pastries
pastries, au!eleven/rose, T
The wood is chipped, blue paint scattering on the boardwalk, a chalkboard stubbornly advertising home cooking, however much of a bad idea that might be. A hanging sign above the thin door has the name painted in block capitals, and it yells out to the tourist-crammed beach, 4405
It shouldn't be this easy, really, she thinks. There's a little sign in the window, dessert chef wanted, and her feet curl into her sandals, the sun shines a little brighter for her. She thinks of the empty boring flat, and smiles.
The wood is chipped, blue paint scattering on the boardwalk, a chalkboard stubbornly advertising home cooking, however much of a bad idea that might be. A hanging sign above the thin door has the name painted in block capitals, and it yells out to the tourist-crammed beach.
The TARDIS. A push of her hands and the door creaks open. Cool air rushes over her, a relief after the sticky heavy sunlight.
She steps inside and can't hold back a slight gasp of delight. It looks so much bigger than it did outside, all smooth wood tables and lazily buzzing air conditioning, sounds and smells drifting out from the kitchen at the back. A pretty redhead mans the counter, a nametag half scratched off and markered to read Amy instead of Amelia.
"Can I help?" she asks in a pleasant Scottish burr, tapping her pink nails along to a song she's humming under her breath.
"Yeah," says Rose breathlessly, and grins at her. She knows what she looks like; wild hair and salt dried skin, a beach bum with two different thongs and a ratty old canvas bag. "I want a job."
Amy stops humming and takes a good long look, eyes swishing up past her light tan and white shorts, frayed by time instead of fashion. She could get more clothes, more things, now, but she hates shopping. It's a leftover habit from the estate life, and she's still struggling with the fact she has money now, enough to move to a new country and rent a place to stay.
"Well..." Amy deliberates. "You'll have to bake something for us first. And then the boss will have to give the ok. But I bet Rory won't mind having someone else to do the desserts."
An old man calls out for the bill cheerfully, and Amy waves at him and steps out from the counter. She's catwalk-skinny, long thin legs and a slim waist.
"No references?" Rose asks in confusion. Amy shrugs.
"Boss doesn't think they're worth much. Says its the person that matters, not the opinions of others. He's nutters, of course, but nice all the same."
"Oh."
There aren't many people here; it's late in the morning and she gets the feeling the TARDIS is more of a breakfast-lunch-and-coffee place. Chewing on her lip, she removes her sunglasses and stows them in her bag.
"I could make something now, if you want?" she offers tentatively. Amy's back straightens as she hands the bill out and collects the change.
"Really? Off you go then. Rory's in the back now, he'll watch you. Oh, and d'you mind making something with chocolate? I'm starving."
With a last flick of her fingers, Amy wedges herself back behind the counter and turns on the old radio by the empty displays. She twiddles the dial until the static melts into upbeat chords and a sweet voice.
Rose makes her way to the kitchens where a tall man is swearing over a pot of coffee. He straightens when she enters and bangs his head on a cupboard.
"Oh hello," he says, wincing. His hair is messy, flopping over his pale forehead.
"Hi," she says. "Um...Amy says I'm to make something now. For a sort of...er...interview?"
"Oh thank god," he says. "I thought I was going to be making pies for the rest of my life. We've got a big dessert crowd, you know, and my baking really isn't up to scratch. We used to have Jenny to do that sort of thing but she's off traveling with her girlfriend, so..." he trails off, a frown creasing his forehead. "I'm Rory, by the way."
"Nice to meet you. I'm Rose. Can I get to it?" she asks, moving to wash her hands and grab an apron. Rory nods, and goes back to his ruined coffee, pulling a face as he dumps it into a bin.
The kitchens are cozy and clean, with bright colours and fancy gadgets on the counters. Rory points them out to her, and tells her the boss likes to tinker in a half bitter half respectful tone. She whirls around, remembering her mother's cooking lessons, in her cramped kitchen with the dodgy oven. She knows exactly what to make. Simple but delicious.
Roughly an hour later, she delivers a chocolate cupcake to Amy, with icing splattered on her nose. Amy sniffs it curiously, and takes a bite.
"Oh my god," she says, and just like that, Rose has a job.
The wages are good, and the hours aren't too bad, despite them being pretty early. She's used to that though, worked in a couple of bakeries in London. Her flat is nice and close, and Jackie and Pete won't chuck a fit at her working, despite the fact that her step-father pours money into her account like he's trying to compensate for the last nineteen years of near-poverty.
She walks home with the sun setting and the light casting a shadow over her face, and really, honestly, feels happy with herself. Somehow her extended holiday has turned into a life, and that more than anything makes her smile.
She's missed having a life.
****
The TARDIS has two waiters, a ridiculously handsome man named Jack who flirts with her shamelessly, and a dark skinned woman called Mels, who frequently stops to chat with Amy and laugh. They're both friendly, accepting her without a thought, into this strange little family.
There's another cook as well, Jennifer, who's quiet but sweet. She doesn't say much to Rose, but it's more out of shyness than hostility. Rory's very nice to her, and for a moment Rose wonders-but then she sees the way he looks at Amy every time she talks to him.
The little cafe is more popular than she thought at first; she's baking all sorts of things and stepping in and giving a hand with serving by the third day. Tourists coo about the quaint exterior, take their cameras and sunburns to the tables and stay for a while.
The view is lovely, out over the boardwalk and ocean, and most days it's a clear beautiful blue, sand so white it's blinding.
By the second week one customer knows her by name, and compliments her on her forest cake. It makes her practically swell with pride, and she grins all the way back to the kitchen.
And then Amy rushes in, crumpled letter held in her hand, out of breath and smiling manically.
"He's coming back in two days!" she proclaims, and Jack gives a whoop, rushing over to grab Mels in a hug.
"Where was he this time?" Rory yells from over his pasta. Amy shrugs even though he can't see it.
"Venezeula, I think," she replies, and sticks the letter to the pin board. "Could have been anywhere though; you know how he gets."
"Sorry, who?" Rose asks, handing Ian and Barbara-the cute old couple who sit by the window-their coffees.
"The boss," Amy answers. "He travels a lot, all over the place, but he always comes back." She looks at Rose curiously. "I'll bet he wants to meet you."
"Oh. What's he like?" Now she's nervous. She loves working at the TARDIS, but she might not meet the standards....
"He's great," Mels says, "I mean, completely insane, but great."
Ian and Barbara smile at her, and Rose jogs back to the kitchen. There's a chocolate mousse that needs freezing, and some pastry to bake.
****
And for the next two days, the boss is all anybody can talk about. Mels laughs about his beat up old blue Ford-the exact shade of the TARDIS door-that backfires because he can't drive it properly and it's about fifteen years old. Even Jennifer's giggling about the time he set the toaster on fire.
"Does he have a name?" Rose asks Rory. He's the only one who doesn't seem excited about it. In fact, he's looking a little bitter.
"No," he sighs, the sauce bubbling nicely. "He just calls himself the Doctor because of his PhD in astrology. He left university to run a cafe."
He lifts the spoon to her mouth, and she takes a cautious sip. He's been a little too vigorous with the pepper lately, but this time it's gorgeous.
"Mm," she hums in appreciation. "Everyone seems to love him."
"Yeah." Rory laughs, but it sounds a bit hollow. His eyes are directed towards the redhead chatting avidly with a customer.
"Everybody."
She can't think of anything to say to that.
****
I
t's a Wednesday when she walks up to the TARDIS and unlocks it. She's always early, the earliest, so Amy's given her a key. She wanted to make a pie today, blueberry maybe. Singing to herself slightly, she opens up and lets the bluish-grey light in. The sunrises are always beautiful; it's one of the reasons why she's in love with this job.
"Hello," says a voice behind her.
A strangled shriek makes it's way up her throat, and she whirls around with a heavy, sharp edged napkin holder to brain whoever's trying to kidnap her.
"Get the-"
She's greeted by a tall-ish, kind eyed man with a bowtie neatly arranged around his neck. And a set of keys in his hand. She remembers the blue Ford she saw at the parking lot.
"Oh, shit, I'm sorry," she mumbles, mortified, setting the holder down.
He chuckles at her. "Don't be. I'm the Doctor, by the way. You must be Rose, the dessert girl. I pictured you..."
"Older?" she offers, beginning to relax. They were right; he does seem nice.
"Fatter," he corrects and immediately looks embarrassed. "Sorry. I've been living in a remote village where no one spoke any English for the past month. I ended up having to grunt and point at everything."
She giggles, reaching for the elastic to tie her hair. He follows her into the kitchens, and helps her start up everything.
"What are you making?" he asks, sitting on the counter idly. He's younger than she expected, at the most his very early thirties.
"I thought a blueberry pie," she says, reaching for the dough she made yesterday. She sprinkles the counter with flour, and starts rolling it out carefully.
"Amelia told me you were good." He smiles at her. "It's nice to have someone new on board."
"It's nice to be here," she confesses, and his smile widens.
The door slams open now, and Amy's whirled in, squealing when she sees the Doctor. He sweeps her up in a bear hug, and they laugh until he sets her down.
The others trickle in gradually, each getting an enthusiastic greeting, even Rory, who looks grudgingly happy. Amy talks to him immediately, though, so he's in a good mood now.
Rose continues making the pie, rolling crust and mixing the fresh blueberries with the cinnamon, sugar and lemon zest. She likes having her hands busy; she's never been a really academic person. Sure Jimmy ruined her chances at school, but she wonders if she would have done so well, at that age.
The sun rises, light pours into the rooms. Their early morning customers start coming in, the joggers and surfers for coffee and a breakfast. Someone orders pancakes, so she does that while her pie is baking.
Listening through the coffee machine, she hears the regulars recognise the Doctor, ask about his adventures. He knows their names, every one, and knows their situations too.
All the owners seemed so far away from the community, in the places she'd worked before, but now she's beginning to see why the staff love him so much. He cares.
Lost in thought, she doesn't realise the timer's dinged until Rory points it out. It looks perfect, a crispy golden brown, and smells delicious. Her stomach remembers she didn't eat breakfast this morning. After it cools, she takes it out and arranges it on the display, writing the name in her bubbly, curly handwriting on a little white card. She's dusted the top with icing sugar.
"Looks wonderful." The Doctor walks up beside her, and inhales. "May I?"
Amy sighs loudly. "My god, do. She's fantastic."
Rose blushes crimson, but cuts him one and puts it on a cheap ceramic plate, watching him anxiously as he takes a large bite. His eyes widen.
"Oh," he says faintly. "You, Miss Tyler, are hired for life."
Amy laughs.
He spends the rest of the day, Rose notices, in a cozy table by the corner, watching everybody intently, drinking it in. He must have missed it here, only leaves when everybody's packing up.
He waves goodbye to her when her day ends, and she walks home not entirely knowing why something feels brighter.
****
He's there every morning when she gets there, and talks to her while she bakes. Sometimes it's about what he's done, where he's traveled(everywhere except Antartica, but that's going to be his next trip), his passion for tinkering and taking things apart, his favourite food.
"Fish fingers and custard?" she asks, screwing her nose up. "That is so gross."
But mostly he likes to ask her questions. She tells him about her mum, how her step-dad owns this huge company and they have loads of everything now, but it all feels so weird. She tells him about growing up rough, and about her friends, about how if she would have gone to university, she would have studied history.
He's just so easy to talk to, listening, cracking some awful jokes that make her laugh anyway, stealing bits of icing even when she swats his hand. A real friend, someone she can trust.
In the day, he sticks around, sometimes in the actual cafe, sometimes hanging about in the kitchens. Jennifer starts being a little bolder, and Rose is fairly sure it's got something to do with how the Doctor had a little word with her boyfriend.
And everything just seems better with him around. Jack is held in check, and doesn't harrass anybody, Amy doesn't get as grumpy, the tips are a bit higher. Rose makes a different pie every Friday, and it starts drawing in customers.
Today it's chocolate, and she has to chill it, which is why she's nothing to do right now, but sit next to the Doctor and watch as the sun creeps into the sky.
"Beautiful," he murmurs, and she lies her head in her arms. Light hits his face at an angle, shining across his sometimes green sometimes grey eyes. It makes him stunning. She catches the thought and blushes, flicking her eyes away.
Not the way to be thinking about her employer.
She can't really help it though. He's kind and funny and like right now, just more. More than any other bloke.
Shutting off her brain, she looks at the shimmering water, flecked with sunlight. She can't imagine being anywhere else at this moment, and to make it perfect, his hand creeps to hers, like she might bolt, and curls around it lightly. He doesn't look st her.
She closes her eyes.
****
"Incorrigible," she snorts, attempting to clean off flour that's migrated to her nose. She just smudges it all over her cheek instead, and rolls her eyes in frustration, huffing.
"I've got it," the Doctor mutters, holding up a tissue and tilting up her chin with his fingers. Carefully, he wipes it away. His hand lingers, smooths her hair behind her ear.
"Thanks," she says, and he jumps back, shoves his hands into his pockets, and starts rattling on about people in Papua New Guinea.
Amy walks in, then, quickly followed by Rory. He leans into her a little, and a rarely-seen beam lighting up hus usually melancholy face. Rose stifles a giggle, clutching the Doctor's hand tightly.
"What?" he asks softly, eyes trained on her, a smile lifting the corners of his mouth.
"Those are yesterday's clothes," she points out, and it's true. The Doctor snorts when Rory kisses Amy on the cheek, and Amy grabs his collar and snogs him properly.
"Finally," they say in unison, and then grin like morons until Rory walks in, and they both take a step apart.
"How was last night?" the Doctor quips as he strolls out, and Rory's ears go red. Amy laughs, and says something about 'fantastic'. Rory buries himself in his pots and pans, but has a glow on his face, like he's just gotten what he's wanted for years and years,
Rose supposes he has.
****
He walks her home on Wednesday, mumbling something about it being a bit dodgy. Amy raises an eyebrow at her, putting two and two together an ending up with five.
They end up taking a detour at one of her favourite fish and chip shops, sharing the greasy food on a bench. She's draped in his coat with his arm pulled around her.
"I've never been out of England except for here," she says.
"Really?"
"Yeah." She stares wistfully out at the ocean. "Must be nice."
He tugs her closer. "I could fix that, you know," he offers carefully, tensely. "If you wanted, I could...we could go somewhere." He pauses, swallowing. "Anywhere you wanted."
Something swoops and dives in her chest, warming her heart. She pictures them together in a foreign city, exploring and adventuring.
"I'd love that," she whispers, and he holds her hand again, but this time it seems to mean so much more.
****
It's his birthday today, and she doesn't know if he's told anybody else, but she rushes to the TARDIS early, clutching a custard and fish finger pie that took all night to bake.
She's stuck a candle in there, and gotten him a bowtie with penguins on it as well. It's truly awful, but she laughed so hard when she saw it she couldn't not.
He's there, as she expected. Hoisting up the pie, she waves manically at him, and his whole face just lights up.
"Happy birthday," she says breathlessly when she gets inside. "I don't know how old you are, but everyone deserves a celebration."
She sets the pie down, and turns to him. His eyes are so, so warm. He draws her into a hug, breathing out a 'thank you' into her air, arms held securely around her.
Her stomach swims with butterflies and she holds her breath. She's sure he can hear how loud her heart is pounding.
"You're welcome," she says after pulling away slightly. She's ready to step back when he cups her cheek in his palm.
"No, really," he says honestly. "Thank you."
She wonders where his family is, for the first time. Did they call? Visit?
"Like I said," she whispers. He's closer now. "Everybody deserves a celebration."
He lifts his hand to trace her cheekbone. Her eyes flutter shut as he leans in, her whole body taut from anticipation. And he's kissing her, kissing her hard, one hand pressed to the small of her back, the other slipping around to slide around her neck, to tangle in her hair.
She opens her mouth deeper, moves instinctively with him, lips in sync. She fists her hands in his jacket, stumbles when they pull back and he stares at her wide-eyed with flushed cheeks. She licks her lips and sways a bit, already leaning in again to chase his mouth.
"Doctor," she murmurs.
And then he rocks back sharply, snatching back his hands like she's burning them. Rose's heart sinks, but she manages a smile anyway, and cuts his pie and watches him eat it quickly, not even talking to her.
He wears the tie for the whole day, and she can't decide whether that makes it better or worse that he won't look at her.
****
He's not there the next morning.
Or the next day.
****
And then he announces he's leaving again. To Greenland, this time. Rose's whole body shrinks in on itself. This can't be a co-incidence. She thought...he...
Thought wrong then.
He says goodbye to everybody, and when it comes to her, just offers a quick smile and a quicker hug.
"I'll miss you," she says quietly, and his face flickers, his hand squeezes hers desperately, so hard it feels likes it'll bruise.
"Me too," he says rawly. She blinks back tears.
"Then don't-" she starts, but he tears through the door frantically, slamming it shut in her face. She squeezes her eyes shut and bites her lip hard, tasting blood.
Mels offers her a sympathetic smile, and Rose keeps staring out the window until she hears the rattle of his engine fade.
How stupid do you have to be, to fall in love with your boss?
Stupid.
****
The next couple of months pass by slowly. The words coming so easily, and her smile drops off her face. People notice, try and talk to her, but she doesn't really want to talk back.
Still, she likes working, even if he's not here. Likes making things and watching people enjoy them and the life that flows in and out of the TARDIS.
Jennifer breaks up with her boyfriend, and is like a new person. Mels starts dating Jack, and they both flirt so badly with each other Amy has to separate them.
Her mum calls. She's pregnant, and hopes Rose will come home soon. She doesn't know this is her home.
Rory moves in to Amy's and a bloke called Adam comes around and tries to ask Rose out a couple of times. She's not really wanting that, though. Not when the Doctor is in Greenland, and holding her heart with him.
She can't figure out her mess of feelings when it comes to him. He was so close, and then just left. It felt like they were...
She doesn't know. Tries to keep him out of her mind as much as possible.
Until the letter arrives, and tears everything apart.
Dear Rose.
I've been an arse, really. I'm sorry. I don't know why I left, actually, of that it was the wrong thing to do. I miss you. A lot. I kept telling myself it was all wrong, me having...feelings towards you, but you kept doing things and smiling at me, and then it was my birthday and you remembered, so there was that.
Anyway. I wanted to say I'm miserable without you. I deserve to be miserable. I'm a miserable stupid arse, and it's sodding cold in this place.
And I'll be coming back soon. To you. For you. So I really honestly hope you'll be there and listen to me and give me another chance.
My name is John. I usually don't like it when people call me that, but I think I'd like it if you did. I want you to know me properly. I want a lot of things with you.
I miss you awfully.
John Smith
She holds the letter in her hand and puts her head in her arms and most definitely does not cry at all.
****
It's a Wednesday when she sees him outside the TARDIS, pale and thin and stubbly, hands twisted into fists as he waits for her.
For a moment she considers not going to him. But her feet are already pounding, and she's already crashed into him, arms wound tight around him, head buried in his chest.
He staggers but then crushes her to him, dropping the keys to the boardwalk, pressing his mouth into her sun bleached hair. He smells like travel and sadness, fingers desperate.
"You git," she mutters. "You left before I made my marshmallow pie."
****
His name is John Smith. His parents and family are all dead, leaving him the sole heir to a large amount of money. His home was burnt down in a fire. He actually has two doctorates, but the other one's for cheese making and it's not nearly as exciting.
"I'm sorry," he says as they dangle their legs over the water. They're sitting on an old jetty, above slightly choppy waves. "I was kissing you, I had wanted to kiss you so so badly. I'd wanted to kiss you since forever."
"Why did you stop?" she asks.
"You said 'Doctor'. And I'm not. I was scared so I ran."
The silence crawls on and on, the sun falling faster and faster. He's nervous, waiting for her, drumming his fingers on the splintered wood.
"Will you kiss me now?" she asks, and he sighs and catches her chin, fingers cradling her face.
"Please," he says, and then presses his mouth to hers, soft and gentle. Tender.
She pulls him closer. She'll always want him closer. He deepens the kiss, shifts so she's half on his lap, and she clings to him. Distantly, she thinks Jack is whistling from down the jetty.
And for the first time in ages, she feels a smile creeping up the edges of her, a hole being filled in her chest.
****
Later, he's sprawled next to her on his coat. Their fingers and legs re intertwined, heads tilted towards the stars. He takes their hands and outlines constellations, tracing pinpoints of light while he breathes stories in her ear, interspersed with light kisses to her lips, cheek, nose, hairline.
"I love you, I think," she says.
They don't say an awful lot more after that, he only helps her stand and leads her to the small beach house he lives in.
"If you want," he says seriously, and she does, so he peels off her dress and winds his fingers through her hair, and pulls her down to lie beneath him on the couch.
She calls him 'John' for the first time and it shouldn't fit him, but moonlight is scattered across his face and their bodies, and he's in her and she can't think anything else.
"I'll stay," he promises her, afterward, and he does, this time.
****
Three months later the TARDIS has a lovely new dessert chef called Oswin, and the boss and Rose are in the middle of Antartica, watching the ice and snow and occasional penguin..
They still come to visit every couple of months or so.
The wood is chipped, blue paint scattering on the boardwalk, a chalkboard stubbornly advertising home cooking, however much of a bad idea that might be. A hanging sign above the thin door has the name painted in block capitals, and it yells out to the tourist-crammed beach, 4405
It shouldn't be this easy, really, she thinks. There's a little sign in the window, dessert chef wanted, and her feet curl into her sandals, the sun shines a little brighter for her. She thinks of the empty boring flat, and smiles.
The wood is chipped, blue paint scattering on the boardwalk, a chalkboard stubbornly advertising home cooking, however much of a bad idea that might be. A hanging sign above the thin door has the name painted in block capitals, and it yells out to the tourist-crammed beach.
The TARDIS. A push of her hands and the door creaks open. Cool air rushes over her, a relief after the sticky heavy sunlight.
She steps inside and can't hold back a slight gasp of delight. It looks so much bigger than it did outside, all smooth wood tables and lazily buzzing air conditioning, sounds and smells drifting out from the kitchen at the back. A pretty redhead mans the counter, a nametag half scratched off and markered to read Amy instead of Amelia.
"Can I help?" she asks in a pleasant Scottish burr, tapping her pink nails along to a song she's humming under her breath.
"Yeah," says Rose breathlessly, and grins at her. She knows what she looks like; wild hair and salt dried skin, a beach bum with two different thongs and a ratty old canvas bag. "I want a job."
Amy stops humming and takes a good long look, eyes swishing up past her light tan and white shorts, frayed by time instead of fashion. She could get more clothes, more things, now, but she hates shopping. It's a leftover habit from the estate life, and she's still struggling with the fact she has money now, enough to move to a new country and rent a place to stay.
"Well..." Amy deliberates. "You'll have to bake something for us first. And then the boss will have to give the ok. But I bet Rory won't mind having someone else to do the desserts."
An old man calls out for the bill cheerfully, and Amy waves at him and steps out from the counter. She's catwalk-skinny, long thin legs and a slim waist.
"No references?" Rose asks in confusion. Amy shrugs.
"Boss doesn't think they're worth much. Says its the person that matters, not the opinions of others. He's nutters, of course, but nice all the same."
"Oh."
There aren't many people here; it's late in the morning and she gets the feeling the TARDIS is more of a breakfast-lunch-and-coffee place. Chewing on her lip, she removes her sunglasses and stows them in her bag.
"I could make something now, if you want?" she offers tentatively. Amy's back straightens as she hands the bill out and collects the change.
"Really? Off you go then. Rory's in the back now, he'll watch you. Oh, and d'you mind making something with chocolate? I'm starving."
With a last flick of her fingers, Amy wedges herself back behind the counter and turns on the old radio by the empty displays. She twiddles the dial until the static melts into upbeat chords and a sweet voice.
Rose makes her way to the kitchens where a tall man is swearing over a pot of coffee. He straightens when she enters and bangs his head on a cupboard.
"Oh hello," he says, wincing. His hair is messy, flopping over his pale forehead.
"Hi," she says. "Um...Amy says I'm to make something now. For a sort of...er...interview?"
"Oh thank god," he says. "I thought I was going to be making pies for the rest of my life. We've got a big dessert crowd, you know, and my baking really isn't up to scratch. We used to have Jenny to do that sort of thing but she's off traveling with her girlfriend, so..." he trails off, a frown creasing his forehead. "I'm Rory, by the way."
"Nice to meet you. I'm Rose. Can I get to it?" she asks, moving to wash her hands and grab an apron. Rory nods, and goes back to his ruined coffee, pulling a face as he dumps it into a bin.
The kitchens are cozy and clean, with bright colours and fancy gadgets on the counters. Rory points them out to her, and tells her the boss likes to tinker in a half bitter half respectful tone. She whirls around, remembering her mother's cooking lessons, in her cramped kitchen with the dodgy oven. She knows exactly what to make. Simple but delicious.
Roughly an hour later, she delivers a chocolate cupcake to Amy, with icing splattered on her nose. Amy sniffs it curiously, and takes a bite.
"Oh my god," she says, and just like that, Rose has a job.
The wages are good, and the hours aren't too bad, despite them being pretty early. She's used to that though, worked in a couple of bakeries in London. Her flat is nice and close, and Jackie and Pete won't chuck a fit at her working, despite the fact that her step-father pours money into her account like he's trying to compensate for the last nineteen years of near-poverty.
She walks home with the sun setting and the light casting a shadow over her face, and really, honestly, feels happy with herself. Somehow her extended holiday has turned into a life, and that more than anything makes her smile.
She's missed having a life.
****
The TARDIS has two waiters, a ridiculously handsome man named Jack who flirts with her shamelessly, and a dark skinned woman called Mels, who frequently stops to chat with Amy and laugh. They're both friendly, accepting her without a thought, into this strange little family.
There's another cook as well, Jennifer, who's quiet but sweet. She doesn't say much to Rose, but it's more out of shyness than hostility. Rory's very nice to her, and for a moment Rose wonders-but then she sees the way he looks at Amy every time she talks to him.
The little cafe is more popular than she thought at first; she's baking all sorts of things and stepping in and giving a hand with serving by the third day. Tourists coo about the quaint exterior, take their cameras and sunburns to the tables and stay for a while.
The view is lovely, out over the boardwalk and ocean, and most days it's a clear beautiful blue, sand so white it's blinding.
By the second week one customer knows her by name, and compliments her on her forest cake. It makes her practically swell with pride, and she grins all the way back to the kitchen.
And then Amy rushes in, crumpled letter held in her hand, out of breath and smiling manically.
"He's coming back in two days!" she proclaims, and Jack gives a whoop, rushing over to grab Mels in a hug.
"Where was he this time?" Rory yells from over his pasta. Amy shrugs even though he can't see it.
"Venezeula, I think," she replies, and sticks the letter to the pin board. "Could have been anywhere though; you know how he gets."
"Sorry, who?" Rose asks, handing Ian and Barbara-the cute old couple who sit by the window-their coffees.
"The boss," Amy answers. "He travels a lot, all over the place, but he always comes back." She looks at Rose curiously. "I'll bet he wants to meet you."
"Oh. What's he like?" Now she's nervous. She loves working at the TARDIS, but she might not meet the standards....
"He's great," Mels says, "I mean, completely insane, but great."
Ian and Barbara smile at her, and Rose jogs back to the kitchen. There's a chocolate mousse that needs freezing, and some pastry to bake.
****
And for the next two days, the boss is all anybody can talk about. Mels laughs about his beat up old blue Ford-the exact shade of the TARDIS door-that backfires because he can't drive it properly and it's about fifteen years old. Even Jennifer's giggling about the time he set the toaster on fire.
"Does he have a name?" Rose asks Rory. He's the only one who doesn't seem excited about it. In fact, he's looking a little bitter.
"No," he sighs, the sauce bubbling nicely. "He just calls himself the Doctor because of his PhD in astrology. He left university to run a cafe."
He lifts the spoon to her mouth, and she takes a cautious sip. He's been a little too vigorous with the pepper lately, but this time it's gorgeous.
"Mm," she hums in appreciation. "Everyone seems to love him."
"Yeah." Rory laughs, but it sounds a bit hollow. His eyes are directed towards the redhead chatting avidly with a customer.
"Everybody."
She can't think of anything to say to that.
****
I
t's a Wednesday when she walks up to the TARDIS and unlocks it. She's always early, the earliest, so Amy's given her a key. She wanted to make a pie today, blueberry maybe. Singing to herself slightly, she opens up and lets the bluish-grey light in. The sunrises are always beautiful; it's one of the reasons why she's in love with this job.
"Hello," says a voice behind her.
A strangled shriek makes it's way up her throat, and she whirls around with a heavy, sharp edged napkin holder to brain whoever's trying to kidnap her.
"Get the-"
She's greeted by a tall-ish, kind eyed man with a bowtie neatly arranged around his neck. And a set of keys in his hand. She remembers the blue Ford she saw at the parking lot.
"Oh, shit, I'm sorry," she mumbles, mortified, setting the holder down.
He chuckles at her. "Don't be. I'm the Doctor, by the way. You must be Rose, the dessert girl. I pictured you..."
"Older?" she offers, beginning to relax. They were right; he does seem nice.
"Fatter," he corrects and immediately looks embarrassed. "Sorry. I've been living in a remote village where no one spoke any English for the past month. I ended up having to grunt and point at everything."
She giggles, reaching for the elastic to tie her hair. He follows her into the kitchens, and helps her start up everything.
"What are you making?" he asks, sitting on the counter idly. He's younger than she expected, at the most his very early thirties.
"I thought a blueberry pie," she says, reaching for the dough she made yesterday. She sprinkles the counter with flour, and starts rolling it out carefully.
"Amelia told me you were good." He smiles at her. "It's nice to have someone new on board."
"It's nice to be here," she confesses, and his smile widens.
The door slams open now, and Amy's whirled in, squealing when she sees the Doctor. He sweeps her up in a bear hug, and they laugh until he sets her down.
The others trickle in gradually, each getting an enthusiastic greeting, even Rory, who looks grudgingly happy. Amy talks to him immediately, though, so he's in a good mood now.
Rose continues making the pie, rolling crust and mixing the fresh blueberries with the cinnamon, sugar and lemon zest. She likes having her hands busy; she's never been a really academic person. Sure Jimmy ruined her chances at school, but she wonders if she would have done so well, at that age.
The sun rises, light pours into the rooms. Their early morning customers start coming in, the joggers and surfers for coffee and a breakfast. Someone orders pancakes, so she does that while her pie is baking.
Listening through the coffee machine, she hears the regulars recognise the Doctor, ask about his adventures. He knows their names, every one, and knows their situations too.
All the owners seemed so far away from the community, in the places she'd worked before, but now she's beginning to see why the staff love him so much. He cares.
Lost in thought, she doesn't realise the timer's dinged until Rory points it out. It looks perfect, a crispy golden brown, and smells delicious. Her stomach remembers she didn't eat breakfast this morning. After it cools, she takes it out and arranges it on the display, writing the name in her bubbly, curly handwriting on a little white card. She's dusted the top with icing sugar.
"Looks wonderful." The Doctor walks up beside her, and inhales. "May I?"
Amy sighs loudly. "My god, do. She's fantastic."
Rose blushes crimson, but cuts him one and puts it on a cheap ceramic plate, watching him anxiously as he takes a large bite. His eyes widen.
"Oh," he says faintly. "You, Miss Tyler, are hired for life."
Amy laughs.
He spends the rest of the day, Rose notices, in a cozy table by the corner, watching everybody intently, drinking it in. He must have missed it here, only leaves when everybody's packing up.
He waves goodbye to her when her day ends, and she walks home not entirely knowing why something feels brighter.
****
He's there every morning when she gets there, and talks to her while she bakes. Sometimes it's about what he's done, where he's traveled(everywhere except Antartica, but that's going to be his next trip), his passion for tinkering and taking things apart, his favourite food.
"Fish fingers and custard?" she asks, screwing her nose up. "That is so gross."
But mostly he likes to ask her questions. She tells him about her mum, how her step-dad owns this huge company and they have loads of everything now, but it all feels so weird. She tells him about growing up rough, and about her friends, about how if she would have gone to university, she would have studied history.
He's just so easy to talk to, listening, cracking some awful jokes that make her laugh anyway, stealing bits of icing even when she swats his hand. A real friend, someone she can trust.
In the day, he sticks around, sometimes in the actual cafe, sometimes hanging about in the kitchens. Jennifer starts being a little bolder, and Rose is fairly sure it's got something to do with how the Doctor had a little word with her boyfriend.
And everything just seems better with him around. Jack is held in check, and doesn't harrass anybody, Amy doesn't get as grumpy, the tips are a bit higher. Rose makes a different pie every Friday, and it starts drawing in customers.
Today it's chocolate, and she has to chill it, which is why she's nothing to do right now, but sit next to the Doctor and watch as the sun creeps into the sky.
"Beautiful," he murmurs, and she lies her head in her arms. Light hits his face at an angle, shining across his sometimes green sometimes grey eyes. It makes him stunning. She catches the thought and blushes, flicking her eyes away.
Not the way to be thinking about her employer.
She can't really help it though. He's kind and funny and like right now, just more. More than any other bloke.
Shutting off her brain, she looks at the shimmering water, flecked with sunlight. She can't imagine being anywhere else at this moment, and to make it perfect, his hand creeps to hers, like she might bolt, and curls around it lightly. He doesn't look st her.
She closes her eyes.
****
"Incorrigible," she snorts, attempting to clean off flour that's migrated to her nose. She just smudges it all over her cheek instead, and rolls her eyes in frustration, huffing.
"I've got it," the Doctor mutters, holding up a tissue and tilting up her chin with his fingers. Carefully, he wipes it away. His hand lingers, smooths her hair behind her ear.
"Thanks," she says, and he jumps back, shoves his hands into his pockets, and starts rattling on about people in Papua New Guinea.
Amy walks in, then, quickly followed by Rory. He leans into her a little, and a rarely-seen beam lighting up hus usually melancholy face. Rose stifles a giggle, clutching the Doctor's hand tightly.
"What?" he asks softly, eyes trained on her, a smile lifting the corners of his mouth.
"Those are yesterday's clothes," she points out, and it's true. The Doctor snorts when Rory kisses Amy on the cheek, and Amy grabs his collar and snogs him properly.
"Finally," they say in unison, and then grin like morons until Rory walks in, and they both take a step apart.
"How was last night?" the Doctor quips as he strolls out, and Rory's ears go red. Amy laughs, and says something about 'fantastic'. Rory buries himself in his pots and pans, but has a glow on his face, like he's just gotten what he's wanted for years and years,
Rose supposes he has.
****
He walks her home on Wednesday, mumbling something about it being a bit dodgy. Amy raises an eyebrow at her, putting two and two together an ending up with five.
They end up taking a detour at one of her favourite fish and chip shops, sharing the greasy food on a bench. She's draped in his coat with his arm pulled around her.
"I've never been out of England except for here," she says.
"Really?"
"Yeah." She stares wistfully out at the ocean. "Must be nice."
He tugs her closer. "I could fix that, you know," he offers carefully, tensely. "If you wanted, I could...we could go somewhere." He pauses, swallowing. "Anywhere you wanted."
Something swoops and dives in her chest, warming her heart. She pictures them together in a foreign city, exploring and adventuring.
"I'd love that," she whispers, and he holds her hand again, but this time it seems to mean so much more.
****
It's his birthday today, and she doesn't know if he's told anybody else, but she rushes to the TARDIS early, clutching a custard and fish finger pie that took all night to bake.
She's stuck a candle in there, and gotten him a bowtie with penguins on it as well. It's truly awful, but she laughed so hard when she saw it she couldn't not.
He's there, as she expected. Hoisting up the pie, she waves manically at him, and his whole face just lights up.
"Happy birthday," she says breathlessly when she gets inside. "I don't know how old you are, but everyone deserves a celebration."
She sets the pie down, and turns to him. His eyes are so, so warm. He draws her into a hug, breathing out a 'thank you' into her air, arms held securely around her.
Her stomach swims with butterflies and she holds her breath. She's sure he can hear how loud her heart is pounding.
"You're welcome," she says after pulling away slightly. She's ready to step back when he cups her cheek in his palm.
"No, really," he says honestly. "Thank you."
She wonders where his family is, for the first time. Did they call? Visit?
"Like I said," she whispers. He's closer now. "Everybody deserves a celebration."
He lifts his hand to trace her cheekbone. Her eyes flutter shut as he leans in, her whole body taut from anticipation. And he's kissing her, kissing her hard, one hand pressed to the small of her back, the other slipping around to slide around her neck, to tangle in her hair.
She opens her mouth deeper, moves instinctively with him, lips in sync. She fists her hands in his jacket, stumbles when they pull back and he stares at her wide-eyed with flushed cheeks. She licks her lips and sways a bit, already leaning in again to chase his mouth.
"Doctor," she murmurs.
And then he rocks back sharply, snatching back his hands like she's burning them. Rose's heart sinks, but she manages a smile anyway, and cuts his pie and watches him eat it quickly, not even talking to her.
He wears the tie for the whole day, and she can't decide whether that makes it better or worse that he won't look at her.
****
He's not there the next morning.
Or the next day.
****
And then he announces he's leaving again. To Greenland, this time. Rose's whole body shrinks in on itself. This can't be a co-incidence. She thought...he...
Thought wrong then.
He says goodbye to everybody, and when it comes to her, just offers a quick smile and a quicker hug.
"I'll miss you," she says quietly, and his face flickers, his hand squeezes hers desperately, so hard it feels likes it'll bruise.
"Me too," he says rawly. She blinks back tears.
"Then don't-" she starts, but he tears through the door frantically, slamming it shut in her face. She squeezes her eyes shut and bites her lip hard, tasting blood.
Mels offers her a sympathetic smile, and Rose keeps staring out the window until she hears the rattle of his engine fade.
How stupid do you have to be, to fall in love with your boss?
Stupid.
****
The next couple of months pass by slowly. The words coming so easily, and her smile drops off her face. People notice, try and talk to her, but she doesn't really want to talk back.
Still, she likes working, even if he's not here. Likes making things and watching people enjoy them and the life that flows in and out of the TARDIS.
Jennifer breaks up with her boyfriend, and is like a new person. Mels starts dating Jack, and they both flirt so badly with each other Amy has to separate them.
Her mum calls. She's pregnant, and hopes Rose will come home soon. She doesn't know this is her home.
Rory moves in to Amy's and a bloke called Adam comes around and tries to ask Rose out a couple of times. She's not really wanting that, though. Not when the Doctor is in Greenland, and holding her heart with him.
She can't figure out her mess of feelings when it comes to him. He was so close, and then just left. It felt like they were...
She doesn't know. Tries to keep him out of her mind as much as possible.
Until the letter arrives, and tears everything apart.
Dear Rose.
I've been an arse, really. I'm sorry. I don't know why I left, actually, of that it was the wrong thing to do. I miss you. A lot. I kept telling myself it was all wrong, me having...feelings towards you, but you kept doing things and smiling at me, and then it was my birthday and you remembered, so there was that.
Anyway. I wanted to say I'm miserable without you. I deserve to be miserable. I'm a miserable stupid arse, and it's sodding cold in this place.
And I'll be coming back soon. To you. For you. So I really honestly hope you'll be there and listen to me and give me another chance.
My name is John. I usually don't like it when people call me that, but I think I'd like it if you did. I want you to know me properly. I want a lot of things with you.
I miss you awfully.
John Smith
She holds the letter in her hand and puts her head in her arms and most definitely does not cry at all.
****
It's a Wednesday when she sees him outside the TARDIS, pale and thin and stubbly, hands twisted into fists as he waits for her.
For a moment she considers not going to him. But her feet are already pounding, and she's already crashed into him, arms wound tight around him, head buried in his chest.
He staggers but then crushes her to him, dropping the keys to the boardwalk, pressing his mouth into her sun bleached hair. He smells like travel and sadness, fingers desperate.
"You git," she mutters. "You left before I made my marshmallow pie."
****
His name is John Smith. His parents and family are all dead, leaving him the sole heir to a large amount of money. His home was burnt down in a fire. He actually has two doctorates, but the other one's for cheese making and it's not nearly as exciting.
"I'm sorry," he says as they dangle their legs over the water. They're sitting on an old jetty, above slightly choppy waves. "I was kissing you, I had wanted to kiss you so so badly. I'd wanted to kiss you since forever."
"Why did you stop?" she asks.
"You said 'Doctor'. And I'm not. I was scared so I ran."
The silence crawls on and on, the sun falling faster and faster. He's nervous, waiting for her, drumming his fingers on the splintered wood.
"Will you kiss me now?" she asks, and he sighs and catches her chin, fingers cradling her face.
"Please," he says, and then presses his mouth to hers, soft and gentle. Tender.
She pulls him closer. She'll always want him closer. He deepens the kiss, shifts so she's half on his lap, and she clings to him. Distantly, she thinks Jack is whistling from down the jetty.
And for the first time in ages, she feels a smile creeping up the edges of her, a hole being filled in her chest.
****
Later, he's sprawled next to her on his coat. Their fingers and legs re intertwined, heads tilted towards the stars. He takes their hands and outlines constellations, tracing pinpoints of light while he breathes stories in her ear, interspersed with light kisses to her lips, cheek, nose, hairline.
"I love you, I think," she says.
They don't say an awful lot more after that, he only helps her stand and leads her to the small beach house he lives in.
"If you want," he says seriously, and she does, so he peels off her dress and winds his fingers through her hair, and pulls her down to lie beneath him on the couch.
She calls him 'John' for the first time and it shouldn't fit him, but moonlight is scattered across his face and their bodies, and he's in her and she can't think anything else.
"I'll stay," he promises her, afterward, and he does, this time.
****
Three months later the TARDIS has a lovely new dessert chef called Oswin, and the boss and Rose are in the middle of Antartica, watching the ice and snow and occasional penguin..
They still come to visit every couple of months or so.