(no subject)
We Could Be A Whole Parade
Pg-13, 1,179 words
a/n: This fic came about almost entirely because Billie Piper looks so devastating in galoshes. True story. Muse's "Can't Take My Eyes Off Of You" and Stars' "My Favorite Book" might have helped a little, too.
He takes her to a city made of waterfalls after she finds a pair of galoshes in one of the cupboards.
~
They’re old, from when he was young and still trying to come up with a shoe to go with the foot, thrown into the nearest doorway after viciously pinching his newly formed toes, and he doesn’t know why she finds them so delightful.
Just knows that she does, if her smile, bright with satisfaction and that hint of tongue, is anything to go by. She sounds so pleased when she puts them on and they fit that he can’t bring himself to suggest getting her a nicer pair, if she wants some so badly. That he’s sure somewhere out there there’s a pair that haven’t been living in a cupboard for longer than she’s been alive. Although, he supposes, Time being non-linear as it is, it’s also possible they’ve been in there for just exactly as long as she’s been alive---it still doesn‘t make them any less dusty.
Something more festive, maybe. With ducks. Or swirlies, to match his tie.
Rose seems to read this on his face as easily as if he says it aloud. Smoothes a hand across his chest in a way he’s almost sure is meant to be comforting instead of distracting and taps fingers against his left heart as if she’s counting out the beats. Her nails are a familiar blue.
“We can get you some too, yeah? Your feet are too big this time ‘round to take these back, even if I’d give them up,” She slides her hand from chest to collar, hooks a finger along the edge and presses flat. “Which, I won’t. In case you were wondering.”
When she looks at him like that, eyes big and teasing and mouth stretched just this side of uncertain, he can’t even pretend he’d deny her anything.
~
He spends the next few minutes thinking of the perfect place where she can wear her new old rain boots while she breaks them in, wanders about the console room with deliberate steps as if practicing for walking in bad weather.
It’s distracting because it’s so charming, because her hair has come loose from its bun and is falling about her face every time she steps too hard, and in between considering the 9th moon of Xhor and wondering if she’d mind if he tucked that little wisp just there back behind her ear, he suddenly thinks about puddles and knows exactly where to take them.
“I know exactly where to take us, Rose! Just steady yourself on that lever, there, with the wobbly top, whilst pulling very slightly to the right and we‘ll be golden.”
She looks in his general direction (clever girl, she knows when he’s like this he’s never quite where he was the last time she looked) and raises an eyebrow at the wobbly part of his instructions. He sniffs in a manner no one with the ability to hear would call anything but manly and though he ignores the silent jibe, she strokes the console almost unthinking, as if in apology. As if to say that though the reason for the eyebrow raise was valid, it was uncalled for, and really she loves the TARDIS, wobbly bits and all.
~
He likes those galoshes on her more than he should.
The Doctor reflects on this as they walk beneath some very attractive palm fronds and she hops over another fallen leaf the size of a large dog, staying very confidently upright and not slipping about in the least, thanks to her newly acquired footwear. Which is good, he thinks, as she’s wearing a very short dress (formfitting, too; all cling and no flow so that bending over, he imagines, would require some assistance) (possibly from a Doctor) and while it may be black, the dirt stains from this particular type of soil would be difficult even for the TARDIS to get out. And there are her legs to think about. Quickly, and without pausing at the bend of her knee or the little scar he spots trailing its way round the inside of her right thigh, a dark line interrupting an endless expanse of pale, pale skin and this is really not where his thoughts should be headed in such a tricky landscape. He might trip on a root, or accidentally snog her against a tree.
Very treacherous.
“Rose.” He says, and nods. She flicks him a smile before stepping over and beside him, looking out past the scoop of valley between them and their destination and he waits for her breath to catch. For those charged moments she holds back until she just can’t anymore and asks him how this is even possible. It gives him an excuse to natter on about gravity and physics and upside down laws and just generally sound impressive as she stands, awed and a little remarkable all by herself and he knew this was the perfect place to take her. She’s holding his hand by the end of his speech, fingers tapping out a steady rhythm against his knuckles in a way that he knows means she’s not quite listening but enjoying what he’s saying nonetheless.
He pauses, for a moment, in the midst of wrapping things up, to give her a chance to say something. She’s got that gleam in her eye that tells him she’s (almost) too happy for words, but even so. He pauses.
“A city made of waterfalls,” And it’s as if that’s all she can manage, her voice catching on the last part like she’s still digesting even after all these minutes, all these trips; his thumb brushes her wrist and settles against the quick beat of her pulse. It makes his hearts race and he doesn’t know why.
“Mmm. Plenty of puddles for you to step in, here. My trainers will be a wreck, but, well. That’s my fault for letting those galoshes go, isn’t it?” He smiles without even meaning to, because his trainers really will get ruined and it wasn’t the cleverest thing for him to do, taking her here without picking up a (possibly swirlied ) pair for himself and that’s going to be dreadfully annoying but he can never seem to stay bothered when she’s around, and especially, he’s finding, when she’s in an old pair of his shoes. She smiles right back and then laughs, head thrown back and eyes closed tight, all soft pink and yellow against shimmering greens and blues, and oh, he would go ‘round barefoot if it meant he could go on hearing that sound every day.
~
There is an impromptu race to the watery gates of the city.
He loses for reasons that may or may not have to do with the play of sunlight over the slopes of her shoulders, and forgets to complain when she celebrates her win by taking his hand in hers again and tugging him close before setting out to find as many puddles to stomp through as possible.
Pg-13, 1,179 words
a/n: This fic came about almost entirely because Billie Piper looks so devastating in galoshes. True story. Muse's "Can't Take My Eyes Off Of You" and Stars' "My Favorite Book" might have helped a little, too.
He takes her to a city made of waterfalls after she finds a pair of galoshes in one of the cupboards.
~
They’re old, from when he was young and still trying to come up with a shoe to go with the foot, thrown into the nearest doorway after viciously pinching his newly formed toes, and he doesn’t know why she finds them so delightful.
Just knows that she does, if her smile, bright with satisfaction and that hint of tongue, is anything to go by. She sounds so pleased when she puts them on and they fit that he can’t bring himself to suggest getting her a nicer pair, if she wants some so badly. That he’s sure somewhere out there there’s a pair that haven’t been living in a cupboard for longer than she’s been alive. Although, he supposes, Time being non-linear as it is, it’s also possible they’ve been in there for just exactly as long as she’s been alive---it still doesn‘t make them any less dusty.
Something more festive, maybe. With ducks. Or swirlies, to match his tie.
Rose seems to read this on his face as easily as if he says it aloud. Smoothes a hand across his chest in a way he’s almost sure is meant to be comforting instead of distracting and taps fingers against his left heart as if she’s counting out the beats. Her nails are a familiar blue.
“We can get you some too, yeah? Your feet are too big this time ‘round to take these back, even if I’d give them up,” She slides her hand from chest to collar, hooks a finger along the edge and presses flat. “Which, I won’t. In case you were wondering.”
When she looks at him like that, eyes big and teasing and mouth stretched just this side of uncertain, he can’t even pretend he’d deny her anything.
~
He spends the next few minutes thinking of the perfect place where she can wear her new old rain boots while she breaks them in, wanders about the console room with deliberate steps as if practicing for walking in bad weather.
It’s distracting because it’s so charming, because her hair has come loose from its bun and is falling about her face every time she steps too hard, and in between considering the 9th moon of Xhor and wondering if she’d mind if he tucked that little wisp just there back behind her ear, he suddenly thinks about puddles and knows exactly where to take them.
“I know exactly where to take us, Rose! Just steady yourself on that lever, there, with the wobbly top, whilst pulling very slightly to the right and we‘ll be golden.”
She looks in his general direction (clever girl, she knows when he’s like this he’s never quite where he was the last time she looked) and raises an eyebrow at the wobbly part of his instructions. He sniffs in a manner no one with the ability to hear would call anything but manly and though he ignores the silent jibe, she strokes the console almost unthinking, as if in apology. As if to say that though the reason for the eyebrow raise was valid, it was uncalled for, and really she loves the TARDIS, wobbly bits and all.
~
He likes those galoshes on her more than he should.
The Doctor reflects on this as they walk beneath some very attractive palm fronds and she hops over another fallen leaf the size of a large dog, staying very confidently upright and not slipping about in the least, thanks to her newly acquired footwear. Which is good, he thinks, as she’s wearing a very short dress (formfitting, too; all cling and no flow so that bending over, he imagines, would require some assistance) (possibly from a Doctor) and while it may be black, the dirt stains from this particular type of soil would be difficult even for the TARDIS to get out. And there are her legs to think about. Quickly, and without pausing at the bend of her knee or the little scar he spots trailing its way round the inside of her right thigh, a dark line interrupting an endless expanse of pale, pale skin and this is really not where his thoughts should be headed in such a tricky landscape. He might trip on a root, or accidentally snog her against a tree.
Very treacherous.
“Rose.” He says, and nods. She flicks him a smile before stepping over and beside him, looking out past the scoop of valley between them and their destination and he waits for her breath to catch. For those charged moments she holds back until she just can’t anymore and asks him how this is even possible. It gives him an excuse to natter on about gravity and physics and upside down laws and just generally sound impressive as she stands, awed and a little remarkable all by herself and he knew this was the perfect place to take her. She’s holding his hand by the end of his speech, fingers tapping out a steady rhythm against his knuckles in a way that he knows means she’s not quite listening but enjoying what he’s saying nonetheless.
He pauses, for a moment, in the midst of wrapping things up, to give her a chance to say something. She’s got that gleam in her eye that tells him she’s (almost) too happy for words, but even so. He pauses.
“A city made of waterfalls,” And it’s as if that’s all she can manage, her voice catching on the last part like she’s still digesting even after all these minutes, all these trips; his thumb brushes her wrist and settles against the quick beat of her pulse. It makes his hearts race and he doesn’t know why.
“Mmm. Plenty of puddles for you to step in, here. My trainers will be a wreck, but, well. That’s my fault for letting those galoshes go, isn’t it?” He smiles without even meaning to, because his trainers really will get ruined and it wasn’t the cleverest thing for him to do, taking her here without picking up a (possibly swirlied ) pair for himself and that’s going to be dreadfully annoying but he can never seem to stay bothered when she’s around, and especially, he’s finding, when she’s in an old pair of his shoes. She smiles right back and then laughs, head thrown back and eyes closed tight, all soft pink and yellow against shimmering greens and blues, and oh, he would go ‘round barefoot if it meant he could go on hearing that sound every day.
~
There is an impromptu race to the watery gates of the city.
He loses for reasons that may or may not have to do with the play of sunlight over the slopes of her shoulders, and forgets to complain when she celebrates her win by taking his hand in hers again and tugging him close before setting out to find as many puddles to stomp through as possible.