Just Our Luck, Chapter 4
Title: Just Our Luck
Author: my_meta_twin
Pairing: 10/Rose
Summary: A brush with death too close even for the Doctor's liking leads him to make the most important decision of his life.
Rating: Teen
Authors' Notes: This story is dedicated with all the love in the world to two of the most awesome people ever to like Doctor Who: kelkat9 and who_in_whoville, who are two sisters of a secret Dalek cult, but we're not telling anyone.
6 Months Later...
“Honey, I’m ho-ome!” Rose sang as she pushed open the door to the flat.
A wide variety of clangs and crashes coming from the kitchen made Rose wince. “No, no, don’t come in yet! Just…give me a moment!”
Rose sighed, though a small smile played at her lips. She turned and hung up her jacket and bag, pausing for a moment to take in the two framed photographs prominently displayed on the entryway table. One was of her and the Doctor, taken at their real wedding in Las Vegas. Both of them were clad in jeans and trainers and standing with a slightly portlier version of Captain Kirk. Rose was clutching a bouquet of metallic silver flowers, and they were both wearing identical, slightly-tipsy grins.
Rose giggled a bit to herself as she remembered her mum’s horrified screech upon seeing their wedding rings.
“You said you were going on holiday, Rose! A holiday to Las Vegas. You did not tell me that you were going there to elope!”
“Well, Jackie,” the Doctor had interjected. “That is rather the point of an elopement.”
“Oh, shut it, you,” Jackie shot back.
“Mum, leave him alone! This is what we wanted to do.”
“But what about you? You’ll never get to be a bride now!” Jackie had moaned. “What about the white dress? The tuxedo? The flowers? Everybody buying you gifts and you standing up in front of your family and friends and promising to love each other forever? That sounds pretty bloody nice to me!”
“Presents?” the Doctor perked up. “Rose, no one said anything about presents…”
“I’m trying to make a point, Doctor!” Rose turned back to her mother. “We don’t need all of that, Mum? Honestly, can you picture it? Besides,” she turned to the Doctor and grinned at him cheekily. “this is my first marriage! I wanted it to be special!”
“Oi!” the Doctor protested, and an entirely new argument began.
Jackie had been miserable for days after, moping around her flat, calling Rose constantly and complaining about how now she would never see her only daughter get married. Eventually, the Doctor couldn’t take it anymore and agreed to a small, intimate ceremony and reception that included a chocolate cake with banana crème icing and edible ball bearings.
The photo was obviously posed, the pair of them smiling stiffly and standing on either side of Jackie, who had a look of triumph on her face. Still, the evening hadn‘t been all bad. Rose’s dress was gorgeous and the Doctor had looked scrumptious in his tux. He had held her close as they danced to Etta James, and the cake had been positively sinful.
Rose considered the life they had built over the last six months of the Doctor being human. The TARDIS had integrated him into society, and he’d immediately found a letter from Imperial College offering him a position as a lecturer in their Physics department. His magnificent ship had also provided him with all of the necessary identification papers and information for his old UNIT bank account, which had accrued significant interest over the last several decades. That and the fact that she had moved herself to the unused second bedroom of their flat almost the moment they had signed the paperwork led Rose to believe that she was trying to make up for the fact that she had taken the Doctor’s knowledge of how to pilot her.
Once the Doctor had accepted the position, Rose had decided to go and do her A-Level courses. She really hadn’t the faintest idea what she would want to study, so she had decided on a basic course of Literature, Chemistry, and History. Of course, it was difficult to write her essays with her husband chirping in her ear about how it really happened, but she managed. Her marks were high thus far, and she would be thinking about university eventually.
Their lives were far from boring. Even as a human, the Doctor was unable to sate his wanderlust, and they had gone on several minibreaks and a couple of week-long excursions all over the world. He had taken up moderating the Broadway Club at the university, learned to knit, and had recently decided to become a master chef. They were living a full life. There was never a dull moment. Not in the same way as running for one’s life, but in a…domestic way.
No wonder her feet had been itching lately. And, based on his multitude of fascinating hobbies and frequent vacations, the Doctor’s were, too.
The sound of footsteps coming from the kitchen cut off Rose’s musings. There he was, her lovely husband, clad in his socks and pinstriped trousers. His light-colored Oxford was covered by his “Trust me, I’m a Doctor,” apron, which was currently spotted with what Rose sincerely hoped was tomato sauce.
“Hello, love!” the Doctor greeted, pulling her into his embrace and kissing her. Rose giggled as he dipped her down dramatically, never once taking his lips from hers.
She grinned at him once he broke their kiss. “Miss me?”
“Terribly.” He returned her smile and pulled her to her feet. “I’m cooking.”
“Hmm, hadn’t noticed.”
“Cheeky,” he admonished, slapping her bottom gently. “La parmigiana di pollo. I tell you what, Rose, the chicken was so fresh you would have sworn I had plucked it myself. Just gorgeous. And the tomatoes? Fuggedaboudit.”
“I think you’re mixing up your Italians, Doctor,” Rose chastised, allowing him to take her hand and lead her into the kitchen.
“Oi! Just because they do not reside in Italy, it does not mean the Sopranos are any less Italian, thank you very much.”
“Actually, that’s exactly what it means.”
“And for that, you are on salad duty. Vegetables are in the crisper.”
“You sure know how to charm a girl,” Rose muttered, washing her hands before she began assembling the ingredients. The Doctor was chattering to her about his day while he seasoned the bread crumbs to perfection. He inquired after her day, and she replied excitedly.
“We’re doing Shakespeare!” Rose told him.
“Ah, brilliant!” The Doctor beamed at her. “Did you tell your instructor that you were propositioned by the Bard himself?”
Rose giggled. “Absolutely not. He would think I was completely mad!”
“Well, I didn’t want to say anything…”
“Oi!” Rose turned and swatted at him with a dish towel. “Most of the staff in your department thinks I’m mad anyway, I should just go with it.”
“Why on Earth would they think that, Rose Tyler-Smith?”
“Because I put ketchup on my chips. Why do you think?” Rose turned away from the carrots she was chopping to look at the Doctor. “Because I’m married to you, my darling.”
He halted in his task and turned, beaming at her like she was the most brilliant creature in creation. Rose’s breath caught. Despite the fact that she did sorely miss running for her life, she wasn’t sure she would ever get tired of the Doctor looking at her like that.
“That you are,” he whispered, crossing the room in and instant. He pressed his body up against hers and kissed her deeply. Rose swooned, her hands immediately seeking purchase on the counter behind her.
“Ouch!” Rose squealed suddenly, breaking the kiss and cradling her right hand in her left.
“What?” the Doctor asked, slightly panicked. “What’s happened? What did you do?”
“Placed my hand on the chopping knife, apparently,” Rose replied, breathing heavily. “Blimey, that hurts.”
“Well, come on, let’s get some pressure on it.” He grabbed a clean dish towel and wrapped Rose’s palm in it. “Here, press down with your left, and keep it elevated. I must clean my hands. No point in helping you get better if I infect your injury with salmonella, is there?”
Rose laughed weakly. The Doctor scrubbed his hands and returned to her side within half a minute, at that point she had grown very pale.
“Rose?” he asked, placing his finger under her chin and encouraging her to look at him. “You’re fine. I’m going to unwrap the towel now. We need to clean your cut and make sure you don’t need stitches. Are you gonna be okay?”
Rose took a deep breath. “Yeah, I’m okay. Just don’t like blood very much.”
“Hoo, you picked the wrong man to marry,” the Doctor muttered. “Okay, look away if you need to. One, two, three…”
He carefully removed the bloodstained towel from her hand. Rose wasn’t watching, but she could feel his gentle ministrations. Once the last layer of terrycloth had been removed from her hand, she heard the Doctor gasp.
“What?” Rose asked, trying not to let her nerves show. “Am I ever gonna be able to play piano again?”
“Rose,” he began. His voice was low, even. He was fighting for control. “You might want to look at this.”
Curious, Rose opened her eyes and, immediately, her left hand flew to her mouth. The place where she had sliced open her palm was bathed in a warm, golden light. They were both completely speechless, and they stared open-mouthed at the spectacle in front of them. Once the light had dissipated, her palm was left completely healed, without even the slightest hint of a scar.
The Doctor met her wide and fearful eyes. His own were set and determined. “You. TARDIS. Now.”