New fic: Everybody's Talking 1/1
Story: Everybody's Talking
Author: WMR
Characters: Ten, Rose
Rated: PG13 (for language, mostly)
Spoilers: Only up to TCI, really
Summary: "That a crime or something? It’s New Year’s Eve. I just want to dance with my best mate.”
Note: AU - explanation below cut. Set a year after the Doctor's regeneration. Oh, and pure fluff warning.
AU - Assumes no parallel universes happened at all in Rose and Ten's time together.
Everybody’s Talking
The music stops and, hot and thirsty, she returns to their crowded table in the Spit and Feathers. It’s New Year’s Eve, less than an hour to midnight, and the pub is full to bursting.
They came back to spend Christmas with her mum, the Doctor’s attendance for Christmas dinner expected and willingly given. At his suggestion, in fact, they’ve stayed around since then. Her mum doesn’t get to see enough of her, he reminds her, and she knows he blames himself for it. It’s not his fault, she tells him later; it was her choice and still is her choice. This is where she wants to be. All the same, he tells her, she’s all her mum has and he doesn’t want to be responsible for taking that away from her. Any more than he already has, he adds.
He so likes her mum now, she tells him. He rolls his eyes, but doesn’t deny it.
New Year’s Eve, their last day before setting off for their next destination, and she’s with her friends down the pub for the traditional dance and celebration. He said he’ll join her later, before midnight, that it’s not really his scene. She knows that, but still hopes he’ll remember to come. He doesn’t have a lot of time left before the bells ring.
“Oi, Rose! When’s your fella gettin’ here?” That’s Michelle, a friend of Shareen’s from fashion college. She doesn’t know Michelle all that well, only having met her a few times on visits home. She seems nice enough, though. Going out with a bloke who teaches at the college, which seems a bit... well, not the sort of thing you do, seeing a teacher. But no-one else thinks there’s anything wrong with it.
“Soon, I hope!” she shouts back, trying to be heard over the combined noise of hundreds of conversations, the clink of glasses and the rap track that’s just started playing. “He said he’d be here.”
“I hope so too!” Michelle shouts. “Can’t believe I still haven’t met this bloke. Bit of all right, from what Shareen says.”
Well, yeah, the Doctor is a bit of all right. Not as if she hasn’t noticed - or kept on noticing.
She just smiles and takes a drink of her Sol. She’s jolted then; Shareen’s just come to sit down. Sending her boyfriend off to the bar for more drinks, her best mate grins at her.
“You know, one of these days I’m gonna make you tell me, Rose Tyler.”
“Tell you what?”
Shareen giggles. “You know. What he’s like.”
“What?” She shakes her head. “You’re smashed. What are you talking about?”
“You know ‘xactly what I’m talking about. Your Doctor. What he’s like in bed. I mean - ” Shareen winks. “ - older men an’ all that. More experience. Does it make a difference?”
She rolls her eyes. It’s not as if she hasn’t told Shareen before that it’s not like that. That the Doctor’s not her boyfriend. But Shareen either assumes she’s lying or that she’ll come to her senses and jump him sooner or later.
Thing is, if the Doctor was any other bloke she would’ve jumped him long ago. But he’s the Doctor, and doing that would just be stupid.
“Rose!” Mickey, unwittingly to the rescue. “Wanna dance?”
She’s danced with him a few times already this evening. He’s just broken up with his latest girlfriend; he’s not heartbroken, but his ego’s had a bit of a battering. He’ll bounce back.
“Okay.” If it’ll get Shareen off her back.
She walks with him to the dance-floor, winding their way around other couples and groups all celebrating the coming New Year. Along the way, they run into several people she knows, most of whom stop her to ask where ‘her bloke’ is.
“Yeah, where is he?” Mickey wants to know. “Didn’t you say he was coming?”
“He said he’d be here before midnight,” she explains yet again.
“You wanna give ‘im what for,” Mickey shouts as they start to dance. “Supposed to be your bloke, an’ he lets you go to a New Year party on your own.”
“Mickey, you know we’re not like that!” she protests. “You of all people...”
“Ah, cut it out, Rose.” Mickey’s rolling his eyes. “Who d’you think you’re fooling? ‘S obvious - been obvious for a long time. I dunno why you’re hiding it. You don’t have to worry about me - not any more. I am so over you.” He grins. “I don’t care if you an’ ‘im are at it like rabbits every night. In fact, I hope you are. Jus’ don’t tell me if he’s better than me.”
She feels like screaming. God, it’s bad enough from Shareen, but from Mickey...
Oh, well. There’s only tonight to go. Then they’ll be away tomorrow and their next visit’ll probably only be a couple of hours, to see her mum.
The problem is, she admits as she matches Mickey’s steps, not so much what everyone thinks. What people think’s never really bothered her.
It’s that she wishes what they’re all saying was actually true.
It’s not, of course, and most of the time she’s perfectly happy about that. Better to have the Doctor as her best friend for as long as she can than to demand more and lose him as a result.
But tonight, when almost everyone she’s with is half of a couple, and when all her friends persist in assuming that the Doctor’s her boyfriend, it seems a lot harder than usual to be accepting of reality.
She’s on her way back to the table again when the sight of a tall figure crossing the bar catches her gaze. It’s him. He sees her in the same moment, and a wide, joyful smile breaks out across his face.
She changes direction and goes to meet him; their hands automatically reach for each other’s.
“Not too late, am I?” He leans in close so she can hear him. “Said I’d be here before midnight.”
“Nah, you’re fine.” She gives him a brilliant smile. “Still more than half an hour to go.”
“All right, then. So, what are we doing? What’s the plan? New Year’s Eve party, right? Everyone gets drunk and snogs complete strangers and then moons half the neighbourhood on the way home?”
She has to laugh. He can be such an idiot sometimes. “Nah. Bit o’ dancing, few drinks if you want - not that alcohol affects you anyway - hugging an’ kissing when midnight strikes.” She hooks her arm through his. “Come an’ say hello to everyone.”
He comes willingly enough, renewing acquaintances with Shareen, allowing himself to be introduced to Michelle, engaging in a complicated hand-gesture greeting with Mickey, who volunteers to get him a beer. In minutes, he’s the centre of a small group, telling them all a completely over-the-top - and completely falsified - story about his exploits in the Australian bush.
He’s looking good tonight. Still wearing the same pin-striped trousers, but with a dark shirt, three buttons undone, and a charcoal T-shirt beneath it. No jacket, and no glasses. His hair is rumpled, as usual, and there are a couple of smudges on his forehead; no doubt he’s been lying beneath the console fixing something again. Running his hands through his hair when things don’t go as planned, of course.
Once it gets to half-eleven, the atmosphere in the pub changes. The lights dim, and the music turns romantic, the sort of music designed for dancing cheek to cheek. It’ll be like that until a few minutes to midnight; that’s the routine.
Bit by bit, her friends all disappear to the dance-floor in their respective couples. Pretty soon, she and the Doctor are the only two left at their table. Mickey’s gone off, beer-bottle in hand, to chat to some of his mates.
She’s leaning against the Doctor, head on his shoulder, watching him take a drink of the German bottled beer Mickey got him. Waiting. But he doesn’t seem to be taking the hint.
“You know,” she says after a bit, “everyone’s dancing.”
“Yeah, I noticed that.” He sounds as if it’s some kind of anthropological phenomenon he’s observed, something he’s studying out of detached interest. And then he blinks, shifts, turns to look at her. “Oh! You mean...”
She begins to smile. He’s getting the message.
“If you want to go and dance, I don’t mind. Don’t worry about me. I’ll still be here when you get back.” He gives her a warm, encouraging smile.
“What?” She stares at him. He’s winding her up, isn’t he? “So just who am I supposed to dance with?” Widening her eyes just like that usually gets her what she wants. So she waits again.
He shrugs. “Well, I don’t know. Mickey’s over there, isn’t he? I’m sure he’d be happy to dance with you.” He starts to raise his arm, about to attract Mickey’s attention.
“Doctor!” She tugs his arm down. “I want to dance with you.”
“Oh.” And it’s as if he hasn’t realised that. “Right. Well, okay, then. I suppose there’s no reason why not.” He grins. “Haven’t danced with you for quite a while, have I? Glen Miller, that was, wasn’t it?”
“Yeah.” A very long time ago. More than a year. Back in the Jack days. Back in the old him days.
He’s beginning to get up, when he hesitates and looks at her. “Rose, why is your friend looking at you like that?”
She looks around. It’s Michelle, and she’s making a gesture Rose would really have preferred the Doctor didn’t see. It’s suggestive, crude and very blatant.
“Oh, ignore her!” she mutters, catching his hand. “Come on.”
“Rose.” He doesn’t move, and his voice is firm. “What’s up?”
She shrugs. “It’s not important.”
“Tell me.”
She rolls her eyes. It’s obvious he’s not going to move until she tells him. “They all think we’re a couple. But that’s nothing new. People’ve always thought that about us.”
“Yeah. Though I thought your friends knew the truth,” he says.
And she thought he didn’t care anyway. Thought it’s no-one’s business but their own and that whatever they are to each other isn’t something either of them can or will define, so whatever anyone says is irrelevant.
“Doesn’t seem to matter what I say,” she replies with a shrug. “Like I said, it’s not important.”
“Rose.” He’s sitting down again, and pulling her with him. “I think you’re not telling me everything.”
“Doctor!” With a sigh, she sits next to him. “What’s it matter? I just want to dance.”
“With me.” He studies her.
“Yeah, with you. That a crime or something?” She nudges him with her shoulder. “It’s New Year’s Eve. I just want to dance with my best mate.”
But he’s looking at her, and there’s something in the way he’s looking...
“Maybe it’s not such a good idea,” he says quietly.
“Why not?”
“You know why not.”
He doesn’t explain, but she’s already feeling him withdraw subtly from her. And a chill starts to spread inside her as she realises what he’s saying. That he’s guessed that she wants more than friendship from him, and that he’s saying no.
But it’s just a dance, for god’s sake!
“Well, if it’s such a damn big deal for you...” She shakes her head and shifts away from him, her pleasure in the evening, in having him here with her, dissipated.
He takes another drink from his bottle, apparently unaware that she’s moved away, unaware that he’s hurt her. And his obliviousness hurts even more.
“Sod you, you bloody alien!” she mutters, grabbing her own bottle, and jumps up from the table.
There’s nowhere to go in the pub - well, plenty of places where she could get lost in the crowd, but that’s not what she wants. Everyone’s in couples now. People are snogging all over the place. Everywhere she looks, everyone’s happy and excited and in love.
Everyone except her. Because she’s bloody well in love with an oblivious alien who prefers to be best mates.
She stumbles through the door, almost shivering as the blast of cool air hits her. Leaning against the pub wall, she takes a long swig of beer.
She’ll regret this in the morning, of course. Regret that it was ever brought out into the open, even this obliquely. Regret that the fiction that all she wants from him is best mates is now exploded. And she’ll wonder where they go from here. If they can go on from here.
Though, actually, knowing him, he’ll pretend it never happened. It’ll never be mentioned again. He’ll assume that his one warning is sufficient, that she knows where she stands, that she’s sensible enough to heed what he said and never refer to it again herself. That she, like he, can just forget it. Or maybe he even thinks it’s just the drink talking anyway.
Damn you anyway, Doctor.
She kicks the wall behind her in frustration.
“I’d watch that if I were you. It might kick you back.”
She looks up. He’s standing in front of her, hands in his pockets, rocking on his heels a little, half-smile on his face.
“Fancied some fresh air, did you?” he enquires lightly.
“Oh, go away,” she mutters.
“What? You asked me to come to this party,” he reminds her, still in that light tone that just damn irritates her now. “And now you want me to go? You humans are so inconsistent, you know. How’s a poor alien ever supposed to work out what you want?”
She knows what he’s doing. Trying to make her laugh, to get her back in sympathy with him by shared amusement. It won’t work this time.
“Look, I’m not exactly pleased with you at the moment, Doctor. In fact, I’m downright pissed off at you. So maybe it’d be better if you went back to the TARDIS while I get over it. I’ll see you later, right?”
He sighs, and the amused façade disappears. “If I’ve upset you, Rose, I’m sorry. I never meant to.”
“Yeah, I know.” She pulls a face. “That’s the whole problem. You just haven’t a clue. An’ that makes it worse.”
“Then why don’t you tell me.” It’s not a question. It’s a calmly-stated demand.
No. Because she knows how he’ll react. And, really, on the face of it this is all a fuss over nothing. She’s stormed out of a party because he wouldn’t dance with her.
“Doesn’t matter,” she says, her tone quiet too. “Go on, Doctor. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow now, is it?” He steps closer, then comes to lean against the wall beside her. “Don’t do this, Rose. We’re friends. If you’re angry with me you should be able to tell me why.”
She sighs. “You know why.”
“Because I wouldn’t dance with you in a situation where it’d be taken as a... badge of ownership, if you like, by all your friends,” he says, still calm. “Because I began to wonder if you’d also take it as a sign of possession - of something more than what we are.”
She looks away. He does understand, more than she thought he would. And this is so damn embarrassing.
“Let’s just forget it, Doctor,” she urges him. “Told you, I’ll be fine later. Tomorrow. I've just had a few drinks, that's all."
Her hand is taken suddenly, long fingers curling around hers. “Why is it important, Rose? If you want to dance, we both know there’s lots of blokes you can dance with.”
She sighs. “They’re not you.”
“Right.” His head turns, and he’s looking at her, affection in his gaze. “You’re right, you know. I never cared before - what people thought.”
“Then why now?”
He doesn’t answer, and she knows what his answer would be anyway. Because it’s what she’s thinking, wanting.
“Why’s it important to you?” he asks. “Dancing with me, I mean.”
“You have to ask?” She won’t look away this time. It’s too revealing if she does. “This... New Year’s Eve - ‘s always been special with me an’ my friends. We come here, we have fun, we dance, we’re with someone special at midnight. Boyfriend, friend, whoever. Doesn’t matter, as long as it’s someone we care about. Always been like that.”
And tonight she wanted it to be him, because he’s the special person in her life.
“Right. Suppose that makes sense.” His fingers tighten around hers. “And there’s the snogging at midnight.” He grins; his teeth flash white in the semi-darkness. “I was right - you humans will snog anyone.”
She grins at that. He’s never seen New Year at the Spit and Feather, but he’s got it about right.
And, damn him, he’s even managed to nudge her out of her temper with him.
“Well, come on, then!” He’s started to move, and is pulling on her hand.
“Where we going?”
“Back inside!” He’s as excited as a three-year-old suddenly. “You owe me a dance, Rose Tyler.”
“What?” She stares at him. “Ten minutes ago you were refusing to dance with me.”
His eyes open wide. “I can change my mind, can’t I?”
She’ll never be able to keep up with him, with all his mental shifts and turns, or with the lightning-fast way he changes his mind sometimes. She just lets him tow her back inside and onto the dancefloor. How he manages to find a space in the cramped square, already overflowing, she’ll never know. But he does. Holding her securely in his arms, her head tucked into the crook of his shoulder, he moves her around in a gentle circle as classic favourite love songs play.
“This is nice,” he says after a while, his lips very close to her ear.
“Yeah.” It’s very nice. The double beat of his hearts is both strange and familiar to her, and he’s just the right height. It feels so natural by now to be in his arms; they hug so often they’re almost as familiar with each other’s bodies as their own.
He doesn’t talk after that, and his face rests against her hair. Through the crowd, she catches sight of Shareen, who gives her a thumbs-up. A couple of minutes later, Michelle catches her eye, giving her a grin and another crude gesture.
“Your friend has an interesting repertoire,” the Doctor murmurs against her ear, and she cringes. He’s seen it again.
“Ignore her,” she mutters. He laughs softly.
And then the music stops abruptly, and people are counting. His grip on her alters subtly as he joins in the count, murmuring quietly to her in between, “Actually, it’s still about forty seconds to midnight. Never mind what the BBC says. Their clock’s wrong.”
“But they use the Greenwich signal,” she objects, breaking off to shout, “Four!”
“That’s out, too,” he murmurs, adding “Three!”
She never knows when he’s having her on at times like these. Thing is, he could well be right. He’s a Time Lord, after all, and he has an uncanny sense for things like time.
“Two!”
“One!”
And then the lights are on, there are party-poppers being exploded, champagne being opened, lots of shouting and yelling and hugging and kissing all around them. The Doctor’s arms tighten around her. “Happy New Year, Rose.”
She smiles up at him. “Happy New Year, Doctor.” A grin curves over her face. “Wasn’t so bad, was it?”
“What?”
“Dancing with me.”
He smiles and shakes his head. “It wasn’t.”
And, if she’s lucky, he’ll have forgotten about - or be prepared to ignore - that realisation that she’d really like more than just a dance with him.
All around them, couples are snogging, just as he said. And suddenly, lips are over hers and she’s being snogged, too. By the Doctor.
It’s over fairly quickly, and she stares up at him in shock. Because, if he intended it as just a brief New Year kiss, it didn’t feel quite like that. It was close to chaste, but didn’t quite meet that description. Chaste kisses between friends don’t normally include open mouths, or brief touches of tongues to lips.
His smile is enigmatic. Bending his head, he says, “Well... since everyone’s talking anyway, seemed a shame not to give them something to really talk about.”
“S’pose so.” But her head’s reeling. Finally, he kisses her - a real kiss, or what feels bloody close to a real kiss - and he’s only done it to give her friends something to talk about? Something to confirm what they already believe about the two of them?
She wants to chance her arm, to suggest - taking his cue - that they give her friends more still to talk about - but she knows he’ll see through it if she does. Best to accept what she’s had, be grateful for it and remember it. So she’s about to settle back against him again - the noise of midnight is dying down, the lights are being dimmed again and the slow-dancing music is back.
But it doesn’t work out that way. A hand’s tilting her chin. And his lips are descending again, in a lingering, deeper kiss this time. One that’s definitely not chaste by any stretch of the imagination.
She kisses back, bewildered but not complaining. And when he raises his head asks, “What was that for? Wasn’t for my mates this time, was it?” Can’t have been; it’s a lot darker in here again now, and she can’t see Shareen anywhere.
He smiles. “Nah. That was just for us.”
“Us?” Her heart’s in her mouth. What on earth’s he saying?
“Well, you know...” He grins, and his arms wrap tighter around her, bringing her closer, nudging her head back onto his shoulder. “Just because everybody’s talking doesn’t mean it can’t be true.”
Speechless, she turns her face into his shoulder, giving in to the temptation to press her lips against his neck. She feels a kiss being dropped on her hair in return.
New year, new start? She has no idea. But whatever it is, she’s not complaining.
END
Author: WMR
Characters: Ten, Rose
Rated: PG13 (for language, mostly)
Spoilers: Only up to TCI, really
Summary: "That a crime or something? It’s New Year’s Eve. I just want to dance with my best mate.”
Note: AU - explanation below cut. Set a year after the Doctor's regeneration. Oh, and pure fluff warning.
AU - Assumes no parallel universes happened at all in Rose and Ten's time together.
Everybody’s Talking
The music stops and, hot and thirsty, she returns to their crowded table in the Spit and Feathers. It’s New Year’s Eve, less than an hour to midnight, and the pub is full to bursting.
They came back to spend Christmas with her mum, the Doctor’s attendance for Christmas dinner expected and willingly given. At his suggestion, in fact, they’ve stayed around since then. Her mum doesn’t get to see enough of her, he reminds her, and she knows he blames himself for it. It’s not his fault, she tells him later; it was her choice and still is her choice. This is where she wants to be. All the same, he tells her, she’s all her mum has and he doesn’t want to be responsible for taking that away from her. Any more than he already has, he adds.
He so likes her mum now, she tells him. He rolls his eyes, but doesn’t deny it.
New Year’s Eve, their last day before setting off for their next destination, and she’s with her friends down the pub for the traditional dance and celebration. He said he’ll join her later, before midnight, that it’s not really his scene. She knows that, but still hopes he’ll remember to come. He doesn’t have a lot of time left before the bells ring.
“Oi, Rose! When’s your fella gettin’ here?” That’s Michelle, a friend of Shareen’s from fashion college. She doesn’t know Michelle all that well, only having met her a few times on visits home. She seems nice enough, though. Going out with a bloke who teaches at the college, which seems a bit... well, not the sort of thing you do, seeing a teacher. But no-one else thinks there’s anything wrong with it.
“Soon, I hope!” she shouts back, trying to be heard over the combined noise of hundreds of conversations, the clink of glasses and the rap track that’s just started playing. “He said he’d be here.”
“I hope so too!” Michelle shouts. “Can’t believe I still haven’t met this bloke. Bit of all right, from what Shareen says.”
Well, yeah, the Doctor is a bit of all right. Not as if she hasn’t noticed - or kept on noticing.
She just smiles and takes a drink of her Sol. She’s jolted then; Shareen’s just come to sit down. Sending her boyfriend off to the bar for more drinks, her best mate grins at her.
“You know, one of these days I’m gonna make you tell me, Rose Tyler.”
“Tell you what?”
Shareen giggles. “You know. What he’s like.”
“What?” She shakes her head. “You’re smashed. What are you talking about?”
“You know ‘xactly what I’m talking about. Your Doctor. What he’s like in bed. I mean - ” Shareen winks. “ - older men an’ all that. More experience. Does it make a difference?”
She rolls her eyes. It’s not as if she hasn’t told Shareen before that it’s not like that. That the Doctor’s not her boyfriend. But Shareen either assumes she’s lying or that she’ll come to her senses and jump him sooner or later.
Thing is, if the Doctor was any other bloke she would’ve jumped him long ago. But he’s the Doctor, and doing that would just be stupid.
“Rose!” Mickey, unwittingly to the rescue. “Wanna dance?”
She’s danced with him a few times already this evening. He’s just broken up with his latest girlfriend; he’s not heartbroken, but his ego’s had a bit of a battering. He’ll bounce back.
“Okay.” If it’ll get Shareen off her back.
She walks with him to the dance-floor, winding their way around other couples and groups all celebrating the coming New Year. Along the way, they run into several people she knows, most of whom stop her to ask where ‘her bloke’ is.
“Yeah, where is he?” Mickey wants to know. “Didn’t you say he was coming?”
“He said he’d be here before midnight,” she explains yet again.
“You wanna give ‘im what for,” Mickey shouts as they start to dance. “Supposed to be your bloke, an’ he lets you go to a New Year party on your own.”
“Mickey, you know we’re not like that!” she protests. “You of all people...”
“Ah, cut it out, Rose.” Mickey’s rolling his eyes. “Who d’you think you’re fooling? ‘S obvious - been obvious for a long time. I dunno why you’re hiding it. You don’t have to worry about me - not any more. I am so over you.” He grins. “I don’t care if you an’ ‘im are at it like rabbits every night. In fact, I hope you are. Jus’ don’t tell me if he’s better than me.”
She feels like screaming. God, it’s bad enough from Shareen, but from Mickey...
Oh, well. There’s only tonight to go. Then they’ll be away tomorrow and their next visit’ll probably only be a couple of hours, to see her mum.
The problem is, she admits as she matches Mickey’s steps, not so much what everyone thinks. What people think’s never really bothered her.
It’s that she wishes what they’re all saying was actually true.
It’s not, of course, and most of the time she’s perfectly happy about that. Better to have the Doctor as her best friend for as long as she can than to demand more and lose him as a result.
But tonight, when almost everyone she’s with is half of a couple, and when all her friends persist in assuming that the Doctor’s her boyfriend, it seems a lot harder than usual to be accepting of reality.
She’s on her way back to the table again when the sight of a tall figure crossing the bar catches her gaze. It’s him. He sees her in the same moment, and a wide, joyful smile breaks out across his face.
She changes direction and goes to meet him; their hands automatically reach for each other’s.
“Not too late, am I?” He leans in close so she can hear him. “Said I’d be here before midnight.”
“Nah, you’re fine.” She gives him a brilliant smile. “Still more than half an hour to go.”
“All right, then. So, what are we doing? What’s the plan? New Year’s Eve party, right? Everyone gets drunk and snogs complete strangers and then moons half the neighbourhood on the way home?”
She has to laugh. He can be such an idiot sometimes. “Nah. Bit o’ dancing, few drinks if you want - not that alcohol affects you anyway - hugging an’ kissing when midnight strikes.” She hooks her arm through his. “Come an’ say hello to everyone.”
He comes willingly enough, renewing acquaintances with Shareen, allowing himself to be introduced to Michelle, engaging in a complicated hand-gesture greeting with Mickey, who volunteers to get him a beer. In minutes, he’s the centre of a small group, telling them all a completely over-the-top - and completely falsified - story about his exploits in the Australian bush.
He’s looking good tonight. Still wearing the same pin-striped trousers, but with a dark shirt, three buttons undone, and a charcoal T-shirt beneath it. No jacket, and no glasses. His hair is rumpled, as usual, and there are a couple of smudges on his forehead; no doubt he’s been lying beneath the console fixing something again. Running his hands through his hair when things don’t go as planned, of course.
Once it gets to half-eleven, the atmosphere in the pub changes. The lights dim, and the music turns romantic, the sort of music designed for dancing cheek to cheek. It’ll be like that until a few minutes to midnight; that’s the routine.
Bit by bit, her friends all disappear to the dance-floor in their respective couples. Pretty soon, she and the Doctor are the only two left at their table. Mickey’s gone off, beer-bottle in hand, to chat to some of his mates.
She’s leaning against the Doctor, head on his shoulder, watching him take a drink of the German bottled beer Mickey got him. Waiting. But he doesn’t seem to be taking the hint.
“You know,” she says after a bit, “everyone’s dancing.”
“Yeah, I noticed that.” He sounds as if it’s some kind of anthropological phenomenon he’s observed, something he’s studying out of detached interest. And then he blinks, shifts, turns to look at her. “Oh! You mean...”
She begins to smile. He’s getting the message.
“If you want to go and dance, I don’t mind. Don’t worry about me. I’ll still be here when you get back.” He gives her a warm, encouraging smile.
“What?” She stares at him. He’s winding her up, isn’t he? “So just who am I supposed to dance with?” Widening her eyes just like that usually gets her what she wants. So she waits again.
He shrugs. “Well, I don’t know. Mickey’s over there, isn’t he? I’m sure he’d be happy to dance with you.” He starts to raise his arm, about to attract Mickey’s attention.
“Doctor!” She tugs his arm down. “I want to dance with you.”
“Oh.” And it’s as if he hasn’t realised that. “Right. Well, okay, then. I suppose there’s no reason why not.” He grins. “Haven’t danced with you for quite a while, have I? Glen Miller, that was, wasn’t it?”
“Yeah.” A very long time ago. More than a year. Back in the Jack days. Back in the old him days.
He’s beginning to get up, when he hesitates and looks at her. “Rose, why is your friend looking at you like that?”
She looks around. It’s Michelle, and she’s making a gesture Rose would really have preferred the Doctor didn’t see. It’s suggestive, crude and very blatant.
“Oh, ignore her!” she mutters, catching his hand. “Come on.”
“Rose.” He doesn’t move, and his voice is firm. “What’s up?”
She shrugs. “It’s not important.”
“Tell me.”
She rolls her eyes. It’s obvious he’s not going to move until she tells him. “They all think we’re a couple. But that’s nothing new. People’ve always thought that about us.”
“Yeah. Though I thought your friends knew the truth,” he says.
And she thought he didn’t care anyway. Thought it’s no-one’s business but their own and that whatever they are to each other isn’t something either of them can or will define, so whatever anyone says is irrelevant.
“Doesn’t seem to matter what I say,” she replies with a shrug. “Like I said, it’s not important.”
“Rose.” He’s sitting down again, and pulling her with him. “I think you’re not telling me everything.”
“Doctor!” With a sigh, she sits next to him. “What’s it matter? I just want to dance.”
“With me.” He studies her.
“Yeah, with you. That a crime or something?” She nudges him with her shoulder. “It’s New Year’s Eve. I just want to dance with my best mate.”
But he’s looking at her, and there’s something in the way he’s looking...
“Maybe it’s not such a good idea,” he says quietly.
“Why not?”
“You know why not.”
He doesn’t explain, but she’s already feeling him withdraw subtly from her. And a chill starts to spread inside her as she realises what he’s saying. That he’s guessed that she wants more than friendship from him, and that he’s saying no.
But it’s just a dance, for god’s sake!
“Well, if it’s such a damn big deal for you...” She shakes her head and shifts away from him, her pleasure in the evening, in having him here with her, dissipated.
He takes another drink from his bottle, apparently unaware that she’s moved away, unaware that he’s hurt her. And his obliviousness hurts even more.
“Sod you, you bloody alien!” she mutters, grabbing her own bottle, and jumps up from the table.
There’s nowhere to go in the pub - well, plenty of places where she could get lost in the crowd, but that’s not what she wants. Everyone’s in couples now. People are snogging all over the place. Everywhere she looks, everyone’s happy and excited and in love.
Everyone except her. Because she’s bloody well in love with an oblivious alien who prefers to be best mates.
She stumbles through the door, almost shivering as the blast of cool air hits her. Leaning against the pub wall, she takes a long swig of beer.
She’ll regret this in the morning, of course. Regret that it was ever brought out into the open, even this obliquely. Regret that the fiction that all she wants from him is best mates is now exploded. And she’ll wonder where they go from here. If they can go on from here.
Though, actually, knowing him, he’ll pretend it never happened. It’ll never be mentioned again. He’ll assume that his one warning is sufficient, that she knows where she stands, that she’s sensible enough to heed what he said and never refer to it again herself. That she, like he, can just forget it. Or maybe he even thinks it’s just the drink talking anyway.
Damn you anyway, Doctor.
She kicks the wall behind her in frustration.
“I’d watch that if I were you. It might kick you back.”
She looks up. He’s standing in front of her, hands in his pockets, rocking on his heels a little, half-smile on his face.
“Fancied some fresh air, did you?” he enquires lightly.
“Oh, go away,” she mutters.
“What? You asked me to come to this party,” he reminds her, still in that light tone that just damn irritates her now. “And now you want me to go? You humans are so inconsistent, you know. How’s a poor alien ever supposed to work out what you want?”
She knows what he’s doing. Trying to make her laugh, to get her back in sympathy with him by shared amusement. It won’t work this time.
“Look, I’m not exactly pleased with you at the moment, Doctor. In fact, I’m downright pissed off at you. So maybe it’d be better if you went back to the TARDIS while I get over it. I’ll see you later, right?”
He sighs, and the amused façade disappears. “If I’ve upset you, Rose, I’m sorry. I never meant to.”
“Yeah, I know.” She pulls a face. “That’s the whole problem. You just haven’t a clue. An’ that makes it worse.”
“Then why don’t you tell me.” It’s not a question. It’s a calmly-stated demand.
No. Because she knows how he’ll react. And, really, on the face of it this is all a fuss over nothing. She’s stormed out of a party because he wouldn’t dance with her.
“Doesn’t matter,” she says, her tone quiet too. “Go on, Doctor. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow now, is it?” He steps closer, then comes to lean against the wall beside her. “Don’t do this, Rose. We’re friends. If you’re angry with me you should be able to tell me why.”
She sighs. “You know why.”
“Because I wouldn’t dance with you in a situation where it’d be taken as a... badge of ownership, if you like, by all your friends,” he says, still calm. “Because I began to wonder if you’d also take it as a sign of possession - of something more than what we are.”
She looks away. He does understand, more than she thought he would. And this is so damn embarrassing.
“Let’s just forget it, Doctor,” she urges him. “Told you, I’ll be fine later. Tomorrow. I've just had a few drinks, that's all."
Her hand is taken suddenly, long fingers curling around hers. “Why is it important, Rose? If you want to dance, we both know there’s lots of blokes you can dance with.”
She sighs. “They’re not you.”
“Right.” His head turns, and he’s looking at her, affection in his gaze. “You’re right, you know. I never cared before - what people thought.”
“Then why now?”
He doesn’t answer, and she knows what his answer would be anyway. Because it’s what she’s thinking, wanting.
“Why’s it important to you?” he asks. “Dancing with me, I mean.”
“You have to ask?” She won’t look away this time. It’s too revealing if she does. “This... New Year’s Eve - ‘s always been special with me an’ my friends. We come here, we have fun, we dance, we’re with someone special at midnight. Boyfriend, friend, whoever. Doesn’t matter, as long as it’s someone we care about. Always been like that.”
And tonight she wanted it to be him, because he’s the special person in her life.
“Right. Suppose that makes sense.” His fingers tighten around hers. “And there’s the snogging at midnight.” He grins; his teeth flash white in the semi-darkness. “I was right - you humans will snog anyone.”
She grins at that. He’s never seen New Year at the Spit and Feather, but he’s got it about right.
And, damn him, he’s even managed to nudge her out of her temper with him.
“Well, come on, then!” He’s started to move, and is pulling on her hand.
“Where we going?”
“Back inside!” He’s as excited as a three-year-old suddenly. “You owe me a dance, Rose Tyler.”
“What?” She stares at him. “Ten minutes ago you were refusing to dance with me.”
His eyes open wide. “I can change my mind, can’t I?”
She’ll never be able to keep up with him, with all his mental shifts and turns, or with the lightning-fast way he changes his mind sometimes. She just lets him tow her back inside and onto the dancefloor. How he manages to find a space in the cramped square, already overflowing, she’ll never know. But he does. Holding her securely in his arms, her head tucked into the crook of his shoulder, he moves her around in a gentle circle as classic favourite love songs play.
“This is nice,” he says after a while, his lips very close to her ear.
“Yeah.” It’s very nice. The double beat of his hearts is both strange and familiar to her, and he’s just the right height. It feels so natural by now to be in his arms; they hug so often they’re almost as familiar with each other’s bodies as their own.
He doesn’t talk after that, and his face rests against her hair. Through the crowd, she catches sight of Shareen, who gives her a thumbs-up. A couple of minutes later, Michelle catches her eye, giving her a grin and another crude gesture.
“Your friend has an interesting repertoire,” the Doctor murmurs against her ear, and she cringes. He’s seen it again.
“Ignore her,” she mutters. He laughs softly.
And then the music stops abruptly, and people are counting. His grip on her alters subtly as he joins in the count, murmuring quietly to her in between, “Actually, it’s still about forty seconds to midnight. Never mind what the BBC says. Their clock’s wrong.”
“But they use the Greenwich signal,” she objects, breaking off to shout, “Four!”
“That’s out, too,” he murmurs, adding “Three!”
She never knows when he’s having her on at times like these. Thing is, he could well be right. He’s a Time Lord, after all, and he has an uncanny sense for things like time.
“Two!”
“One!”
And then the lights are on, there are party-poppers being exploded, champagne being opened, lots of shouting and yelling and hugging and kissing all around them. The Doctor’s arms tighten around her. “Happy New Year, Rose.”
She smiles up at him. “Happy New Year, Doctor.” A grin curves over her face. “Wasn’t so bad, was it?”
“What?”
“Dancing with me.”
He smiles and shakes his head. “It wasn’t.”
And, if she’s lucky, he’ll have forgotten about - or be prepared to ignore - that realisation that she’d really like more than just a dance with him.
All around them, couples are snogging, just as he said. And suddenly, lips are over hers and she’s being snogged, too. By the Doctor.
It’s over fairly quickly, and she stares up at him in shock. Because, if he intended it as just a brief New Year kiss, it didn’t feel quite like that. It was close to chaste, but didn’t quite meet that description. Chaste kisses between friends don’t normally include open mouths, or brief touches of tongues to lips.
His smile is enigmatic. Bending his head, he says, “Well... since everyone’s talking anyway, seemed a shame not to give them something to really talk about.”
“S’pose so.” But her head’s reeling. Finally, he kisses her - a real kiss, or what feels bloody close to a real kiss - and he’s only done it to give her friends something to talk about? Something to confirm what they already believe about the two of them?
She wants to chance her arm, to suggest - taking his cue - that they give her friends more still to talk about - but she knows he’ll see through it if she does. Best to accept what she’s had, be grateful for it and remember it. So she’s about to settle back against him again - the noise of midnight is dying down, the lights are being dimmed again and the slow-dancing music is back.
But it doesn’t work out that way. A hand’s tilting her chin. And his lips are descending again, in a lingering, deeper kiss this time. One that’s definitely not chaste by any stretch of the imagination.
She kisses back, bewildered but not complaining. And when he raises his head asks, “What was that for? Wasn’t for my mates this time, was it?” Can’t have been; it’s a lot darker in here again now, and she can’t see Shareen anywhere.
He smiles. “Nah. That was just for us.”
“Us?” Her heart’s in her mouth. What on earth’s he saying?
“Well, you know...” He grins, and his arms wrap tighter around her, bringing her closer, nudging her head back onto his shoulder. “Just because everybody’s talking doesn’t mean it can’t be true.”
Speechless, she turns her face into his shoulder, giving in to the temptation to press her lips against his neck. She feels a kiss being dropped on her hair in return.
New year, new start? She has no idea. But whatever it is, she’s not complaining.
END