FIC: Three People The Doctor Slept With (Or Would Have...)
Title: Three People The Doctor Slept With (Or Would Have If Clothing And Situation Would Have Allowed It)
Rating: PG-13
Fandom: Doctor Who
Ships: Ten/Jackie, Ten/Rose, Ten/Ida
Seven Signs of Aging
Jackie's daughter is a pretty girl and don't boys know it.
When she was young, Jackie was pretty too. When she looks in the mirror, she can see the girl she used to be under the lines and wrinkles and sag. Seems like nobody else can, especially not men. They're more interested in her firm, youthful daughter and who can blame them?
For a while she was all right. She had Rose buzzing around the house, sitting down with a cup of tea to watch Eastenders with her every evening, and she didn't care that men looked at her daughter approvingly before giving her the uninterested once over.
Then Rose was gone and then Mickey was gone and there was nobody left but Jackie, alone and watching Pauline snipe at Martin.
That was when she wished she knew what the Oil of Olay Seven Signs of Aging were.
"Listening to Cliff Richard," says the Doctor, scrabbling with the foil top of his chocolate milkshake in vain. "I bet that's number one."
Jackie glances at her record collection and grimaces, moving Rose's Pulp CDs up on top of Summer Holiday.
"How do you open these things?" says the Doctor, sliding his finger over the foil in bewilderment.
"Give it here." Jackie grows her left thumb nail long especially for opening these things. She pierces the foil with it.
The Doctor is fiddling with his straw, chewing it absent mindedly. A slip of pink tongue glides over the plastic and back into his mouth. Jackie uses her thumb to open the hole she's pierced in the foil wider.
The straw is dangling out of the Doctor's mouth at a crooked angle when Jackie tips the chocolate milk over him, soaking his trousers.
"Oh no," she says, smiling. "We'd better get you out of those wet clothes."
The Doctor, quite calm for someone who's just had chocolate milk poured over him, bends over and licks the sleeve of Jackie's jumper.
"You too," he says.
I Know
"Have you ever seen the Star Wars films?"
"Yeah, terribly inaccurate."
Rose, sitting with her back against the outside of the TARDIS, snorts. "Jedi don't exist then?"
The Doctor doesn't hear the sarcasm in her voice. "No, no," he says, peering at the horizon. "See, it's just coming up now! White sun. If you look close you can see it."
Rose squints. "Where?"
"In the sky!"
"Well, yeah, but which dire--oh, I see it, I see it!"
The Doctor spins, clapping his hands over her eyes. "Don't look directly at it! Didn't anyone ever tell you that?"
"Right, right." She pulls his hands away, and doesn't drop them immediately. Standing with one hand slung into his, she asks, "What did you think of Han Solo?"
"Who?"
"You know, in the Star Wars films."
"Oh, right." The Doctor shrugs. "I liked Obi-Wan Kenobi better."
Rose licks her lips, glancing at him out of the corner of her eye. "But I didn't have a crush on Obi-Wan Kenobi."
"Neither did I."
In some ways, Rose thought, he could be such a typical man. Absolutely clueless. "To put it another way," she said, "does the TARDIS have any Han Solo-ish costumes?"
The Doctor shrugs. "Probably, you never know when you might need to crash a science fiction convention."
"And how do you think you'd look in it?"
Now the Doctor looks slyly at her, grinning. "Oh, it's like that, is it?"
Rose takes a strand of blonde hair and holds it into as best a donut hairstyle as she can, raising her eyebrows at the Doctor.
"Gold bikini?"
"Of course."
"You're fantastic."
"I know."
A Long Documentary
"I've read stories where people are trapped like this," says Ida.
"This isn't a story."
Ida doesn't need to say she knows. The Doctor can see that written all over her.
"At this point, one of us should pull out a handy whistle that will summon a spaceship to us," says Ida, and the Doctor can't help thinking he should look into that as it's not a bad idea, "or say we've got the ability to fly and just neglected to mention it."
"Can you fly?"
"No, can you?"
"No."
Ida's shoulders sag lower.
"I can juggle though."
Ida smiles at that. "I make a great cup of tea."
"Don't underestimate that," says the Doctor, putting a hand on her shoulder.
Ida shakes her head. "I thought I'd at least... go in some frenzied fight with lots of screaming and gunfire, not stuck in a cramped suit for... oh, who knows how long." She sucks in her breath. "Well, your life's supposed to flash before your eyes. For me it's going to be more like an hour long documentary." She smiles wryly.
The Doctor's simply frowning at her. "I liked it better when we were talking about my juggling."
"Sorry. I'm sure you're very good. I could never get the hang of it."
The Doctor shuffles closer to her so that their thighs touch. "I'll think of something."
The pit looks so much darker and deeper than it did when they first saw it. Their eyes fix on it, unable to trail away to look at anything else.
"I'm not scared," says Ida.
"No."
"Just... miffed."
"Miffed."
"Mmm."
"That's an interesting choice of word."
Her head is on his shoulder. If her head was free of her helmet, her lips would be on his neck. That's not an unpleasant thought. He lays a hand on hers, squeezes gently.
"There are a couple of rocks here," he says. "I could teach you to juggle."
Rating: PG-13
Fandom: Doctor Who
Ships: Ten/Jackie, Ten/Rose, Ten/Ida
Seven Signs of Aging
Jackie's daughter is a pretty girl and don't boys know it.
When she was young, Jackie was pretty too. When she looks in the mirror, she can see the girl she used to be under the lines and wrinkles and sag. Seems like nobody else can, especially not men. They're more interested in her firm, youthful daughter and who can blame them?
For a while she was all right. She had Rose buzzing around the house, sitting down with a cup of tea to watch Eastenders with her every evening, and she didn't care that men looked at her daughter approvingly before giving her the uninterested once over.
Then Rose was gone and then Mickey was gone and there was nobody left but Jackie, alone and watching Pauline snipe at Martin.
That was when she wished she knew what the Oil of Olay Seven Signs of Aging were.
"Listening to Cliff Richard," says the Doctor, scrabbling with the foil top of his chocolate milkshake in vain. "I bet that's number one."
Jackie glances at her record collection and grimaces, moving Rose's Pulp CDs up on top of Summer Holiday.
"How do you open these things?" says the Doctor, sliding his finger over the foil in bewilderment.
"Give it here." Jackie grows her left thumb nail long especially for opening these things. She pierces the foil with it.
The Doctor is fiddling with his straw, chewing it absent mindedly. A slip of pink tongue glides over the plastic and back into his mouth. Jackie uses her thumb to open the hole she's pierced in the foil wider.
The straw is dangling out of the Doctor's mouth at a crooked angle when Jackie tips the chocolate milk over him, soaking his trousers.
"Oh no," she says, smiling. "We'd better get you out of those wet clothes."
The Doctor, quite calm for someone who's just had chocolate milk poured over him, bends over and licks the sleeve of Jackie's jumper.
"You too," he says.
I Know
"Have you ever seen the Star Wars films?"
"Yeah, terribly inaccurate."
Rose, sitting with her back against the outside of the TARDIS, snorts. "Jedi don't exist then?"
The Doctor doesn't hear the sarcasm in her voice. "No, no," he says, peering at the horizon. "See, it's just coming up now! White sun. If you look close you can see it."
Rose squints. "Where?"
"In the sky!"
"Well, yeah, but which dire--oh, I see it, I see it!"
The Doctor spins, clapping his hands over her eyes. "Don't look directly at it! Didn't anyone ever tell you that?"
"Right, right." She pulls his hands away, and doesn't drop them immediately. Standing with one hand slung into his, she asks, "What did you think of Han Solo?"
"Who?"
"You know, in the Star Wars films."
"Oh, right." The Doctor shrugs. "I liked Obi-Wan Kenobi better."
Rose licks her lips, glancing at him out of the corner of her eye. "But I didn't have a crush on Obi-Wan Kenobi."
"Neither did I."
In some ways, Rose thought, he could be such a typical man. Absolutely clueless. "To put it another way," she said, "does the TARDIS have any Han Solo-ish costumes?"
The Doctor shrugs. "Probably, you never know when you might need to crash a science fiction convention."
"And how do you think you'd look in it?"
Now the Doctor looks slyly at her, grinning. "Oh, it's like that, is it?"
Rose takes a strand of blonde hair and holds it into as best a donut hairstyle as she can, raising her eyebrows at the Doctor.
"Gold bikini?"
"Of course."
"You're fantastic."
"I know."
A Long Documentary
"I've read stories where people are trapped like this," says Ida.
"This isn't a story."
Ida doesn't need to say she knows. The Doctor can see that written all over her.
"At this point, one of us should pull out a handy whistle that will summon a spaceship to us," says Ida, and the Doctor can't help thinking he should look into that as it's not a bad idea, "or say we've got the ability to fly and just neglected to mention it."
"Can you fly?"
"No, can you?"
"No."
Ida's shoulders sag lower.
"I can juggle though."
Ida smiles at that. "I make a great cup of tea."
"Don't underestimate that," says the Doctor, putting a hand on her shoulder.
Ida shakes her head. "I thought I'd at least... go in some frenzied fight with lots of screaming and gunfire, not stuck in a cramped suit for... oh, who knows how long." She sucks in her breath. "Well, your life's supposed to flash before your eyes. For me it's going to be more like an hour long documentary." She smiles wryly.
The Doctor's simply frowning at her. "I liked it better when we were talking about my juggling."
"Sorry. I'm sure you're very good. I could never get the hang of it."
The Doctor shuffles closer to her so that their thighs touch. "I'll think of something."
The pit looks so much darker and deeper than it did when they first saw it. Their eyes fix on it, unable to trail away to look at anything else.
"I'm not scared," says Ida.
"No."
"Just... miffed."
"Miffed."
"Mmm."
"That's an interesting choice of word."
Her head is on his shoulder. If her head was free of her helmet, her lips would be on his neck. That's not an unpleasant thought. He lays a hand on hers, squeezes gently.
"There are a couple of rocks here," he says. "I could teach you to juggle."