I erm...appear to be on a roll this afternoon guys :D
Girly Things, Nine/Rose, PG
He can’t even figure out where it’s all come from - not unless the bags she brought onboard were somehow bigger on the inside. He’s never seen so much makeup and perfume outside of a department store before. 1,203 words
A/N: I know this is meant to be a S2 Happy challenge but my muse is obviously an idiot and decided that this was meant to be a Nine fic. Apologies for that :P
~*~
He doesn’t even realise just how much she’s taking over until he discovers a collection of human...girl...things in one of the TARDIS washrooms. His washroom. He’s already seen the smaller stash she’s got overflowing from a bright little bag in the wardrobe room of course, and then there’s the absolute plethora of crap she’s somehow managed to fill her room with.
But this? This is crossing a line. A bloke needs his space (even when he’s not technically a bloke per se) and she is invading his space with all these little bottles and pots and compacts of...stuff.
He can’t even figure out where it’s all come from - not unless the bags she brought onboard were somehow bigger on the inside. He’s never seen so much makeup and perfume outside of a department store before.
Resolving to confront her about the mess, he sets off determinedly in search of her and finds her in the console room with a bottle of crimson nail polish on the jump seat and bits of fluff between her toes.
“Better not spill any of that,” he says warningly and she jumps, jarred from her concentration so much that she nearly does just that.
“Don’t scare me like that again and hopefully I won’t,” she grouses and he rolls his eyes as she tucks her hair behind her ear with her free hand. “M’nearly done anyway.”
She finishes up her nail painting and then lets her feet swing free as she replaces the cap, tucking the little bottle into her pocket.
“We off again then?” she guesses. “Cos I’ve gotta wait till this dries properly before I put my trainers back on. Otherwise I’ll have to redo them.”
She smiles up at him and swings her leg like an indolent child and even as he takes a breath to berate her he really can’t bring himself to get truly upset with her.
“Don’t care s’long as you don’t leave the bottle in here after.” He crosses his arms at her. “Got enough trouble trying to get around the rest of the ship without tripping over magazines and perfume bottles.”
Rose looks puzzled at this, then a touch guilty.
“Sorry. M’not used to havin’ so much space to spread out in.” She smiles apologetically. “Probably went a bit overboard yeah? I’ll get everything back in my room again soon as we get back next time.”
“I’ll hold you to that,” he warns her pointedly, beginning in on the controls so he can take them somewhere but the TARDIS won’t budge.
He tries everything, every lever and knob and dial and still she stubbornly refuses to move. In frustration he finally asks her to show him what’s wrong and finds himself drawn to a lever that he discovers is the only thing not stuck. As a matter of fact, it’s moving too freely, almost like the tension on it has been broken.
It takes him a good long while to dig far enough to find the source of the problem and Rose is starting on her fifth coat of polish when he finally does and curses loudly in Gallifreyan. From the confused look on her face, he fathoms that the TARDIS has not translated the obscenity for her. He’s sort of glad really, it’s not exactly a delicate phrase.
“What is it?” she asks, climbing gingerly over various bits of console to join him. “Did you find out what was wrong?”
He waits until she’s within line of sight of the thing before he points it out. The connection is indeed, broken. Well, maybe not broken so much as fraying away. It’s meant to be a thin, fibrous membrane used to maintain tension but the TARDIS is old and he’s long since had to replace it with a pair of pantyhose. Now, from continual wear and tear the damn things have gone and laddered on him.
“You’re holding this thing together with a pair of old stockings?” Rose says incredulously. “No wonder she won’t fly!”
“Not safe without this lever working properly,” he huffs out a breath before turning to her hopefully. “Don’t s’pose you’ve got any?”
“What?” Rose says incredulously. “No! Only old women wear stockings. Haven’t you got any spare in the wardrobe room?”
Wordlessly, he nods at the pair holding the inner workings of the TARDIS together and after a moment Rose gives an ‘oh’ of comprehension.
“So we can’t go anywhere till we can fix this...but we have nothing to fix it with?”
“Sounds about right,” he sighs, mentally beginning to catalogue what else he has on board that he could use as a substitute. Maybe something in the wardrobe room? There’s got to be something made out of thin spandex or Lycra...
“Oi!” he protests when he realises that Rose has whipped out her little bottle of polish again. “Mind where you’re opening that! I don’t need the fumes from that doin’ my head in when I’m tryin’ to think about repairs.”
“Just shut up a minute will you,” Rose says unconcernedly, loading up the little brush and reaching up despite his protests. She puts her tongue between her teeth, fully concentrating as she dabs either end of the ladder with polish and then begins to work along the side of it. By the time she’s done there’s an attractive red seam down them and the ladder has been stopped from spreading any further. “Try it now?” she suggests and the Doctor stares at her for another open-mouthed moment before leaping up to do just that.
Ridiculously, it’s worked. The TARDIS is quite happy to fly now but is adamant that a replacement pair of stockings be purchased. Rose suggests Henrik’s as she’s friends with a girl in the hosiery department there and somehow the Doctor ends up standing awkwardly by whilst Rose puzzles out which denier would give the best tension.
Her friend winks disconcertingly at him as they leave but Rose is too busy eyeing off various bras and dresses on the way out to notice.
Back on the TARDIS he replaces the stockings and then does a bit more tinkering and accidentally gets his hands a bit greasy. Lucky for him, her bits are still in the washroom including a bar of sweet smelling soap that makes the scent of her seem to linger with him wherever he goes for a couple of days after.
All in all quite handy really, he thinks, pleased with himself as he pilots the TARDIS safely to their next destination with Rose by his side. Having a woman on board again and all.
He can’t even figure out where it’s all come from - not unless the bags she brought onboard were somehow bigger on the inside. He’s never seen so much makeup and perfume outside of a department store before. 1,203 words
A/N: I know this is meant to be a S2 Happy challenge but my muse is obviously an idiot and decided that this was meant to be a Nine fic. Apologies for that :P
~*~
He doesn’t even realise just how much she’s taking over until he discovers a collection of human...girl...things in one of the TARDIS washrooms. His washroom. He’s already seen the smaller stash she’s got overflowing from a bright little bag in the wardrobe room of course, and then there’s the absolute plethora of crap she’s somehow managed to fill her room with.
But this? This is crossing a line. A bloke needs his space (even when he’s not technically a bloke per se) and she is invading his space with all these little bottles and pots and compacts of...stuff.
He can’t even figure out where it’s all come from - not unless the bags she brought onboard were somehow bigger on the inside. He’s never seen so much makeup and perfume outside of a department store before.
Resolving to confront her about the mess, he sets off determinedly in search of her and finds her in the console room with a bottle of crimson nail polish on the jump seat and bits of fluff between her toes.
“Better not spill any of that,” he says warningly and she jumps, jarred from her concentration so much that she nearly does just that.
“Don’t scare me like that again and hopefully I won’t,” she grouses and he rolls his eyes as she tucks her hair behind her ear with her free hand. “M’nearly done anyway.”
She finishes up her nail painting and then lets her feet swing free as she replaces the cap, tucking the little bottle into her pocket.
“We off again then?” she guesses. “Cos I’ve gotta wait till this dries properly before I put my trainers back on. Otherwise I’ll have to redo them.”
She smiles up at him and swings her leg like an indolent child and even as he takes a breath to berate her he really can’t bring himself to get truly upset with her.
“Don’t care s’long as you don’t leave the bottle in here after.” He crosses his arms at her. “Got enough trouble trying to get around the rest of the ship without tripping over magazines and perfume bottles.”
Rose looks puzzled at this, then a touch guilty.
“Sorry. M’not used to havin’ so much space to spread out in.” She smiles apologetically. “Probably went a bit overboard yeah? I’ll get everything back in my room again soon as we get back next time.”
“I’ll hold you to that,” he warns her pointedly, beginning in on the controls so he can take them somewhere but the TARDIS won’t budge.
He tries everything, every lever and knob and dial and still she stubbornly refuses to move. In frustration he finally asks her to show him what’s wrong and finds himself drawn to a lever that he discovers is the only thing not stuck. As a matter of fact, it’s moving too freely, almost like the tension on it has been broken.
It takes him a good long while to dig far enough to find the source of the problem and Rose is starting on her fifth coat of polish when he finally does and curses loudly in Gallifreyan. From the confused look on her face, he fathoms that the TARDIS has not translated the obscenity for her. He’s sort of glad really, it’s not exactly a delicate phrase.
“What is it?” she asks, climbing gingerly over various bits of console to join him. “Did you find out what was wrong?”
He waits until she’s within line of sight of the thing before he points it out. The connection is indeed, broken. Well, maybe not broken so much as fraying away. It’s meant to be a thin, fibrous membrane used to maintain tension but the TARDIS is old and he’s long since had to replace it with a pair of pantyhose. Now, from continual wear and tear the damn things have gone and laddered on him.
“You’re holding this thing together with a pair of old stockings?” Rose says incredulously. “No wonder she won’t fly!”
“Not safe without this lever working properly,” he huffs out a breath before turning to her hopefully. “Don’t s’pose you’ve got any?”
“What?” Rose says incredulously. “No! Only old women wear stockings. Haven’t you got any spare in the wardrobe room?”
Wordlessly, he nods at the pair holding the inner workings of the TARDIS together and after a moment Rose gives an ‘oh’ of comprehension.
“So we can’t go anywhere till we can fix this...but we have nothing to fix it with?”
“Sounds about right,” he sighs, mentally beginning to catalogue what else he has on board that he could use as a substitute. Maybe something in the wardrobe room? There’s got to be something made out of thin spandex or Lycra...
“Oi!” he protests when he realises that Rose has whipped out her little bottle of polish again. “Mind where you’re opening that! I don’t need the fumes from that doin’ my head in when I’m tryin’ to think about repairs.”
“Just shut up a minute will you,” Rose says unconcernedly, loading up the little brush and reaching up despite his protests. She puts her tongue between her teeth, fully concentrating as she dabs either end of the ladder with polish and then begins to work along the side of it. By the time she’s done there’s an attractive red seam down them and the ladder has been stopped from spreading any further. “Try it now?” she suggests and the Doctor stares at her for another open-mouthed moment before leaping up to do just that.
Ridiculously, it’s worked. The TARDIS is quite happy to fly now but is adamant that a replacement pair of stockings be purchased. Rose suggests Henrik’s as she’s friends with a girl in the hosiery department there and somehow the Doctor ends up standing awkwardly by whilst Rose puzzles out which denier would give the best tension.
Her friend winks disconcertingly at him as they leave but Rose is too busy eyeing off various bras and dresses on the way out to notice.
Back on the TARDIS he replaces the stockings and then does a bit more tinkering and accidentally gets his hands a bit greasy. Lucky for him, her bits are still in the washroom including a bar of sweet smelling soap that makes the scent of her seem to linger with him wherever he goes for a couple of days after.
All in all quite handy really, he thinks, pleased with himself as he pilots the TARDIS safely to their next destination with Rose by his side. Having a woman on board again and all.