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looky what I found? my second ever DW fanfic (the first one was this crappy little drabble for doctor_rose_las so I should technically count this as my first)... ngl, I'm oddly proud of this one.
Title: Waiting to Happen
Pairing: 10/Rose
Rating: PG
Spoilers: mild ones for "Girl in the Fireplace"
Disclaimer: None of this is mine. I'm just playing with the BBC's characters.
Synopsis: The Doctor finally decides it's time to have a talk with Rose. Trouble is, she doesn't have a clue what he's talking about.
It had taken a while, but he’d finally convinced himself to do it; bite the bullet, honesty was the best policy, and so on and so forth. He’d thought about it long and hard before marching into her bedroom and straight on into the open door of the loo, where he could see her applying her mascara in the mirror. The counter was cluttered with makeup and other general Rose paraphernalia, with every other available inch taken up by bottles of hair product. In the sink, plugged in to the wall beside it, sat her hairdryer, which surely even less intelligent minds than his own would think was a bad idea. He found himself staring at it as he fought for a way to say what he was thinking, to translate the sleepless nights into something she would understand, and so without thinking he blurted out a confession that, well, got away from him a bit if he was going to be honest.
In the mirror, Rose blinked at him, clearly confused.
“Are you being symbolic, then?” she asked. The Doctor rocked back on his heels and tried to remember all he’d said. He knew he should have prepared something.
“What?” he asked, smiling. Better to feign stupidity.
“You,” Rose started, then paused, as if thinking. She pointed her mascara wand at his reflection. “You just called me a hair dryer in a sink.”
“I did?” Still grinning. “I did. Yes. Symbolism! Isn’t it fantastic?” He shoved his hands back in his pockets and leaned against the wall, worried he might fall over if continued rocking the way he was. In the mirror, Rose watched him as if he had suddenly became more alien than he already was and only staring at him might help her figure him out.
“Doesn’t symbolism usually have a meaning?” she said finally.
“Well…” he drawled. “Sometimes.” She continued staring at him. “Generally,” he conceded. He’d cocked this up royally already and he was only making it worse, judging by the confused look on her face. He made fists in his pockets, flexing and closing them over and over against his thigh.
“Does this mean anything?” Rose asked, gesturing again at the two of them with the mascara. It was hard to tell if she was talking about the metaphor or them, which he supposed she must have done on purpose. He grinned harder.
“Now Rose Tyler, who’s being symbolic now?”
She paused again, eyes narrowing slightly as she took in his reflection. She had the look on her face that she reserved for his most trying moments, the times when he would do something reckless without bothering to explain why. Her hand stilled, dropping the tube of mascara on the top of the crowded sink and looking down for a moment. She was terribly messy, which he thought should bother him, but didn’t. Hardly anything she did bothered him, which in itself was exactly what he was trying to explain to her.
“Right then,” she said, starting to turn before she thought better of it. Her newly lined eyes met his in the mirror. “Explain yourself.”
“Explain…?”
“Hairdryers? Sinks? Symbolism? Maybe I skipped that day in school Doctor, but I’m lost.”
“Well…” he started again, then licked his lips. It wasn’t often he found himself at a loss for words these days, but it still frightened him every time. Not knowing exactly what to say or how to say it had been precisely what had gotten him into the mess in the first place, appliances included. Standing there, searching for the words, he suddenly couldn’t think of a reason why he’d done this to himself; never before had he imagined himself instigating something so stupid and reckless. So why then? He didn’t have to remove his hand from his pocket to feel the outline of Reinette’s letter that still rested in his jacket pocket, didn’t have to read the words to remember the hurt that losing her had caused even though he’d barely met her. And that was as good a reason as any, really, to tell her the truth: that human life was so short, and even though he had a good bit of time to regret this if he chose to, with her he never would.
“I was trying to tell you, well I was comparing you…”
“To an appliance. Yeah, got that.” Rose said, but now there was just the slightest hint of a smile lifting at the corner of her mouth. It put him at ease a bit.
“To a hairdryer,” he clarified. “In a sink.” She lifted an eyebrow at him, a gesture so familiar he could only smile as he pointed to the subject of the discussion. “Like that hairdryer in that sink. It’s dangerous. Tempting. Like looking for trouble.” What was the phrase he was looking for? Oh yes! “Like an accident waiting to happen!”
“Tempting?” Rose repeated, amused. That would be the word she would seize on. Still he’d been the one to say it first and could only agree.
“Definitely.”
“So…” Rose began. He could tell she was having fun with this and was glad someone was. “Continuing with all the symbolism… the Tardis is like the sink, yeah?”
“Yes.”
She turned slowly, taking a step towards as he watched, transfixed.
“And I’m the hairdryer, yeah?”
He forced himself to flatten his fists in his pockets and swallowed as she stepped closer.
“Yep.”
“And you and me, we’re…” she paused, head tilted as if trying to remember his exact phrasing as she slinked up nearly on top of him. “…an accident waiting to happen?”
He couldn’t speak; couldn’t even nod. She was too close. Smiling up at him brilliantly, she turned her head and he felt her hair brush up against him, all strawberries and vanilla.
“I’m sorry, Doctor. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
He let out a groan of frustration that made her jump back, watching as he ran his hands through his hair until it stood out in all directions. He paced, feeling her eyes on him as he moved, letting the words come like he usually did with less thought.
“What I’m saying is that I know I shouldn’t. I know it’s wrong. Dangerous. Stupid. Ape-like.” Rose’s eyebrow climbed higher but unperturbed, he went on. “It’s like throwing a hairdryer in a sink. Even if it’s empty and there’s no room for it anywhere else and you convince yourself it will be fine and no harm done… even then it’s still there and one day when you’re not paying attention you’re going to turn the water on and BAM-“ he smacked his hands together and she jumped again, her face now more serious. “Electricity! Death by hairdryer!”
“Electricity?” Rose repeated, her eyes narrowed in concentration. He nodded, hands falling to his sides as he took a deep breath. He stared at her, willing her to understand without him saying, willing her to know why he couldn’t say the words that would be easy.
“Doctor,” she breathed. “Are you trying to say you fancy me?”
Was he? He wasn’t even sure himself anymore.
“Yes?” he asked. He was fairly certain that wasn’t supposed to be a question but all the talk of metaphors and teasing had him turned upside down. It was really a shame, as he usually loved a good metaphor. “Yes.”
“Right then,” Rose said, turning back to the mirror. She was wiping at a black smudge under her left eye when he realized he hadn’t said at all what he’d meant to, a fact that, strangely enough, didn’t seem to matter to Rose as much as he would have thought.
“So Shakespeare compares his bird to a summer day and the best you can come up with is a hairdryer?” she asked, smiling but not catching his eye in the mirror. It was a strange turn in what was already one of the strangest conversations he’d ever had. Hadn’t she heard a word he’d said?
She glanced down, picking up the mascara tube again though she was clearly finished with it, and he saw it then: the unguarded look in her eyes. Just a flash of something pushed away before looking up again. He realized then what was wrong, and felt a pang of guilt. They had teased too much before, had flirted too often while skirting the real issues. And now that he was trying to say the truth, she didn’t believe him.
She was scared to believe him.
Smiling gently he stepped forward, placing a hand on her shoulder to turn her. Hand slipping down to her wrist, he removed the mascara from her hand and replaced it on the counter, feeling her wary eyes on him the whole time.
“Doctor?” she asked, her voice uncertain.
“I don’t think you understand what I’m trying to say to you Rose,” he said, and before he could ruin this with further talk, he bent to kiss her.
Time didn’t slow, didn’t stop, didn’t stutter, but her mouth was warm under his and the pulse in her neck was as steady as a clock. She gasped once then seemed to breathe into him, bringing her arms up around him to anchor herself. They swayed into each other before he moved his mouth away, kissing his way to her ear to bury his smile in her hair.
“So, hairdryer in a sink?” Rose asked breathlessly.
“Right.”
“Accident waiting to happen?” she continued.
“Correctamundo.” He’d forgotten he’d promised himself not to say that word any more.
“And… you hate waiting? Is that what you were trying to say?” she guessed, her fingers at the base of his hair. He hated himself for the doubt in her voice and lifted her off the ground to spin it away.
“Yes Rose,” he said, knowing she knew the words he couldn’t say.
It was all right. This was enough. This had always been enough.
“Something like that.”
omg, we should all post our first DW fics for nostalgia purposes! do it do it do it!
Title: Waiting to Happen
Pairing: 10/Rose
Rating: PG
Spoilers: mild ones for "Girl in the Fireplace"
Disclaimer: None of this is mine. I'm just playing with the BBC's characters.
Synopsis: The Doctor finally decides it's time to have a talk with Rose. Trouble is, she doesn't have a clue what he's talking about.
It had taken a while, but he’d finally convinced himself to do it; bite the bullet, honesty was the best policy, and so on and so forth. He’d thought about it long and hard before marching into her bedroom and straight on into the open door of the loo, where he could see her applying her mascara in the mirror. The counter was cluttered with makeup and other general Rose paraphernalia, with every other available inch taken up by bottles of hair product. In the sink, plugged in to the wall beside it, sat her hairdryer, which surely even less intelligent minds than his own would think was a bad idea. He found himself staring at it as he fought for a way to say what he was thinking, to translate the sleepless nights into something she would understand, and so without thinking he blurted out a confession that, well, got away from him a bit if he was going to be honest.
In the mirror, Rose blinked at him, clearly confused.
“Are you being symbolic, then?” she asked. The Doctor rocked back on his heels and tried to remember all he’d said. He knew he should have prepared something.
“What?” he asked, smiling. Better to feign stupidity.
“You,” Rose started, then paused, as if thinking. She pointed her mascara wand at his reflection. “You just called me a hair dryer in a sink.”
“I did?” Still grinning. “I did. Yes. Symbolism! Isn’t it fantastic?” He shoved his hands back in his pockets and leaned against the wall, worried he might fall over if continued rocking the way he was. In the mirror, Rose watched him as if he had suddenly became more alien than he already was and only staring at him might help her figure him out.
“Doesn’t symbolism usually have a meaning?” she said finally.
“Well…” he drawled. “Sometimes.” She continued staring at him. “Generally,” he conceded. He’d cocked this up royally already and he was only making it worse, judging by the confused look on her face. He made fists in his pockets, flexing and closing them over and over against his thigh.
“Does this mean anything?” Rose asked, gesturing again at the two of them with the mascara. It was hard to tell if she was talking about the metaphor or them, which he supposed she must have done on purpose. He grinned harder.
“Now Rose Tyler, who’s being symbolic now?”
She paused again, eyes narrowing slightly as she took in his reflection. She had the look on her face that she reserved for his most trying moments, the times when he would do something reckless without bothering to explain why. Her hand stilled, dropping the tube of mascara on the top of the crowded sink and looking down for a moment. She was terribly messy, which he thought should bother him, but didn’t. Hardly anything she did bothered him, which in itself was exactly what he was trying to explain to her.
“Right then,” she said, starting to turn before she thought better of it. Her newly lined eyes met his in the mirror. “Explain yourself.”
“Explain…?”
“Hairdryers? Sinks? Symbolism? Maybe I skipped that day in school Doctor, but I’m lost.”
“Well…” he started again, then licked his lips. It wasn’t often he found himself at a loss for words these days, but it still frightened him every time. Not knowing exactly what to say or how to say it had been precisely what had gotten him into the mess in the first place, appliances included. Standing there, searching for the words, he suddenly couldn’t think of a reason why he’d done this to himself; never before had he imagined himself instigating something so stupid and reckless. So why then? He didn’t have to remove his hand from his pocket to feel the outline of Reinette’s letter that still rested in his jacket pocket, didn’t have to read the words to remember the hurt that losing her had caused even though he’d barely met her. And that was as good a reason as any, really, to tell her the truth: that human life was so short, and even though he had a good bit of time to regret this if he chose to, with her he never would.
“I was trying to tell you, well I was comparing you…”
“To an appliance. Yeah, got that.” Rose said, but now there was just the slightest hint of a smile lifting at the corner of her mouth. It put him at ease a bit.
“To a hairdryer,” he clarified. “In a sink.” She lifted an eyebrow at him, a gesture so familiar he could only smile as he pointed to the subject of the discussion. “Like that hairdryer in that sink. It’s dangerous. Tempting. Like looking for trouble.” What was the phrase he was looking for? Oh yes! “Like an accident waiting to happen!”
“Tempting?” Rose repeated, amused. That would be the word she would seize on. Still he’d been the one to say it first and could only agree.
“Definitely.”
“So…” Rose began. He could tell she was having fun with this and was glad someone was. “Continuing with all the symbolism… the Tardis is like the sink, yeah?”
“Yes.”
She turned slowly, taking a step towards as he watched, transfixed.
“And I’m the hairdryer, yeah?”
He forced himself to flatten his fists in his pockets and swallowed as she stepped closer.
“Yep.”
“And you and me, we’re…” she paused, head tilted as if trying to remember his exact phrasing as she slinked up nearly on top of him. “…an accident waiting to happen?”
He couldn’t speak; couldn’t even nod. She was too close. Smiling up at him brilliantly, she turned her head and he felt her hair brush up against him, all strawberries and vanilla.
“I’m sorry, Doctor. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
He let out a groan of frustration that made her jump back, watching as he ran his hands through his hair until it stood out in all directions. He paced, feeling her eyes on him as he moved, letting the words come like he usually did with less thought.
“What I’m saying is that I know I shouldn’t. I know it’s wrong. Dangerous. Stupid. Ape-like.” Rose’s eyebrow climbed higher but unperturbed, he went on. “It’s like throwing a hairdryer in a sink. Even if it’s empty and there’s no room for it anywhere else and you convince yourself it will be fine and no harm done… even then it’s still there and one day when you’re not paying attention you’re going to turn the water on and BAM-“ he smacked his hands together and she jumped again, her face now more serious. “Electricity! Death by hairdryer!”
“Electricity?” Rose repeated, her eyes narrowed in concentration. He nodded, hands falling to his sides as he took a deep breath. He stared at her, willing her to understand without him saying, willing her to know why he couldn’t say the words that would be easy.
“Doctor,” she breathed. “Are you trying to say you fancy me?”
Was he? He wasn’t even sure himself anymore.
“Yes?” he asked. He was fairly certain that wasn’t supposed to be a question but all the talk of metaphors and teasing had him turned upside down. It was really a shame, as he usually loved a good metaphor. “Yes.”
“Right then,” Rose said, turning back to the mirror. She was wiping at a black smudge under her left eye when he realized he hadn’t said at all what he’d meant to, a fact that, strangely enough, didn’t seem to matter to Rose as much as he would have thought.
“So Shakespeare compares his bird to a summer day and the best you can come up with is a hairdryer?” she asked, smiling but not catching his eye in the mirror. It was a strange turn in what was already one of the strangest conversations he’d ever had. Hadn’t she heard a word he’d said?
She glanced down, picking up the mascara tube again though she was clearly finished with it, and he saw it then: the unguarded look in her eyes. Just a flash of something pushed away before looking up again. He realized then what was wrong, and felt a pang of guilt. They had teased too much before, had flirted too often while skirting the real issues. And now that he was trying to say the truth, she didn’t believe him.
She was scared to believe him.
Smiling gently he stepped forward, placing a hand on her shoulder to turn her. Hand slipping down to her wrist, he removed the mascara from her hand and replaced it on the counter, feeling her wary eyes on him the whole time.
“Doctor?” she asked, her voice uncertain.
“I don’t think you understand what I’m trying to say to you Rose,” he said, and before he could ruin this with further talk, he bent to kiss her.
Time didn’t slow, didn’t stop, didn’t stutter, but her mouth was warm under his and the pulse in her neck was as steady as a clock. She gasped once then seemed to breathe into him, bringing her arms up around him to anchor herself. They swayed into each other before he moved his mouth away, kissing his way to her ear to bury his smile in her hair.
“So, hairdryer in a sink?” Rose asked breathlessly.
“Right.”
“Accident waiting to happen?” she continued.
“Correctamundo.” He’d forgotten he’d promised himself not to say that word any more.
“And… you hate waiting? Is that what you were trying to say?” she guessed, her fingers at the base of his hair. He hated himself for the doubt in her voice and lifted her off the ground to spin it away.
“Yes Rose,” he said, knowing she knew the words he couldn’t say.
It was all right. This was enough. This had always been enough.
“Something like that.”
omg, we should all post our first DW fics for nostalgia purposes! do it do it do it!