Who Fic - Aliens Don't Celebrate Christmas 1/3
Title: Aliens Don’t Celebrate Christmas 1/3
Fandom: Doctor Who
Rating/warnings: PG-13
Genre: angst, hurt/comfort
Character/s: Rose/10.5, Jackie, Pete, Tony, a mention of Marion Reed (an OC from Recurrence)
Spoilers: up to JE
Summary: It’s 10.5 and Rose’s first Christmas together in the alt!verse - and what would the festive season be without Ten's unlucky tuxedo and an invasion of rogue aliens at the Torchwood Christmas party?
Disclaimer: Doctor Who and all it’s associated characters/situations etc do not belong to me, I’m just borrowing them.
~*~
Rose was just putting the finishing touches on her make up when she heard the padding of hurried footsteps coming into her bedroom.
“Doctor?” she called out hopefully as she expertly stroked mascara onto her upper lashes. “That you?”
“Rose,” he sounded plaintive and not a little bit mortified. Rose paused. “What is this?”
Setting down her mascara wand, Rose peered obediently around the bathroom door. The Doctor was standing there, his long arms full of plastic garment bag and his lip curled into something that was halfway between a pout and digusted curl. “A suit?” she guessed.
“It’s a tuxedo,” the Doctor said, still looking highly disgruntled. “Why is it a tuxedo?”
“Welll...” Rose leant up against the doorframe, crossed her legs at the ankle. “It’s for the Christmas party tonight. Well.” she grinned suddenly. “Unless you’d rather go naked?”
The Doctor looked unimpressed. “The Torchwood Christmas party is black tie?”
“Well...it’s more formal then black tie.” Rose said carelessly. “It’s kind of like a ball but not quite.”
The Doctor grimaced. “I don’t...fancy tuxedos much.”
“Oh.” Rose wilted slightly. “I just...well I thought you’d look smart in a tux is all. You wear suits most of the time anyway so...don’t you like it?”
“What? No! No, no, no it’s not that I don’t like it.” he said hastily. “It’s got really...well it’s beautifully made - excellent tailoring and everything. It’s just...”
“Just what?” Rose prompted when he trailed off.
The Doctor grimaced again. “Tuxedos are sort of...unlucky for me.”
Rose paused and then burst out laughing.
“It’s not funny!” the Doctor insisted, definitely pouting now. “The first time I wore one in this body you and I ran into the Cybermen, and then there was Professor Lazarus with Martha and then there was the time I was on a replica of the Titanic which nearly crashed into Buckingham Palace...”
“Oh go on. You don’t need to be wearing a tuxedo to get yourself into trouble.” Rose teased, coming into the room properly and folding her arms smugly in front of him. “You’re worse than me for attracting danger. Don’t blame it on what you’re wearing.”
“But it’s every single time!” he wailed before swallowing nervously, eyes darting about as though he expected aliens to come storming out of the walls. “Rose I think I’m...I’m tuxedo jinxed.”
Sighing, Rose took the garment bag from his hands and dumped it on the bed before putting her hands on his face and forcing him to look at her.
“Doctor.” she said seriously. “I promise that nothing bad is gonna happen. And,” she added, trying to keep a straight face. “You’re not tuxedo jinxed.”
The Doctor stared at her.
“You’re teasing me.” He accused her, looking pained.
“A little bit yeah.” Rose said, her composure slipping and a smile creeping out.
“Look, you can’t promise me that nothing bad will happen.” the Doctor said, only slightly hysterically. “We’re going to the Christmas party for the world’s largest alien agency. Us! With us there we’ll be lucky if there isn’t a full scale invasion!”
“Or we might have a really nice time drinking champagne and dancing and getting to tease Marion about having to wear a dress,” Rose told him and the Doctor blinked.
“Marion? Wearing a dress?” he said, awed at the mere thought of Rose’s co-worker wearing anything except for her customary tailored pants and button down shirt. Marion was of the opinion that skirts were one the most horrible garments ever invented and she was very proud of proclaiming that she hadn’t worn one since she was seven and a half years old. “What’s wrong with her? Is she sick?”
“Nope.” Rose grinned at him. “She lost a bet.”
“Oh but that’s brilliant!” the Doctor said, getting excited. “Marion Reed in a dress!”
Rose ruffled his hair fondly. “Just don’t tease her too much.” she warned. “You know she’s got a sharper tongue than you do.”
“She does not.” the Doctor said indignantly. “I’m much ruder than she is. I inherited the world’s best list of insults from Donna Noble herself! Well...the best insults of two worlds I suppose I should say.”
Smiling gently, Rose parcelled the tuxedo back into his arms.
“Go on.” she nudged him gently towards the door. “Go get yourself dressed. I’ve just got to finish doing my face and then I’ll be with you.”
The Doctor hesitated once more at the door and Rose sighed.
“Stop worrying.” she told him firmly. “You’re gonna get wrinkles if you keep frowning like that.”
That got a smile out of him, albeit a slightly rueful one and he chuckled lightly as he disappeared down the corridor to his own room.
~*~
“Don’t die.” the Doctor whimpered. “Oh god - please don’t die like this...”
He was trying desperately not to panic but Rose was gulping air into her lungs like she was drowning and despite the pressure of his hands the blood beneath her was still spreading and he’d never been so terrified in all of his days and his adrenal glands were working overtime and...and...
This was so much worse than he remembered it being with Jenny. They had been different bullets, cleaner and more efficient. They always left little to no blood - most of the real damage was done inside the body. The primitive lead slugs that 21st century Torchwood use have an unfortunate habit of ripping and tearing and causing a lot of mess and blood.
What made it worse was the fact that it was an accident - just a stupid accident that could have been avoided. Taqworps were generally a peaceable species and if they’d sought out Torchwood they were probably there to ask them for help. But then, crashing the Christmas function of the number one alien department in the world toting large gun-looking-things was probably not the cleverest of ideas. Not that foresight would do them much good now - the poor creatures had all been either riddled with bullets or dragged off for questioning.
Normally he would be helping Torchwood out, negotiating and translating, using his expertise and knowledge to help the Taqworps be on their way. But from the moment that Rose fell he had been holding her and he wasn’t really planning on letting go anytime soon. Somehow she was still staring determinedly up at him - she’s nothing if not stubborn, his Rose, and it’ll take more than a bullet to stop her. He tells her so, voice creaking and her lips try to smile before she finally passes out, from the pain or the blood loss, he can’t tell.
It’s only then does he allow himself to lose it.
~*~
He paces the corridor with his hands running stickily through his hair. He’s ignored all offers to sit down or go and clean himself up (who cares if his bloody tux gets ruined? Christ!) and he’s so sick with adrenalin that he couldn’t stop moving if he tried. And so he’s pacing (something he’s very good at) and pushing his hands through his hair over and over again and waiting, waiting, waiting for something to happen or for a doctor to come and tell him that Rose is alright, that she’s not alright, that...
“Doctor!”
He whirls on the spot, nearly rolling his ankle in his haste and he never thought he’d be so relieved to see Jackie Tyler in his life but as soon as he sees her running down the corridor he’s rushing towards her and as they collide he crushes her into a desperate embrace. Her touch grounds him, brings the whole horrible night spiralling to a halt and he’s crying, great wracking sobs dragging from his chest, everything finally hitting him with the force of an emotional sledge hammer.
“S'all right.” she squeezes him and then begins to rock instinctively from side to side. “S’all right. I’ve got you.”
He gasps against her shoulder, fingers clenching and unclenching spasmodically as he struggles to control the completely overwhelming sensation of human emotions. For her part, Jackie just holds him. Once upon a time this would have been inconceivable for him, to launch himself weeping onto this woman but times have changed (oh yes) and so has he.
Eventually his stranglehold on her loosens and his sobs lessen to hiccupping breaths and Jackie steers him firmly to a plastic seat.
“What happened?” she demands, even as she begins to blot at the blood on his face and hands with the pack of wipes she always carries in her purse for Tony’s sticky little-boy hands.
“It was an accident.” his voice creaks and breaks, an octave and a half higher than normal. “The party got crashed by some Taqworp’s. One of the Torchwood crew lost it and started shooting and Rose...Rose...”
He breaks off abruptly there and Jackie pulls him against her quickly. There’s a fumble of fingertips on the back of one of his hands as she takes hold of it and squeezes and this simple action is enough to set him off again. With his head on her shoulder and his hand held tightly in hers, the Doctor grits his teeth against his tears and waits helplessly.
Part Two >
Fandom: Doctor Who
Rating/warnings: PG-13
Genre: angst, hurt/comfort
Character/s: Rose/10.5, Jackie, Pete, Tony, a mention of Marion Reed (an OC from Recurrence)
Spoilers: up to JE
Summary: It’s 10.5 and Rose’s first Christmas together in the alt!verse - and what would the festive season be without Ten's unlucky tuxedo and an invasion of rogue aliens at the Torchwood Christmas party?
Disclaimer: Doctor Who and all it’s associated characters/situations etc do not belong to me, I’m just borrowing them.
~*~
Rose was just putting the finishing touches on her make up when she heard the padding of hurried footsteps coming into her bedroom.
“Doctor?” she called out hopefully as she expertly stroked mascara onto her upper lashes. “That you?”
“Rose,” he sounded plaintive and not a little bit mortified. Rose paused. “What is this?”
Setting down her mascara wand, Rose peered obediently around the bathroom door. The Doctor was standing there, his long arms full of plastic garment bag and his lip curled into something that was halfway between a pout and digusted curl. “A suit?” she guessed.
“It’s a tuxedo,” the Doctor said, still looking highly disgruntled. “Why is it a tuxedo?”
“Welll...” Rose leant up against the doorframe, crossed her legs at the ankle. “It’s for the Christmas party tonight. Well.” she grinned suddenly. “Unless you’d rather go naked?”
The Doctor looked unimpressed. “The Torchwood Christmas party is black tie?”
“Well...it’s more formal then black tie.” Rose said carelessly. “It’s kind of like a ball but not quite.”
The Doctor grimaced. “I don’t...fancy tuxedos much.”
“Oh.” Rose wilted slightly. “I just...well I thought you’d look smart in a tux is all. You wear suits most of the time anyway so...don’t you like it?”
“What? No! No, no, no it’s not that I don’t like it.” he said hastily. “It’s got really...well it’s beautifully made - excellent tailoring and everything. It’s just...”
“Just what?” Rose prompted when he trailed off.
The Doctor grimaced again. “Tuxedos are sort of...unlucky for me.”
Rose paused and then burst out laughing.
“It’s not funny!” the Doctor insisted, definitely pouting now. “The first time I wore one in this body you and I ran into the Cybermen, and then there was Professor Lazarus with Martha and then there was the time I was on a replica of the Titanic which nearly crashed into Buckingham Palace...”
“Oh go on. You don’t need to be wearing a tuxedo to get yourself into trouble.” Rose teased, coming into the room properly and folding her arms smugly in front of him. “You’re worse than me for attracting danger. Don’t blame it on what you’re wearing.”
“But it’s every single time!” he wailed before swallowing nervously, eyes darting about as though he expected aliens to come storming out of the walls. “Rose I think I’m...I’m tuxedo jinxed.”
Sighing, Rose took the garment bag from his hands and dumped it on the bed before putting her hands on his face and forcing him to look at her.
“Doctor.” she said seriously. “I promise that nothing bad is gonna happen. And,” she added, trying to keep a straight face. “You’re not tuxedo jinxed.”
The Doctor stared at her.
“You’re teasing me.” He accused her, looking pained.
“A little bit yeah.” Rose said, her composure slipping and a smile creeping out.
“Look, you can’t promise me that nothing bad will happen.” the Doctor said, only slightly hysterically. “We’re going to the Christmas party for the world’s largest alien agency. Us! With us there we’ll be lucky if there isn’t a full scale invasion!”
“Or we might have a really nice time drinking champagne and dancing and getting to tease Marion about having to wear a dress,” Rose told him and the Doctor blinked.
“Marion? Wearing a dress?” he said, awed at the mere thought of Rose’s co-worker wearing anything except for her customary tailored pants and button down shirt. Marion was of the opinion that skirts were one the most horrible garments ever invented and she was very proud of proclaiming that she hadn’t worn one since she was seven and a half years old. “What’s wrong with her? Is she sick?”
“Nope.” Rose grinned at him. “She lost a bet.”
“Oh but that’s brilliant!” the Doctor said, getting excited. “Marion Reed in a dress!”
Rose ruffled his hair fondly. “Just don’t tease her too much.” she warned. “You know she’s got a sharper tongue than you do.”
“She does not.” the Doctor said indignantly. “I’m much ruder than she is. I inherited the world’s best list of insults from Donna Noble herself! Well...the best insults of two worlds I suppose I should say.”
Smiling gently, Rose parcelled the tuxedo back into his arms.
“Go on.” she nudged him gently towards the door. “Go get yourself dressed. I’ve just got to finish doing my face and then I’ll be with you.”
The Doctor hesitated once more at the door and Rose sighed.
“Stop worrying.” she told him firmly. “You’re gonna get wrinkles if you keep frowning like that.”
That got a smile out of him, albeit a slightly rueful one and he chuckled lightly as he disappeared down the corridor to his own room.
~*~
“Don’t die.” the Doctor whimpered. “Oh god - please don’t die like this...”
He was trying desperately not to panic but Rose was gulping air into her lungs like she was drowning and despite the pressure of his hands the blood beneath her was still spreading and he’d never been so terrified in all of his days and his adrenal glands were working overtime and...and...
This was so much worse than he remembered it being with Jenny. They had been different bullets, cleaner and more efficient. They always left little to no blood - most of the real damage was done inside the body. The primitive lead slugs that 21st century Torchwood use have an unfortunate habit of ripping and tearing and causing a lot of mess and blood.
What made it worse was the fact that it was an accident - just a stupid accident that could have been avoided. Taqworps were generally a peaceable species and if they’d sought out Torchwood they were probably there to ask them for help. But then, crashing the Christmas function of the number one alien department in the world toting large gun-looking-things was probably not the cleverest of ideas. Not that foresight would do them much good now - the poor creatures had all been either riddled with bullets or dragged off for questioning.
Normally he would be helping Torchwood out, negotiating and translating, using his expertise and knowledge to help the Taqworps be on their way. But from the moment that Rose fell he had been holding her and he wasn’t really planning on letting go anytime soon. Somehow she was still staring determinedly up at him - she’s nothing if not stubborn, his Rose, and it’ll take more than a bullet to stop her. He tells her so, voice creaking and her lips try to smile before she finally passes out, from the pain or the blood loss, he can’t tell.
It’s only then does he allow himself to lose it.
~*~
He paces the corridor with his hands running stickily through his hair. He’s ignored all offers to sit down or go and clean himself up (who cares if his bloody tux gets ruined? Christ!) and he’s so sick with adrenalin that he couldn’t stop moving if he tried. And so he’s pacing (something he’s very good at) and pushing his hands through his hair over and over again and waiting, waiting, waiting for something to happen or for a doctor to come and tell him that Rose is alright, that she’s not alright, that...
“Doctor!”
He whirls on the spot, nearly rolling his ankle in his haste and he never thought he’d be so relieved to see Jackie Tyler in his life but as soon as he sees her running down the corridor he’s rushing towards her and as they collide he crushes her into a desperate embrace. Her touch grounds him, brings the whole horrible night spiralling to a halt and he’s crying, great wracking sobs dragging from his chest, everything finally hitting him with the force of an emotional sledge hammer.
“S'all right.” she squeezes him and then begins to rock instinctively from side to side. “S’all right. I’ve got you.”
He gasps against her shoulder, fingers clenching and unclenching spasmodically as he struggles to control the completely overwhelming sensation of human emotions. For her part, Jackie just holds him. Once upon a time this would have been inconceivable for him, to launch himself weeping onto this woman but times have changed (oh yes) and so has he.
Eventually his stranglehold on her loosens and his sobs lessen to hiccupping breaths and Jackie steers him firmly to a plastic seat.
“What happened?” she demands, even as she begins to blot at the blood on his face and hands with the pack of wipes she always carries in her purse for Tony’s sticky little-boy hands.
“It was an accident.” his voice creaks and breaks, an octave and a half higher than normal. “The party got crashed by some Taqworp’s. One of the Torchwood crew lost it and started shooting and Rose...Rose...”
He breaks off abruptly there and Jackie pulls him against her quickly. There’s a fumble of fingertips on the back of one of his hands as she takes hold of it and squeezes and this simple action is enough to set him off again. With his head on her shoulder and his hand held tightly in hers, the Doctor grits his teeth against his tears and waits helplessly.
Part Two >