Ficlet: Stuck on You 1/1
Title: Stuck on You
Characters: Tenth Doctor, Rose Tyler
Rating: All Ages
Warnings: For immature humor and other grossness.
Disclaimer: Nothing you see belongs to me.
Spoilers: None
Summary: "I'm gonna stick like glue - stick, because I'm stuck on you." -- Elvis Presley, Stuck on You. The Doctor and Rose have an adventure in adhesives.
A/N: This past week's
doctor_rose_las entry, now with an all-new ending! Oh, the suspense...
++
“Doctor, wouldn’t you say that, broadly speaking, I’m a pretty good sport?”
The Doctor looked up from the solution he was gently nursing to a boil. It was blue and made the TARDIS laboratory smell like the inside of a primate enclosure at a poorly run zoo. “I would say that. In fact, I have. ‘That Rose Tyler,’ I often find myself saying for no reason at all, ‘she’s a pretty good sport.’”
Rose glared at him. “And wouldn’t you say-”
She was interrupted by a small explosion of blue, monkey-scented bubbles. The Doctor clucked his tongue and fiddled with the knob at the base of his decidedly low-tech Bunsen burner. “And wouldn’t I say-”
“And wouldn’t you say,” Rose repeated nasally, pinching her nose closed with the hand not clasped in his, “that, given my species and cultural background, I have a fairly high tolerance for the sort of goopy alien grossness I encounter in a typical day with you?”
He gave her a long, deliberate look. “Rose, are you suggesting the Giant Ice Slug vomit was too much for your delicate human sensibilities? The regurgitation that broke the camel’s back, as it were?”
She snorted, a rather unpleasant experience given that her nostrils were still pinched shut. “Oh, and I suppose that being swallowed whole by an enormous slug, nearly digested, and then spat back out drenched in alien stomach juices didn’t bother you a bit?”
The Doctor shrugged. “Once you’ve seen one slug esophagus, you’ve seen ‘em all.”
Her glare deepened to a glower. “If you’re such a dab hand at playing slug lunch, why didn’t it occur to you to mention this?” She tugged hard at their joined hands and he winced.
“Ah,” he said, frowning. “Yes, that was something of a surprise.”
Rose settled her free hand on her hip. “Doctor, someone jumping out from behind a corner and shouting ‘Boo!’ is a surprise. Getting flowers from a secret admirer is a surprise. Accidentally gluing yourself to your best mate with congealed slug vomit? Not even close.”
He sniffed. “Well, astrobiologically speaking, it’s something of a coup. This substance-”
“Vomit.”
“-is entirely fascinating. Not quite like anything I’ve ever seen before, really, and I’ve seen quite a bit. You do realise, of course, that the intricate cave system we explored-”
“Got hopelessly lost in.”
“-must have been constructed by the Ice Slug with its own congealing gastric acids? It was, quite literally-”
“Living in its own puke?”
He returned to the bubbling blue solution on the table in front of them, tapping the vial with one long finger of his left hand. His right hand, of course, was firmly glued to her left, still gripping her fingers as tightly as he had when they’d come spilling out of the slug’s stomach together, gasping for air. “Well,” he said snippily, “since your intellectual curiosity seems to have gone on holiday, along with your sense of humour-”
She made a frustrated sound low in her throat and let her forehead fall against his shoulder. “I have to use the loo,” she whispered to his still somewhat sticky arm, more than a little mortified. “Badly.”
“Oh.” He swallowed. “That…could be awkward.”
“You don’t know the half of it.” She tried not to squirm. “I think my trousers are glued on.”
“Right,” he said, suddenly poised for action. “Finding a way to unadhese mystery slug adhesive with commendable speed and precision.” He turned to her. “Brainy specs.”
She reached inside his suit coat for his glasses and carefully placed them on his face.
He held out his free hand. “Sample of gastropod gastric juices.”
She pulled a still-hardening glob from his hair and dropped it into his outstretched palm. His nose wrinkled. “Okay, you’re right. This is disgusting.”
“Speed,” she reminded him. “Precision.”
The Doctor slid the glob into the blue, monkey-scented solution. He leaned forward until his nose nearly touched the glass vial. Rose followed him, staring at him as he stared at the mixture. Nothing happened.
“What are we looking for?” she asked, her voice low.
“I have no idea,” the Doctor replied just as softly. He dipped his finger into the vial and then slipped it into his mouth. “Hmm,” he said. “Tastes like-”
“Don’t,” Rose choked out, clapping a hand over her mouth. “Please don’t.”
He grinned at her. “Tastes like some good old-fashioned soap and water should do the trick. With a bit of scrubbing, of course.” He bumped her shoulder with his. “So what do you say, Rose Tyler? Fancy a bath?”
She stared at him. “Together?”
He raised their glued hands between them. “Don’t think we’ll be doing much apart until we get this sorted.” He tugged slightly and she stumbled closer to him. “Unless you want to stay stuck together for a bit. I can certainly see how that might appeal.”
His grin was annoyingly infectious. “You just want to stop me wandering off next time we find trouble.”
“Well,” he drawled, “that is one advantage that’s occurred to me.”
She did not blush. If her face flushed a little, well - she was covered hoodie to trainers in sticky alien vomit. Maybe she was suffering an allergic reaction. She tried to frown at him and failed. “You pick the weirdest times to flirt.”
The Doctor laughed. “Are you complaining?”
“No,” she said quickly, and he looked as if he were about to laugh at her again. “Yes. I don’t know.” She bounced anxiously on her toes. “Can we talk about this after I get these bloody trousers off and use the toilet?”
“A shameless romantic, you are,” he said, pulling her towards the laboratory door. “And this, Rose, is why one always uses the facilities before one leaves the TARDIS.”
She sprinted ahead through the doorway, pulling him into the corridor. “What, in case one gets eaten by a ginormous slug?”
He stumbled after her, nodding. “Exactly.”
She stopped suddenly and he knocked into her, only just managing to pull her upright with their joined hands before she fell. She leaned into his chest, their hands between them, and looked into his eyes. “Doctor, today was absolutely, hands down, the most disgusting day of my life.”
He blinked down at her. “Rose, I-”
“And,” she interrupted with a smile, “I wouldn’t trade it for anything. Not a thing. Not ever.” There was bit of slug goop dangling from the tip of his nose, and she gently removed it with a brush of her thumb. “See? I can be romantic.”
His grin was soft. “Yes,” he said. “You can.”
She squeezed his hand. “Now can we please get moving? I have to piss like a racehorse.”
And so they ran to the nearest bathtub, hand in hand.
Characters: Tenth Doctor, Rose Tyler
Rating: All Ages
Warnings: For immature humor and other grossness.
Disclaimer: Nothing you see belongs to me.
Spoilers: None
Summary: "I'm gonna stick like glue - stick, because I'm stuck on you." -- Elvis Presley, Stuck on You. The Doctor and Rose have an adventure in adhesives.
A/N: This past week's
doctor_rose_las entry, now with an all-new ending! Oh, the suspense...
++
“Doctor, wouldn’t you say that, broadly speaking, I’m a pretty good sport?”
The Doctor looked up from the solution he was gently nursing to a boil. It was blue and made the TARDIS laboratory smell like the inside of a primate enclosure at a poorly run zoo. “I would say that. In fact, I have. ‘That Rose Tyler,’ I often find myself saying for no reason at all, ‘she’s a pretty good sport.’”
Rose glared at him. “And wouldn’t you say-”
She was interrupted by a small explosion of blue, monkey-scented bubbles. The Doctor clucked his tongue and fiddled with the knob at the base of his decidedly low-tech Bunsen burner. “And wouldn’t I say-”
“And wouldn’t you say,” Rose repeated nasally, pinching her nose closed with the hand not clasped in his, “that, given my species and cultural background, I have a fairly high tolerance for the sort of goopy alien grossness I encounter in a typical day with you?”
He gave her a long, deliberate look. “Rose, are you suggesting the Giant Ice Slug vomit was too much for your delicate human sensibilities? The regurgitation that broke the camel’s back, as it were?”
She snorted, a rather unpleasant experience given that her nostrils were still pinched shut. “Oh, and I suppose that being swallowed whole by an enormous slug, nearly digested, and then spat back out drenched in alien stomach juices didn’t bother you a bit?”
The Doctor shrugged. “Once you’ve seen one slug esophagus, you’ve seen ‘em all.”
Her glare deepened to a glower. “If you’re such a dab hand at playing slug lunch, why didn’t it occur to you to mention this?” She tugged hard at their joined hands and he winced.
“Ah,” he said, frowning. “Yes, that was something of a surprise.”
Rose settled her free hand on her hip. “Doctor, someone jumping out from behind a corner and shouting ‘Boo!’ is a surprise. Getting flowers from a secret admirer is a surprise. Accidentally gluing yourself to your best mate with congealed slug vomit? Not even close.”
He sniffed. “Well, astrobiologically speaking, it’s something of a coup. This substance-”
“Vomit.”
“-is entirely fascinating. Not quite like anything I’ve ever seen before, really, and I’ve seen quite a bit. You do realise, of course, that the intricate cave system we explored-”
“Got hopelessly lost in.”
“-must have been constructed by the Ice Slug with its own congealing gastric acids? It was, quite literally-”
“Living in its own puke?”
He returned to the bubbling blue solution on the table in front of them, tapping the vial with one long finger of his left hand. His right hand, of course, was firmly glued to her left, still gripping her fingers as tightly as he had when they’d come spilling out of the slug’s stomach together, gasping for air. “Well,” he said snippily, “since your intellectual curiosity seems to have gone on holiday, along with your sense of humour-”
She made a frustrated sound low in her throat and let her forehead fall against his shoulder. “I have to use the loo,” she whispered to his still somewhat sticky arm, more than a little mortified. “Badly.”
“Oh.” He swallowed. “That…could be awkward.”
“You don’t know the half of it.” She tried not to squirm. “I think my trousers are glued on.”
“Right,” he said, suddenly poised for action. “Finding a way to unadhese mystery slug adhesive with commendable speed and precision.” He turned to her. “Brainy specs.”
She reached inside his suit coat for his glasses and carefully placed them on his face.
He held out his free hand. “Sample of gastropod gastric juices.”
She pulled a still-hardening glob from his hair and dropped it into his outstretched palm. His nose wrinkled. “Okay, you’re right. This is disgusting.”
“Speed,” she reminded him. “Precision.”
The Doctor slid the glob into the blue, monkey-scented solution. He leaned forward until his nose nearly touched the glass vial. Rose followed him, staring at him as he stared at the mixture. Nothing happened.
“What are we looking for?” she asked, her voice low.
“I have no idea,” the Doctor replied just as softly. He dipped his finger into the vial and then slipped it into his mouth. “Hmm,” he said. “Tastes like-”
“Don’t,” Rose choked out, clapping a hand over her mouth. “Please don’t.”
He grinned at her. “Tastes like some good old-fashioned soap and water should do the trick. With a bit of scrubbing, of course.” He bumped her shoulder with his. “So what do you say, Rose Tyler? Fancy a bath?”
She stared at him. “Together?”
He raised their glued hands between them. “Don’t think we’ll be doing much apart until we get this sorted.” He tugged slightly and she stumbled closer to him. “Unless you want to stay stuck together for a bit. I can certainly see how that might appeal.”
His grin was annoyingly infectious. “You just want to stop me wandering off next time we find trouble.”
“Well,” he drawled, “that is one advantage that’s occurred to me.”
She did not blush. If her face flushed a little, well - she was covered hoodie to trainers in sticky alien vomit. Maybe she was suffering an allergic reaction. She tried to frown at him and failed. “You pick the weirdest times to flirt.”
The Doctor laughed. “Are you complaining?”
“No,” she said quickly, and he looked as if he were about to laugh at her again. “Yes. I don’t know.” She bounced anxiously on her toes. “Can we talk about this after I get these bloody trousers off and use the toilet?”
“A shameless romantic, you are,” he said, pulling her towards the laboratory door. “And this, Rose, is why one always uses the facilities before one leaves the TARDIS.”
She sprinted ahead through the doorway, pulling him into the corridor. “What, in case one gets eaten by a ginormous slug?”
He stumbled after her, nodding. “Exactly.”
She stopped suddenly and he knocked into her, only just managing to pull her upright with their joined hands before she fell. She leaned into his chest, their hands between them, and looked into his eyes. “Doctor, today was absolutely, hands down, the most disgusting day of my life.”
He blinked down at her. “Rose, I-”
“And,” she interrupted with a smile, “I wouldn’t trade it for anything. Not a thing. Not ever.” There was bit of slug goop dangling from the tip of his nose, and she gently removed it with a brush of her thumb. “See? I can be romantic.”
His grin was soft. “Yes,” he said. “You can.”
She squeezed his hand. “Now can we please get moving? I have to piss like a racehorse.”
And so they ran to the nearest bathtub, hand in hand.