Do I Twist, Do I Fold 1/3
The jump seat creaks as Rose slides down, curving her back against the worn fabric and reaching with her toes for the edge of the console. Her legs aren’t quite long enough, and she nearly falls to the grated floor.
This is the most exciting thing that has happened all day.
With a sigh, she tucks her legs beneath her again and looks down to where the Doctor’s plimsoll-clad feet stick out from under the TARDIS console. His right foot is moving slightly, tapping to a rhythm she cannot hear. She returns to her book.
After a few minutes, he breaks the silence, his voice muffled by wires and metal. “Mahna mahna.”
“Doo doo, do do do,” she replies without looking up.
“Mahna mahna.”
“Doo doo doo do.”
“Mahna mahna.”
“Doo doo, do do do; do do do, do do do, do…seriously, though, how long is this going to take?”
He chuckles, and then she hears the snap of a sparking wire and a yelp. “Bored already?” he asks, the words garbled by what she imagines is the presence of his singed finger in his mouth.
Rose sets the book aside and hops off the jump seat. She crawls beneath the console until a low-hanging cluster of wires forces her to lie on her back and wriggle until she’s lying beside him, the glowing lights of the console’s underbelly in her face. A wire tickles her nose, and she brushes it away.
“I’m not bored,” she says sulkily.
He glances away from the clump of unidentifiable something he’s struggling with and grins at her. “Yes, you are.”
His smug expression is in shadow but for the green and blue lights that shine around them. He makes a self-satisfied noise and tiny orange bulbs are added to the mix, and in the glow he looks at once unfamiliarly alien and much like he did that night at the carnival in Louisiana when he ate too much candy floss and whined for hours about his poor Time Lord tummy.
She must have an unusually contemplative look on her face, because he nudges her with his elbow and asks, “Something bothering you?”
She doesn’t know how to verbalize this strange contradiction she’s lived with in the years she’s lived with him. He is not human, but sometimes he plays the game so well she thinks they both forget. She reaches over his chest and holds a tangle of wire steady for him as he fiddles with the insulation. “Nothing, really. I just…I always meant to ask, but…you’re telepathic?”
He stills. “Ah,” he says, and she knows he’s stalling, buying time to decide which truth to tell her. “Chloe Webber. I thought that might come up.”
“You’d said before, but I wasn’t sure if it was a joke or not.”
“It’s not something I do very often. I don’t really…”
His reluctance is palpable in the close space between them, and she sighs. “We don’t have to talk about it.”
He turns his head and gives her a grateful smile. “Maybe later?”
She nods and knows that this is a conversation they will never have unless circumstances force them into it. She’s become accustomed to questions left unanswered.
“Pizza!” he says suddenly, and she jumps, startled.
“Pizza?”
“Pizza,” he repeats with great authority, worming his way out from beneath the console with an ease she envies. She barely avoids knocking her head against a hunk of metal that resembles half a car bumper as she follows him. Once she finally makes it out, he helps her to her feet, his beaming face smudged with dust and grease. “Just what we need for a lazy Sunday afternoon in the TARDIS.” He begins setting coordinates, and she has to jump out of the way as he flies around the controls.
“It’s Sunday?” she asks, bemused.
“Figuratively speaking, Rose.” The TARDIS leaves the vortex with a jolt, and he throws an arm around her waist to keep her upright. When he loses his balance a moment later, she goes tumbling to the floor with him. On top of him.
“Ooh,” he moans. “Your knee is crushing my spleen.”
She rolls off him and laughs. “Your spleen is in your thigh?”
“One of them was,” he answers with a ridiculous grimace.
“You are so full of it.”
He glares at her as she pulls him to his feet. “Last time I try chivalry ‘round you, if this is how you repay me.”
“Baby.” She moves to the monitor and has to give it a bit of a smack before the picture appears. She looks out onto a busy city street. “Where are we?”
“New York City, half a block from Big Tony’s Heroes and Pizza.” He stands behind her. “Which is in…” he points to the right side of the screen, “that direction.” He sighs wistfully. “Undoubtedly the best pizza in the universe. Well, except for those few weeks in 1984, of course.”
“Of course.” She watches people hurry by and shakes her head. “I can’t believe no one noticed the TARDIS materialize.”
He leans back against the console, rolling his eyes. “Please. This is Manhattan. Even without the TARDIS’ perception filters, I’d be amazed if anyone so much as gave us a second glace.”
“I suppose that means we’re not ordering delivery.”
“Not exactly,” he hedges, a look of slight apprehension appearing on his face. “Since I have repairs to finish, I thought…”
She folds her arms over her chest. “You thought?”
“Stop looking at me as if I’ve made you my intergalactic errand girl,” he says defensively. “You were bored. Think of it as an adventure.”
She doesn’t really mind, but has no intention of letting him know that. She sighs exasperatedly, hiding a smile. “All right, I’ll go. What do you want?”
He grins and rubs his hands together in anticipation. “Ooh! Extra large, extra cheese, extra sauce.” He pauses. “And pineapple.”
“No.”
“Rose-”
“Will they even have pineapple?”
His smile turns wicked. “Big Tony knows what I like.”
“That’s…” She laughs, her nose wrinkling. “I’m not going to touch that one.”
“Wise choice.” They simply stand there for a moment, grinning at each other like the idiots they know themselves to be. It’s one of those rare moments when their fabled forever feels like the grates beneath their feet and the glow of time rotor - here and home and impossibly possible.
He is always the first to look away.
“Get a move on, then,” he says, shooing her toward the doors. “The perfect pizza pie waits for no man.” He pauses. “Or woman…human, girl-type thing.” He mimes cracking a whip and affects a broad American accent. “Git along, little doggie.”
“First off-” She points a finger at him. “That thing you just did? Never again. Second,” she holds out her empty hand, “money?”
“Right! Money!” He begins to search through his pockets, pulling out one random, inexplicable object after another. “I know I have some in here somewhere…”
“Probably not in the Russian nesting dolls,” she says dryly.
He winks at her. “Well, we can’t be sure until I check them all, can we?”
She sighs. “Doctor-”
“Aha! Good old American buckaroos.” He waves a handful of dollar bills in her face and then slaps them onto her open palm. “Go crazy. Buy yourself a lemonade.”
She counts the money quickly, aware that attention to this sort of detail isn’t exactly his strong point. “Doctor, what year is it?”
He squints into the distance for a moment, as if doing complicated maths in his head. “2007,” he says finally. “August.”
“Then I’m probably going to need about ten more dollars.”
“Really?” He frowns, but hands over the rest of the money. “You humans and your inflation.”
“You aliens and your pineapple,” she tosses over her shoulder with a grin as she makes her way to the TARDIS doors, tucking the money into her jeans pocket.
“Oi!” he calls after her. “I’ll have you know that plenty of people enjoy the tangy sweetness of-”
She closes the door behind her, cutting off the rest of his sentence. The humidity of a New York summer hits her like a wall, and she shrugs off her hoodie. She’s been here before with him, but it’s different now that she’s alone and so close to her own time. She grins and, heading to the right, lets herself get lost in the bustle of people around her. She doesn’t go far before she sees a somewhat faded sign for Big Tony’s.
A bell tinkles as she pushes the door open and enters. The place is mostly empty, a few patrons lingering in cracked red booths, a single businessman perched on a stool at the counter. An ancient air conditioner whines overhead, fighting a losing battle against the late afternoon heat. The heavy smell of tomatoes and grease is divine.
A short, wiry man behind the register gives her a sly half-grin. “Hey, kid. What can I get for you?”
She bites her lip, unsure of what to get for herself. “One…um…small pizza with mushrooms, please.” The Doctor won’t touch mushrooms (not anymore) so she’s sure to have it all to herself. “And one extra large with extra sauce, extra cheese, and…” She winces. “Pineapple.”
The man laughs. “Oh no, sweetheart. Not you, too.” He tilts his head to indicate the businessman sitting at the far end of the counter, who looks up from his phone call, gives her a brilliant grin, and wiggles his fingers at her in a silly sort of wave.
She smiles and waves back, then turns to the man behind the register. “Sorry, it’s not me. My friend, he…he really likes pineapple.” She leans forward and confides, “I think it’s rubbish on pizza, myself.”
They share a conspiratorial grin as she pays, and he tells her the pies should be ready in twenty minutes. She perches on a stool to wait and feels herself begin to sweat in the close heat.
“I couldn’t help but notice,” says a smooth voice by her ear, “the presence of a fellow countrywoman.” She looks up, startled, to see that the businessman has appeared beside her. He smiles winningly. “May I join you?”
He sits before she can respond, dropping his plate to the counter and setting his mobile beside it, still open. His slice of pizza is untouched but for where she can see he’s picked off the pieces of pineapple.
“I’m only waiting for my pizzas,” she says, not wanting to be unfriendly but unwilling to encourage his attentions. “My friend is expecting me.”
“Lucky man.” The words are casually, effortlessly flirtatious, and she notes the cut of his suit and the rich, subtle scent of his aftershave. Brilliant, she thinks. I’ve landed one with money. Her mother would be overjoyed. All Rose can think of is escape.
She’s about to make her excuses and wander the sidewalks while she waits, heat be damned, when he leans in, his elbow bumping hers where it rests on the counter. “You,” he says, voice low, “look a bit parched. New York summer getting you down?”
He says it in a flat, American accent, like he’s repeating an advert from television or the side of a bus. New York summer getting you down? Call Bargain Bob’s Heating and Cooling. It’s a breeze!
She gives him a tight smile, shifting to put more distance between them. “I’m fine.”
The businessman smiles back, and she feels herself relax slightly. She isn’t interested, but he is undeniably attractive, and sometimes it’s nice to be noticed. She meets his eyes and he stares back at her, his grin fading as she is drawn in by his gaze, brown and dark and somehow-
He snaps his head to the side, turning to lean over the counter that separates them from the kitchen. He stands up on the rungs of the stool, one hand nearly landing in his slice of pizza, the other covering his mobile. She hears a faint beep as he accidentally pushes a few buttons. “Garcon!” he cries, his tone playful. The wiry man who took her order turns to glare at him. “A lemonade for the lady.”
“Sure thing,” the wiry man grumbles. When he reaches over the partition to pass her the sweating Styrofoam cup, the businessman snatches it out of his hand.
“Ta, Tony,” he says with a wink. “Put it on my tab.”
‘Big’ Tony rolls his eyes and returns to work. Rose smirks and accepts the lemonade when the stranger offers it with a flourish. “He doesn’t seem to like you much,” she says.
“I know! Isn’t it brilliant?” He props his chin up on his hand and watches her drink. The lemonade is delicious, if a bit too sweet for her taste. “I’ve been in here every day this week and nothing in my considerable arsenal of charm will wear him down. And I’ve tried everything - card tricks, pony rides, belly dancing…” He waggles his eyebrows at her. “Hypnosis.”
She giggles. “Hard to believe the belly dancing didn’t do the trick.”
“Well,” he drawls, and suddenly the look in his eyes is one of unambiguous seduction, his expression predatory and appraising. “I don’t like to brag, but I’ve got the hips for it.”
His voice is still light, still teasing, and she thinks she might be imagining the heat in his gaze. His eyes drop to her mouth, and she realises that she’s licking the sugar from her lips. She stops immediately and looks away.
She doesn’t want to flirt with him. She wants to pick up her pizzas and return to the TARDIS, where she can spend a lazy not-Sunday not-afternoon with the Doctor, tinkering and laughing and leaving greasy fingerprints all over the console. Her heartbeat is too loud in her ears, and she thinks it must be the heat. She takes another long drink of her lemonade.
She can feel him staring at her, and she hates herself a little for the blush that warms her cheeks. She feels vulnerable and unsettled, and the unwavering attention that was flattering a moment ago makes the skin at the back of her neck prickle.
His fingers curl around her wrist, cool and smooth against her skin, and he leans into her, his shoulder brushing hers. “I’m lying,” he whispers. “I love to brag.”
Rose pulls her hand away, moving it to her lap. “That’s enough.”
His grin turns harmless and he holds his hands up in a gesture of surrender. “So sorry. I must have misinterpreted.” He looks more delighted than contrite. “Suppose I got a bit carried away, didn’t I? Long way from home, miss the wife, you know how it is.” He chuckles to himself as if he’d made a particularly clever joke.
“It’s all right,” she says, though it isn’t. She tries to meet Tony’s gaze over the partition, silently urging him to hurry, but though he’s looking in her direction, he doesn’t seem to notice.
“You’re a long way from home yourself.”
“Just passing through,” she answers automatically, staring at the metal napkin dispenser in front of her and avoiding his eyes.
“You and your friend?” he asks casually, and something cold and hard settles low in her stomach, something her years of travel through time and space have taught her not to ignore.
“What about you?” she says, her voice every bit as nonchalant as his as she slowly, subtly slips her hand into her jeans pocket for her mobile. “Here on business?”
At the emphasis she places on that last word, he hoots and slaps his hand down on the counter. Startled, she turns to find him beaming at her like she’s his prize gourd at a farm fair.
“Oh, look at you,” he croons. “I adore you.” Before she can react his fingers wrap around her wrist again, tightening like steel bands. “Oh dear. Is it too soon in our budding relationship for me to say things like that? Am I being forward?”
“Let go of me right now,” she shouts, her voice thundering over the murmur of the other patrons and the hum of the air conditioner. No one so much as flinches. “Tony!” He doesn’t even look up from the dough he’s pounding.
The stranger tuts and shakes his head. “The apathy of the average American. Shocking, isn’t it?”
She struggles, knocking over her stool in the process, but the grip on her hand is too strong. “What have you done? Why can’t they see me?”
He yanks her to him and she slides across the floor, just barely catching herself on the edge of the counter with her free hand. “Oh, Rose,” he sighs. “I expected better from you. Is that really all you’ve got?” His voice goes high and shrill. “What have you done? What’s your evil plan? Why are you so naughty?” He deflates a little, looking woeful. “I suppose it’s my own fault for getting my hopes up too high. I have been so looking forward to meeting you, the great Rose Tyler.” He savours the sound of her name, rolling the syllables over his tongue, and the intimacy of it makes her cold.
“It’s a perception filter, isn’t it? Makes us invisible?” she asks. He reacts as exactly as she’d hoped he would, rolling his eyes in the manner of someone used to suffering fools.
“What is he teaching you? Yes, Rose, the Doctor is a sexy, geeky little Albus Dumbledore who hides his TARDIS beneath a Cloak of Invisibility. Well spotted.” He pulls hard on her wrist, wrenching her shoulder. She whimpers pitifully, and notes with satisfaction his expression of disdain. “A perception filter doesn’t make you invisible, you little twit, just unnoticeable. There’s no way it would hold up under the ruckus you’re making. With this, on the other hand,” and there it is, a tiny, unconscious motion of his chin to indicate something behind him - his mobile. “You could scream bloody murder and no one in the city would so much as lift a finger to help you. Which is pretty much exactly what is going to happen, happily enough.”
“The Doctor will save me,” she says breathily, counting on blonde hair and wide eyes to sell it.
When he bursts into laughter she makes her move, lunging for his mobile with her free hand. She’s fast but he’s far faster, his fist slamming into her abdomen, knocking the breath from her lungs. She sags to the floor, gasping, but he drags her upright, and one sharp movement of his elbow sends the mobile flying to the other end of the counter.
He ruffles her hair affectionately. “Aw, good girl. That’s more like it.”
“What are you?” she pants, aching and just barely holding back her panic.
“Well,” he says, grinning widely, “if your dear Doctor is Dumbledore, who do you think that makes me?”
“A snake in the grass?”
“Behold, ladies and gentlemen!” he announces grandly to the oblivious room. “The bird can bring the banter!”
“You do like the sound of your own voice, don’t you?” She tries to sound aloof, unworried, but his bruising grip on her wrist has tightened and she knows there’s no way for her to reach the mobile in her pocket unnoticed.
He smiles again and the hungry, heated look in his eyes returns. “You quite enjoyed it yourself until a moment ago.”
“Well, I have a weakness for pretty boys,” she says dryly. “Ask anyone.”
“That,” he says with a smirk, “explains a lot.” He rubs his hand idly over his jaw. “I have to say, as regenerations go, I’m rather pleased with this one. Bit younger than I usually prefer, but hey - all the cool kids are doing it.”
She gapes at him, for a moment all danger forgotten. “But that’s impossible,” she whispers. “You can’t be.”
“What? Devastatingly handsome?” he asks, but the teasing light has gone out of his eyes. He shoves her against the counter, the edge digging into her back as he leans into her. “What? Can’t be what? A Time Lord?” His face is terrifyingly blank, his eyes huge and dark. “I landed on this dusty little slum of a planet and I couldn’t hear a thing from them, not a single blessed trickle of a thought. It was silence, silence you couldn’t imagine, nothing left but the pounding, the never-ending beat…” He laughs, and she can see the madness in his eyes. “So tell me, little human, where have all the Time Lords gone?”
She swallows. “They’re dead.”
He grins, his teeth flashing, and she recognizes denial when she sees it. “You’re wrong.”
“He’s the last.”
“You think so?” He grabs her other hand and presses both to his chest. Beneath the fine fabric of his shirt she can feel two hearts beating. The sensation is unbearably familiar, and for a moment she cannot separate the man she fears from the man she loves. The rhythm in their chests, the pulse of their blood is the same, and it overwhelms her. “What do you think of that, my Rose?”
“Who are you?” she breathes, and he smiles at her with something like affection.
“Oh, I’m so very glad you asked.” He slides his cheeks past hers, skin brushing skin, until his lips reach her ear. “I am the Master, and you will obey me.”
++
Chapter Two