Under The One Roof
Title: Under The One Roof.
Writen For: A pinch-hit for threerings
Rating: G.
Spoilers: Set after Journey's End.
Pairings: Nine/Rose, Ten/Rose, Ten II/Rose; Nine/Ten/TenII/Rose. PG, people! Minds, gutter, out!
Genre: Fluff, romance, angst; The Usual Suspects.
Author's Note: Can be found with the story.
Summary: The trials, tribulations, blessings and logistical problems that make up Rose's life, as she lives with three very different Doctors under the one roof.
Prompts:
- A multiple Doctor story where Rose interacts with at least two versions of the Doctor. Bonus points for smut.
- Fairy Tale Plot/Setting/Whatever.
Author's Notes: Dear threerings,
I don't really know you, so I hope this isn't exactly the sort of fic that you hate to read. *g* I'm sorry about this, that's all I can say! You asked for something different from the norm, so I thought I'd really, really stretch the multiple Doctor prompt. I couldn't make it smutty, because the logistics blew my mind. *g*
READ WITH SPECS ON! :)
I'd be happy to talk about this with you, if you so desire. *hugs*
Without further ado, because I think I've used up all the 'ado' in the world:
With an exasperated sigh, Rose flopped gracelessly onto one of the many armchairs that littered the wardrobe room. It was a particularly garish purple beast of a thing, velour upholstered and lumpy in all the wrong places, but to one as worn out as she, it was sweet relief.
Settling back into the cushions and wiggling her head until the pillows were moulded just so, she relaxed and breathed in the grandeur of the room. Indeed, it now actually was a room; a proper room, with a wooden floor and a door and a distant ceiling - not merely an open spiral staircase.
It was impossible to see all four walls at once from any single position; which might have had more to do with the fact that the wardrobe was packed to the rafters with stuff, rather than with the fact that the walls were so very far apart. Nevertheless, the room was very, very large.
Rickety old bookshelves in haphazard rows poked ever upwards until they narrowed to mere pinpricks and disappeared from view. Interestingly enough, most of them were stocked with socks. Racks of clothes snaked around the room in unpredictable and ever changing routes, stretching on for what seemed like miles and miles. Two hatstands as tall as beech trees gallantly guarded the entrance, and kindly bent over to allow prospective wearers their pick. A sombrero adorned the top of one like a star on a Christmas tree and Rose still had the other’s Russian furry Ushanka.
A black conveyer belt, much like those that delivered luggage at airports, trundled about the room, merrily ferrying sparkly, shiny heels to and fro. A lauded genius and saviour to all had discovered how to apply gravity dampeners to the heels and soles of stilettos, thus making walking in them practically painless.
Rose was just contemplating getting up and chasing after a particularly pretty pair when she heard voices filtering through a selection of thick woolly parkas.
“I don’t know how to put it any simpler,” said an impatient northern voice. “I’ve got to-”
“No, no, no,” protested two identical accents in high-pitched yelps. One of them continued, “if I de-contradict the flux-stabilizer and re-route the answer pathways of the magic eight ball-”
One of the twinned accents turned on the other. “How many times do I have to tell you, it’s not the magic eight ball!? It’s the…” and he trailed off, in a way that Rose knew would be accompanied by a bounce and a twirl and a hair-tug.
“Magic eight ball,” grumbled the northern voice in disbelief. “It’s fine art, is TARDIS repair.”
They all continued to natter and grumble away until, suddenly, a mop of ruffled brown hair poked experimentally between two particularly woolly parkas. The mop was shortly followed by two big chocolate eyes, a thin pointed nose and a pale pink pair of lips. The eyes danced around until they alighted on Rose, still snuggled in the armchair and looking for all the world as if she wanted to hide. They went round and large with excitement when they saw her, crinkled at the edges and radiating warmth.
“I’ve found her, gents!” the pale pink lips announced triumphantly.
There was an excited yelp, a squeak and a scuffle; another untidy mop of brown popped through the gap directly on top of its partner, chin to brow. “Top banana!”
“Oi! Gerrof!” the Doctor on the bottom protested as he began to topple forward under the sudden and unexpected weight of his twin. They fell in an ungainly heap of brown, taking more than a few of the parkas with them, to end up sprawled on the floor, twisted around each other in ways that sparked Rose’s imagination.
They were still for a rare moment, simply collecting their wits and blinking themselves out of their daze, until the heavy footfall of boots echoed ever closer. Eager not to let their younger self see them in such undignified positions, the striped set began to untangle their limbs and bounced up, immediately affecting casual stances.
Blue eyes blinked at them incredulously. “Idiots, the both of you.”
One of the ruffled and chocolatey Doctors, Rose wasn’t sure which, puffed up indignantly. “You are us, you know. Well, you are me, and he,” he pointed somewhat distastefully at his doppelganger, "is me.”
Sifting through that rather confusing sentence in her head a few times, Rose tried to sort out the particulars. Sometimes, her life seemed such a jumbled mess. Unlike in the movies, love alone did not grace her with the intuitive ability to simply look into the Doctor’s eyes and instantly know which man she was talking to.
Life had been further complicated by the arrival of her first Doctor, the one whose blue eyes had set upon her first; the one who had learned her name and explained the acronym that was the TARDIS. He’d shown up one day (there’s nothing as linear, nor as boring as a day on the TARDIS, Rose!), lying brokenly on the kitchen floor, muttering about wibbly-wobbly timey-wimey stuff and Dolly the sheep.
His different appearance helped a lot in terms of identification, but little in the grander scheme of things - he was a product of the adventures between “I dunno, you could come with me?” and, “did I mention, it also travels in time?” Thusly, he himself had never really known Rose beyond their defeat of the Nestene Consciousness.
…and so it was the Rose had found herself living with three different men. One a Time Lord, one a half-human product of regeneration and one a clone. Three Doctors. Three Doctors that were still very much snipping at each other.
“Excusé moi!” protested the Doctor - the one that Rose now assumed was half human. Theatrically, he waved his counterpart’s pointing finger aside. “What was that tone for, exactly, eh? We’ve been through this, one heart does not a stupid ape make.”
Rose knew that a rumble was imminent. Crossed leather clad arms, tugged hair that was in need of a trim and squared shoulders were all indicators, but the simple fact that the three of them were all in the same room was enough of a tell.
Upon recollection, Rose wasn’t sure what it was that had made her snap. They’d fought the day before, and the day before that, and, just for something a little different, they’d fought the day before that as well. Normally she’d just let them rant and snip at each other and then make the rounds, soothing any broken egos.
Not this time. The weight on her shoulders was almost unbearable. She’d spent so long worrying about not knowing the right thing to say to any of them; so long worrying about her inability to tell two of them apart; so long worrying about making it clear to all of them that she didn’t want them to be anything but who they were; so long worrying about whose hand to hold because she only had two and there were three of them, and whichever way you cut it, that didn’t work.
She’d spent so long worrying about how to go about loving three men; three men who were the same and yet different.
She didn’t want the half-human Doctor to feel any less brilliant that his Time Lord counterpart because of ape genes. She didn’t want the Time Lord to feel any less brilliant than his half-human doppelganger because of his inability to articulate his love. She didn’t want her wounded big eared Doctor to feel that he had to be the man that she’d known, the man that had taken her to the end of the earth.
All in all, she was a diplomatically spent.
Holding back tears of exasperation and anger, Rose propelled herself out of the purple armchair and, unable to even look at them, stormed off. She didn’t even pay the kindly hatstand any mind when it leaned over to give her the squishy blue beanie that it knew she loved.
. . . .
Some time later, feeling as one feels when they’ve had a relaxing warm shower and are wearing their favourite, freshly ironed jimjams, Rose went in search of the Doctors. Filled with determination and guided by the TARDIS, she opened the heavy wooden door to the wardrobe. She stopped only to give the hatstand a pat of thanks before setting off into the bowels of the room.
It didn’t take her long to find them. Their voices echoed and bounced off the dozens of bookshelves that made up the sock department; she followed the noises and was surprised to find that they were talking, not bickering.
If the wardrobe was a jungle then what they were in could only be described as a small clearing - bookshelves circled around them and the ones that leaned at more precarious angles arched over their heads, swaying in the gentle and inexplicable breeze.
Each Doctor sat on armchairs infinitely more dignified than her purple velour one and each looked as though they were deep in thought.
Gathering her courage and determination, Rose marched into the clearing and stood in the centre, eyeing them all challengingly. They all looked up at her through impossibly expressive eyes, and though her annoyance with them didn’t wane, it was joined by deep affection.
As uncomfortably assuming as she sometimes felt when she thought it, they were all, in their own quirky ways, in love with her. She still wasn’t quite sure why, but they were; it was an incredibly empowering thought. She was not a girl without confidence, she was not a girl that felt crushed by their vastly superior intelligence, but they were undeniably fantastic and powerful forces in the universe. That the three of them should all love her, sometimes made her feel the need to down a large glass of something strong.
Trying to focus on the task at hand, Rose squared her shoulders and was about to launch into her prepared-earlier speech when she noticed that one of the ruffled Doctors had changed his clothes.
He was wearing black trousers, into which was loosely tucked a white oxford shirt. Well, Rose assumed it was an oxford - she could only see the white collars peeping out the top of a deep blue woollen jumper and a bit at the waist, where he hadn’t pulled the jumper down properly. In his hands was a mess of black material. His gaze locked on hers, he stood and slipped on what turned out to be a knee-length trenchcoat.
It was a bit big, what with him not being the bulkiest of men; the seam where the shoulder met the arm was a little off kilter. Straps and buckles wound around the cuffs and when he adjusted the large lapels, Rose was fairly certain that she squeaked.
With a warm smile, he made his was towards her. He stooped and dropped one, two, three soft kisses against her cheek, then moved his lips to her ear. His breath ghosted over the shell gently, and then he whispered, “it was time.” His tone had a hint of melancholy in it, but also acceptance and hope.
Though he said nothing else, Rose knew instantly what he meant. He was accepting the fact that he wasn’t the same man he’d always been. Despite Rose treading on eggshells to assure him that this mattered little, it was an important truth.
Rose was just chasing his lips to kiss him when she noticed something out of the corner of her eye. Her blue-eyed Doctor had just stood up from his armchair, shed his leather jacket and slipped off his dark green jumper- the one with the line down the centre of his chest. Rose tripped a little into her planned kiss, her lips sort of mushing against a pointy freckled nose.
They all laughed at her, the Doctor currently without a shirt in particular chuckling deeply. He turned and picked up his red jumper from his armchair, slipping it on with little fuss before once again donning black leather. The red made her heart beat just a little faster.
He ambled over and gave the Doctor-In-Oxford a rough, but playful shove, and suddenly she was at eye-level with his red woollen covered chest. He too, had to stoop and he too, pressed his lips to her cheek, a little rougher than the pair before, but just as welcome. “This is your favourite jumper, right?” He didn’t wait for a response, but Rose could feel his smile against her skin.
It was a genuine smile, and when he pulled back, she saw a happiness in his eyes that she hadn’t seen since…well, since the first time she’d journeyed with him. You made him better, she suddenly remembered one of them telling her in the kitchen.
It was clear that he wasn’t going to say anything more, but somehow in a moment of clarity, Rose understood. He was happy. Hesitantly, he pressed his lips to hers, his hands settling into the small of her back, pushing her curves into his angles. The kiss grew in intensity, and just when it was bordering on indecent, a gentle hand on her arm and an amused cough made her step back somewhat sheepishly.
She turned, and was suddenly looking into the brown eyes of the man that she’d run desperately towards on that dark and cold and fateful street. Again, she found herself alone with only one, as the other two stood back to allow for privacy. Again, her cheek was kissed and again, words were whispered into her ear. “I…” he broke off, squashing his nose against her hair as he nervously tried to hide his eyes from hers. “I love you.”
. . . .
Buzzing with excitement, Rose curled her hands around her designated part of the TARDIS console. She’d been deemed a master of the handbrake, and her official job as Trainee-Pilot was to decide when was best to stop. Three Doctors, bless their socks, never seemed to be able to manage.
They stood now beside her, spaced out around the console, each focussed on flying the TARDIS. Despite the fact that they didn’t have to dance and bounce around the Time Rotor like they used to, they still moved like they’d had a fire lit under them; frantically, frenetically, full to the brim with excitement.
They still snipped, still fought, still grumbled and ranted, still considered each other as daft as paintbrushes, but there was also an odd camaraderie between them. There was also still an awkwardness when it came to all things sexual. This wasn’t so much about them being shy and retiring, they weren’t, but more to do with the logistics of their situation. Rose was very lucky, yes, but she was also often very tired.
She’d never found out just what they’d discussed after she’d fled from the wardrobe room; she didn’t know how they’d pushed aside their brutal competitiveness and become friends. She did know that they had each found their own measure of happiness, and she was thankful that they all seemed to include her in it.
“To infinity!” cried the Doctor as he flicked and turned dials and wheels happily, making his black trench coat swish around his knees.
“And beyond!” the others chorused, arms raised, and Rose couldn’t help but laugh at them.
The flight wasn’t quite as smooth as it had been when they’d had Martha and Jack and Mickey, but between the four of them they flew it quite well.
More importantly, of course, was the fact that they flew it together.
. . . .
. . . .
. . . .
Blame the new outfit on Peter Carlisle, ok? I want to tackle!hug during most of Blackpool (sorry, that is *all* of Blackpool) so I had no choice but to dress one of the Doctors like him.
I didn't include the actual conversation between the Doctors, because I felt like I'd already done that in Four Hearts, Three Tongues, Two Brown Suits and One Love.
I tried to make the wardrobe room magical!
It's also really romantic, much more romantic and sugary than I set out for it to be. Meep!
Hope you liked it!
Writen For: A pinch-hit for threerings
Rating: G.
Spoilers: Set after Journey's End.
Pairings: Nine/Rose, Ten/Rose, Ten II/Rose; Nine/Ten/TenII/Rose. PG, people! Minds, gutter, out!
Genre: Fluff, romance, angst; The Usual Suspects.
Author's Note: Can be found with the story.
Summary: The trials, tribulations, blessings and logistical problems that make up Rose's life, as she lives with three very different Doctors under the one roof.
Prompts:
- A multiple Doctor story where Rose interacts with at least two versions of the Doctor. Bonus points for smut.
- Fairy Tale Plot/Setting/Whatever.
Author's Notes: Dear threerings,
I don't really know you, so I hope this isn't exactly the sort of fic that you hate to read. *g* I'm sorry about this, that's all I can say! You asked for something different from the norm, so I thought I'd really, really stretch the multiple Doctor prompt. I couldn't make it smutty, because the logistics blew my mind. *g*
READ WITH SPECS ON! :)
I'd be happy to talk about this with you, if you so desire. *hugs*
Without further ado, because I think I've used up all the 'ado' in the world:
With an exasperated sigh, Rose flopped gracelessly onto one of the many armchairs that littered the wardrobe room. It was a particularly garish purple beast of a thing, velour upholstered and lumpy in all the wrong places, but to one as worn out as she, it was sweet relief.
Settling back into the cushions and wiggling her head until the pillows were moulded just so, she relaxed and breathed in the grandeur of the room. Indeed, it now actually was a room; a proper room, with a wooden floor and a door and a distant ceiling - not merely an open spiral staircase.
It was impossible to see all four walls at once from any single position; which might have had more to do with the fact that the wardrobe was packed to the rafters with stuff, rather than with the fact that the walls were so very far apart. Nevertheless, the room was very, very large.
Rickety old bookshelves in haphazard rows poked ever upwards until they narrowed to mere pinpricks and disappeared from view. Interestingly enough, most of them were stocked with socks. Racks of clothes snaked around the room in unpredictable and ever changing routes, stretching on for what seemed like miles and miles. Two hatstands as tall as beech trees gallantly guarded the entrance, and kindly bent over to allow prospective wearers their pick. A sombrero adorned the top of one like a star on a Christmas tree and Rose still had the other’s Russian furry Ushanka.
A black conveyer belt, much like those that delivered luggage at airports, trundled about the room, merrily ferrying sparkly, shiny heels to and fro. A lauded genius and saviour to all had discovered how to apply gravity dampeners to the heels and soles of stilettos, thus making walking in them practically painless.
Rose was just contemplating getting up and chasing after a particularly pretty pair when she heard voices filtering through a selection of thick woolly parkas.
“I don’t know how to put it any simpler,” said an impatient northern voice. “I’ve got to-”
“No, no, no,” protested two identical accents in high-pitched yelps. One of them continued, “if I de-contradict the flux-stabilizer and re-route the answer pathways of the magic eight ball-”
One of the twinned accents turned on the other. “How many times do I have to tell you, it’s not the magic eight ball!? It’s the…” and he trailed off, in a way that Rose knew would be accompanied by a bounce and a twirl and a hair-tug.
“Magic eight ball,” grumbled the northern voice in disbelief. “It’s fine art, is TARDIS repair.”
They all continued to natter and grumble away until, suddenly, a mop of ruffled brown hair poked experimentally between two particularly woolly parkas. The mop was shortly followed by two big chocolate eyes, a thin pointed nose and a pale pink pair of lips. The eyes danced around until they alighted on Rose, still snuggled in the armchair and looking for all the world as if she wanted to hide. They went round and large with excitement when they saw her, crinkled at the edges and radiating warmth.
“I’ve found her, gents!” the pale pink lips announced triumphantly.
There was an excited yelp, a squeak and a scuffle; another untidy mop of brown popped through the gap directly on top of its partner, chin to brow. “Top banana!”
“Oi! Gerrof!” the Doctor on the bottom protested as he began to topple forward under the sudden and unexpected weight of his twin. They fell in an ungainly heap of brown, taking more than a few of the parkas with them, to end up sprawled on the floor, twisted around each other in ways that sparked Rose’s imagination.
They were still for a rare moment, simply collecting their wits and blinking themselves out of their daze, until the heavy footfall of boots echoed ever closer. Eager not to let their younger self see them in such undignified positions, the striped set began to untangle their limbs and bounced up, immediately affecting casual stances.
Blue eyes blinked at them incredulously. “Idiots, the both of you.”
One of the ruffled and chocolatey Doctors, Rose wasn’t sure which, puffed up indignantly. “You are us, you know. Well, you are me, and he,” he pointed somewhat distastefully at his doppelganger, "is me.”
Sifting through that rather confusing sentence in her head a few times, Rose tried to sort out the particulars. Sometimes, her life seemed such a jumbled mess. Unlike in the movies, love alone did not grace her with the intuitive ability to simply look into the Doctor’s eyes and instantly know which man she was talking to.
Life had been further complicated by the arrival of her first Doctor, the one whose blue eyes had set upon her first; the one who had learned her name and explained the acronym that was the TARDIS. He’d shown up one day (there’s nothing as linear, nor as boring as a day on the TARDIS, Rose!), lying brokenly on the kitchen floor, muttering about wibbly-wobbly timey-wimey stuff and Dolly the sheep.
His different appearance helped a lot in terms of identification, but little in the grander scheme of things - he was a product of the adventures between “I dunno, you could come with me?” and, “did I mention, it also travels in time?” Thusly, he himself had never really known Rose beyond their defeat of the Nestene Consciousness.
…and so it was the Rose had found herself living with three different men. One a Time Lord, one a half-human product of regeneration and one a clone. Three Doctors. Three Doctors that were still very much snipping at each other.
“Excusé moi!” protested the Doctor - the one that Rose now assumed was half human. Theatrically, he waved his counterpart’s pointing finger aside. “What was that tone for, exactly, eh? We’ve been through this, one heart does not a stupid ape make.”
Rose knew that a rumble was imminent. Crossed leather clad arms, tugged hair that was in need of a trim and squared shoulders were all indicators, but the simple fact that the three of them were all in the same room was enough of a tell.
Upon recollection, Rose wasn’t sure what it was that had made her snap. They’d fought the day before, and the day before that, and, just for something a little different, they’d fought the day before that as well. Normally she’d just let them rant and snip at each other and then make the rounds, soothing any broken egos.
Not this time. The weight on her shoulders was almost unbearable. She’d spent so long worrying about not knowing the right thing to say to any of them; so long worrying about her inability to tell two of them apart; so long worrying about making it clear to all of them that she didn’t want them to be anything but who they were; so long worrying about whose hand to hold because she only had two and there were three of them, and whichever way you cut it, that didn’t work.
She’d spent so long worrying about how to go about loving three men; three men who were the same and yet different.
She didn’t want the half-human Doctor to feel any less brilliant that his Time Lord counterpart because of ape genes. She didn’t want the Time Lord to feel any less brilliant than his half-human doppelganger because of his inability to articulate his love. She didn’t want her wounded big eared Doctor to feel that he had to be the man that she’d known, the man that had taken her to the end of the earth.
All in all, she was a diplomatically spent.
Holding back tears of exasperation and anger, Rose propelled herself out of the purple armchair and, unable to even look at them, stormed off. She didn’t even pay the kindly hatstand any mind when it leaned over to give her the squishy blue beanie that it knew she loved.
. . . .
Some time later, feeling as one feels when they’ve had a relaxing warm shower and are wearing their favourite, freshly ironed jimjams, Rose went in search of the Doctors. Filled with determination and guided by the TARDIS, she opened the heavy wooden door to the wardrobe. She stopped only to give the hatstand a pat of thanks before setting off into the bowels of the room.
It didn’t take her long to find them. Their voices echoed and bounced off the dozens of bookshelves that made up the sock department; she followed the noises and was surprised to find that they were talking, not bickering.
If the wardrobe was a jungle then what they were in could only be described as a small clearing - bookshelves circled around them and the ones that leaned at more precarious angles arched over their heads, swaying in the gentle and inexplicable breeze.
Each Doctor sat on armchairs infinitely more dignified than her purple velour one and each looked as though they were deep in thought.
Gathering her courage and determination, Rose marched into the clearing and stood in the centre, eyeing them all challengingly. They all looked up at her through impossibly expressive eyes, and though her annoyance with them didn’t wane, it was joined by deep affection.
As uncomfortably assuming as she sometimes felt when she thought it, they were all, in their own quirky ways, in love with her. She still wasn’t quite sure why, but they were; it was an incredibly empowering thought. She was not a girl without confidence, she was not a girl that felt crushed by their vastly superior intelligence, but they were undeniably fantastic and powerful forces in the universe. That the three of them should all love her, sometimes made her feel the need to down a large glass of something strong.
Trying to focus on the task at hand, Rose squared her shoulders and was about to launch into her prepared-earlier speech when she noticed that one of the ruffled Doctors had changed his clothes.
He was wearing black trousers, into which was loosely tucked a white oxford shirt. Well, Rose assumed it was an oxford - she could only see the white collars peeping out the top of a deep blue woollen jumper and a bit at the waist, where he hadn’t pulled the jumper down properly. In his hands was a mess of black material. His gaze locked on hers, he stood and slipped on what turned out to be a knee-length trenchcoat.
It was a bit big, what with him not being the bulkiest of men; the seam where the shoulder met the arm was a little off kilter. Straps and buckles wound around the cuffs and when he adjusted the large lapels, Rose was fairly certain that she squeaked.
With a warm smile, he made his was towards her. He stooped and dropped one, two, three soft kisses against her cheek, then moved his lips to her ear. His breath ghosted over the shell gently, and then he whispered, “it was time.” His tone had a hint of melancholy in it, but also acceptance and hope.
Though he said nothing else, Rose knew instantly what he meant. He was accepting the fact that he wasn’t the same man he’d always been. Despite Rose treading on eggshells to assure him that this mattered little, it was an important truth.
Rose was just chasing his lips to kiss him when she noticed something out of the corner of her eye. Her blue-eyed Doctor had just stood up from his armchair, shed his leather jacket and slipped off his dark green jumper- the one with the line down the centre of his chest. Rose tripped a little into her planned kiss, her lips sort of mushing against a pointy freckled nose.
They all laughed at her, the Doctor currently without a shirt in particular chuckling deeply. He turned and picked up his red jumper from his armchair, slipping it on with little fuss before once again donning black leather. The red made her heart beat just a little faster.
He ambled over and gave the Doctor-In-Oxford a rough, but playful shove, and suddenly she was at eye-level with his red woollen covered chest. He too, had to stoop and he too, pressed his lips to her cheek, a little rougher than the pair before, but just as welcome. “This is your favourite jumper, right?” He didn’t wait for a response, but Rose could feel his smile against her skin.
It was a genuine smile, and when he pulled back, she saw a happiness in his eyes that she hadn’t seen since…well, since the first time she’d journeyed with him. You made him better, she suddenly remembered one of them telling her in the kitchen.
It was clear that he wasn’t going to say anything more, but somehow in a moment of clarity, Rose understood. He was happy. Hesitantly, he pressed his lips to hers, his hands settling into the small of her back, pushing her curves into his angles. The kiss grew in intensity, and just when it was bordering on indecent, a gentle hand on her arm and an amused cough made her step back somewhat sheepishly.
She turned, and was suddenly looking into the brown eyes of the man that she’d run desperately towards on that dark and cold and fateful street. Again, she found herself alone with only one, as the other two stood back to allow for privacy. Again, her cheek was kissed and again, words were whispered into her ear. “I…” he broke off, squashing his nose against her hair as he nervously tried to hide his eyes from hers. “I love you.”
. . . .
Buzzing with excitement, Rose curled her hands around her designated part of the TARDIS console. She’d been deemed a master of the handbrake, and her official job as Trainee-Pilot was to decide when was best to stop. Three Doctors, bless their socks, never seemed to be able to manage.
They stood now beside her, spaced out around the console, each focussed on flying the TARDIS. Despite the fact that they didn’t have to dance and bounce around the Time Rotor like they used to, they still moved like they’d had a fire lit under them; frantically, frenetically, full to the brim with excitement.
They still snipped, still fought, still grumbled and ranted, still considered each other as daft as paintbrushes, but there was also an odd camaraderie between them. There was also still an awkwardness when it came to all things sexual. This wasn’t so much about them being shy and retiring, they weren’t, but more to do with the logistics of their situation. Rose was very lucky, yes, but she was also often very tired.
She’d never found out just what they’d discussed after she’d fled from the wardrobe room; she didn’t know how they’d pushed aside their brutal competitiveness and become friends. She did know that they had each found their own measure of happiness, and she was thankful that they all seemed to include her in it.
“To infinity!” cried the Doctor as he flicked and turned dials and wheels happily, making his black trench coat swish around his knees.
“And beyond!” the others chorused, arms raised, and Rose couldn’t help but laugh at them.
The flight wasn’t quite as smooth as it had been when they’d had Martha and Jack and Mickey, but between the four of them they flew it quite well.
More importantly, of course, was the fact that they flew it together.
. . . .
. . . .
. . . .
Blame the new outfit on Peter Carlisle, ok? I want to tackle!hug during most of Blackpool (sorry, that is *all* of Blackpool) so I had no choice but to dress one of the Doctors like him.
I didn't include the actual conversation between the Doctors, because I felt like I'd already done that in Four Hearts, Three Tongues, Two Brown Suits and One Love.
I tried to make the wardrobe room magical!
It's also really romantic, much more romantic and sugary than I set out for it to be. Meep!
Hope you liked it!