Majumba makubwa husitiri mambo
Majumba makubwa husitiri mambo, TenII/Rose, Eleven/Rose, PG13
The wind dragged a lock of hair from Rose’s chignon, whipping it around to catch in her lipstick. Smiling hard, she didn’t notice.
“Don’t toy with me. Unless you are telling me you have a zeppelin ready for me on the roof, I don’t want to hear it.” 6377 w.
Crossdimensional safari romance from zazie11 and wareander .
Note from the authors: Title's a swahili proverb: “big houses conceal a lot.” Click here for a photo of a baobab tree, which we spent wayyy too much time describing as...ah...“erect” and “proud.” Sadly, very little of this appears in the final draft.
- - -
I.
“ … And that will conclude the Q & A portion of today’s event. Ms. Tyler will remain for a few additional minutes to provide a photo opportunity for the press. Thank you for your time.”
This announcement set off an immediate chain reaction of flashbulbs from the wall of photographers and a cacophony of noise from the reporters accompanying them. Due to the nature of the Torchwood videoconference, Rose had no doubt that the morning’s footage and photos would make the rounds and be completely picked apart on the Interplanetary Newsfeed by the time she made it back up to her office.
Preparing for the digitized firing squad, Rose’s eyes quickly skimmed down her frame, making sure her arsenal was camera-ready. It wasn’t Rose’s first time to The Show - nor was it her first time in front of a firing squad, for that matter. She was determined that, if she had to play the part, she was going to look the part - to the Nines.
Shoes. New. Sexy. Pumps just high enough to make her feel a bit wicked, but still boardroom-friendly. And pinching. Feeling the start of a blister on her left heel, Rose shifted her weight slightly to relieve its bite.
Suit. Money. Perfectly tailored lines hugged her contours like a second skin. Armor-Couture. Made her feel tall.
Hair. A soft chignon, pulled back low on her head and sprayed within an inch of its life to stay in place. Rose could feel the slight droop as her up-do succumbed to the heat of the room’s track lights. A slight trickle of perspiration at the nape of her neck incited mutinous wisps of hair to curl up in protest.
Makeup. Seductive, yet understated. Though Rose now eschewed her former heavy hand when applying makeup, that didn’t mean she could resist the allure of a smoky eye. She ran her tongue over her bottom lip, tasting a blend of hairspray spattered over crimson lipstick: bitter and chemical.
Satisfied, Rose gave her suit jacket a downward tug and smoothed her mouth into the practiced smile she saved for occasions like this. The one that said she was confident, but not cocky. Reassuring.
The Slap and the Tickle … That’s me, Rose thought to herself, glibly.
Trust me on this.
- - -
Ms. Tyler, here!
and
Ms. Tyler, look this way!
Calls from every direction -
Pop!
- Photographers all vying for a little eye contact with the Vitex heiress and Torchwood’s resident It Girl to placate both their editors and their readership bases. Rose did her best to oblige them, slowly pivoting from left to right, and back again. The action made her feel like she was watching a tennis match, under water. The boredom was maddening.
Pop!
Her fixed smile stretched a little too thin over her teeth, making her jaw ache.
Pop!
Not that anyone seemed to notice.
- - -
Rose’s patience became threadbare as her rumbling belly and aching feet began to protest photo opportunity time in earnest.
She scanned the room, quickly finding and making eye contact with her personal assistant, Jane. Jane held up a file for Rose to see, to which she nodded her acknowledgment. Shifting a pointed glance and a raised eyebrow toward the man at Jane’s left (Rose’s handler for today’s press conference), she indicated to Jane that he should come on stage to wrap it up.
She was most definitely done.
While waiting for that message to be dispatched, Rose’s gaze drifted to the opposite side of the crowded room. She spied Pete Tyler deep in conversation with a new contact from the Xaliphoris Province. Rose narrowed her focus, trying to read their lips, without much success.
Pete had been keen to get Rose involved with that project for weeks now; it was no coincidence that their representative was present for the press conference.
Not in the mood to have that conversation with Pete again anytime soon, Rose made a mental note to steer clear of that side of the room on her way out.
At long last, the announcement was made that concluded the media event. Rose, still smiling, gave a wave and a nod to the reporters and was guided offstage.
- - -
The press conference was finished, but the event was still far from over for Rose. Led by her handler, who served to part the oncoming rush of attendees, Rose slowly wound her way through the crowd, shaking hands and having brief-yet-warm exchanges with a myriad of business associates, key press contacts and a few random, mid-level politicians.
Suddenly, the room was too warm and Rose's clothes chafed and felt too tight. The press of bodies against her from every side began to make Rose feel claustrophobic. While she managed to maintain a poised façade, internally, Rose fought an urge to violently shove people out of her way and run.
She knew that if she gave into that feeling just then, she would not only run out the door of the conference room, but would also run straight out of the Torchwood building, and then run out of this stifling fucking city, as fast as her legs could carry her.
Clenching her teeth and regulating her breathing through slightly flaring nostrils, Rose noted that two weeks of working an in-house assignment at Torchwood Headquarters, while the Doctor tended to his own out of the country, had certainly started to take its toll on her mood.
She thought about him then, and not for the first time that morning. Rose looked at her watch, not believing that it was only 10:15 am. She suppressed an urge to groan, inwardly lamenting how much more “day” she had left in her day. All she wanted to do was go home to their flat and take a very hot bath. Bath and then pie.
Rose began to do the mental math to convert London time to the Doctor’s current time zone; she wondered whether he was asleep or awake. She didn’t get the chance to finish the thought, however, as she felt someone grip her firmly by the elbow.
Rose looked up in surprise to find Pete on the other end of that hand.
Bollocks.
Always the salesman, Pete talked fast as he entreated Rose to meet with the Xaliphorian rep later that day, all the while leading her away from the door.
Still trying to maneuver herself out of the conversation and the conference room, Rose felt her back meet glass and something small and metallic. This could only mean that she’d been pushed to the end of the room: No Escape.
Or did it? Rose wondered, recalling the room’s layout from her earlier, on-stage vantage point.
Rose stood her ground, telling Pete that it was impossible; she had a lunch meeting with the Tanaka Corp. that could not be moved. Just as Pete suggested that Rose pawn off that meeting to one of her subordinates, Rose felt a buzzing at her hip. She reached into her pocket to palm her phone, a small smile quirking the corner of her lips upon reading the number.
“I’m sorry, I’m going to have to take this call. Urgent. From the field.”
Pete rolled his eyes, knowing full well who it was.
Not giving him enough time to protest, Rose reached behind, her hand connecting with what she now realized was a doorknob pressing into the curve of her spine. With a mischievous grin and a bow of her head in apology, she slipped through the glass door and stepped backward onto the conference room’s outdoor balcony.
Rose swiftly closed the door behind her, completely shutting out Pete and the din of the room. On the balcony, a rush of chilly air swirled to meet her face, drawing a sigh from Rose’s lips. It felt like a kiss.
Rose lifted the phone to her ear, with a smile. It was a genuine smile, the first to reach her eyes that morning.
“Oi, nick of time, as usual - the plastic people are after me, again,” she deadpanned, listened for a moment, and then, “Oh, no, it’s fine. Pete just showed me the door.”
Rose slipped off her heels with an audible moan of relief, gripping the balcony’s pebbled floor with her stocking-clad toes.
“Oh, you saw that did you? Well, aren’t you right up to the minute!” Rose teased, secretly pleased. “Next, you’ll be blogging about me.”
Roses blushed and bit her lip at his next words, sending her fingertips to mindlessly trail up and press against her clavicle.
“I thought of you when I put that on this morning.”
The wind dragged a lock of hair from Rose’s chignon, whipping it around to catch in her lipstick. Smiling hard, she didn’t notice.
“Don’t toy with me. Unless you are telling me you have a zeppelin ready for me on the roof, I don’t want to hear it.”
She blinked. “And what would be better than that?”
Waited.
“Really?”
A tremendous grin broke across Rose’s face at his words, her glee propelling her to the balcony’s wall. Gripping the railing tight, Rose heaved her torso far out over the edge and cast her gaze well beyond the London skyline; as if she could fling herself into his arms, if she just stretched far enough.
“It will take a little schedule shifting on my end … Pete’s going to go a little ballistic, I think … but no worries, I know just the thing to smooth it over with him….”
As Rose began to plot and scheme the ways in which Jane would need to move her itinerary around, a request from the Doctor brought her up short.
“What? Sure, I can grab it from your office before I go to mine. Yeah, on your desk … Wait, what is it? Hang on, I’m going to need to write that down.”
Balancing the phone on her shoulder, Rose patted her pockets, searching for something to write with. She came away with her crumpled speech notes and her lipstick. It would have to do.
“Ok, tell me again?”
Rose copied down the strange word phonetically, knowing she would never remember how to pronounce it the moment their conversation ended. “Doctor, what is it?”
She jammed the folded paper into her pocket and touched up her lipstick, just for kicks.
“Fine, don’t tell me. Spoilers, my arse,” Rose chided, but she couldn’t keep the mirth from her voice. The Doctor knew perfectly well how her blood sang out for a good mystery, even when he only doled out his hints one frustrating breadcrumb at a time.
“So, what time is my flight?”
Rose was only half-listening as she began to count backward in her head. She decided that her last round of vaccinations was still current enough to pass muster, if questioned. The Doctor’s response immediately broke her from her reverie.
“But it’s half-ten now!”
The solution he suggested was a simple one - that one-word plan that hadn’t stopped working for them yet.
Rose’s tongue peeked out the corner of her mouth, as she threw one last look to sky.
“Far be it from me to ignore my Doctor’s advice.”
In an attempt to drown out his mock laughter at that, she added a very cheeky, “Shut up.”
With a quick goodbye, Rose spun herself around, prepared to run the 22 flights leading back up to their offices, if need be. She stopped when her hand reached the doorknob.
First, she had to put on her shoes. Different shoes, altogether.
- - -
“Say that again?”
“Cyn - rexi-- cana - thyol - othermin.” Rose squinted at her writing, the lipstick having smudged sometime during the elevator ride up to the Doctor’s office.
“Now, say it five times fast,” clucked her secretary. Rose rolled her eyes appreciatively in agreement.
“He said it should be -”
“- On his desk? “ The woman broke in. “Yes, it is - you can’t miss it.”
As Rose swept into the office beyond her desk, the secretary shook her head with a knowing smile. The Doctor and Rose seemed to live their lives as though everything should be pronounced phonetically.
At her age, she could barely keep up with the shorthand version.
- - -
“Rose, you cannot go now.”
Rose was scuttling around her office like a madwoman. She flung open the door to her coat closet, hurriedly surveying the contents. Rose stored all manner of empty suitcases there, in a variety of sizes. She never knew where work or the Doctor might take her next, so she liked to keep her options open. Considering them for a moment, Rose finally plucked out a battered leather rucksack.
“Rose.”
Rose yanked open drawers in her filing cabinet to gather supplies for her journey. Where most people kept gleaming reams of A4 paper, pens, and Post-It Notes, Rose stored extra clothes, knickers, travel supplies, and a basic first aid kit.
Not discriminating, Rose tossed all of the kit in her bag. She could sort it out later.
“Rose!”
“Yes, Jane.” Rose said calmly, though her eyes were a bit wild. She needed to hurry, or she was going to miss the flight the Doctor had booked for her.
Rose kicked off her pumps and began to wiggle into jeans, still wearing her business skirt. Off came the skirt, next. As Rose moved to unbutton her suit jacket, Jane turned around to give her privacy.
Rose pulled on a cotton shirt and grabbed her leather jacket from the back of her chair.
“Jane, you’re my Gal Friday - I know you can handle this.”
“Quit trying to butter me up!” Jane exclaimed, pulling a face and looking back at Rose over her shoulder.
Rose stopped in her tracks, her arm halfway into her jacket, and looked at Jane with a wry smile.
“He needs me, Jane. I have to go.” She paused before adding softly, “I need to go.”
Jane nodded her understanding, and said nothing.
With that, Rose grabbed her muddy brogue boots from the windowsill behind her desk. She didn’t have time to undo the laces, so she grudgingly opted to put her pumps back on until she got to the car.
Rose unceremoniously stuffed the boots into her rucksack, and had nearly done up the buckle when she remembered the Doctor’s gadget. Considering it carefully, she placed it delicately into a second, smaller bag, stuffing a sweater around it to act as a cushion.
Finally ready, Rose checked for her passport and fled her office, not even bothering to lock it. She headed directly to the elevator, with Jane silent but still on her heels.
Going down in the elevator, Rose pulled the clip out of her chignon and shook her fingers hard through her hair. The relief of not having it pulled back loosened something in her shoulders. It made her feel lighter, all over.
Rose launched herself out of the elevators, past reception, and through the large glass doors to the street. Jane scanned Rose’s appointment book as she hurried to keep up.
"You have that lunch date with the Tanaka Corp. at noon."
"You'll have to move it."
“But -“
“I’ll call you from the car and we will map out who gets which assignment.”
The two women quickly reached the edge of the sidewalk. Rose stepped out into the street to hail a cab. Opting to forego hand waving, Rose stuck two fingers in her mouth and gave a shrill whistle that turned heads halfway down the block.
Just as all creatures in the universe came running when Rose Tyler beckoned, a taxi immediately pulled up to her feet at the curb.
“You know I’m going to catch hell from Pete in your place.”
“I know - and I’m sorry,” Rose said honestly, but undeterred.
Rose slung her rucksack into the back seat of the taxi, her legs following in after it.
Jane knocked on the window, which Rose promptly rolled down. She watched Rose as she gave instructions to the driver and rummaged through her bag to pull out her boots and a balled up pair of socks.
“Heathrow. There’s an extra 50 quid in it for you if you can get me there in 10 minutes.”
Holding onto the open window, as if to prevent the car from pulling away too soon, Jane blustered, "But Rose, you haven’t even said where you’re going!"
Rose handed her pumps to Jane through the window, squinting into the sun to regard her.
"Africa."
Jane stood at the edge of the street, clutching Rose’s shoes to her chest, as she watched the taxi speed off and disappear into the midday traffic.
- - -
Rose sank into her seat with a sigh and the thought that a Bloody Mary was definitely in order. She carefully placed the bag with the Cynrexi-whatever under the passenger’s seat in front of her.
Rose took out her phone to turn it off, only to discover she had three text messages from the Doctor.
>> All aboard? Bloody Mary? Cheers!
Am I that predictable? Rose wondered with a chuckle. She supposed that it was usually the two of them toasting with Bloody Marys at takeoff together, so she shouldn’t be surprised by his psychic prowess. Just then, the cabin steward handed her a Bloody Mary, unsolicited.
“Compliments of the Doctor.”
Her man did have a penchant for celery.
>> Hope Customs not a problem with DEVICE?
Rose rolled her eyes, the hassle too fresh in her mind to laugh about it.
Rose’s cabdriver earned his 50 quid when he dropped her at the airport in time for her flight. However, she was nearly waylaid going through Customs with the Doctor’s mysterious gizmo. A few phone calls from Torchwood and a posed photo with celebrity-hound customs officers later, and she and the gizmo were passed through.
>> See attached pic - this is where we’re going.
Rose opened the file, and was surprised when she found a photo of a large tree. Very large. A little phallic, in fact. It’s trunk was wide and smooth, undisturbed by branches until you reached its apex. A tree as destination? How very Swiss Family Robinson, Rose sassed to herself.
Smirking, Rose replied back to all three texts in one.
>> Booze, an intergalactic vibrator AND Tree Porn? Doctor, if you want to shag me - all you have to do is ask.
Send.
- - -
Most people dislike takeoff, but it always gave Rose a welcome jolt of adrenaline. It might not be the TARDIS, but the feeling still managed to raise goosebumps and a slight lump in her throat. This flight was no different. As the plane ascended into the sky, Rose’s mood buoyed in direct correlation. All of the stress from the morning - from the last two weeks, really - melted away as her thoughts turned to seeing the Doctor in a few hours, and to the adventure that lay ahead.
Sipping her Bloody Mary, Rose reached to pull the “device,” as the Doctor had called it, from its hiding place under the seat. It was much heavier than it looked, and was cool to the point that Rose guessed it might be chilled by some mechanism in its core. There were all sorts of buttons and lights that encircled the main shaft, making it look like a very tricked out Christmas ornament.
Rose carefully put the device back in her bag, not caring to think what might happen if one of those buttons was accidentally depressed on the airplane.
Eventually, Rose turned off her overhead light, allowing her eyes to drift closed as the plane bumped and shuddered around them. Her thoughts went back to the TARDIS - of being lulled to sleep by the ship’s peaceful thrum.
Rose dreamed of trees.
- - -
II.
The Airport was a small affair, and as such the passengers exited the plane via a temporary staircase directly onto the tarmac, rather than through a terminal. As Rose passed through the hatch and descended the stairs, she was immediately blown back by a wall of heat. The air rippled with it. In a matter of seconds, a thin line of perspiration had beaded above her lip. Rose licked her lips, tasting salt.
Bags in hand, Rose scanned the tarmac. To her delight and overwhelming relief, hazel eyes connected with flashing brown through the haze rising off the asphalt.
Perhaps it was a symptom of the long flight, or the woozy effect the heat was having on her senses (or a combination of both) that had reduced Rose’s brain function to one looping, clichéd thought as she looked upon her Doctor: A sight for sore eyes.
The Doctor had come to pick her up, and had driven directly onto the tarmac. His jeep was topless and mud caked the tires. The Doctor leaned against it, ankles crossed and hands stuffed in his pockets, wearing an easy grin. Even from that distance, Rose could see a new smattering of freckles sprayed across his sunburned nose. Rose’s stomach flipped at the thought of counting them later.
The heat had clearly played a direct role in the Doctor’s recent wardrobe adjustment. He wore a billowing white button-down shirt, rolled at the sleeves. Khaki cargo shorts betrayed gangly legs and knobbly knees, still pale from always wearing pants. Cream, hightop plimsolls shod his feet, and like the tires, were speckled with red mud.
Rose gave him her best cheeky grin.
“Doctor, you’ve gone native. And me, without my pith helmet.”
The Doctor took light, bounding strides to meet her halfway up the tarmac, scooping her up in his embrace. Their mouths found each other immediately. Too much time apart and the heavy afternoon sun made them languid and reluctant to release one another.
Anxious to get going, they finally broke apart. The Doctor took Rose’s rucksack and cheerfully slung it over one shoulder as he put his other arm around her waist and walked them back to the jeep. He tossed her bag into the back seat, which Rose noticed was littered with maps and the sort of random equipment that seemed to follow the Doctor wherever he went.
Rose climbed into her seat, cradling the bag with the gizmo in her lap. The Doctor hopped into the driver’s seat and with a burst of speed, they were off.
- - -
Rose shifted her lazy, half-lidded gaze from her crossed ankles, propped on the vibrating dash of the jeep, to the far-off broccoli top of the baobab tree. She reached down, fumbling for the lever, and yanked, leaning forward as the seat back snapped upright with a thud.
“Look,” she breathed, and then closed her eyes against the glare of the sun, studying the outline of the tree on the backs of her eyelids; an inverted photo negative.
“I see it,” said the Doctor, and pressed the accelerator. Rose's eyes flew open. Just there, rapidly approaching. The baobab tree, looming larger as their tires kicked up the red dust.
- - -
“They say people go inside for five minutes and come back ten years older,” he said, tracing the warning carved into the door with his fingertips.
“That's what you get for going through a door in a tree,” Rose said, reaching for the knob. The metal burned hot against her palm and she twisted until the door released and swung inward. The air inside was cool, and blasted out with a rumbling moan.
“That's ominous,” the Doctor said, peering into the dark.
“Come on,” Rose said, and crossed the threshold. Behind her, she could hear the Doctor's voice, faraway, and farther...
“They say it's bigger on...”
Gone.
- - -
There was a sudden void of air and sound and light, and a pop when it all came back, and Rose lurched forward, hands on her knees, to fight a wave of nausea, gasping. Her vision went momentarily grey, and then slowly the world faded back in, one pinpoint at a time, until she could stand upright, and the sound of rushing water dimmed.
She was in a bedroom, soft light filtering through the window, pale planks of wood slatted together beneath her feet. A four poster bed with a pastel spread. A stuffed giraffe.
“Doctor,” she said, turning to look over her shoulder, but she already knew he wasn't there. “Well okay, then.”
- - -
The window was open, and Rose pressed the heels of her hands against the sill, leaning out into sunshine. Faded red curtains with a prim paisley design fluttered against her bare shoulders. Somewhere, a robin was calling. And out across the rolling hills, wave after wave of pale golden wheat.
“Not in Kansas,” Rose joked to no one, and then looked again. A barn. A cow, and a chicken coop. She ducked back into the bedroom. “Maybe in Kansas.”
Crossing the room in a few decisive strides, she threw the sturdy oak door wide. Outside, it was just a hallway. A family portrait on the wall, and a well-worn rug. Rose took a deep breath and held it. Stepped out into-
- - -
Rose's breath came out in a whoosh, and she staggered, tripping over something that clanged thunderously and set her heart racing. Her arms flew out, reaching for anything to latch onto for balance, and she rapped her knuckles against something solid in the dim light, “Ahhh shit.”
Breathing hard, injured fingers in her mouth, she forced herself to calm down ad look around. Very small cement room-the only light trickled in from a skylight, which had a ladder propped against its rim. And all around her, stacked to the ceiling and haphazardly scattered about in teetering towers, were small, empty wire cages. She'd knocked a few over when she came in through...Rose looked back to confirm that the door was gone.
“Okay, okay...” she felt the panic creeping in again. This room was too small, it was giving her the creeps. And were the cages empty? They seemed to be but...
No, something was moving. Something was...
The air almost shimmered.
Rose edged towards the ladder, and there was a sound. An almost imperceptible rumble that got louder, louder until the cages were vibrating with it.
Rose lunged for the ladder and scrambled up, feeling hands on her legs, feeling like she was underwater. The air was like cement, hardening around her and she-
- - -
“What the hell,” the words tumbled out.
Slitheen! Bloody Slitheen, and on the deck of one of their ships no less. She could see them behind her in the reflection on the window, and outside...oh...the miraculous, striking beauty of some towering nebula, all green and purple gas, and newborn stars winking inside.
She turned and pressed her back against the cool glass, and as they advanced, all speaking at once, she found that without the TARDIS it all sounded like so much gibberish. Still, she figured she got the gist.
“Raxacoricofallapatorius!” she bellowed a little madly, and then bolted around them as they blinked at her and one another, running for a metal door that opened before her with a shavoom.
Her foot lost purchase on the slick synthetic floor and she skidded through the door to-
- - -
-land with an unceremonious splash in a pool of water. The walls were damp rotted wood, and there were no no doors, no doors, no...
The water was spiraling around her and she spun with it, dimly noticing moss on the walls, tall wet reeds growing up from somewhere underneath.
She held her breath and the whirlpool carried her down, the water was cold, she was-
- - -
-deposited unceremoniously at the base of some staircase, dripping water on the plush red carpet, gasping. She heard a voice.
Upstairs.
She ran towards it, taking the steps two at a time.
“Doctor!”
She was almost there, she was-
- - -
-deposited unceremoniously at the base of some staircase, dripping water on the plush red carpet, gasping. She heard a voice.
Upstairs.
She ran towards it, taking the steps two at a time.
“Doctor!”
She was almost there, she was-
- - -
-deposited unceremoniously at the base of some staircase, dripping water on the plush red carpet, gasping. She heard a voice.
Upstairs.
She ran towards it, taking the steps two at a time.
“Doctor!”
She was almost there, she was-
- - -
“Rose!”
Rose sat down hard on the sleek glass-and-steel ramp leading from the door of the TARDIS, to the gleaming central column of the console room and pushed her head between her knees. She watched with some degree of detachment as the pale tips of her hair dripped, the shining droplets catching the warm orange light.
That voice did not sound familiar. This room was not familiar. And oh, but she had not planned on throwing up on the Doctor if she ever saw him again, but it was becoming a real possibility. She was sure she could feel the turning of the earth, and the passage of time, and the sensation awoke a strange nostalgia. She shook if off and looked up.
Crouching in front of her with wide, horribly earnest green eyes, and soft brown hair falling across his forehead, was unmistakeably the Doctor, looking sweetly concerned and the slightest bit terrified. New face, but that never did change anything. She could still read him like a book.
“Look at you,” she said, and reached out, tracing his jaw with her thumb, fingertips against his racing pulse.
“I could say the same,” he said, and she laughed.
“I must be a sight.”
He didn't say anything to that-just smiled and ducked his head in a way that made her heart ache. Rose was saved from her momentary inability to speak by a tall redhead charging into the room, already calling loudly to the Doctor before she'd circled the console.
“Oi Doctoooor! I found one that's full of man-eating plants! Rory got bit, but it's not half as bad as he-hello, who's this? She wander in from one of the doorways?” She came to stand above the Doctor, peering down at Rose. “I'm Amy Pond. Don't worry, we'll get you sorted. Are you from Kansas? Kansas is just down the hall.”
Rose stood, and the Doctor with her.
“I'm not from Kansas,” she said, and smiled.
“Oh,” Amy said, and looked between Rose and the Doctor. Picked up on the vibe. “Ohhhh. Okay. I'm going to go check on Rory. We've still got that Slitheen in the library, Doctor, if you...um... Anyway, nice meeting...”
She shook her head and quickly exited the room, stopping only once to peep at them from around the console. Okay, maybe twice.
“She's married,” the Doctor said, when Amy was gone, shrugging helplessly. “Not that you...”
“She's nice,” Rose said kindly, and pulled her ruined bag off of her shoulder. There was a long, wilted bit of seaweed wrapped around the strap. “Dimensional stabilizer, am I right?”
“What?” the Doctor said.
“Problem with the dimensional stabilizer? You're throwing off doorways all over the place. Can you even land, or are you stuck in the vortex?” Rose braced her bag against the railing and wrenched open the gummy zipper. The Doctor just stared. Rose grinned.
“The Doctor said that might be the problem,” Rose said, and then stilled, considering. “Well, the other...my...you know.”
“Oh,” he said.
Rose reached into her bag, fishing around, and then hefted the blinking gizmo with both hands. “Here, I brought you this, um...cy...cynarex...”
Rose huffed and thrust the contraption at the Doctor, who caught it awkwardly. “Here, hold this, I know I've got it down somewhere,” she said, and dug through her pockets, pulling out a melted lipstick. “Ahhh...”
“Cynrexicanathyolothermin,” the Doctor said with a little smile, staring at her with what could only be called wonder.
Rose beamed back. “That's the one.”
A silence then, and just long enough to be uncomfortable.
“Well...” Rose said, just as the Doctor said, “so...” rocking back on his heels.
Rose laughed. “Fix your time machine, Doctor. I've got to get back.”
“I'll-” he said leaning forward, but Rose shook her head.
“Stay here, yeah? I'll see if Amy Pond has spotted a baobab tree.” Rose turned to walk away, leaving the Doctor hovering near the console and staring after her, but she thought better of it and went back to him, holding his wrist gently for balance and leaning up on tiptoes to press her lips to his cheek.
“You're going to be fine,” she whispered, and disappeared into the tangled halls of the TARDIS, leaving him dizzy, and reeling, and clinging to the cool, comforting weight of the cynrexicanathyolothermin.
- - -
“...on the inside-oof,” the Doctor said as Rose slammed into him, barreling back out of the door in the baobab tree somehow before she'd even gone.
He pinwheeled his arms for a moment before toppling over and landing gracelessly, kicking up a cloud of dust, and then just gazed up at Rose, who stood above him haloed in sunlight. She looked like an absolute wreck, clothes ripped, face muddy, hair hanging in wet clumps...and an enormous ear-to-ear grin spread all across her face. She reached out a hand to help him up, and he took it, blurting, “What just happened?”
“It's taken care of,” she said, and her hand darted out to snag the front of his shirt and drag him towards her. .
“It's taken care of?” he repeated, feeling flushed suddenly, and was the sun getting hotter? “What do you-”
But he was quickly preoccupied with Rose's hands in his hair, and Rose's mouth smiling against his as they backed into the baobab tree with a jolt, and she was pressed flush against him, and was she wearing only one shoe? Oh who cares, who cares, because this extraordinary life, this extraordinary woman is just so...
- - -
Rose passed her pink plastic water bottle across to the Doctor, who took it and tipped it back. It was easily a thousand degrees in the midday sun, he figured. Or it seemed so, with the pesky human physiology.
“We need one of those round metal canteens,” Rose said, crooking an arm behind her head. The branches of the baobab tree were reflected in her sunglasses. “Mine really doesn't fit the mood. Haunted tree...safari...it calls for a serious water receptacle.”
“You're demented,” the Doctor said, and passed it back.
Rose's mouth quirked up at the edges. “Mmm.”
They'd peeled back the top of the jeep, reclined the seats, and sprawled out to soak up the sun before heading back to town. The tree seemed back to normal-upon inspection they'd found that on the other side of the door there was now just the inside of a tree. Job well done, Rose figured.
“And he's younger, you said?” the Doctor said suddenly, turning to look at Rose with his head resting against the plush back of his chair. His hair was sticking out wildly, and Rose reached out to smooth it down.
“Technically he's older, I suppose,” Rose said, and the Doctor rolled his eyes.
“And he's redecorated my TARDIS.”
“Yeah, bit of a shock, that. It's a bit...I don't know, sexy.”
The Doctor blinked, opening his mouth to answer, and then closed it again.
“If you're into that sort of thing,” Rose added quickly, gaining a baleful look from the Doctor. She tried not to smirk. “Which I'm not.”
“Right,” he said.
“But he's still not ginger,” Rose said, and that, at least, seemed to override his sulk for the time being.
Rose's phone vibrated on the dash, then, startling both of them, and Rose groaned, leaning forward to check the number. Pete Tyler calling, it said, and Rose glanced at the Doctor sidelong.
“He's going to kill you,” the Doctor said.
Rose pressed ignore. “Well unless he wants to come down here to do it, he's going to have to wait until tomorrow.”
She tossed the phone in a cup holder and stretched, draping herself over her seat and staring lazily at the Doctor, whose mind went on the fritz momentarily. How she could look that good covered in dried mud and seaweed was utterly beyond him.
Minx.
“Local cuisine?” the Doctor said, voice a bit loud, and dragged his seat upright. He turned the key in the ignition and the jeep roared to life.
Rose sat up and buckled in, pulling down the visor to check her appearance. Groaned.
“First, new shoes,” she said, holding on as they made a tight turn, and the baobab got smaller in the rearview mirror. “I think I lost one in that gorgeous new TARDIS.”
“Shut up,” the Doctor said, laughing, and floored it.
The wind dragged a lock of hair from Rose’s chignon, whipping it around to catch in her lipstick. Smiling hard, she didn’t notice.
“Don’t toy with me. Unless you are telling me you have a zeppelin ready for me on the roof, I don’t want to hear it.” 6377 w.
Crossdimensional safari romance from zazie11 and wareander .
Note from the authors: Title's a swahili proverb: “big houses conceal a lot.” Click here for a photo of a baobab tree, which we spent wayyy too much time describing as...ah...“erect” and “proud.” Sadly, very little of this appears in the final draft.
- - -
I.
“ … And that will conclude the Q & A portion of today’s event. Ms. Tyler will remain for a few additional minutes to provide a photo opportunity for the press. Thank you for your time.”
This announcement set off an immediate chain reaction of flashbulbs from the wall of photographers and a cacophony of noise from the reporters accompanying them. Due to the nature of the Torchwood videoconference, Rose had no doubt that the morning’s footage and photos would make the rounds and be completely picked apart on the Interplanetary Newsfeed by the time she made it back up to her office.
Preparing for the digitized firing squad, Rose’s eyes quickly skimmed down her frame, making sure her arsenal was camera-ready. It wasn’t Rose’s first time to The Show - nor was it her first time in front of a firing squad, for that matter. She was determined that, if she had to play the part, she was going to look the part - to the Nines.
Shoes. New. Sexy. Pumps just high enough to make her feel a bit wicked, but still boardroom-friendly. And pinching. Feeling the start of a blister on her left heel, Rose shifted her weight slightly to relieve its bite.
Suit. Money. Perfectly tailored lines hugged her contours like a second skin. Armor-Couture. Made her feel tall.
Hair. A soft chignon, pulled back low on her head and sprayed within an inch of its life to stay in place. Rose could feel the slight droop as her up-do succumbed to the heat of the room’s track lights. A slight trickle of perspiration at the nape of her neck incited mutinous wisps of hair to curl up in protest.
Makeup. Seductive, yet understated. Though Rose now eschewed her former heavy hand when applying makeup, that didn’t mean she could resist the allure of a smoky eye. She ran her tongue over her bottom lip, tasting a blend of hairspray spattered over crimson lipstick: bitter and chemical.
Satisfied, Rose gave her suit jacket a downward tug and smoothed her mouth into the practiced smile she saved for occasions like this. The one that said she was confident, but not cocky. Reassuring.
The Slap and the Tickle … That’s me, Rose thought to herself, glibly.
Trust me on this.
- - -
Ms. Tyler, here!
and
Ms. Tyler, look this way!
Calls from every direction -
Pop!
- Photographers all vying for a little eye contact with the Vitex heiress and Torchwood’s resident It Girl to placate both their editors and their readership bases. Rose did her best to oblige them, slowly pivoting from left to right, and back again. The action made her feel like she was watching a tennis match, under water. The boredom was maddening.
Pop!
Her fixed smile stretched a little too thin over her teeth, making her jaw ache.
Pop!
Not that anyone seemed to notice.
- - -
Rose’s patience became threadbare as her rumbling belly and aching feet began to protest photo opportunity time in earnest.
She scanned the room, quickly finding and making eye contact with her personal assistant, Jane. Jane held up a file for Rose to see, to which she nodded her acknowledgment. Shifting a pointed glance and a raised eyebrow toward the man at Jane’s left (Rose’s handler for today’s press conference), she indicated to Jane that he should come on stage to wrap it up.
She was most definitely done.
While waiting for that message to be dispatched, Rose’s gaze drifted to the opposite side of the crowded room. She spied Pete Tyler deep in conversation with a new contact from the Xaliphoris Province. Rose narrowed her focus, trying to read their lips, without much success.
Pete had been keen to get Rose involved with that project for weeks now; it was no coincidence that their representative was present for the press conference.
Not in the mood to have that conversation with Pete again anytime soon, Rose made a mental note to steer clear of that side of the room on her way out.
At long last, the announcement was made that concluded the media event. Rose, still smiling, gave a wave and a nod to the reporters and was guided offstage.
- - -
The press conference was finished, but the event was still far from over for Rose. Led by her handler, who served to part the oncoming rush of attendees, Rose slowly wound her way through the crowd, shaking hands and having brief-yet-warm exchanges with a myriad of business associates, key press contacts and a few random, mid-level politicians.
Suddenly, the room was too warm and Rose's clothes chafed and felt too tight. The press of bodies against her from every side began to make Rose feel claustrophobic. While she managed to maintain a poised façade, internally, Rose fought an urge to violently shove people out of her way and run.
She knew that if she gave into that feeling just then, she would not only run out the door of the conference room, but would also run straight out of the Torchwood building, and then run out of this stifling fucking city, as fast as her legs could carry her.
Clenching her teeth and regulating her breathing through slightly flaring nostrils, Rose noted that two weeks of working an in-house assignment at Torchwood Headquarters, while the Doctor tended to his own out of the country, had certainly started to take its toll on her mood.
She thought about him then, and not for the first time that morning. Rose looked at her watch, not believing that it was only 10:15 am. She suppressed an urge to groan, inwardly lamenting how much more “day” she had left in her day. All she wanted to do was go home to their flat and take a very hot bath. Bath and then pie.
Rose began to do the mental math to convert London time to the Doctor’s current time zone; she wondered whether he was asleep or awake. She didn’t get the chance to finish the thought, however, as she felt someone grip her firmly by the elbow.
Rose looked up in surprise to find Pete on the other end of that hand.
Bollocks.
Always the salesman, Pete talked fast as he entreated Rose to meet with the Xaliphorian rep later that day, all the while leading her away from the door.
Still trying to maneuver herself out of the conversation and the conference room, Rose felt her back meet glass and something small and metallic. This could only mean that she’d been pushed to the end of the room: No Escape.
Or did it? Rose wondered, recalling the room’s layout from her earlier, on-stage vantage point.
Rose stood her ground, telling Pete that it was impossible; she had a lunch meeting with the Tanaka Corp. that could not be moved. Just as Pete suggested that Rose pawn off that meeting to one of her subordinates, Rose felt a buzzing at her hip. She reached into her pocket to palm her phone, a small smile quirking the corner of her lips upon reading the number.
“I’m sorry, I’m going to have to take this call. Urgent. From the field.”
Pete rolled his eyes, knowing full well who it was.
Not giving him enough time to protest, Rose reached behind, her hand connecting with what she now realized was a doorknob pressing into the curve of her spine. With a mischievous grin and a bow of her head in apology, she slipped through the glass door and stepped backward onto the conference room’s outdoor balcony.
Rose swiftly closed the door behind her, completely shutting out Pete and the din of the room. On the balcony, a rush of chilly air swirled to meet her face, drawing a sigh from Rose’s lips. It felt like a kiss.
Rose lifted the phone to her ear, with a smile. It was a genuine smile, the first to reach her eyes that morning.
“Oi, nick of time, as usual - the plastic people are after me, again,” she deadpanned, listened for a moment, and then, “Oh, no, it’s fine. Pete just showed me the door.”
Rose slipped off her heels with an audible moan of relief, gripping the balcony’s pebbled floor with her stocking-clad toes.
“Oh, you saw that did you? Well, aren’t you right up to the minute!” Rose teased, secretly pleased. “Next, you’ll be blogging about me.”
Roses blushed and bit her lip at his next words, sending her fingertips to mindlessly trail up and press against her clavicle.
“I thought of you when I put that on this morning.”
The wind dragged a lock of hair from Rose’s chignon, whipping it around to catch in her lipstick. Smiling hard, she didn’t notice.
“Don’t toy with me. Unless you are telling me you have a zeppelin ready for me on the roof, I don’t want to hear it.”
She blinked. “And what would be better than that?”
Waited.
“Really?”
A tremendous grin broke across Rose’s face at his words, her glee propelling her to the balcony’s wall. Gripping the railing tight, Rose heaved her torso far out over the edge and cast her gaze well beyond the London skyline; as if she could fling herself into his arms, if she just stretched far enough.
“It will take a little schedule shifting on my end … Pete’s going to go a little ballistic, I think … but no worries, I know just the thing to smooth it over with him….”
As Rose began to plot and scheme the ways in which Jane would need to move her itinerary around, a request from the Doctor brought her up short.
“What? Sure, I can grab it from your office before I go to mine. Yeah, on your desk … Wait, what is it? Hang on, I’m going to need to write that down.”
Balancing the phone on her shoulder, Rose patted her pockets, searching for something to write with. She came away with her crumpled speech notes and her lipstick. It would have to do.
“Ok, tell me again?”
Rose copied down the strange word phonetically, knowing she would never remember how to pronounce it the moment their conversation ended. “Doctor, what is it?”
She jammed the folded paper into her pocket and touched up her lipstick, just for kicks.
“Fine, don’t tell me. Spoilers, my arse,” Rose chided, but she couldn’t keep the mirth from her voice. The Doctor knew perfectly well how her blood sang out for a good mystery, even when he only doled out his hints one frustrating breadcrumb at a time.
“So, what time is my flight?”
Rose was only half-listening as she began to count backward in her head. She decided that her last round of vaccinations was still current enough to pass muster, if questioned. The Doctor’s response immediately broke her from her reverie.
“But it’s half-ten now!”
The solution he suggested was a simple one - that one-word plan that hadn’t stopped working for them yet.
Rose’s tongue peeked out the corner of her mouth, as she threw one last look to sky.
“Far be it from me to ignore my Doctor’s advice.”
In an attempt to drown out his mock laughter at that, she added a very cheeky, “Shut up.”
With a quick goodbye, Rose spun herself around, prepared to run the 22 flights leading back up to their offices, if need be. She stopped when her hand reached the doorknob.
First, she had to put on her shoes. Different shoes, altogether.
- - -
“Say that again?”
“Cyn - rexi-- cana - thyol - othermin.” Rose squinted at her writing, the lipstick having smudged sometime during the elevator ride up to the Doctor’s office.
“Now, say it five times fast,” clucked her secretary. Rose rolled her eyes appreciatively in agreement.
“He said it should be -”
“- On his desk? “ The woman broke in. “Yes, it is - you can’t miss it.”
As Rose swept into the office beyond her desk, the secretary shook her head with a knowing smile. The Doctor and Rose seemed to live their lives as though everything should be pronounced phonetically.
At her age, she could barely keep up with the shorthand version.
- - -
“Rose, you cannot go now.”
Rose was scuttling around her office like a madwoman. She flung open the door to her coat closet, hurriedly surveying the contents. Rose stored all manner of empty suitcases there, in a variety of sizes. She never knew where work or the Doctor might take her next, so she liked to keep her options open. Considering them for a moment, Rose finally plucked out a battered leather rucksack.
“Rose.”
Rose yanked open drawers in her filing cabinet to gather supplies for her journey. Where most people kept gleaming reams of A4 paper, pens, and Post-It Notes, Rose stored extra clothes, knickers, travel supplies, and a basic first aid kit.
Not discriminating, Rose tossed all of the kit in her bag. She could sort it out later.
“Rose!”
“Yes, Jane.” Rose said calmly, though her eyes were a bit wild. She needed to hurry, or she was going to miss the flight the Doctor had booked for her.
Rose kicked off her pumps and began to wiggle into jeans, still wearing her business skirt. Off came the skirt, next. As Rose moved to unbutton her suit jacket, Jane turned around to give her privacy.
Rose pulled on a cotton shirt and grabbed her leather jacket from the back of her chair.
“Jane, you’re my Gal Friday - I know you can handle this.”
“Quit trying to butter me up!” Jane exclaimed, pulling a face and looking back at Rose over her shoulder.
Rose stopped in her tracks, her arm halfway into her jacket, and looked at Jane with a wry smile.
“He needs me, Jane. I have to go.” She paused before adding softly, “I need to go.”
Jane nodded her understanding, and said nothing.
With that, Rose grabbed her muddy brogue boots from the windowsill behind her desk. She didn’t have time to undo the laces, so she grudgingly opted to put her pumps back on until she got to the car.
Rose unceremoniously stuffed the boots into her rucksack, and had nearly done up the buckle when she remembered the Doctor’s gadget. Considering it carefully, she placed it delicately into a second, smaller bag, stuffing a sweater around it to act as a cushion.
Finally ready, Rose checked for her passport and fled her office, not even bothering to lock it. She headed directly to the elevator, with Jane silent but still on her heels.
Going down in the elevator, Rose pulled the clip out of her chignon and shook her fingers hard through her hair. The relief of not having it pulled back loosened something in her shoulders. It made her feel lighter, all over.
Rose launched herself out of the elevators, past reception, and through the large glass doors to the street. Jane scanned Rose’s appointment book as she hurried to keep up.
"You have that lunch date with the Tanaka Corp. at noon."
"You'll have to move it."
“But -“
“I’ll call you from the car and we will map out who gets which assignment.”
The two women quickly reached the edge of the sidewalk. Rose stepped out into the street to hail a cab. Opting to forego hand waving, Rose stuck two fingers in her mouth and gave a shrill whistle that turned heads halfway down the block.
Just as all creatures in the universe came running when Rose Tyler beckoned, a taxi immediately pulled up to her feet at the curb.
“You know I’m going to catch hell from Pete in your place.”
“I know - and I’m sorry,” Rose said honestly, but undeterred.
Rose slung her rucksack into the back seat of the taxi, her legs following in after it.
Jane knocked on the window, which Rose promptly rolled down. She watched Rose as she gave instructions to the driver and rummaged through her bag to pull out her boots and a balled up pair of socks.
“Heathrow. There’s an extra 50 quid in it for you if you can get me there in 10 minutes.”
Holding onto the open window, as if to prevent the car from pulling away too soon, Jane blustered, "But Rose, you haven’t even said where you’re going!"
Rose handed her pumps to Jane through the window, squinting into the sun to regard her.
"Africa."
Jane stood at the edge of the street, clutching Rose’s shoes to her chest, as she watched the taxi speed off and disappear into the midday traffic.
- - -
Rose sank into her seat with a sigh and the thought that a Bloody Mary was definitely in order. She carefully placed the bag with the Cynrexi-whatever under the passenger’s seat in front of her.
Rose took out her phone to turn it off, only to discover she had three text messages from the Doctor.
>> All aboard? Bloody Mary? Cheers!
Am I that predictable? Rose wondered with a chuckle. She supposed that it was usually the two of them toasting with Bloody Marys at takeoff together, so she shouldn’t be surprised by his psychic prowess. Just then, the cabin steward handed her a Bloody Mary, unsolicited.
“Compliments of the Doctor.”
Her man did have a penchant for celery.
>> Hope Customs not a problem with DEVICE?
Rose rolled her eyes, the hassle too fresh in her mind to laugh about it.
Rose’s cabdriver earned his 50 quid when he dropped her at the airport in time for her flight. However, she was nearly waylaid going through Customs with the Doctor’s mysterious gizmo. A few phone calls from Torchwood and a posed photo with celebrity-hound customs officers later, and she and the gizmo were passed through.
>> See attached pic - this is where we’re going.
Rose opened the file, and was surprised when she found a photo of a large tree. Very large. A little phallic, in fact. It’s trunk was wide and smooth, undisturbed by branches until you reached its apex. A tree as destination? How very Swiss Family Robinson, Rose sassed to herself.
Smirking, Rose replied back to all three texts in one.
>> Booze, an intergalactic vibrator AND Tree Porn? Doctor, if you want to shag me - all you have to do is ask.
Send.
- - -
Most people dislike takeoff, but it always gave Rose a welcome jolt of adrenaline. It might not be the TARDIS, but the feeling still managed to raise goosebumps and a slight lump in her throat. This flight was no different. As the plane ascended into the sky, Rose’s mood buoyed in direct correlation. All of the stress from the morning - from the last two weeks, really - melted away as her thoughts turned to seeing the Doctor in a few hours, and to the adventure that lay ahead.
Sipping her Bloody Mary, Rose reached to pull the “device,” as the Doctor had called it, from its hiding place under the seat. It was much heavier than it looked, and was cool to the point that Rose guessed it might be chilled by some mechanism in its core. There were all sorts of buttons and lights that encircled the main shaft, making it look like a very tricked out Christmas ornament.
Rose carefully put the device back in her bag, not caring to think what might happen if one of those buttons was accidentally depressed on the airplane.
Eventually, Rose turned off her overhead light, allowing her eyes to drift closed as the plane bumped and shuddered around them. Her thoughts went back to the TARDIS - of being lulled to sleep by the ship’s peaceful thrum.
Rose dreamed of trees.
- - -
II.
The Airport was a small affair, and as such the passengers exited the plane via a temporary staircase directly onto the tarmac, rather than through a terminal. As Rose passed through the hatch and descended the stairs, she was immediately blown back by a wall of heat. The air rippled with it. In a matter of seconds, a thin line of perspiration had beaded above her lip. Rose licked her lips, tasting salt.
Bags in hand, Rose scanned the tarmac. To her delight and overwhelming relief, hazel eyes connected with flashing brown through the haze rising off the asphalt.
Perhaps it was a symptom of the long flight, or the woozy effect the heat was having on her senses (or a combination of both) that had reduced Rose’s brain function to one looping, clichéd thought as she looked upon her Doctor: A sight for sore eyes.
The Doctor had come to pick her up, and had driven directly onto the tarmac. His jeep was topless and mud caked the tires. The Doctor leaned against it, ankles crossed and hands stuffed in his pockets, wearing an easy grin. Even from that distance, Rose could see a new smattering of freckles sprayed across his sunburned nose. Rose’s stomach flipped at the thought of counting them later.
The heat had clearly played a direct role in the Doctor’s recent wardrobe adjustment. He wore a billowing white button-down shirt, rolled at the sleeves. Khaki cargo shorts betrayed gangly legs and knobbly knees, still pale from always wearing pants. Cream, hightop plimsolls shod his feet, and like the tires, were speckled with red mud.
Rose gave him her best cheeky grin.
“Doctor, you’ve gone native. And me, without my pith helmet.”
The Doctor took light, bounding strides to meet her halfway up the tarmac, scooping her up in his embrace. Their mouths found each other immediately. Too much time apart and the heavy afternoon sun made them languid and reluctant to release one another.
Anxious to get going, they finally broke apart. The Doctor took Rose’s rucksack and cheerfully slung it over one shoulder as he put his other arm around her waist and walked them back to the jeep. He tossed her bag into the back seat, which Rose noticed was littered with maps and the sort of random equipment that seemed to follow the Doctor wherever he went.
Rose climbed into her seat, cradling the bag with the gizmo in her lap. The Doctor hopped into the driver’s seat and with a burst of speed, they were off.
- - -
Rose shifted her lazy, half-lidded gaze from her crossed ankles, propped on the vibrating dash of the jeep, to the far-off broccoli top of the baobab tree. She reached down, fumbling for the lever, and yanked, leaning forward as the seat back snapped upright with a thud.
“Look,” she breathed, and then closed her eyes against the glare of the sun, studying the outline of the tree on the backs of her eyelids; an inverted photo negative.
“I see it,” said the Doctor, and pressed the accelerator. Rose's eyes flew open. Just there, rapidly approaching. The baobab tree, looming larger as their tires kicked up the red dust.
- - -
“They say people go inside for five minutes and come back ten years older,” he said, tracing the warning carved into the door with his fingertips.
“That's what you get for going through a door in a tree,” Rose said, reaching for the knob. The metal burned hot against her palm and she twisted until the door released and swung inward. The air inside was cool, and blasted out with a rumbling moan.
“That's ominous,” the Doctor said, peering into the dark.
“Come on,” Rose said, and crossed the threshold. Behind her, she could hear the Doctor's voice, faraway, and farther...
“They say it's bigger on...”
Gone.
- - -
There was a sudden void of air and sound and light, and a pop when it all came back, and Rose lurched forward, hands on her knees, to fight a wave of nausea, gasping. Her vision went momentarily grey, and then slowly the world faded back in, one pinpoint at a time, until she could stand upright, and the sound of rushing water dimmed.
She was in a bedroom, soft light filtering through the window, pale planks of wood slatted together beneath her feet. A four poster bed with a pastel spread. A stuffed giraffe.
“Doctor,” she said, turning to look over her shoulder, but she already knew he wasn't there. “Well okay, then.”
- - -
The window was open, and Rose pressed the heels of her hands against the sill, leaning out into sunshine. Faded red curtains with a prim paisley design fluttered against her bare shoulders. Somewhere, a robin was calling. And out across the rolling hills, wave after wave of pale golden wheat.
“Not in Kansas,” Rose joked to no one, and then looked again. A barn. A cow, and a chicken coop. She ducked back into the bedroom. “Maybe in Kansas.”
Crossing the room in a few decisive strides, she threw the sturdy oak door wide. Outside, it was just a hallway. A family portrait on the wall, and a well-worn rug. Rose took a deep breath and held it. Stepped out into-
- - -
Rose's breath came out in a whoosh, and she staggered, tripping over something that clanged thunderously and set her heart racing. Her arms flew out, reaching for anything to latch onto for balance, and she rapped her knuckles against something solid in the dim light, “Ahhh shit.”
Breathing hard, injured fingers in her mouth, she forced herself to calm down ad look around. Very small cement room-the only light trickled in from a skylight, which had a ladder propped against its rim. And all around her, stacked to the ceiling and haphazardly scattered about in teetering towers, were small, empty wire cages. She'd knocked a few over when she came in through...Rose looked back to confirm that the door was gone.
“Okay, okay...” she felt the panic creeping in again. This room was too small, it was giving her the creeps. And were the cages empty? They seemed to be but...
No, something was moving. Something was...
The air almost shimmered.
Rose edged towards the ladder, and there was a sound. An almost imperceptible rumble that got louder, louder until the cages were vibrating with it.
Rose lunged for the ladder and scrambled up, feeling hands on her legs, feeling like she was underwater. The air was like cement, hardening around her and she-
- - -
“What the hell,” the words tumbled out.
Slitheen! Bloody Slitheen, and on the deck of one of their ships no less. She could see them behind her in the reflection on the window, and outside...oh...the miraculous, striking beauty of some towering nebula, all green and purple gas, and newborn stars winking inside.
She turned and pressed her back against the cool glass, and as they advanced, all speaking at once, she found that without the TARDIS it all sounded like so much gibberish. Still, she figured she got the gist.
“Raxacoricofallapatorius!” she bellowed a little madly, and then bolted around them as they blinked at her and one another, running for a metal door that opened before her with a shavoom.
Her foot lost purchase on the slick synthetic floor and she skidded through the door to-
- - -
-land with an unceremonious splash in a pool of water. The walls were damp rotted wood, and there were no no doors, no doors, no...
The water was spiraling around her and she spun with it, dimly noticing moss on the walls, tall wet reeds growing up from somewhere underneath.
She held her breath and the whirlpool carried her down, the water was cold, she was-
- - -
-deposited unceremoniously at the base of some staircase, dripping water on the plush red carpet, gasping. She heard a voice.
Upstairs.
She ran towards it, taking the steps two at a time.
“Doctor!”
She was almost there, she was-
- - -
-deposited unceremoniously at the base of some staircase, dripping water on the plush red carpet, gasping. She heard a voice.
Upstairs.
She ran towards it, taking the steps two at a time.
“Doctor!”
She was almost there, she was-
- - -
-deposited unceremoniously at the base of some staircase, dripping water on the plush red carpet, gasping. She heard a voice.
Upstairs.
She ran towards it, taking the steps two at a time.
“Doctor!”
She was almost there, she was-
- - -
“Rose!”
Rose sat down hard on the sleek glass-and-steel ramp leading from the door of the TARDIS, to the gleaming central column of the console room and pushed her head between her knees. She watched with some degree of detachment as the pale tips of her hair dripped, the shining droplets catching the warm orange light.
That voice did not sound familiar. This room was not familiar. And oh, but she had not planned on throwing up on the Doctor if she ever saw him again, but it was becoming a real possibility. She was sure she could feel the turning of the earth, and the passage of time, and the sensation awoke a strange nostalgia. She shook if off and looked up.
Crouching in front of her with wide, horribly earnest green eyes, and soft brown hair falling across his forehead, was unmistakeably the Doctor, looking sweetly concerned and the slightest bit terrified. New face, but that never did change anything. She could still read him like a book.
“Look at you,” she said, and reached out, tracing his jaw with her thumb, fingertips against his racing pulse.
“I could say the same,” he said, and she laughed.
“I must be a sight.”
He didn't say anything to that-just smiled and ducked his head in a way that made her heart ache. Rose was saved from her momentary inability to speak by a tall redhead charging into the room, already calling loudly to the Doctor before she'd circled the console.
“Oi Doctoooor! I found one that's full of man-eating plants! Rory got bit, but it's not half as bad as he-hello, who's this? She wander in from one of the doorways?” She came to stand above the Doctor, peering down at Rose. “I'm Amy Pond. Don't worry, we'll get you sorted. Are you from Kansas? Kansas is just down the hall.”
Rose stood, and the Doctor with her.
“I'm not from Kansas,” she said, and smiled.
“Oh,” Amy said, and looked between Rose and the Doctor. Picked up on the vibe. “Ohhhh. Okay. I'm going to go check on Rory. We've still got that Slitheen in the library, Doctor, if you...um... Anyway, nice meeting...”
She shook her head and quickly exited the room, stopping only once to peep at them from around the console. Okay, maybe twice.
“She's married,” the Doctor said, when Amy was gone, shrugging helplessly. “Not that you...”
“She's nice,” Rose said kindly, and pulled her ruined bag off of her shoulder. There was a long, wilted bit of seaweed wrapped around the strap. “Dimensional stabilizer, am I right?”
“What?” the Doctor said.
“Problem with the dimensional stabilizer? You're throwing off doorways all over the place. Can you even land, or are you stuck in the vortex?” Rose braced her bag against the railing and wrenched open the gummy zipper. The Doctor just stared. Rose grinned.
“The Doctor said that might be the problem,” Rose said, and then stilled, considering. “Well, the other...my...you know.”
“Oh,” he said.
Rose reached into her bag, fishing around, and then hefted the blinking gizmo with both hands. “Here, I brought you this, um...cy...cynarex...”
Rose huffed and thrust the contraption at the Doctor, who caught it awkwardly. “Here, hold this, I know I've got it down somewhere,” she said, and dug through her pockets, pulling out a melted lipstick. “Ahhh...”
“Cynrexicanathyolothermin,” the Doctor said with a little smile, staring at her with what could only be called wonder.
Rose beamed back. “That's the one.”
A silence then, and just long enough to be uncomfortable.
“Well...” Rose said, just as the Doctor said, “so...” rocking back on his heels.
Rose laughed. “Fix your time machine, Doctor. I've got to get back.”
“I'll-” he said leaning forward, but Rose shook her head.
“Stay here, yeah? I'll see if Amy Pond has spotted a baobab tree.” Rose turned to walk away, leaving the Doctor hovering near the console and staring after her, but she thought better of it and went back to him, holding his wrist gently for balance and leaning up on tiptoes to press her lips to his cheek.
“You're going to be fine,” she whispered, and disappeared into the tangled halls of the TARDIS, leaving him dizzy, and reeling, and clinging to the cool, comforting weight of the cynrexicanathyolothermin.
- - -
“...on the inside-oof,” the Doctor said as Rose slammed into him, barreling back out of the door in the baobab tree somehow before she'd even gone.
He pinwheeled his arms for a moment before toppling over and landing gracelessly, kicking up a cloud of dust, and then just gazed up at Rose, who stood above him haloed in sunlight. She looked like an absolute wreck, clothes ripped, face muddy, hair hanging in wet clumps...and an enormous ear-to-ear grin spread all across her face. She reached out a hand to help him up, and he took it, blurting, “What just happened?”
“It's taken care of,” she said, and her hand darted out to snag the front of his shirt and drag him towards her. .
“It's taken care of?” he repeated, feeling flushed suddenly, and was the sun getting hotter? “What do you-”
But he was quickly preoccupied with Rose's hands in his hair, and Rose's mouth smiling against his as they backed into the baobab tree with a jolt, and she was pressed flush against him, and was she wearing only one shoe? Oh who cares, who cares, because this extraordinary life, this extraordinary woman is just so...
- - -
Rose passed her pink plastic water bottle across to the Doctor, who took it and tipped it back. It was easily a thousand degrees in the midday sun, he figured. Or it seemed so, with the pesky human physiology.
“We need one of those round metal canteens,” Rose said, crooking an arm behind her head. The branches of the baobab tree were reflected in her sunglasses. “Mine really doesn't fit the mood. Haunted tree...safari...it calls for a serious water receptacle.”
“You're demented,” the Doctor said, and passed it back.
Rose's mouth quirked up at the edges. “Mmm.”
They'd peeled back the top of the jeep, reclined the seats, and sprawled out to soak up the sun before heading back to town. The tree seemed back to normal-upon inspection they'd found that on the other side of the door there was now just the inside of a tree. Job well done, Rose figured.
“And he's younger, you said?” the Doctor said suddenly, turning to look at Rose with his head resting against the plush back of his chair. His hair was sticking out wildly, and Rose reached out to smooth it down.
“Technically he's older, I suppose,” Rose said, and the Doctor rolled his eyes.
“And he's redecorated my TARDIS.”
“Yeah, bit of a shock, that. It's a bit...I don't know, sexy.”
The Doctor blinked, opening his mouth to answer, and then closed it again.
“If you're into that sort of thing,” Rose added quickly, gaining a baleful look from the Doctor. She tried not to smirk. “Which I'm not.”
“Right,” he said.
“But he's still not ginger,” Rose said, and that, at least, seemed to override his sulk for the time being.
Rose's phone vibrated on the dash, then, startling both of them, and Rose groaned, leaning forward to check the number. Pete Tyler calling, it said, and Rose glanced at the Doctor sidelong.
“He's going to kill you,” the Doctor said.
Rose pressed ignore. “Well unless he wants to come down here to do it, he's going to have to wait until tomorrow.”
She tossed the phone in a cup holder and stretched, draping herself over her seat and staring lazily at the Doctor, whose mind went on the fritz momentarily. How she could look that good covered in dried mud and seaweed was utterly beyond him.
Minx.
“Local cuisine?” the Doctor said, voice a bit loud, and dragged his seat upright. He turned the key in the ignition and the jeep roared to life.
Rose sat up and buckled in, pulling down the visor to check her appearance. Groaned.
“First, new shoes,” she said, holding on as they made a tight turn, and the baobab got smaller in the rearview mirror. “I think I lost one in that gorgeous new TARDIS.”
“Shut up,” the Doctor said, laughing, and floored it.