protective all of a sudden," she said. "So you did wear this, at least?"
"Wore several of these outfits," he said, gazing on the rack of clothes, his pale eyes softening, wistfully. "I was a different man, when I wore them. Clothes make the man, eh?"
"Go on, then, try something on," she said.
"No," he said, emphatically, but with a smile that would have signified an apology, if anyone else had smiled that way.
"Come on, I won't tell," she said. "Just you and me here."
"Sorry, but no. And wheedlin' won't do you no good," he replied, lightly, hanging up the scarf.
She glanced to the scuffed brown leather jacket. "What about this? It'd suit you well," she said.
He backed away a half step, shaking his head. "No. Not that in particular: wore that... well, not worth talkin' about. All in the past, eh?"
"Not a happy time, I take it," she said.
"Not one I care to talk about," he said, and the look on his face brooked no argument.
She didn't press him any further on the matter, nor on the clothes. She didn't think any more of it, as she went about the matter of getting her lunch. She had just finished dialing up the right code for fish (no luck with chips), when she heard footsteps approaching.
"Well, come on, have a look," the Doctor's voice said. She looked up to find him standing in the doorway to the galley, clad in a rust colored corduroy jacket over tweed trousers, topped off with a brown fedora worn straight on and that wacky colored scarf wound two or three times around his neck, with the ends dangling in front.
She laughed out loud. "You look like some hippy professor," she said.
"S'pose I wuz a bit o' one when I wore these," he said, sticking one hand into the deep pockets of the jacket and pulling out a yo-yo. He smirked at it before holding it up. "Used to use this to take gravity readings. Handy when y' visit a new planet."
"I can see you doin' that. Hippy part not so much, but you said you was a different man back then," she mused. "I like this look."
"Don't get too used to it: too much like a costume, this," he said.
"Wouldn't make you wear this for long," she said. "Good for a lark, but not for every day wear."