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rabid1stDISHEVELED
by Rabid1st
Ten/Rose
Rating: R this part
Beta Babes: Keswindhover and larielromeniel
Spoilers: To Fear Her
Summary: Following the adventure with the Isolus, the Doctor and Rose continue on their tour of romantic spots, but trouble is brew in the cosmos and within Rose.
Author's note: Most of my beta babes fell ill during this job...and so...this is minimally beta'ed...I'm sure my participles are dangling and my infinities have split. But it's just a fun, light chapter anyway...to follow up all the angst.
Disclaimer: I don’t own these characters. If I did…the show would be censored by…everyone but you smutty few. I humbly thank Russell T. Davies for creating the sweetest, most-loving, most-genuinely iconic couple in the history of the world for me to play with.
LINKS for all previous parts…can be found HERE
Van Morrison “Cleaning Windows”...just a great song to rock on with. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2QiZgl7jQxo
PART TWENTY-ONE
Oh, the smell of the bakery from across the street got in my nose.
As we carried our ladders down the street with the wrought-iron gate rows.
Amber light pulsed behind the TARDIS roundels and multicolored twinkles flashed across the console. The entire ship danced, wobbling gently from side to side. Rose Tyler kept her balance, despite the tipping floor and being twirled into dizzy disarray by her partner. Five years of time-traveling had given her great space legs. She felt completely at one with the rhythm of their ship. As long as nobody hit the handbrake she could stay upright through an ion storm.
“I went home and listened to Jimmie Rodgers in my lunch break.”
Rose winked at the Doctor because she’d bellowed, “I went home for crisps and Jammy Dodgers on my lunch break.”
She knew the lyrics but liked to tease him. He was teasing her as well, slowly stripping off his clothing, piece by piece. The closing ceremonies of the 2012 Olympic Games had ended with a tribute to Van Morrison. The resultant party atmosphere, and a close call with immaterial existence, had infected the Doctor with a jubilant sensuality. The definition of cool in his unnecessary shades, he puckered his lips as he unfastened the last button on his suit jacket. He let the garment slide down his arms while he grooved along with the music. The clear notes of his smooth tenor sailed above Van Morrison’s gravely baritone on the next line of the song. After twirling the jacket above his head a few times, he let the garment fly.
Rose fisted her hands in the fabric of her full skirt and rocked her shoulders in counterpoint to her partner's seductive pelvic swivel. She flashed the high beams on her smile to let him know he’d charmed her with his exotic dancer routine, but then, suggested via a "gimme" gesture that he remove one or two more pieces for the full effect. He leaned forward. She leaned back, taunting him. He stuck his tongue out at her, but, to her delight, hooked a finger into the knot of his tie. Her tongue was a pink garnish, adorning her grin as she watched him slowly work the knot loose. Pulling hand over hand, he snaked the length of the tie through his collar.
He hurled his tie after his jacket and did a pirouette, one hand extended above his head. At the end of the spin, he slammed to a halt to play a bit of air sax. Rose danced in, slinking closer, a cobra drawn by his imaginary music. Reaching up, she glided her hands along his shoulders to his shirt collar. Her fingers tugged at fabric until his top few buttons gave way. Laughing, he molded his body into the curve of hers. They skimmed around one another like daredevil pilots giving a precision flying demonstration.
Rose did a slow controlled slide down his gyrating form, her palm stroking up his side as she sank toward the floor. His tensing muscles made her hiss with carnal delight. Her mouth watered just a little when she felt him quiver under her fingertips. He was a taut bowstring, pent energy craving release. She knew him well. Knew that any second now, he would erupt into motion. Hoping he would have her up against the safety railing, she was disappointed when he mastered his tremor. Controlling his kinetic impulse, he captured both of her hands, pulling her upright and tight against him. His dark eyes flashed as he hooked an arm around her waist.
Mouth close to her ear, he sang, “I collected from the lady, then I cleaned her fanlight inside out.” Rose's temperature climbed with the innuendo. She freed one hand to fan herself as he went on, “I was blowing saxophone on the weekend in that down joint.”
They did a few samba steps while Van belted out the chorus.
“Tell me what's...my...line? I'm happy cleaning windows. And I'll take my time. I'll see you when my love grows. Baby, don't let it slide. I'm a working man in my prime.”
The close-quarters friction was more than the Doctor could take. It made him jittery. He was prickling all over and knew Rose would like nothing more than to drag him back to their room. She didn't need the aphrodisiac these days in order to enter a dream state with him. Their connection ran far deeper than the physical. She could stir him from the other side of the time rotor. And he was sure he could reach her on the other side of the planet. But now was not the time for distractions. With a spurt of manic inspiration, he broke from their clinch before he could give in to temptation.
He lunged at the TARDIS controls, nearly mounting the console as he stretched for the audio dials to crank up the volume. Guitar and saxophone wailed with earsplitting intensity. Rose, already half deaf from the fireworks and crowd noise at the Closing Ceremonies, tossed her head back, laughing as she gave him the thumbs-up sign. She continued to dance without him, whirling about, hips working a figure eight as she pumped her elbows. The Doctor skipped through a turn, before launching himself across the room. He caught her on the fly like a bald eagle linking talons with a mate and they swooped into a bit of intricate footwork.
“I heard Leadbelly and Blind Lemon on the street where I was born,” the Doctor sang, his hand creeping up her spine to where her blouse gave him access to her skin. When he reached her bare shoulder, he shoved, propelling her out to the end of his anchoring arm.
“Did not,” she yelled, mid-spin.
“I went home and read my Christmas Humphreys' book on Zen,” he insisted, passing her under his elbow for an extra twirl on her way back.
“Read your what?”
“Curiosity killed the cat,” the smirking Doctor warbled with Mr. Morrison, “Kerouac's Dharma Bums and On the Road.”
Confident Rose would look up every reference later, he felt no pressing need to explain. She'd been spending a lot of time in the library lately. Though determined to find literacy in his language, she was interested in almost everything, full of not only questions, but insight. They had that in common. And apparently, also, far-sightedness. Lately, she'd taken to squinting at the texts. He'd been harrying her about reading glasses. He'd whipped up a pair in square frames, identical to his own, but so far she'd refused to wear them.
Gaining both of Rose’s hands, he yo-yo-ed her through several quick spins. Breathless with giggling, she twirled easily, falling in line with him as he sashayed across the floor. He released her to do a little free-form Charleston, but quickly returned to her arms. Knowing it would please her, he skimmed up her body into the embrace. They swayed back and forth and launched into the chorus together, right on cue.
What's my line?
I'm happy cleaning windows
Take my time
I'll see you when my love grows
Baby don't let it slide
I'm a workingman in my prime
Cleaning windows (number a hundred and thirty-six)
As the song faded, the TARDIS gave a delicate shudder and stabilized, the central rotor gliding to a stop.
“Ha! No hand braking,” the Doctor crowed. “Ten points. The perfect landing.” He celebrated the gold medal performance by sending Rose into a perilous death drop.
Despite plummeting to within an inch of the floor grating, she completed the risky maneuver with relaxed grace. Her unshakable confidence in him was sobering. He felt his pulse hitch, when she smiled up at him. Wrists crossed to brace her, he widened his stance for extra stability. He hoped she knew he would never let her fall. They held the pose until the song ended. Then, he effortlessly lifted her to perpendicular again. Seeming inordinately pleased with him, she shined up into his face, eyes twinkling, smile bright. She was breathing heavily, chest heaving. Dragging his gaze from her eyes, he let it meander to her lips, and then further down to her expanding and contracting cleavage. Head tipped to the side, he stared, tingling all over.
“Can you believe the only song I ever heard by him was that Moonlight one?” Rose asked. "Mum used to play it sometimes when she was missing Dad." When he didn't answer straight away, she followed his glance.
“Moondance,” he corrected in a distracted mutter. “As in, 'It's a marvelous night for...'” he added. “Also, Brown-Eyed Girl. Warm Love, Full Force Gale and, my personal favorite, Tupelo Honey,” Levering his attention away from her breasts, he warbled angelically, “She's as sweet...she's as sweet as tupelo honey. Just like honey, baby, from the bee.”
Heat flared across Rose's cheekbones when, on the last line, his gaze lifted to intersect hers. His dark eyes flashed possessively. She wasn't used to him noticing her physical charms. Or calling her sweet, come to that. He liked to touch, but rarely ogled. And he hardly ever flattered her. Perhaps all of the bare skin they had on display inspired him. He quite obviously wanted to see more of her. But once again, he denied them both. Lips silently reproving, he reached out a hand. And fastidiously pinched a bit of fabric between thumb and forefinger. With a flick of his wrist, he twitched the slipping neckline of her blouse into a more modest line.
Stepping back to admire his adjustment, he announced, “Here we are, then.”
She struggled to cover her disappointment. “Here, where?” She asked, tilting her head to see past him, before starting for the door.
He dog-legged around her, blocking her path. “You tell me,” he said, one arm gesturing toward the console.
Rose's suppressed a groan, her buoyant spirits sinking even more, as she sighted along his pointing finger. “Not another lesson? I thought we were done for the day. There was dancing. And you promised me ice cream.”
“You’re the one who wanted to learn my language,” he reminded her. “Punching in coordinates is all well and good, but let's see how you do without prompting.”
She put on her best sulky pout, but he just scratched behind his ear and looked expectant.
After a bit, she crumpled under the weight of his expectation. He could out stare a cat. She shuffled to the monitor and scowled at it. “It looks like squiggles to me.”
“All right,” he said brightly, turning his back on her, “If you'd rather not...” He shrugged carelessly as he crossed the room to the Y-strut he used for a coat rack. “Makes no never mind to me if you can't read. Most of my companions were functionally illiterate in my language.”
“I didn't say I was giving up.” Rose's sigh puffed stray hairs out of her eyes. She was seeing double and it worried her. “It's just all this timey-whimy, whibbly whobbly stuff is mucking about in my head.”
“Oh, come on, all you have to do is remember what I had you program in. It's all there on the screen. You don't have to know anything about celestial navigation. This is just numbers and variables. Easy peasy. And if you ever hope to navigate the TARDIS, you’ll have to learn to read her language.”
“I am trying,” Rose insisted.
“Then, prove it,” he said, his twiddling his fingers urging her to focus on the monitor.
“What do you mean 'most of your companions'? Some of them could read?”
“I believe all of them could read. Even Leela. A few of could also read the interface. Romana, of course. And Nyssa. And Zoe.”
“Did they all do that cornering thing?”
“I'm sure Romana did in her younger days. As for the others, not likely. No one has ever been on such intimate terms with the TARDIS, before,” he hummed contentedly at her as he added, “Or me. No, Nyssa and Zoe remained steadfastly four dimensional. And you can stop stalling any time now.”
“Why can't the TARDIS just translate the coordinates into English?”
“Because she's not designed to accommodate humans. And even if she was, English is not a very precise language. Traveling through the Vortex ain’t like dusting crops, you know. Without precise calculations we could fly right through a star or bounce too close to a supernova and that would end your trip…”
Rose choked on a giggle, but quickly stifled it by biting on a knuckle. The aborted snicker stopped him mid-quote. She could see his mental wheels spinning as he went over what he'd just said. His face pruned. His nose wrinkled and that seagull vee formed between his brows. He ruffled his hair with the flat of one palm, as if hoping to jumpstart his brain via static electricity. Maybe it worked, because he brightened suddenly and exclaimed, “Han Solo!”
“Sometimes you amaze even yourself,” Rose said, confirming the source. Then, she leaned both elbows on the console edge, resting her chin in cupped hands. “And you don't have to go on about the dangers of time travel. I know how important these calculations are.” She changed her stance, sliding backward until, using fingers and thumbs, she could frame her view of the monitor screen. “It's just...I think the TARDIS hates me.”
“Nonsense. She adores you. No hand braking,” he pointed out. “She takes you directly home every time, straight into your mother's living room more than once. And she never stops on a dime like that for me. I get tossed like salad. You've got the knack.”
“You're saying she knew it was me pushing her buttons?”
“Oh, yes,” he declared, proudly. “She's quite the perceptive old girl. She's hardwired to obey, of course. The interface doesn't give her much choice in the matter. But she is more than capable of inconveniencing you if she doesn't like the cut of your jib.”
“Cheers for my jib, then.”
He was putting his coat on, covering up as he always did before venturing out. Catching this from the corner of her eye, Rose deflated a bit more. Half into the garment and adjusting his collar, he noticed her body language and stilled, brows soaring in inquiry. Shifting to face him, she swept him with a smoldering glance, head to trainers, and then toes to mouth. Chewing her bottom lip for sensual emphasis, she sent her own empathic signal. He got the message, grinned and obediently removed the extra layer. Draping the coat over his arm for a moment, he transferred a few essential items to his trouser pockets. Then, he folded the coat neatly over a guard rail and sidled to her side for a peek at the readings.
“Go on,” he urged, gleefully rubbing her shoulder with his, “Dazzle the teacher.”
“Tackle the teacher more like,” she muttered under her breath
Her stomach fluttered and her palms grew sweaty. There he was beaming confidence at her, scrumptious to his shoelaces, and she felt like the stupid ape he'd once called her. Their vocabulary lessons generally ended in mutual satisfaction, especially when he drew the conjugations directly on her skin, and they were admittedly instructive, but not very productive in terms of retention. Sex with the Doctor tended to put everything else out of Rose's mind. Even hitting the library two or three times a week hadn’t improved her understanding of his language one jot. Literacy eluded her. Written Gallifreyan might as well be decorative squiggles. It was pretty but meaningless to her.
She took a deep breath, releasing it slowly to buy a little time. Relaxing her knees, she hunkered down a bit and made a great show of studying the alien script.
“Let's see, now,” she drawled. She used her index finger to trace a few of the symbols. “We're...some place…tropical?”
“Good.”
“Hot. Sensual. Earth, of course,” she said cockily.
“Is it?”
She nodded, ignoring the challenge in his tone and, still stalling, stroked her throat. The gesture earned her an audible catch in the Doctor's breath. The helpless little moan gave her an inordinate thrill. She noticed his state of dress again. He wasn't generally so vulnerable outside of their bed. Gone were the days of public bathes and sun worshiping. Even when they had sex in semi-public places, he kept most of his clothes on. Now, there was nothing between them but the thin cotton of his shirt. His cnidocytes had primed. She could see them creating goose flesh on the exposed skin at his collar.
“I'm going to say....Brazil?”
The burgeoning certainty of imminent sex vanished, when the Doctor cut his eyes to the side and snorted rudely. “You’re guessing.”
“I am not,” Rose protested, reeling back from him. He clicked his teeth together, baring an inordinate amount of them in a cheesy smile to show just how amusing he found her. Affronted, she stabbed a finger at the screen. “That’s longitude. And this swirly bit,” she circled her finger, “tells us we’re definitely on Earth.”
The Doctor narrowed his eyes, see-sawing his head as he made a grating noise. His lip curled.
“What?” Rose yelped. “You're telling me that's not the symbol for Earth?”
“Ehm...Not so much,” he told her.
To her horror, Rose's eyes filled with tears. But he didn't give her a chance to feel sorry for herself. He closed the short distance between them and wrapped around her, his arms folding across her chest. His exhaled sigh fanned the few hairs that had escaped her French braids, tickling her cheek as he spoke straight into her ear, “And that,” he pointed where she had, “is not longitude. That's the number five.”
Giving up the fight, Rose wilted into him, letting him support her. “A five?”
Shame stained her face fire engine red, but an altogether different sort of heat coiled very low in her gut. It flared when the Doctor brushed his lips along her collarbone. Every cell in her body turned molten and magnetic when he stood this close to her. It was almost like she had her own cnidocytes. She reeled him in. Lust demanded satisfaction. Her mind skipped merrily back to a tryst they'd had in one of the Olympic dormitories. They'd used the psychic paper and his sonic screwdriver to secure a room but they'd eschewed the bed. Remembering how he'd pressed her into the wall made her knees weak two days later.
What an amazing month this had been. They’d been trading favors through time and space. He'd taken her to concerts and weddings and the Olympic games. She’d suggested motorcycle racing, stargazing and skinny dipping. He'd get naked with her now, because he trusted her and she looked after him. It wasn't just physical, this lust for union. They were married, united mentally and spiritually as well. They didn't even need the drug to connect anymore. They had become so very good at melding into one. She could almost reach out and pluck…
“Oh, no, you don't,” he scolded, backpedaling away from her. “Are you trying to read my mind?”
“No,” she denied quickly. But then, squinting over her shoulder at him, she admitted it. “Oh...fine. Just a little. And not reading, exactly. I'd say more like skimming.”
“This is not an open book test,” he said, slamming the mental door in her face.
“All right. There's no call to be rude about it.”
“You’re not even trying,” he insisted petulantly.
“It’s too hard. I’ve been studying and studying, but I just don’t get it.”
“Bosh. You know full well that ‘swirly bit,’ as you call it,” he said, indicating the symbol with a nod of his head, “indicates we’ve landed. You see it every single time we land. This,” he emphasized, as he stabbed a finger at a narrow oval, “Tells us we are in your solar system, on Sol 3. And these numbers give us...not the longitude or the latitude, because that would be silly...but instead mark...? Anyone?” He paused, eyes wide and brows lifted in inquiry, before repeating, “Anyone? Bueller?” When she failed to answer, he huffed his disappointment through compressed lips and prompted her. “The Relative Cyclic Stability Quotient?”
“Oh, right. The...relative..quotient, yeah, I was just going to say that.” She pressed the heel of one hand to her temple, desperately trying to recall what it meant. It came to her in a rush and she snapped her fingers. “Our position in the spheres. Like I already...knew. Earth, yeah?”
He gave her a frankly appalled look. “Sol 3? No! This one represents the lateral turn of the Vession Tau Cycle.”
“You’re sure it’s not just a random doodle?”
“Tau is an Earth letter,” he said, sounding exasperated.
“Greek,” she intoned, loftily, “Is all Greek to me. But I know what I know and we're...some when...some time in Brazil…I'm going to call it...” She glanced down at her outfit. The Doctor had picked it out for her. It consisted of a white peasant-style blouse, broad belt and full red skirt. “1950.”
The Doctor's tongue pushed on the inside of his cheek, making a bulge just above his dimple. Blowing out a breath, he tilted his head back until he was staring up into the rafters. He pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eye for the long count to twenty. Rose thought about tickling him.
“One day, Miss Rose Tyler,” he huffed, projecting the words into his palm before moving his hand away from his face and dropping his chin to target her with what he hoped was a quelling stare, “One day…that sassy attitude is going to get you into so much trouble.”
“I like getting into trouble,” she told him, fingers tugging at her left earring, a golden hoop.
“Do you?” He asked, as he traced up the back of her arm, his touch telegraphing promises for later.
Rose hummed and snuggled into him, clearly conveying there was no need to wait for what they both wanted. Though it cost him some visible effort, the Doctor did a glissade to the left. He sighted down the length of his nose and sniffed like a disapproving matron. His stern expression might have carried more censure if he'd managed to break off all contact, but his right arm had other ideas. Moving of its own accord, it embraced Rose at the waist, pulling her so close that, when she lifted her chin, her lips fluttered along the underside of his jaw. His insides liquefied and his breath caught in his throat. She definitely had the upper hand here and no fear of him. But when he tapped the monitor, she stepped back and pretended to study it.
Staring sightlessly at the numbers before her, she leaned into him. Her fingers stroked his outer thigh and she kept darting coquettish glances his way. Under this assault, it didn't take long for his resolve to melt into a puddle at her feet. He shot another appeal heavenward but gave up on any pretense of irritation. She owned him, the minx.
“Yes, all right,” he growled, shaking his head. “I've surrendered. You can dial down the seduction. And let go of my leg.” Circling her, he flourished an after-you arm at the outer door. “We'll go take a look, shall we?”
Rose trilled in victory, knees flexing in a bob of delight. Brimming with confidence, she practically danced to the exit. Her enthusiasm was contagious, inspiring such giddy heat in his veins he almost felt drunk. He'd caught a glimpse of the future this week. Something was coming, something terrifying. But his world seemed perfect now. Rose was his perfect match. He'd finally gotten the domestic right. His tongue curled behind his front teeth as he watched Rose yank open the outer door. Her lithe grace drew him the way the scamper of a string toy across a floor might draw a kitten. He tensed into stalking mode.
Oblivious to her relentless effect on him, she'd paused on the threshold to admire the view. Late afternoon sunlight limned her form, gilding her like the lettering of a medieval manuscript. The wind buffeting her braids brought an indulgent smile to his lips and he collapsed sideways into the edge of the console, perfectly content to watch her. Oh, yes, he knew physical hunger these days. She was only a few yards away, but there was a sense of vacuum beside him, the air seemed colder without her in it. More and more, she was leading him. He needed her close, so he followed her everywhere.
“It’s beautiful,” she said, casting a beaming glance over her shoulder at him.
He uncrossed his ankles and, pushing off, clattered up the ramp to her side. Nurturing warmth penetrated him, increasing as he came closer to her. She burned like the sun, his Rose. All life seemed to turn around her and he was never cold or lost in her presence. The wind whipped her skirt around her legs as she stepped out onto broad paving stones. Salt spray peppered over them, stinging lips and eyes and dampening their clothes. They'd landed in the mouth of an alleyway, a few dozen meters short of an impressive seawall. Geysers of foam shot toward the sky every few seconds. The sun was just setting.
Rose shielded her tearing eyes with one hand and gazed out over an undulating indigo sea. Banners of lavender and pink clouds fanned across the sky. Glancing along the seawall, she saw it bordered a street. There were a number of couples about, lounging on the wall or walking hand in hand. The view seemed to inspire romance. Opposite the sea, elaborately carved stone buildings, four or five stories tall, caught the last rays of sun. They reminded Rose of faded film stars at an ocean resort. Their graceful wrought iron work and brightly painted facades belonged to another age. Their air of grandeur, however, was marred by chipped paint and mildew. Laundry hung from sagging lines on many of the balconies.
The cars on the street were mostly outdated American models, hulking automotive dinosaurs from the 1950's. They, too, were painted garishly, electric blue Buicks or sunny yellow Chevrolets. All along the street tall, thin, wrought iron lampposts emitted smoky light. The weak illumination failed to impress the gathering dusk. Strains of Latin music drifted on the evening breeze. The notes of guitar and mandolin were barely audible over the sizzle and boom of the ocean waves against the seawall. The stirring breeze offered a welcome cool, but it was still stifling hot. The day had been muggy and the scents of jasmine, chilies and lime perfumed the thick air.
“Cuba,” the Doctor announced. “Havana. 1991.”
“Cuba? Brazil? Same difference,” Rose said, with careless nonchalance.
The Doctor’s brows climbed toward his hairline. His eyes were like saucers as he chirped, “In what universe?”
Rose smirked cockily at him. “Oh, I don’t know,” she said, “In the same universe where 1879 is almost 1979, London looks very like New York and the moons of Algaretti are close enough to the moons of Maltonis that it makes no never mind.”
“Now, just a minute, I might I miss the mark on occasion, but…”
“On occasion?”
“See here,” he admonished, bristling a bit. “If I’m slightly off on my estimations of when or where we've landed, it’s not because I can’t read.” He jammed his hands in his pockets and turned away from her. But once he was facing in the opposite direction, he quietly conceded, “It’s because I can’t drive.”
“At last, the truth comes out,” Rose said, setting off in a random direction.
“Well, it’s not my fault, is it?” he cried, rushing to keep pace with her. He performed a half-spin to look at her as he caught up. “I never expected to be an adventurer. I was old and stodgy and a bit feeble-minded when I finally encountered the TARDIS. Must have been...oh...218 or thereabouts.”
“I don't believe you were ever stodgy. I've met him, you know...the first you? He seemed very sharp,” she grinned, devilishly as she added, “for a geezer.”
But he failed to take offense. “Shows you don't know everything,” he countered. “I was a stick. Pompous and stuffy. Set in my ways. Regular old...Time Lord. And symbiosis is a young man's game, Rose, make no mistake.”
“How did you end up managing it, then?”
“Accidentally. Long story. But there I was practically in my dotage, looking forward to a quiet life of contemplation, when I got sucked into the Briode Nebulizer of a Mark 40 TT Capsule. Zing! Zowee! Zap! Without so much as a by your leave or training course, the TARDIS and I bonded. Caused quite a stir in my circle, let me tell you. Personally, I think they'd given up on both of us by then.”
“You got in trouble?”
“More or less. And then, we were running for our lives, Susan and I. Running, running, running.” He paused to grin down on her. “Family trait, that. Talk about a sharp learning curve. Turns out there's a bit more to operating the Type-40 interface than punching a few numbers into the keyboard, took me five regenerations to figure that out.”
Rose thought about pursuing his mention of Susan, but knew it wouldn't lead to full disclosure. So, instead she said, “And you'd like me to pick it up in a few weeks?”
“You've got help. I didn't.”
“You’re not fooling me,” she told him. “We get lost because you like getting lost. It let's you show off your survival skills.”
“More fun, hey?” he remarked with a devilish twinkle that reminded her forcefully of the First Doctor.
His arching brows and inane mugging, however, would never have worked for the stately gentleman he'd once been. There was definitely an air of youthful exuberance about him now. It secretly delighted her, but she put on a show of finding him trying, shaking her head and scoffing.
“If you want fun, we can go finish that striptease.”
“Oh, it's sex again, is it?” he declared, loud enough to engender stares from several people on the street. “An hour ago, you pronounced yourself completely sated. All you wanted was ice cream,” he reminded her as he gathered in her hand with his questing fingers. After threading her arm through his, interlocking with her at the elbow, he said, “You are a fickle woman, Mrs. Chuzzlewit?”
“Chuzzlewit?”
Rose's sputtering bray of mirth nearly toppled her sideways. She caught herself, but the pull on the Doctor's arm acted as a drag-chute. Forced to throw his weight in the opposite direction to keep them from falling over one another, he came to a halt. Once Rose stabilized, he turned to her with an air of polite interest and asked, “Something wrong with the grand old name?”
She couldn't manage to contain her giggling, but recovered enough from her spasm to hold up her free hand palm facing him in a traditional 'hang on a minute' gesture.
“No! Really,” she finally managed to gasp, sounding as stern as was humanly possible while burbling with laughter. “No more Dickensian names, please. I haven't recovered from being Noddy Boffin, yet.”
“Oh, but I love Dickens,” he whined, writhing a bit to emphasize how disappointed he was. “And we haven't even touched on some truly smashing names. Fancy me as...say...an Alfred Jingle or Ham Peggoty.”
“I know.” She swallowed some air and whooshed it out again to compose herself. Straightening, she presented a smile which twitched with her determination to restrain her laughter, and said, “It is all my fault for asking you to pick something besides Smith. But I can't take much more of this. Kitty Nubbles?” she added, in pained appeal as they started walking again.
“Bit too close to Nibbles?” he guessed. “Perhaps. But I thought it rather inspired. How about...? Oh, I don't know...Martin...Marlboro...Murchinson? Murchison and Alexandra Climpson?” An excessively solicitous Doctor offered by way of an alternative. “Two very distinguished ladies from Dorothy Sayers. Nothing the least remarkable about their names,” he went on, checking both ways, before he towed her across the street. “And Murchison sounds quite like a manly human male, don't you think?” Pausing on the far curb, he said, “Or...Daisy and Bundle Brent. Brent, don't you see? From the Seven Dials Mystery?” Squeezing her fingers, he leaned close and, exuding satisfaction, intoned, “Dame Agatha Christie. Not that we must be literary. Plenty of good old fashion British names lying about in the phone directory. Bertie and Lindsey Rommel-Smoot? Tarlington and Giddy Poolitan?”
“Poolitan? Do you have any idea how hard it would be to keep a straight face if a desk clerk asked me if I'm Mrs. Peckard Poolitan? Or Aloysius Owlpellet?” Rose asked. “What's wrong with something simple like...”
“Smith? Tyler? Smith-Tyler? Tyler-Smi...”
“Harvey,” Rose interrupted him. “Or...or Bennet or...Swann? I could just about tolerate being Elizabeth Swann.”
“Swann?” He squawked. “But you don't like swans and Bennet? Bennet? Sounds rather Jane Austen-y to me.” The Doctor gave a little dolphinesque leap and crowed, “Kiera Knightley roles. Oh, topping.”
This sent them both into such a paroxysm of snickering convulsions they were forced to support one another as they staggered to the corner of 23rd street and L. Neon lights flickered on a giant ice cream cone just ahead of them. Seeing the extensive, ragged line of people which surrounded the city block-dominating, open-air establishment, they both sobered.
“Coppelia, the People's Ice Cream Parlor,” the Doctor announced. “Fifty-four flavors and not one of them tastes like Capitalist Repression. Bound to have a bit of a wait.”
“Look at the length of that queue,” Rose said. “We'll be here for hours.”
“Yes, well, it's scenic, isn't it? And there's a secret to get seated earlier.” Steering her to the left, he pointed down the block to another line. “This way,” he said, as they began circling the building.
“There's more than one door,” Rose said, her dulcet coo caressing him for being clever.
“We find the shortest line. And then, presto...”
“We're in.”
“No, we wait. But, possibly not as long.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
As it turned out Coppelia sat customers in groups, so it took less than an hour to get a table. Rose spent the time getting to know her neighbors in the queue. The Doctor used his time to calculate the number of scoops of ice cream served since the inception of the establishment, the number of different flavors possible given the limitations of the human palette, and the number of ways you could transport ice cream without it melting. He was just starting on his second attempt to mentally reconfigure the Borillian Extrapolator to allow for the ice cream sandwich when the queue moved. Once they were seated, Rose stared glumly at her dish of one coffee and two chocolate scoops.
“I thought you said this place had fifty-four flavors. I only counted six.”
“And today is a good day,” the Doctor said, beaming. “I picked this particular day on purpose because I knew they'd have banana and coconut.” Using his spoon, he gestured at both flavors in his dish. “Sometimes they only have chocolate and strawberry. Shortages, you see. The United States Embargo has hit the frozen treat vendors almost as hard as it's hit automotive sales.”
“Can't they import things like cars and ice cream from...I don't know...Japan or Germany?” Rose asked, exchanging a smile and wave with a young girl she'd met in line. The girl and her mother took a nearby table. “It seems a bit harsh to let millions of people suffer like this, just because America doesn't like the leadership.”
“Are they suffering?” he asked, glancing around the colorful and busy scene. “They seem content enough.”
“Anyone would look content eating ice cream,” Rose countered. She propped her cheek against the knuckles of on hand. “It must be better to be free, than oppressed. Stands to reason.”
“True. True,” he agreed. “Though we can't judge oppression by one standard. Are you forgetting about the Ood. Or the TARDIS, for that matter. There are people, species, who enjoy a smattering of domination. Takes all of that...what have you, pressure off.” He slurped up a liquefying spoonful of banana, then said, “Admittedly, humans like their freedom, as a general rule. And I'm sure many here long for mint ripple chip and a slice of Capitalist pie.”
“Is the TARDIS oppressed?”
“Well, not in any real sense. I wouldn't say oppressed. But she isn't free...exactly, either. She's been constrained against her will. Perhaps, persuaded would be a better way of putting it, like leash training a puppy.”
“But she's so powerful.”
“Indeed. Her kind have a lot in common with the Isolus. She can even manifest solid objects in a pinch, though it is a drain on her systems. Do you remember the plasma sea where she was spawned?” When Rose nodded, he continued, “It's a portal of sorts. A dimensional gateway. Like your Bermuda Triangle...only bigger. The living part of the TARDIS exists there still...transdimensionally, of course, not on Gallifrey, but off of it...sideways. On a tangent plane. She is anchored to our universe by the interface.”
Rose nodded her understanding. “The door and engines and computers and such.”
“Exactly,” he said, beaming at her with unvarnished pride. “All of the trappings of civilization have been draped around her living form. There used to be a lot more of it...roundels and rivets and ramps, oh my...a regular home away from home. Shackles and chains to her. But ever so slowly, as I scavenge, I'm setting her free.”
“Because there are no more spare parts,” Rose said
“Right in one. I have had to dismantle the interface bit by bit, here a buffering panel, there some insulated wiring. To my surprise, I found she's grown more sensitive the more I remove. I can touch her, now, flesh to flesh, vastly deepening our empathic link. Much of what you see around us in the TARDIS is living tissue. She's more being than machine. But it wasn't always like that. Do you know the entire interior once looked like the library, like an ordinary building on my home world? Time Lord engineers buried the TARDIS alive. Small wonder she was balky.”
Rose focused on a salient point in all this. “The TARDIS was compelled into service?”
“More or less. Technically, it's impossible to truly force her to do anything. She's far too powerful. Thing is," he said, comtemplatively, "she doesn't know that. For example, she could simply open a door in her backside and eject us into the Vortex at any time.”
“Now you tell me,” Rose said.
“She won't. You can trust her."
"What? Trust her not to learn anything new?"
"No. Trust her because she's part of me. She might not be compelled to serve me, the way she might serve a more traditional Time Lord...but we understand one another. She's always looked after me.”
While he was speaking, Rose's line of sight drifted, lazily following the course of his spoon as he dipped it into his dish. The banana ice cream seemed to be melting faster than the coconut scoops. He put a great deal of attention into consuming every bit of it, licking up every straying drop from his spoon and fingers. And this, she thought, repressing a giggle but allowing a small smile, was exactly why she'd asked for ice cream. Cones would have been best, but she could still enjoy spoon licking.
“Why is it we can't keep ice cream in the TARDIS, again?”
“For the same reason ultrasonic velocity in cheddar cheese is temperature dependent,” he said. “There's a research paper on that. I can bring it up for you when we get back to the TARDIS. Essentially, the molecular structure of the fat molecules degenerates when exposed to temporal fluctuation. And you need that structure intact for appropriate mouth feel.”
“It goes gloopy, you mean?”
“When we're lucky.” Gazing longingly at her nearly full dish of melting ice cream, he asked, “Something wrong with yours?”
“No, it's fine,” she took a bite.
“You could have a nibble of my coconut if you like. I'm afraid I've eaten all of the banana.”
“That's a lot of sugar. You're going to get bouncy,” Rose laughed, extending her spoon to claim some coconut. “And I see you eying my dish, if you'd like a bite of my chocolate, go ahead.”
Eager as a child, he scooted to the very edge of his seat to reach. He used one hand to catch any drips, as the other conveyed a large and messy spoonful of chocolate across the table from her dish to his mouth. Chocolate dribbled down his fingers as he wrapped his lips around the brimming spoon. Rose took a moment to savor the spectacle of orally stimulated Doctor. He groaned in pleasure and it was all she could do not to echo him. Eyes closed, he squirmed as the treat slowly melted on his tongue.
“Mmmm, oh, that is good,” he breathed. Then, he opened his eyes and winked at her. “I do like ice cream."
"Me, too!"
"And it's so unfair.” His spoon went back for a second helping from her dish. “Lousy temporal mechanics. It pains me to speak ill of the TARDIS. But if they'd installed her intake valves one level below the Dark Matter Well, the cascading event horizons wouldn't collapse right on top of the Rombini Rods and I would have been able to stabilize the molecular structure of ice cream. But there's really nothing I can do with the current arrangement. It's intrinsically unsound.”
“Is that why we can't have babies on board?” Rose asked, casually flourishing her spoon like a conductor's baton. “The...cascading horizons of...dark matter?”
The Doctor stilled, his next mouthful of chocolate suspended at his lips. This was new. Very slowly, he lifted his gaze to hers. There were only a few topics they habitually avoided. But babies, like the door to power inside her and who had the better rugby team, were on the short list. Though, he supposed, they'd broken the taboo on children during their most recent adventure. On their way to the Olympic Games, they'd crossed paths with an immature Isolus. Separated from its brothers and sister, it had been throwing its weight around a suburban neighborhood, acting very much like the toddler it was.
The Isolus, as a species, wield tremendous power. Even an immature one possessed sufficient control over the ionic spheres to snatch millions of living organisms out of space/time and deposit them in an invisible holding pen. Capable of converting matter to energy and thought into substance, an Isolus was one of the few beings more powerful than a Time Lord or his TARDIS. Lost and alone, this one had isolated a girl named Chloe Webber from her mother. It had meant no harm. And, in fact, did everything in its considerable power to ensure Chloe's happiness, up to and including, kidnapping a number of neighborhood children to keep her company. But the end result of its 'snatch and cage' approach was a wave of terror for the humans involved.
Rose was waiting for an answer. He cleared his throat, lowered his spoon and asked, “Where does that question come from?”
She looked down and away, lashes veiling her vision, the tell-tale sign of a coming lie. Feigning nonchalance, she shrugged. “I was just curious.”
“About temporal mechanics?”
“I was thinking about the Isolus,” she blurted. “How you wanted to protect it.”
“It was a child, lost and alone.”
“Yes...but...you said you were a dad once...” she began, her voice cracking midway through the statement, “When we were arguing about Chloe and the Isolus. I said it was being a brat and you said it was just misunderstood. Then, you said you knew about kids because you were a dad once.”
“Grandfather...father,” he said, drawing her along logically.
She was having none of his evasion. “It's not the same, being a father and being a dad. Anyone can be a father. That's just biology. You were talking about discipline and such. You lived with a child?” He took a deep breath and held it, pulling into himself like a hermit crab retreating into its shell. His manner suggested she was pushing too far, but she didn't let it go. “But you can't have children on board...so...does that mean you...what? Settled down...in a house?” He stared at her with guarded dismay, astounded by this outpouring of touchy subjects. She misinterpreted the expression on his face. “If you'd rather not tell me...”
“No,” he relaxed out of his stiff posture. Reaching for his water glass, he took a sip before repeating, “No, it's...fine. I'm just....surprised. Are you sure you want to talk about this? I thought this particular subject was...verboten. Susan and all." He returned his glass to its coaster of condensation. "You don't want to be a mother and you never ever will, right?" When she didn't respond to this slight jab, he sighed, tilting his shoulder down a tad, trying to attract some reaction. "Never say, never ever, I suppose. Well...if you really want to know,” he began cautiously, pausing to scratch his head.
“I want to know about you.”
“Well, first you're quite right about the Dark Matter Well. But babies and ice cream? Not a parallel I would draw. The molecular structure of a living organism...? Far more complex than the chemical composition of a dairy product. Still,” he drawled, wincing and rubbing a hand across his cheek. “There is a certain something to be said for a greater stability in the Rombini polarity sequence.” His hand glided around to the base of his skull and latched on to the back of his neck. “If we had a different type of TARDIS...but, there's no sense wishing for that. And I wouldn't think even a completely shielded array, the sort of thing you'd get in say...a Mark-85 would allow you to safely carry a child to term. Not while traveling through the Vortex. There are just too many chemical equations involved in DNA replication. Get one of them out of place and...” Falling silent, he stared at her placidly for several seconds. This time she noticed him. When she did, he said, “We would have to settle somewhere, yes. And I did. Why do you ask?”
Rose dropped her gaze and shrugged one shoulder by way of answer.
“Rose?” He said, and then sighed. “Yes. I was a dad. I helped raise Susan, when she came to me, and my third wife had two boys from an earlier marriage. I had amnesia at the time, but I remember being a dad. I, also, had children with the Rani, because we were matched by our clans, but I wasn't involved in their upbringing. And I didn't have children with Romana, who I married for reasons of State”
Toying with her spoon, Rose kept her head bowed. She drew a swirly pattern in the soupy cream dregs at the bottom of her dish. “Phakulkikuligt,” she said, in beautifully pitched Gallifreyan. The Doctor started in surprise. Tapping the tip of her spoon next to the symbol she'd just created, Rose repeated the alien word. A moment later, she translated, “The number eight.”
The Doctor craned his neck for a better look at her drawing. “It is!” It was. She'd not only said something in his language, she'd written something as well.
She smoothed the number away with the back of her spoon and immediately drew the symbol for the number seven. Working quickly she counted down from eight to one. “And this is zero,” she said. Tongue between her teeth, she grinned at him. “Not bad for a trained chicken, yeah? Counting backward in sequence.”
Hunched forward in his seat, he chuckled along with her. “Not bad. Not bad at all.” When she lifted her veiling lashes to reveal haunted eyes, a sort of tender sobriety overtook him. He pressed his lips together, dampening down his initial surge of glee, before saying, quite softly, “And you're not a chicken.” His expressive mouth took on a contemplative, only slightly smirking, cast as he added, “I would never marry into the poultry family...much too flighty.”
“But we could use the eggs,” Rose joked, weakly, her smile melting into a distracted frown.
He'd been watching for this and saw it coming this time. Saw her lose focus as her line of sight shifted to a spot just over his right shoulder. “Don't...” he warned, sliding his hand across the table to seize her wrist. But the look of burgeoning horror on her face told him it was too late. She was turning the corner.
The metal legs of his chair grated on the stone flooring as he scooted closer to her. Intent and serious, he spoke in a low tone by her ear. “Rose, listen to me. Whatever you're seeing, it's not real. Not here and now. You're looking into the future...or the past. Whatever it is, don't try to help or fix it. Let it fade. Just let it go.”
At first, she didn't seem to hear him. He tightened his grip on her, dropping an arm around her shoulders, determined not to lose her. Forgoing words, he went deep into her mind, searching for the confused tangle of inhuman sensory input that had stolen her attention.
Rose, look at me.
Get away.
Her psychic push caught him off guard and he tumbled in the dark, losing his mental bearings. Reality winked back into existence around him as Rose broke the connection. She gasped and jerked out of his arms, shuddering as if half frozen. He blinked at her in confusion. Her head wobbled, as if she were an improperly operated marionette, but she managed to orient on him. “Wha-what?”
“There you are,” he said, strained but optimistic. He placed his palms flat on the table, holding on to his solid state.
“Doctor?”
“Yes. Here. Present!” Lifting one hand, he waved. And was overjoyed to see her pupils contract as she focused on his wiggling fingertips. “How about you?”
She exhaled in a whoosh, and then rubbernecked, glancing rapidly around at the mundane scene. Overhead lighting shining down. The moon and the swaying trees. People eating and laughing and talking. “I...was I...? Ice cream,” she said.
“Have a little,” he advised, dipping a spoonful and holding it to her lips. “It'll help.” Relaxing, she opened her mouth, content to be fed. “Just let it melt on your tongue. Experience it. The texture. The flavor.” He inhaled with her. “The chocolaty aroma.”
“Mmmm, lovely,” she said.
He knew the creamy sweet treat would help her recover her humanity, her sense of immutable place and time. Once she'd savored and swallowed, she perked up again.
“I saw that girl,” she told him, in a throaty whisper. A slight dip of her head indicated a table behind him and to the left. She was afraid to look directly at the spot. And he didn't have to. He knew her young friend from the queue was sitting there. “She was older...with a man...and...” She squeezed her eyelids shut. “Doctor, she's going to suffer...can't we help her?”
He wanted to tell her they could. He wanted to say they would come back in a few years time and rescue this child, and every other child, from pointless horror. He was a Time Lord after all. He could do anything: stop the world from turning, break it apart like an egg. But what good was he, with all his power, if he couldn't stop the everyday suffering of her people?
He told her the truth. “We can't.”
“But...?”
“Oh, we could interfere...steal her away from her mother, perhaps,” he said, carefully. “We could take her from the only home she's ever known. Deposit her in some other country. Or come back in a few years to kidnap her, take her across time, to the stars, to another world. But we can't guarantee she will never suffer. Even if we stayed here. Became her parents. Watched her every move. Eventually, something would sneak up on us. Get past our guard. You can't foresee everything, Rose. It's one of the hardest lessons to learn. Trying to think of everything would drive us mad and in the end we wouldn't be able to keep her safe forever.”
Seeing his message sink in, he felt a chill wash through him. His last words seemed to echo in his mind. Keep her safe forever. Keep her safe.
The wobbly wheel threw him out of his body. A howling maw manifested behind Rose. He'd seen this particular vision before, once in a post coital dream and again in the fireworks of the opening ceremonies. He didn't know what it was. But, it terrified him. A storm was coming, a wailing nothingness. It threatened to swallow down the whole world. There was only one way to appease it. In exchange for sparing everyone else, it would take her from him. Take his Rose. There would be nothing he could do but let her go. He shook off the grip of cold despair. He would do something. He would. When the time came, whatever the cost to his honor or his happiness, he would pay it. Rose would not vanish into that hellish void.
“Doctor? Can you hear me?” Rose was snapping her fingers in front of his nose.
He flinched, but then, noting her worried expression, flashed a sweet grin. “No need to snap,” he told her.
“Thought you were wandering off there,” she laughed, placing her hand over his. “I don't think I could find you the way you find me.”
“Nonsense. You got me back from the Isolus. I'll... Oh, I say!” he exclaimed, staring at her desert dish. “Phathiakulkwedia! Doctor and Missus, for the hotel registrations, don't you see?”
She didn't. “Number Ten?” She said, frowning. “You want to be Dr. and Mrs. Number Ten? Why not just call ourselves Dr. Downing and Dolores Street while we're at it?”
“But it's perfect. I am number ten,” he insisted. “The tenth. And you're bound to remember it because of our...encounters with my other selves. What could be simpler?”
“Simple, but silly.”
“Human names are the same, really. You're named after a flower and a builder's apprentice. Back in ye olde naming times, this one's John and that one's John John's son. Johnson, yeah? Yeah?” He nudged her. “Or Chandler, if your great, great, great, great, great-grandfather made candles. Farmer, if he farmed. Peddler, if he peddled. Wheelwright if he...wheel...wrighted. Why else to you thing there would be so many more Young's then Elders?”
“John the younger,” Rose said. “Young John.” She tried the suggested name on for size. “Dr. and Mrs. Phathia...”
“..KulKwedia.”
“...kul--quid...”
“Ed,” he corrected. “Short for Edward....Kwedia.”
“Bit of a mouthful, isn't it? We'll be forever spelling it out. F-a-t-h...”
“Pha...Thi...A...Kul...Kw...Edi...A,” he spelled in his own alphabet.
Rose's spoon traced the letters in her dish as he said them. Filled with a justifiable pride, she trilled, “I think I've got it.” But her elation was short-lived. The shine of accomplishment faded from her eyes, replaced by dull dread as she considered her newfound knowledge.
“How?” she asked. “How do I know this? How can I see things?”
He drew in a quick breath and held it, staring at her with wild-eyed surmise. Mouth open, he let a few meaningless noises click at the back of his throat. He had no answers for her. Finally, he shook his head.
“I'm sorry, as I keep telling you, I don't know. You shouldn't be able to do the things you do. Your mind has been...expanded...far beyond what is normal for your species. Whatever happened when you looked into the Time Vortex....? What we do together...? None of it is natural for humans. Not at all. Come to that, it's not natural for me.” He shrugged slightly as he acknowledged this. “If I had to hazard a guess...I suspect your sudden recall has something to do with...” Starting violently, he nearly toppled sideways out of his chair.
“Pants. Ow!” he yelped, and then again, “Ow! I've been pinged.” He clawed frantically at one of his trouser pockets and, to Rose's amazement, extracted marbles, a feather, a sling shot, psychic paper and, finally, her mobile. He skidded the phone across the table. ”Why are you pinging?” he asked, addressing the phone directly. “Shouldn't you vibrate or ring or sing a jolly tune?”
Rose snatched for the phone, exclaiming, “Why is my mobile in your pocket?”
The Doctor got his hand around it first. “Why is it turned off? And more to the point, why did you try to leave it on Hecate Six? Hmmm? Who are you avoiding? Sarah Jane?” Curious, now, he popped the mobile open to check the identity of her caller. “It's your mother. She's left a message.” He coughed, surprise making him sit a little taller in his chair. “She's left fourteen messages. Three of them in the last hour.”
“Give it here,” Rose ordered, holding out her hand, palm up.
Keeping his thumb on the open/close lever, he let the phone slide slowly shut. He tapped his chin with it, while contemplating Rose. Finally, he mused, “Now, why...are you ignoring your mother?”
“I'm not...I'm just...” She broke off, with an impatient huff, letting her hand fall to the table top. “She's got another boyfriend.”
“Tell me something new.”
“This one's different. He's too young for her,” Rose said, but he could tell by the way she ducked his interested appraisal that there was more to the story.
“Well..say no more,” he sighed, leaning back in his chair. “If there is one thing I can't abide it's cradle robbing. None of this May/December nonsense for me. Nothing more off putting than a couple with an embarrassingly large age gap.” Sniffing, he lifted his brows, while his lips pressed into a faintly amused line.
Rose rolled her eyes and heaved a put-upon sigh. “Yeah, all right. Whose the mind reader, now?” She slid forward in her chair as she went on, “The truth is, though, that's part of it. Our age gap. I don't know how to tell her.”
“Tell her...?”
“About...us. Barcelona. The Crucible. All of it. Any of it.” Her register kept going up until she was squeaking breathless sentences. “I haven't even got around to telling her we...” Slumping, she wafted her hand between them. “You know...? She doesn't even know we're...intimate.”
The Doctor snorted in dismay. “Oh, thanks for that. I needed cheering,” he laughed. Sobering just a bit, he shook his head, before saying, “Your mother thought we were shagging the second time she set eyes on me. I doubt confirmation will shock her.”
“It's not the shagging,” Rose told him. “It's the...changing. She hated me working in an upscale shop. Said it gave me airs and graces. She's never going to understand 'seeing around corners' or what we do together. She's still expecting me to get over all of this. To come home one day and marry a milkman.”
The Doctor shivered. Shadows seemed to deepen around him. The air thickened as if clouds, heavy with rain, had moved in to block out the stars. He tipped his head back, arching in his chair to gaze up at the sky. It was a clear dark blue, but that didn't matter. A storm is coming, a voice whispered in his head, keep her safe.
“Something to be said for milkmen,” he heard himself muttering. “They know how to store ice cream in a solid state, for starters. None of that...temporal disintegration. You could do worse than fresh butter and cheese.”
“If you're going to be silly...”
He favored her with a doting smile, his right hand stretching out to envelope hers. “Sorry. I'm distracting myself with inappropriate humor as I prepare to face the Wrath of Jackie. Do you think she'll murder me?”
“No, but I might, if you keep on,” Rose said. Pushing her chair out and standing, she shifted the grip of their hands, weaving their fingers together. He swung her in a wide arch around the table. They took a moment to stare into one another's eyes, before heading off together.
“You reckon Mr. Chuzzlewit had the good sense to take out a life insurance policy?” the Doctor remarked with studied casualness.
“Could be. Could very well be,” Rose said, recognizing an opening gambit in one of their favorite games: Old Married Couple. They'd played it before his regeneration, frequently involving Jack in their improbable spats. Stroking her chin with her free hand, she considered her response, and then said, “We Chuzzlewits are a sensible lot.”
“You'll need proper identification if you mean to follow up on insurance."
"That's why Rassilon invented psychic paper."
"And, once again we find you have absolutely no use for your Rose Tyler passport. One day you'll admit you only asked for it so you could seduce Mickey one last time.”
“Small wonder I murdered you, if this is how you go on about my old boyfriends.”
“You'll never collect your millions, in any case."
"Millions is it?"
"Could be. But it doesn't matter. I'll be popping up again in a few minutes claiming fraud and foul play.”
“With a different face,” she reminded him. “What are you going to say to the police...the part of Dr. Chuzzlewit, recent murder victim, has been recast as a gap-toothed fellow with a stoop?”
“A stoop?”
“A stoop,” she confirmed, “But ginger-haired." He skipped a little, giddy over this, and Rose felt her face muscles aching from the strain of all their grinning. "You'll be laughed out of the police station.”
“Fair point,” he conceded, pillowing his head against hers. Her hair smelled sweet and felt luxuriously soft against his cheek. They walked silently down the darkened street, skirting potholes and the puddles from an earlier rain. A few blocks further on, within sight of the TARDIS, he declared, “What a vexing husband I must be...refusing to lay down and die properly. It's just struck me, you'll never be a merry widow.”
“The concessions I make to cruise around the universe in a time machine,” Rose sighed. “I should have listened to my mother. 'Marry a milkman,' she said, 'you'll always have butter and cheese.'”
“I think it was me who said that...just now...back there...”
Letting go of her for a moment, he pointed over his shoulder with one hand as the other fished in his trouser pocket for the TARDIS key. He searched all four pockets, twice. Then, stood very silent and still, considering all of his options, including panic.
After a minute or so of pondering, he looked at her with a mildly worried expression and asked, "By any chance, did you happen to bring your key?"
END THIS PART
by Rabid1st
Ten/Rose
Rating: R this part
Beta Babes: Keswindhover and larielromeniel
Spoilers: To Fear Her
Summary: Following the adventure with the Isolus, the Doctor and Rose continue on their tour of romantic spots, but trouble is brew in the cosmos and within Rose.
Author's note: Most of my beta babes fell ill during this job...and so...this is minimally beta'ed...I'm sure my participles are dangling and my infinities have split. But it's just a fun, light chapter anyway...to follow up all the angst.
Disclaimer: I don’t own these characters. If I did…the show would be censored by…everyone but you smutty few. I humbly thank Russell T. Davies for creating the sweetest, most-loving, most-genuinely iconic couple in the history of the world for me to play with.
LINKS for all previous parts…can be found HERE
Van Morrison “Cleaning Windows”...just a great song to rock on with. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2QiZgl7jQxo
PART TWENTY-ONE
Oh, the smell of the bakery from across the street got in my nose.
As we carried our ladders down the street with the wrought-iron gate rows.
Amber light pulsed behind the TARDIS roundels and multicolored twinkles flashed across the console. The entire ship danced, wobbling gently from side to side. Rose Tyler kept her balance, despite the tipping floor and being twirled into dizzy disarray by her partner. Five years of time-traveling had given her great space legs. She felt completely at one with the rhythm of their ship. As long as nobody hit the handbrake she could stay upright through an ion storm.
“I went home and listened to Jimmie Rodgers in my lunch break.”
Rose winked at the Doctor because she’d bellowed, “I went home for crisps and Jammy Dodgers on my lunch break.”
She knew the lyrics but liked to tease him. He was teasing her as well, slowly stripping off his clothing, piece by piece. The closing ceremonies of the 2012 Olympic Games had ended with a tribute to Van Morrison. The resultant party atmosphere, and a close call with immaterial existence, had infected the Doctor with a jubilant sensuality. The definition of cool in his unnecessary shades, he puckered his lips as he unfastened the last button on his suit jacket. He let the garment slide down his arms while he grooved along with the music. The clear notes of his smooth tenor sailed above Van Morrison’s gravely baritone on the next line of the song. After twirling the jacket above his head a few times, he let the garment fly.
Rose fisted her hands in the fabric of her full skirt and rocked her shoulders in counterpoint to her partner's seductive pelvic swivel. She flashed the high beams on her smile to let him know he’d charmed her with his exotic dancer routine, but then, suggested via a "gimme" gesture that he remove one or two more pieces for the full effect. He leaned forward. She leaned back, taunting him. He stuck his tongue out at her, but, to her delight, hooked a finger into the knot of his tie. Her tongue was a pink garnish, adorning her grin as she watched him slowly work the knot loose. Pulling hand over hand, he snaked the length of the tie through his collar.
He hurled his tie after his jacket and did a pirouette, one hand extended above his head. At the end of the spin, he slammed to a halt to play a bit of air sax. Rose danced in, slinking closer, a cobra drawn by his imaginary music. Reaching up, she glided her hands along his shoulders to his shirt collar. Her fingers tugged at fabric until his top few buttons gave way. Laughing, he molded his body into the curve of hers. They skimmed around one another like daredevil pilots giving a precision flying demonstration.
Rose did a slow controlled slide down his gyrating form, her palm stroking up his side as she sank toward the floor. His tensing muscles made her hiss with carnal delight. Her mouth watered just a little when she felt him quiver under her fingertips. He was a taut bowstring, pent energy craving release. She knew him well. Knew that any second now, he would erupt into motion. Hoping he would have her up against the safety railing, she was disappointed when he mastered his tremor. Controlling his kinetic impulse, he captured both of her hands, pulling her upright and tight against him. His dark eyes flashed as he hooked an arm around her waist.
Mouth close to her ear, he sang, “I collected from the lady, then I cleaned her fanlight inside out.” Rose's temperature climbed with the innuendo. She freed one hand to fan herself as he went on, “I was blowing saxophone on the weekend in that down joint.”
They did a few samba steps while Van belted out the chorus.
“Tell me what's...my...line? I'm happy cleaning windows. And I'll take my time. I'll see you when my love grows. Baby, don't let it slide. I'm a working man in my prime.”
The close-quarters friction was more than the Doctor could take. It made him jittery. He was prickling all over and knew Rose would like nothing more than to drag him back to their room. She didn't need the aphrodisiac these days in order to enter a dream state with him. Their connection ran far deeper than the physical. She could stir him from the other side of the time rotor. And he was sure he could reach her on the other side of the planet. But now was not the time for distractions. With a spurt of manic inspiration, he broke from their clinch before he could give in to temptation.
He lunged at the TARDIS controls, nearly mounting the console as he stretched for the audio dials to crank up the volume. Guitar and saxophone wailed with earsplitting intensity. Rose, already half deaf from the fireworks and crowd noise at the Closing Ceremonies, tossed her head back, laughing as she gave him the thumbs-up sign. She continued to dance without him, whirling about, hips working a figure eight as she pumped her elbows. The Doctor skipped through a turn, before launching himself across the room. He caught her on the fly like a bald eagle linking talons with a mate and they swooped into a bit of intricate footwork.
“I heard Leadbelly and Blind Lemon on the street where I was born,” the Doctor sang, his hand creeping up her spine to where her blouse gave him access to her skin. When he reached her bare shoulder, he shoved, propelling her out to the end of his anchoring arm.
“Did not,” she yelled, mid-spin.
“I went home and read my Christmas Humphreys' book on Zen,” he insisted, passing her under his elbow for an extra twirl on her way back.
“Read your what?”
“Curiosity killed the cat,” the smirking Doctor warbled with Mr. Morrison, “Kerouac's Dharma Bums and On the Road.”
Confident Rose would look up every reference later, he felt no pressing need to explain. She'd been spending a lot of time in the library lately. Though determined to find literacy in his language, she was interested in almost everything, full of not only questions, but insight. They had that in common. And apparently, also, far-sightedness. Lately, she'd taken to squinting at the texts. He'd been harrying her about reading glasses. He'd whipped up a pair in square frames, identical to his own, but so far she'd refused to wear them.
Gaining both of Rose’s hands, he yo-yo-ed her through several quick spins. Breathless with giggling, she twirled easily, falling in line with him as he sashayed across the floor. He released her to do a little free-form Charleston, but quickly returned to her arms. Knowing it would please her, he skimmed up her body into the embrace. They swayed back and forth and launched into the chorus together, right on cue.
What's my line?
I'm happy cleaning windows
Take my time
I'll see you when my love grows
Baby don't let it slide
I'm a workingman in my prime
Cleaning windows (number a hundred and thirty-six)
As the song faded, the TARDIS gave a delicate shudder and stabilized, the central rotor gliding to a stop.
“Ha! No hand braking,” the Doctor crowed. “Ten points. The perfect landing.” He celebrated the gold medal performance by sending Rose into a perilous death drop.
Despite plummeting to within an inch of the floor grating, she completed the risky maneuver with relaxed grace. Her unshakable confidence in him was sobering. He felt his pulse hitch, when she smiled up at him. Wrists crossed to brace her, he widened his stance for extra stability. He hoped she knew he would never let her fall. They held the pose until the song ended. Then, he effortlessly lifted her to perpendicular again. Seeming inordinately pleased with him, she shined up into his face, eyes twinkling, smile bright. She was breathing heavily, chest heaving. Dragging his gaze from her eyes, he let it meander to her lips, and then further down to her expanding and contracting cleavage. Head tipped to the side, he stared, tingling all over.
“Can you believe the only song I ever heard by him was that Moonlight one?” Rose asked. "Mum used to play it sometimes when she was missing Dad." When he didn't answer straight away, she followed his glance.
“Moondance,” he corrected in a distracted mutter. “As in, 'It's a marvelous night for...'” he added. “Also, Brown-Eyed Girl. Warm Love, Full Force Gale and, my personal favorite, Tupelo Honey,” Levering his attention away from her breasts, he warbled angelically, “She's as sweet...she's as sweet as tupelo honey. Just like honey, baby, from the bee.”
Heat flared across Rose's cheekbones when, on the last line, his gaze lifted to intersect hers. His dark eyes flashed possessively. She wasn't used to him noticing her physical charms. Or calling her sweet, come to that. He liked to touch, but rarely ogled. And he hardly ever flattered her. Perhaps all of the bare skin they had on display inspired him. He quite obviously wanted to see more of her. But once again, he denied them both. Lips silently reproving, he reached out a hand. And fastidiously pinched a bit of fabric between thumb and forefinger. With a flick of his wrist, he twitched the slipping neckline of her blouse into a more modest line.
Stepping back to admire his adjustment, he announced, “Here we are, then.”
She struggled to cover her disappointment. “Here, where?” She asked, tilting her head to see past him, before starting for the door.
He dog-legged around her, blocking her path. “You tell me,” he said, one arm gesturing toward the console.
Rose's suppressed a groan, her buoyant spirits sinking even more, as she sighted along his pointing finger. “Not another lesson? I thought we were done for the day. There was dancing. And you promised me ice cream.”
“You’re the one who wanted to learn my language,” he reminded her. “Punching in coordinates is all well and good, but let's see how you do without prompting.”
She put on her best sulky pout, but he just scratched behind his ear and looked expectant.
After a bit, she crumpled under the weight of his expectation. He could out stare a cat. She shuffled to the monitor and scowled at it. “It looks like squiggles to me.”
“All right,” he said brightly, turning his back on her, “If you'd rather not...” He shrugged carelessly as he crossed the room to the Y-strut he used for a coat rack. “Makes no never mind to me if you can't read. Most of my companions were functionally illiterate in my language.”
“I didn't say I was giving up.” Rose's sigh puffed stray hairs out of her eyes. She was seeing double and it worried her. “It's just all this timey-whimy, whibbly whobbly stuff is mucking about in my head.”
“Oh, come on, all you have to do is remember what I had you program in. It's all there on the screen. You don't have to know anything about celestial navigation. This is just numbers and variables. Easy peasy. And if you ever hope to navigate the TARDIS, you’ll have to learn to read her language.”
“I am trying,” Rose insisted.
“Then, prove it,” he said, his twiddling his fingers urging her to focus on the monitor.
“What do you mean 'most of your companions'? Some of them could read?”
“I believe all of them could read. Even Leela. A few of could also read the interface. Romana, of course. And Nyssa. And Zoe.”
“Did they all do that cornering thing?”
“I'm sure Romana did in her younger days. As for the others, not likely. No one has ever been on such intimate terms with the TARDIS, before,” he hummed contentedly at her as he added, “Or me. No, Nyssa and Zoe remained steadfastly four dimensional. And you can stop stalling any time now.”
“Why can't the TARDIS just translate the coordinates into English?”
“Because she's not designed to accommodate humans. And even if she was, English is not a very precise language. Traveling through the Vortex ain’t like dusting crops, you know. Without precise calculations we could fly right through a star or bounce too close to a supernova and that would end your trip…”
Rose choked on a giggle, but quickly stifled it by biting on a knuckle. The aborted snicker stopped him mid-quote. She could see his mental wheels spinning as he went over what he'd just said. His face pruned. His nose wrinkled and that seagull vee formed between his brows. He ruffled his hair with the flat of one palm, as if hoping to jumpstart his brain via static electricity. Maybe it worked, because he brightened suddenly and exclaimed, “Han Solo!”
“Sometimes you amaze even yourself,” Rose said, confirming the source. Then, she leaned both elbows on the console edge, resting her chin in cupped hands. “And you don't have to go on about the dangers of time travel. I know how important these calculations are.” She changed her stance, sliding backward until, using fingers and thumbs, she could frame her view of the monitor screen. “It's just...I think the TARDIS hates me.”
“Nonsense. She adores you. No hand braking,” he pointed out. “She takes you directly home every time, straight into your mother's living room more than once. And she never stops on a dime like that for me. I get tossed like salad. You've got the knack.”
“You're saying she knew it was me pushing her buttons?”
“Oh, yes,” he declared, proudly. “She's quite the perceptive old girl. She's hardwired to obey, of course. The interface doesn't give her much choice in the matter. But she is more than capable of inconveniencing you if she doesn't like the cut of your jib.”
“Cheers for my jib, then.”
He was putting his coat on, covering up as he always did before venturing out. Catching this from the corner of her eye, Rose deflated a bit more. Half into the garment and adjusting his collar, he noticed her body language and stilled, brows soaring in inquiry. Shifting to face him, she swept him with a smoldering glance, head to trainers, and then toes to mouth. Chewing her bottom lip for sensual emphasis, she sent her own empathic signal. He got the message, grinned and obediently removed the extra layer. Draping the coat over his arm for a moment, he transferred a few essential items to his trouser pockets. Then, he folded the coat neatly over a guard rail and sidled to her side for a peek at the readings.
“Go on,” he urged, gleefully rubbing her shoulder with his, “Dazzle the teacher.”
“Tackle the teacher more like,” she muttered under her breath
Her stomach fluttered and her palms grew sweaty. There he was beaming confidence at her, scrumptious to his shoelaces, and she felt like the stupid ape he'd once called her. Their vocabulary lessons generally ended in mutual satisfaction, especially when he drew the conjugations directly on her skin, and they were admittedly instructive, but not very productive in terms of retention. Sex with the Doctor tended to put everything else out of Rose's mind. Even hitting the library two or three times a week hadn’t improved her understanding of his language one jot. Literacy eluded her. Written Gallifreyan might as well be decorative squiggles. It was pretty but meaningless to her.
She took a deep breath, releasing it slowly to buy a little time. Relaxing her knees, she hunkered down a bit and made a great show of studying the alien script.
“Let's see, now,” she drawled. She used her index finger to trace a few of the symbols. “We're...some place…tropical?”
“Good.”
“Hot. Sensual. Earth, of course,” she said cockily.
“Is it?”
She nodded, ignoring the challenge in his tone and, still stalling, stroked her throat. The gesture earned her an audible catch in the Doctor's breath. The helpless little moan gave her an inordinate thrill. She noticed his state of dress again. He wasn't generally so vulnerable outside of their bed. Gone were the days of public bathes and sun worshiping. Even when they had sex in semi-public places, he kept most of his clothes on. Now, there was nothing between them but the thin cotton of his shirt. His cnidocytes had primed. She could see them creating goose flesh on the exposed skin at his collar.
“I'm going to say....Brazil?”
The burgeoning certainty of imminent sex vanished, when the Doctor cut his eyes to the side and snorted rudely. “You’re guessing.”
“I am not,” Rose protested, reeling back from him. He clicked his teeth together, baring an inordinate amount of them in a cheesy smile to show just how amusing he found her. Affronted, she stabbed a finger at the screen. “That’s longitude. And this swirly bit,” she circled her finger, “tells us we’re definitely on Earth.”
The Doctor narrowed his eyes, see-sawing his head as he made a grating noise. His lip curled.
“What?” Rose yelped. “You're telling me that's not the symbol for Earth?”
“Ehm...Not so much,” he told her.
To her horror, Rose's eyes filled with tears. But he didn't give her a chance to feel sorry for herself. He closed the short distance between them and wrapped around her, his arms folding across her chest. His exhaled sigh fanned the few hairs that had escaped her French braids, tickling her cheek as he spoke straight into her ear, “And that,” he pointed where she had, “is not longitude. That's the number five.”
Giving up the fight, Rose wilted into him, letting him support her. “A five?”
Shame stained her face fire engine red, but an altogether different sort of heat coiled very low in her gut. It flared when the Doctor brushed his lips along her collarbone. Every cell in her body turned molten and magnetic when he stood this close to her. It was almost like she had her own cnidocytes. She reeled him in. Lust demanded satisfaction. Her mind skipped merrily back to a tryst they'd had in one of the Olympic dormitories. They'd used the psychic paper and his sonic screwdriver to secure a room but they'd eschewed the bed. Remembering how he'd pressed her into the wall made her knees weak two days later.
What an amazing month this had been. They’d been trading favors through time and space. He'd taken her to concerts and weddings and the Olympic games. She’d suggested motorcycle racing, stargazing and skinny dipping. He'd get naked with her now, because he trusted her and she looked after him. It wasn't just physical, this lust for union. They were married, united mentally and spiritually as well. They didn't even need the drug to connect anymore. They had become so very good at melding into one. She could almost reach out and pluck…
“Oh, no, you don't,” he scolded, backpedaling away from her. “Are you trying to read my mind?”
“No,” she denied quickly. But then, squinting over her shoulder at him, she admitted it. “Oh...fine. Just a little. And not reading, exactly. I'd say more like skimming.”
“This is not an open book test,” he said, slamming the mental door in her face.
“All right. There's no call to be rude about it.”
“You’re not even trying,” he insisted petulantly.
“It’s too hard. I’ve been studying and studying, but I just don’t get it.”
“Bosh. You know full well that ‘swirly bit,’ as you call it,” he said, indicating the symbol with a nod of his head, “indicates we’ve landed. You see it every single time we land. This,” he emphasized, as he stabbed a finger at a narrow oval, “Tells us we are in your solar system, on Sol 3. And these numbers give us...not the longitude or the latitude, because that would be silly...but instead mark...? Anyone?” He paused, eyes wide and brows lifted in inquiry, before repeating, “Anyone? Bueller?” When she failed to answer, he huffed his disappointment through compressed lips and prompted her. “The Relative Cyclic Stability Quotient?”
“Oh, right. The...relative..quotient, yeah, I was just going to say that.” She pressed the heel of one hand to her temple, desperately trying to recall what it meant. It came to her in a rush and she snapped her fingers. “Our position in the spheres. Like I already...knew. Earth, yeah?”
He gave her a frankly appalled look. “Sol 3? No! This one represents the lateral turn of the Vession Tau Cycle.”
“You’re sure it’s not just a random doodle?”
“Tau is an Earth letter,” he said, sounding exasperated.
“Greek,” she intoned, loftily, “Is all Greek to me. But I know what I know and we're...some when...some time in Brazil…I'm going to call it...” She glanced down at her outfit. The Doctor had picked it out for her. It consisted of a white peasant-style blouse, broad belt and full red skirt. “1950.”
The Doctor's tongue pushed on the inside of his cheek, making a bulge just above his dimple. Blowing out a breath, he tilted his head back until he was staring up into the rafters. He pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eye for the long count to twenty. Rose thought about tickling him.
“One day, Miss Rose Tyler,” he huffed, projecting the words into his palm before moving his hand away from his face and dropping his chin to target her with what he hoped was a quelling stare, “One day…that sassy attitude is going to get you into so much trouble.”
“I like getting into trouble,” she told him, fingers tugging at her left earring, a golden hoop.
“Do you?” He asked, as he traced up the back of her arm, his touch telegraphing promises for later.
Rose hummed and snuggled into him, clearly conveying there was no need to wait for what they both wanted. Though it cost him some visible effort, the Doctor did a glissade to the left. He sighted down the length of his nose and sniffed like a disapproving matron. His stern expression might have carried more censure if he'd managed to break off all contact, but his right arm had other ideas. Moving of its own accord, it embraced Rose at the waist, pulling her so close that, when she lifted her chin, her lips fluttered along the underside of his jaw. His insides liquefied and his breath caught in his throat. She definitely had the upper hand here and no fear of him. But when he tapped the monitor, she stepped back and pretended to study it.
Staring sightlessly at the numbers before her, she leaned into him. Her fingers stroked his outer thigh and she kept darting coquettish glances his way. Under this assault, it didn't take long for his resolve to melt into a puddle at her feet. He shot another appeal heavenward but gave up on any pretense of irritation. She owned him, the minx.
“Yes, all right,” he growled, shaking his head. “I've surrendered. You can dial down the seduction. And let go of my leg.” Circling her, he flourished an after-you arm at the outer door. “We'll go take a look, shall we?”
Rose trilled in victory, knees flexing in a bob of delight. Brimming with confidence, she practically danced to the exit. Her enthusiasm was contagious, inspiring such giddy heat in his veins he almost felt drunk. He'd caught a glimpse of the future this week. Something was coming, something terrifying. But his world seemed perfect now. Rose was his perfect match. He'd finally gotten the domestic right. His tongue curled behind his front teeth as he watched Rose yank open the outer door. Her lithe grace drew him the way the scamper of a string toy across a floor might draw a kitten. He tensed into stalking mode.
Oblivious to her relentless effect on him, she'd paused on the threshold to admire the view. Late afternoon sunlight limned her form, gilding her like the lettering of a medieval manuscript. The wind buffeting her braids brought an indulgent smile to his lips and he collapsed sideways into the edge of the console, perfectly content to watch her. Oh, yes, he knew physical hunger these days. She was only a few yards away, but there was a sense of vacuum beside him, the air seemed colder without her in it. More and more, she was leading him. He needed her close, so he followed her everywhere.
“It’s beautiful,” she said, casting a beaming glance over her shoulder at him.
He uncrossed his ankles and, pushing off, clattered up the ramp to her side. Nurturing warmth penetrated him, increasing as he came closer to her. She burned like the sun, his Rose. All life seemed to turn around her and he was never cold or lost in her presence. The wind whipped her skirt around her legs as she stepped out onto broad paving stones. Salt spray peppered over them, stinging lips and eyes and dampening their clothes. They'd landed in the mouth of an alleyway, a few dozen meters short of an impressive seawall. Geysers of foam shot toward the sky every few seconds. The sun was just setting.
Rose shielded her tearing eyes with one hand and gazed out over an undulating indigo sea. Banners of lavender and pink clouds fanned across the sky. Glancing along the seawall, she saw it bordered a street. There were a number of couples about, lounging on the wall or walking hand in hand. The view seemed to inspire romance. Opposite the sea, elaborately carved stone buildings, four or five stories tall, caught the last rays of sun. They reminded Rose of faded film stars at an ocean resort. Their graceful wrought iron work and brightly painted facades belonged to another age. Their air of grandeur, however, was marred by chipped paint and mildew. Laundry hung from sagging lines on many of the balconies.
The cars on the street were mostly outdated American models, hulking automotive dinosaurs from the 1950's. They, too, were painted garishly, electric blue Buicks or sunny yellow Chevrolets. All along the street tall, thin, wrought iron lampposts emitted smoky light. The weak illumination failed to impress the gathering dusk. Strains of Latin music drifted on the evening breeze. The notes of guitar and mandolin were barely audible over the sizzle and boom of the ocean waves against the seawall. The stirring breeze offered a welcome cool, but it was still stifling hot. The day had been muggy and the scents of jasmine, chilies and lime perfumed the thick air.
“Cuba,” the Doctor announced. “Havana. 1991.”
“Cuba? Brazil? Same difference,” Rose said, with careless nonchalance.
The Doctor’s brows climbed toward his hairline. His eyes were like saucers as he chirped, “In what universe?”
Rose smirked cockily at him. “Oh, I don’t know,” she said, “In the same universe where 1879 is almost 1979, London looks very like New York and the moons of Algaretti are close enough to the moons of Maltonis that it makes no never mind.”
“Now, just a minute, I might I miss the mark on occasion, but…”
“On occasion?”
“See here,” he admonished, bristling a bit. “If I’m slightly off on my estimations of when or where we've landed, it’s not because I can’t read.” He jammed his hands in his pockets and turned away from her. But once he was facing in the opposite direction, he quietly conceded, “It’s because I can’t drive.”
“At last, the truth comes out,” Rose said, setting off in a random direction.
“Well, it’s not my fault, is it?” he cried, rushing to keep pace with her. He performed a half-spin to look at her as he caught up. “I never expected to be an adventurer. I was old and stodgy and a bit feeble-minded when I finally encountered the TARDIS. Must have been...oh...218 or thereabouts.”
“I don't believe you were ever stodgy. I've met him, you know...the first you? He seemed very sharp,” she grinned, devilishly as she added, “for a geezer.”
But he failed to take offense. “Shows you don't know everything,” he countered. “I was a stick. Pompous and stuffy. Set in my ways. Regular old...Time Lord. And symbiosis is a young man's game, Rose, make no mistake.”
“How did you end up managing it, then?”
“Accidentally. Long story. But there I was practically in my dotage, looking forward to a quiet life of contemplation, when I got sucked into the Briode Nebulizer of a Mark 40 TT Capsule. Zing! Zowee! Zap! Without so much as a by your leave or training course, the TARDIS and I bonded. Caused quite a stir in my circle, let me tell you. Personally, I think they'd given up on both of us by then.”
“You got in trouble?”
“More or less. And then, we were running for our lives, Susan and I. Running, running, running.” He paused to grin down on her. “Family trait, that. Talk about a sharp learning curve. Turns out there's a bit more to operating the Type-40 interface than punching a few numbers into the keyboard, took me five regenerations to figure that out.”
Rose thought about pursuing his mention of Susan, but knew it wouldn't lead to full disclosure. So, instead she said, “And you'd like me to pick it up in a few weeks?”
“You've got help. I didn't.”
“You’re not fooling me,” she told him. “We get lost because you like getting lost. It let's you show off your survival skills.”
“More fun, hey?” he remarked with a devilish twinkle that reminded her forcefully of the First Doctor.
His arching brows and inane mugging, however, would never have worked for the stately gentleman he'd once been. There was definitely an air of youthful exuberance about him now. It secretly delighted her, but she put on a show of finding him trying, shaking her head and scoffing.
“If you want fun, we can go finish that striptease.”
“Oh, it's sex again, is it?” he declared, loud enough to engender stares from several people on the street. “An hour ago, you pronounced yourself completely sated. All you wanted was ice cream,” he reminded her as he gathered in her hand with his questing fingers. After threading her arm through his, interlocking with her at the elbow, he said, “You are a fickle woman, Mrs. Chuzzlewit?”
“Chuzzlewit?”
Rose's sputtering bray of mirth nearly toppled her sideways. She caught herself, but the pull on the Doctor's arm acted as a drag-chute. Forced to throw his weight in the opposite direction to keep them from falling over one another, he came to a halt. Once Rose stabilized, he turned to her with an air of polite interest and asked, “Something wrong with the grand old name?”
She couldn't manage to contain her giggling, but recovered enough from her spasm to hold up her free hand palm facing him in a traditional 'hang on a minute' gesture.
“No! Really,” she finally managed to gasp, sounding as stern as was humanly possible while burbling with laughter. “No more Dickensian names, please. I haven't recovered from being Noddy Boffin, yet.”
“Oh, but I love Dickens,” he whined, writhing a bit to emphasize how disappointed he was. “And we haven't even touched on some truly smashing names. Fancy me as...say...an Alfred Jingle or Ham Peggoty.”
“I know.” She swallowed some air and whooshed it out again to compose herself. Straightening, she presented a smile which twitched with her determination to restrain her laughter, and said, “It is all my fault for asking you to pick something besides Smith. But I can't take much more of this. Kitty Nubbles?” she added, in pained appeal as they started walking again.
“Bit too close to Nibbles?” he guessed. “Perhaps. But I thought it rather inspired. How about...? Oh, I don't know...Martin...Marlboro...Murchinson? Murchison and Alexandra Climpson?” An excessively solicitous Doctor offered by way of an alternative. “Two very distinguished ladies from Dorothy Sayers. Nothing the least remarkable about their names,” he went on, checking both ways, before he towed her across the street. “And Murchison sounds quite like a manly human male, don't you think?” Pausing on the far curb, he said, “Or...Daisy and Bundle Brent. Brent, don't you see? From the Seven Dials Mystery?” Squeezing her fingers, he leaned close and, exuding satisfaction, intoned, “Dame Agatha Christie. Not that we must be literary. Plenty of good old fashion British names lying about in the phone directory. Bertie and Lindsey Rommel-Smoot? Tarlington and Giddy Poolitan?”
“Poolitan? Do you have any idea how hard it would be to keep a straight face if a desk clerk asked me if I'm Mrs. Peckard Poolitan? Or Aloysius Owlpellet?” Rose asked. “What's wrong with something simple like...”
“Smith? Tyler? Smith-Tyler? Tyler-Smi...”
“Harvey,” Rose interrupted him. “Or...or Bennet or...Swann? I could just about tolerate being Elizabeth Swann.”
“Swann?” He squawked. “But you don't like swans and Bennet? Bennet? Sounds rather Jane Austen-y to me.” The Doctor gave a little dolphinesque leap and crowed, “Kiera Knightley roles. Oh, topping.”
This sent them both into such a paroxysm of snickering convulsions they were forced to support one another as they staggered to the corner of 23rd street and L. Neon lights flickered on a giant ice cream cone just ahead of them. Seeing the extensive, ragged line of people which surrounded the city block-dominating, open-air establishment, they both sobered.
“Coppelia, the People's Ice Cream Parlor,” the Doctor announced. “Fifty-four flavors and not one of them tastes like Capitalist Repression. Bound to have a bit of a wait.”
“Look at the length of that queue,” Rose said. “We'll be here for hours.”
“Yes, well, it's scenic, isn't it? And there's a secret to get seated earlier.” Steering her to the left, he pointed down the block to another line. “This way,” he said, as they began circling the building.
“There's more than one door,” Rose said, her dulcet coo caressing him for being clever.
“We find the shortest line. And then, presto...”
“We're in.”
“No, we wait. But, possibly not as long.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
As it turned out Coppelia sat customers in groups, so it took less than an hour to get a table. Rose spent the time getting to know her neighbors in the queue. The Doctor used his time to calculate the number of scoops of ice cream served since the inception of the establishment, the number of different flavors possible given the limitations of the human palette, and the number of ways you could transport ice cream without it melting. He was just starting on his second attempt to mentally reconfigure the Borillian Extrapolator to allow for the ice cream sandwich when the queue moved. Once they were seated, Rose stared glumly at her dish of one coffee and two chocolate scoops.
“I thought you said this place had fifty-four flavors. I only counted six.”
“And today is a good day,” the Doctor said, beaming. “I picked this particular day on purpose because I knew they'd have banana and coconut.” Using his spoon, he gestured at both flavors in his dish. “Sometimes they only have chocolate and strawberry. Shortages, you see. The United States Embargo has hit the frozen treat vendors almost as hard as it's hit automotive sales.”
“Can't they import things like cars and ice cream from...I don't know...Japan or Germany?” Rose asked, exchanging a smile and wave with a young girl she'd met in line. The girl and her mother took a nearby table. “It seems a bit harsh to let millions of people suffer like this, just because America doesn't like the leadership.”
“Are they suffering?” he asked, glancing around the colorful and busy scene. “They seem content enough.”
“Anyone would look content eating ice cream,” Rose countered. She propped her cheek against the knuckles of on hand. “It must be better to be free, than oppressed. Stands to reason.”
“True. True,” he agreed. “Though we can't judge oppression by one standard. Are you forgetting about the Ood. Or the TARDIS, for that matter. There are people, species, who enjoy a smattering of domination. Takes all of that...what have you, pressure off.” He slurped up a liquefying spoonful of banana, then said, “Admittedly, humans like their freedom, as a general rule. And I'm sure many here long for mint ripple chip and a slice of Capitalist pie.”
“Is the TARDIS oppressed?”
“Well, not in any real sense. I wouldn't say oppressed. But she isn't free...exactly, either. She's been constrained against her will. Perhaps, persuaded would be a better way of putting it, like leash training a puppy.”
“But she's so powerful.”
“Indeed. Her kind have a lot in common with the Isolus. She can even manifest solid objects in a pinch, though it is a drain on her systems. Do you remember the plasma sea where she was spawned?” When Rose nodded, he continued, “It's a portal of sorts. A dimensional gateway. Like your Bermuda Triangle...only bigger. The living part of the TARDIS exists there still...transdimensionally, of course, not on Gallifrey, but off of it...sideways. On a tangent plane. She is anchored to our universe by the interface.”
Rose nodded her understanding. “The door and engines and computers and such.”
“Exactly,” he said, beaming at her with unvarnished pride. “All of the trappings of civilization have been draped around her living form. There used to be a lot more of it...roundels and rivets and ramps, oh my...a regular home away from home. Shackles and chains to her. But ever so slowly, as I scavenge, I'm setting her free.”
“Because there are no more spare parts,” Rose said
“Right in one. I have had to dismantle the interface bit by bit, here a buffering panel, there some insulated wiring. To my surprise, I found she's grown more sensitive the more I remove. I can touch her, now, flesh to flesh, vastly deepening our empathic link. Much of what you see around us in the TARDIS is living tissue. She's more being than machine. But it wasn't always like that. Do you know the entire interior once looked like the library, like an ordinary building on my home world? Time Lord engineers buried the TARDIS alive. Small wonder she was balky.”
Rose focused on a salient point in all this. “The TARDIS was compelled into service?”
“More or less. Technically, it's impossible to truly force her to do anything. She's far too powerful. Thing is," he said, comtemplatively, "she doesn't know that. For example, she could simply open a door in her backside and eject us into the Vortex at any time.”
“Now you tell me,” Rose said.
“She won't. You can trust her."
"What? Trust her not to learn anything new?"
"No. Trust her because she's part of me. She might not be compelled to serve me, the way she might serve a more traditional Time Lord...but we understand one another. She's always looked after me.”
While he was speaking, Rose's line of sight drifted, lazily following the course of his spoon as he dipped it into his dish. The banana ice cream seemed to be melting faster than the coconut scoops. He put a great deal of attention into consuming every bit of it, licking up every straying drop from his spoon and fingers. And this, she thought, repressing a giggle but allowing a small smile, was exactly why she'd asked for ice cream. Cones would have been best, but she could still enjoy spoon licking.
“Why is it we can't keep ice cream in the TARDIS, again?”
“For the same reason ultrasonic velocity in cheddar cheese is temperature dependent,” he said. “There's a research paper on that. I can bring it up for you when we get back to the TARDIS. Essentially, the molecular structure of the fat molecules degenerates when exposed to temporal fluctuation. And you need that structure intact for appropriate mouth feel.”
“It goes gloopy, you mean?”
“When we're lucky.” Gazing longingly at her nearly full dish of melting ice cream, he asked, “Something wrong with yours?”
“No, it's fine,” she took a bite.
“You could have a nibble of my coconut if you like. I'm afraid I've eaten all of the banana.”
“That's a lot of sugar. You're going to get bouncy,” Rose laughed, extending her spoon to claim some coconut. “And I see you eying my dish, if you'd like a bite of my chocolate, go ahead.”
Eager as a child, he scooted to the very edge of his seat to reach. He used one hand to catch any drips, as the other conveyed a large and messy spoonful of chocolate across the table from her dish to his mouth. Chocolate dribbled down his fingers as he wrapped his lips around the brimming spoon. Rose took a moment to savor the spectacle of orally stimulated Doctor. He groaned in pleasure and it was all she could do not to echo him. Eyes closed, he squirmed as the treat slowly melted on his tongue.
“Mmmm, oh, that is good,” he breathed. Then, he opened his eyes and winked at her. “I do like ice cream."
"Me, too!"
"And it's so unfair.” His spoon went back for a second helping from her dish. “Lousy temporal mechanics. It pains me to speak ill of the TARDIS. But if they'd installed her intake valves one level below the Dark Matter Well, the cascading event horizons wouldn't collapse right on top of the Rombini Rods and I would have been able to stabilize the molecular structure of ice cream. But there's really nothing I can do with the current arrangement. It's intrinsically unsound.”
“Is that why we can't have babies on board?” Rose asked, casually flourishing her spoon like a conductor's baton. “The...cascading horizons of...dark matter?”
The Doctor stilled, his next mouthful of chocolate suspended at his lips. This was new. Very slowly, he lifted his gaze to hers. There were only a few topics they habitually avoided. But babies, like the door to power inside her and who had the better rugby team, were on the short list. Though, he supposed, they'd broken the taboo on children during their most recent adventure. On their way to the Olympic Games, they'd crossed paths with an immature Isolus. Separated from its brothers and sister, it had been throwing its weight around a suburban neighborhood, acting very much like the toddler it was.
The Isolus, as a species, wield tremendous power. Even an immature one possessed sufficient control over the ionic spheres to snatch millions of living organisms out of space/time and deposit them in an invisible holding pen. Capable of converting matter to energy and thought into substance, an Isolus was one of the few beings more powerful than a Time Lord or his TARDIS. Lost and alone, this one had isolated a girl named Chloe Webber from her mother. It had meant no harm. And, in fact, did everything in its considerable power to ensure Chloe's happiness, up to and including, kidnapping a number of neighborhood children to keep her company. But the end result of its 'snatch and cage' approach was a wave of terror for the humans involved.
Rose was waiting for an answer. He cleared his throat, lowered his spoon and asked, “Where does that question come from?”
She looked down and away, lashes veiling her vision, the tell-tale sign of a coming lie. Feigning nonchalance, she shrugged. “I was just curious.”
“About temporal mechanics?”
“I was thinking about the Isolus,” she blurted. “How you wanted to protect it.”
“It was a child, lost and alone.”
“Yes...but...you said you were a dad once...” she began, her voice cracking midway through the statement, “When we were arguing about Chloe and the Isolus. I said it was being a brat and you said it was just misunderstood. Then, you said you knew about kids because you were a dad once.”
“Grandfather...father,” he said, drawing her along logically.
She was having none of his evasion. “It's not the same, being a father and being a dad. Anyone can be a father. That's just biology. You were talking about discipline and such. You lived with a child?” He took a deep breath and held it, pulling into himself like a hermit crab retreating into its shell. His manner suggested she was pushing too far, but she didn't let it go. “But you can't have children on board...so...does that mean you...what? Settled down...in a house?” He stared at her with guarded dismay, astounded by this outpouring of touchy subjects. She misinterpreted the expression on his face. “If you'd rather not tell me...”
“No,” he relaxed out of his stiff posture. Reaching for his water glass, he took a sip before repeating, “No, it's...fine. I'm just....surprised. Are you sure you want to talk about this? I thought this particular subject was...verboten. Susan and all." He returned his glass to its coaster of condensation. "You don't want to be a mother and you never ever will, right?" When she didn't respond to this slight jab, he sighed, tilting his shoulder down a tad, trying to attract some reaction. "Never say, never ever, I suppose. Well...if you really want to know,” he began cautiously, pausing to scratch his head.
“I want to know about you.”
“Well, first you're quite right about the Dark Matter Well. But babies and ice cream? Not a parallel I would draw. The molecular structure of a living organism...? Far more complex than the chemical composition of a dairy product. Still,” he drawled, wincing and rubbing a hand across his cheek. “There is a certain something to be said for a greater stability in the Rombini polarity sequence.” His hand glided around to the base of his skull and latched on to the back of his neck. “If we had a different type of TARDIS...but, there's no sense wishing for that. And I wouldn't think even a completely shielded array, the sort of thing you'd get in say...a Mark-85 would allow you to safely carry a child to term. Not while traveling through the Vortex. There are just too many chemical equations involved in DNA replication. Get one of them out of place and...” Falling silent, he stared at her placidly for several seconds. This time she noticed him. When she did, he said, “We would have to settle somewhere, yes. And I did. Why do you ask?”
Rose dropped her gaze and shrugged one shoulder by way of answer.
“Rose?” He said, and then sighed. “Yes. I was a dad. I helped raise Susan, when she came to me, and my third wife had two boys from an earlier marriage. I had amnesia at the time, but I remember being a dad. I, also, had children with the Rani, because we were matched by our clans, but I wasn't involved in their upbringing. And I didn't have children with Romana, who I married for reasons of State”
Toying with her spoon, Rose kept her head bowed. She drew a swirly pattern in the soupy cream dregs at the bottom of her dish. “Phakulkikuligt,” she said, in beautifully pitched Gallifreyan. The Doctor started in surprise. Tapping the tip of her spoon next to the symbol she'd just created, Rose repeated the alien word. A moment later, she translated, “The number eight.”
The Doctor craned his neck for a better look at her drawing. “It is!” It was. She'd not only said something in his language, she'd written something as well.
She smoothed the number away with the back of her spoon and immediately drew the symbol for the number seven. Working quickly she counted down from eight to one. “And this is zero,” she said. Tongue between her teeth, she grinned at him. “Not bad for a trained chicken, yeah? Counting backward in sequence.”
Hunched forward in his seat, he chuckled along with her. “Not bad. Not bad at all.” When she lifted her veiling lashes to reveal haunted eyes, a sort of tender sobriety overtook him. He pressed his lips together, dampening down his initial surge of glee, before saying, quite softly, “And you're not a chicken.” His expressive mouth took on a contemplative, only slightly smirking, cast as he added, “I would never marry into the poultry family...much too flighty.”
“But we could use the eggs,” Rose joked, weakly, her smile melting into a distracted frown.
He'd been watching for this and saw it coming this time. Saw her lose focus as her line of sight shifted to a spot just over his right shoulder. “Don't...” he warned, sliding his hand across the table to seize her wrist. But the look of burgeoning horror on her face told him it was too late. She was turning the corner.
The metal legs of his chair grated on the stone flooring as he scooted closer to her. Intent and serious, he spoke in a low tone by her ear. “Rose, listen to me. Whatever you're seeing, it's not real. Not here and now. You're looking into the future...or the past. Whatever it is, don't try to help or fix it. Let it fade. Just let it go.”
At first, she didn't seem to hear him. He tightened his grip on her, dropping an arm around her shoulders, determined not to lose her. Forgoing words, he went deep into her mind, searching for the confused tangle of inhuman sensory input that had stolen her attention.
Rose, look at me.
Get away.
Her psychic push caught him off guard and he tumbled in the dark, losing his mental bearings. Reality winked back into existence around him as Rose broke the connection. She gasped and jerked out of his arms, shuddering as if half frozen. He blinked at her in confusion. Her head wobbled, as if she were an improperly operated marionette, but she managed to orient on him. “Wha-what?”
“There you are,” he said, strained but optimistic. He placed his palms flat on the table, holding on to his solid state.
“Doctor?”
“Yes. Here. Present!” Lifting one hand, he waved. And was overjoyed to see her pupils contract as she focused on his wiggling fingertips. “How about you?”
She exhaled in a whoosh, and then rubbernecked, glancing rapidly around at the mundane scene. Overhead lighting shining down. The moon and the swaying trees. People eating and laughing and talking. “I...was I...? Ice cream,” she said.
“Have a little,” he advised, dipping a spoonful and holding it to her lips. “It'll help.” Relaxing, she opened her mouth, content to be fed. “Just let it melt on your tongue. Experience it. The texture. The flavor.” He inhaled with her. “The chocolaty aroma.”
“Mmmm, lovely,” she said.
He knew the creamy sweet treat would help her recover her humanity, her sense of immutable place and time. Once she'd savored and swallowed, she perked up again.
“I saw that girl,” she told him, in a throaty whisper. A slight dip of her head indicated a table behind him and to the left. She was afraid to look directly at the spot. And he didn't have to. He knew her young friend from the queue was sitting there. “She was older...with a man...and...” She squeezed her eyelids shut. “Doctor, she's going to suffer...can't we help her?”
He wanted to tell her they could. He wanted to say they would come back in a few years time and rescue this child, and every other child, from pointless horror. He was a Time Lord after all. He could do anything: stop the world from turning, break it apart like an egg. But what good was he, with all his power, if he couldn't stop the everyday suffering of her people?
He told her the truth. “We can't.”
“But...?”
“Oh, we could interfere...steal her away from her mother, perhaps,” he said, carefully. “We could take her from the only home she's ever known. Deposit her in some other country. Or come back in a few years to kidnap her, take her across time, to the stars, to another world. But we can't guarantee she will never suffer. Even if we stayed here. Became her parents. Watched her every move. Eventually, something would sneak up on us. Get past our guard. You can't foresee everything, Rose. It's one of the hardest lessons to learn. Trying to think of everything would drive us mad and in the end we wouldn't be able to keep her safe forever.”
Seeing his message sink in, he felt a chill wash through him. His last words seemed to echo in his mind. Keep her safe forever. Keep her safe.
The wobbly wheel threw him out of his body. A howling maw manifested behind Rose. He'd seen this particular vision before, once in a post coital dream and again in the fireworks of the opening ceremonies. He didn't know what it was. But, it terrified him. A storm was coming, a wailing nothingness. It threatened to swallow down the whole world. There was only one way to appease it. In exchange for sparing everyone else, it would take her from him. Take his Rose. There would be nothing he could do but let her go. He shook off the grip of cold despair. He would do something. He would. When the time came, whatever the cost to his honor or his happiness, he would pay it. Rose would not vanish into that hellish void.
“Doctor? Can you hear me?” Rose was snapping her fingers in front of his nose.
He flinched, but then, noting her worried expression, flashed a sweet grin. “No need to snap,” he told her.
“Thought you were wandering off there,” she laughed, placing her hand over his. “I don't think I could find you the way you find me.”
“Nonsense. You got me back from the Isolus. I'll... Oh, I say!” he exclaimed, staring at her desert dish. “Phathiakulkwedia! Doctor and Missus, for the hotel registrations, don't you see?”
She didn't. “Number Ten?” She said, frowning. “You want to be Dr. and Mrs. Number Ten? Why not just call ourselves Dr. Downing and Dolores Street while we're at it?”
“But it's perfect. I am number ten,” he insisted. “The tenth. And you're bound to remember it because of our...encounters with my other selves. What could be simpler?”
“Simple, but silly.”
“Human names are the same, really. You're named after a flower and a builder's apprentice. Back in ye olde naming times, this one's John and that one's John John's son. Johnson, yeah? Yeah?” He nudged her. “Or Chandler, if your great, great, great, great, great-grandfather made candles. Farmer, if he farmed. Peddler, if he peddled. Wheelwright if he...wheel...wrighted. Why else to you thing there would be so many more Young's then Elders?”
“John the younger,” Rose said. “Young John.” She tried the suggested name on for size. “Dr. and Mrs. Phathia...”
“..KulKwedia.”
“...kul--quid...”
“Ed,” he corrected. “Short for Edward....Kwedia.”
“Bit of a mouthful, isn't it? We'll be forever spelling it out. F-a-t-h...”
“Pha...Thi...A...Kul...Kw...Edi...A,” he spelled in his own alphabet.
Rose's spoon traced the letters in her dish as he said them. Filled with a justifiable pride, she trilled, “I think I've got it.” But her elation was short-lived. The shine of accomplishment faded from her eyes, replaced by dull dread as she considered her newfound knowledge.
“How?” she asked. “How do I know this? How can I see things?”
He drew in a quick breath and held it, staring at her with wild-eyed surmise. Mouth open, he let a few meaningless noises click at the back of his throat. He had no answers for her. Finally, he shook his head.
“I'm sorry, as I keep telling you, I don't know. You shouldn't be able to do the things you do. Your mind has been...expanded...far beyond what is normal for your species. Whatever happened when you looked into the Time Vortex....? What we do together...? None of it is natural for humans. Not at all. Come to that, it's not natural for me.” He shrugged slightly as he acknowledged this. “If I had to hazard a guess...I suspect your sudden recall has something to do with...” Starting violently, he nearly toppled sideways out of his chair.
“Pants. Ow!” he yelped, and then again, “Ow! I've been pinged.” He clawed frantically at one of his trouser pockets and, to Rose's amazement, extracted marbles, a feather, a sling shot, psychic paper and, finally, her mobile. He skidded the phone across the table. ”Why are you pinging?” he asked, addressing the phone directly. “Shouldn't you vibrate or ring or sing a jolly tune?”
Rose snatched for the phone, exclaiming, “Why is my mobile in your pocket?”
The Doctor got his hand around it first. “Why is it turned off? And more to the point, why did you try to leave it on Hecate Six? Hmmm? Who are you avoiding? Sarah Jane?” Curious, now, he popped the mobile open to check the identity of her caller. “It's your mother. She's left a message.” He coughed, surprise making him sit a little taller in his chair. “She's left fourteen messages. Three of them in the last hour.”
“Give it here,” Rose ordered, holding out her hand, palm up.
Keeping his thumb on the open/close lever, he let the phone slide slowly shut. He tapped his chin with it, while contemplating Rose. Finally, he mused, “Now, why...are you ignoring your mother?”
“I'm not...I'm just...” She broke off, with an impatient huff, letting her hand fall to the table top. “She's got another boyfriend.”
“Tell me something new.”
“This one's different. He's too young for her,” Rose said, but he could tell by the way she ducked his interested appraisal that there was more to the story.
“Well..say no more,” he sighed, leaning back in his chair. “If there is one thing I can't abide it's cradle robbing. None of this May/December nonsense for me. Nothing more off putting than a couple with an embarrassingly large age gap.” Sniffing, he lifted his brows, while his lips pressed into a faintly amused line.
Rose rolled her eyes and heaved a put-upon sigh. “Yeah, all right. Whose the mind reader, now?” She slid forward in her chair as she went on, “The truth is, though, that's part of it. Our age gap. I don't know how to tell her.”
“Tell her...?”
“About...us. Barcelona. The Crucible. All of it. Any of it.” Her register kept going up until she was squeaking breathless sentences. “I haven't even got around to telling her we...” Slumping, she wafted her hand between them. “You know...? She doesn't even know we're...intimate.”
The Doctor snorted in dismay. “Oh, thanks for that. I needed cheering,” he laughed. Sobering just a bit, he shook his head, before saying, “Your mother thought we were shagging the second time she set eyes on me. I doubt confirmation will shock her.”
“It's not the shagging,” Rose told him. “It's the...changing. She hated me working in an upscale shop. Said it gave me airs and graces. She's never going to understand 'seeing around corners' or what we do together. She's still expecting me to get over all of this. To come home one day and marry a milkman.”
The Doctor shivered. Shadows seemed to deepen around him. The air thickened as if clouds, heavy with rain, had moved in to block out the stars. He tipped his head back, arching in his chair to gaze up at the sky. It was a clear dark blue, but that didn't matter. A storm is coming, a voice whispered in his head, keep her safe.
“Something to be said for milkmen,” he heard himself muttering. “They know how to store ice cream in a solid state, for starters. None of that...temporal disintegration. You could do worse than fresh butter and cheese.”
“If you're going to be silly...”
He favored her with a doting smile, his right hand stretching out to envelope hers. “Sorry. I'm distracting myself with inappropriate humor as I prepare to face the Wrath of Jackie. Do you think she'll murder me?”
“No, but I might, if you keep on,” Rose said. Pushing her chair out and standing, she shifted the grip of their hands, weaving their fingers together. He swung her in a wide arch around the table. They took a moment to stare into one another's eyes, before heading off together.
“You reckon Mr. Chuzzlewit had the good sense to take out a life insurance policy?” the Doctor remarked with studied casualness.
“Could be. Could very well be,” Rose said, recognizing an opening gambit in one of their favorite games: Old Married Couple. They'd played it before his regeneration, frequently involving Jack in their improbable spats. Stroking her chin with her free hand, she considered her response, and then said, “We Chuzzlewits are a sensible lot.”
“You'll need proper identification if you mean to follow up on insurance."
"That's why Rassilon invented psychic paper."
"And, once again we find you have absolutely no use for your Rose Tyler passport. One day you'll admit you only asked for it so you could seduce Mickey one last time.”
“Small wonder I murdered you, if this is how you go on about my old boyfriends.”
“You'll never collect your millions, in any case."
"Millions is it?"
"Could be. But it doesn't matter. I'll be popping up again in a few minutes claiming fraud and foul play.”
“With a different face,” she reminded him. “What are you going to say to the police...the part of Dr. Chuzzlewit, recent murder victim, has been recast as a gap-toothed fellow with a stoop?”
“A stoop?”
“A stoop,” she confirmed, “But ginger-haired." He skipped a little, giddy over this, and Rose felt her face muscles aching from the strain of all their grinning. "You'll be laughed out of the police station.”
“Fair point,” he conceded, pillowing his head against hers. Her hair smelled sweet and felt luxuriously soft against his cheek. They walked silently down the darkened street, skirting potholes and the puddles from an earlier rain. A few blocks further on, within sight of the TARDIS, he declared, “What a vexing husband I must be...refusing to lay down and die properly. It's just struck me, you'll never be a merry widow.”
“The concessions I make to cruise around the universe in a time machine,” Rose sighed. “I should have listened to my mother. 'Marry a milkman,' she said, 'you'll always have butter and cheese.'”
“I think it was me who said that...just now...back there...”
Letting go of her for a moment, he pointed over his shoulder with one hand as the other fished in his trouser pocket for the TARDIS key. He searched all four pockets, twice. Then, stood very silent and still, considering all of his options, including panic.
After a minute or so of pondering, he looked at her with a mildly worried expression and asked, "By any chance, did you happen to bring your key?"
END THIS PART
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2007-11-18 02:14 am (UTC)"Did you happen to bring your key?"
Uh-oh. :-)
(no subject)
Date: 2007-11-18 03:46 am (UTC)I had debated losing this chapter all together...but I wanted to address the Isolus issue and Rose's expanding knowledge of Gallifreyan. Also, with all due respect to Moffatt...I like MY explanation of why the TARDIS looks different now than it did better than "you changed the desktop theme." Of course, the way Ten lingered on that, "Yeah..." I think he may have been lying to avoid an argument.
Anyway...thanks for the feedback. :hugs:
Rae
(no subject)
From:(no subject)
Date: 2007-11-18 03:23 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-11-18 03:47 am (UTC)Rae
(no subject)
Date: 2007-11-18 04:48 am (UTC)Umm...Ooops?!
Another great chapter...I love how silly and sexy they are at the beginning, then as things progress in Cuba you can feel the 'sense of DOOM' returning.
I can totaly feel the 'Storm coming' which is a compliment to your writing but to be honest....scares the shite out of me. I know bad is coming, I just hope I can hold on through it and that we (eventually) get a happy ending. *hint hint* :P
Looking forward to the next chappie!
(no subject)
Date: 2007-11-18 05:34 am (UTC):hee:
Yes, well, I'm glad of it. I like that undercurrent of dread to infect you more and more as we go along. And we are almost there. Can you believe it, almost at the end of it all. Next chapter home to Jackie...then Doomsday...then...finale.
Swoop...there it is!
Assuming, of course, they find a way back into the TARDIS. I'm so happy to hear you don't find the chapter chaotic or rocky...my pacing was definitely off when I sent this to the beta babes...and several of them fell ill so no help...but with the two intrepid people who finished their betas...I hope I managed to even it all out.
Thank you for the lovely feedback. I really needed it.
And don't be scared...it will all be okay...even if filled with a SENSE OF DOOM!
:BWAHAHAHA:
Rae
(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
Date: 2007-11-18 04:54 am (UTC)As always, can't wait until the next chapter.
(no subject)
Date: 2007-11-18 03:09 pm (UTC)Next chapter under construction.
Rae
(no subject)
Date: 2007-11-18 06:41 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-11-18 03:10 pm (UTC)Nice to see you still care after all this time.
Rae
(no subject)
Date: 2007-11-18 08:06 am (UTC)I LOVED the beginning of this chapter; your description of the dancing was wonderful and done to a great song. The dynamic you have between the Doctor and Rose is great, and as always I look forward to the continuation of this tale. ;)
(no subject)
Date: 2007-11-18 03:08 pm (UTC)I'm glad you commented on the music. I wanted them to dance at some point, like Nine and Rose did. And this struck me as the perfect spot...since the Olympics often have massive concerts during the closing ceremonies. Why not a Van Morrison tribute?
Thanks so much for sharing what you liked about the chapter with me. It 1) soothes my tattered nerves and 2) keeps my muse in line whenever she wants to go to the beach instead of working on the story.
Rae
(no subject)
Date: 2007-11-18 08:11 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-11-18 03:30 pm (UTC)Thanks for your feedback. Happy you found it fun and sexy...which it was mostly supposed to be...okay, and a little chilling as Doomsday looms.
Rae
(no subject)
Date: 2007-11-18 10:55 am (UTC)Rose needing glasses now but refusing to wear them, does the doctor need his glasses, in light of time crash?
He channelled Han Solo. Perfect! I do love Ten when he is Ranting!
Oh the Storm.... Dark times ahead and now how to get back in the TARDIS, I wonder if they have big tow trucks here in Cuba?
Fantastic. love it! Looking worward to more please.
(no subject)
Date: 2007-11-18 03:20 pm (UTC)I must say, we are now OFFICIALLY AU...and this is very important to remember as, if I fail to be CHRISTMAS to the punch, things are going to go totally off I think. So, Time Crash doesn't count.
However, I will say that I noticed the Doctor doesn't say he doesn't need the glasses he whips out in Time Crash...only that FIVE doesn't need them and he's copied with "brainy specs" of his own. He could be referring to the style of specs, rather than any need for them in his case, but content and the "snap" does make it seem he doesn't truly need them.
Meanwhile, yes, the Doctor must have been truly flustered by Rose at the beginning there to forget his key. And as she's about to point out..."Let me get this straight, you remembered to take your slingshot and a feather?"
Thanks so much for the detailed feedback. I greatly appreciate the care you take in reading and responding to me. :hugs:
Rae
(no subject)
Date: 2007-11-18 02:10 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-11-18 03:27 pm (UTC)Check, keeping it up. Just a little further to go, now.
Rae
(no subject)
Date: 2007-11-18 02:38 pm (UTC)"Her lithe grace drew him the way the scamper of a string toy across a floor might draw a kitten. He tensed into stalking mode."
Utterly brilliant.
(no subject)
Date: 2007-11-18 03:26 pm (UTC)Hot, sweet Earl Grey Tea...I assume that applies to you as well as the beverage. :leer:
Anyway, thank you for the lovely compliment on my imagery skills. I will say, it's been a trial working with someone who has the mercurial disposition and elastic facial expressions of David Tennant's Doctor. One way Moffatt and Davies have it easier...they don't have to describe any of his mugging and flitting about the way I do. It can be exhausting. And I have to work at it so we don't have him twitching all over the place, breaking up the dialog.
All that to say, I appreciate you finding it brilliant. SIGH!
Rae
(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
Date: 2007-11-18 02:46 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-11-18 03:27 pm (UTC)Rae
(no subject)
Date: 2007-11-18 06:35 pm (UTC)This feels like a fluffy chapter and part of a set, much like the very early chapters that was progressive sex. Nothing is jumping out at me in terms of plot, it reads as an affirmation of previous things (Rose hasn't told the Doctor she wants his children, for instance), and I assume the progress is coming up in future chapters.
In fact, it's almost like a teaser before the opening credits on the show. Rose and the Doctor have come for some ice cream, but discover they are locked out the TARDIS in a non-hospitable area to those without ID. *cue TARDIS travelling in Vortex and being smacked by a huge "Doctor Who" sign left in its wake*
(no subject)
Date: 2007-11-18 07:03 pm (UTC)The last FULL episode was the one that ended in them confessing their love on Barcelona. Then, we had a sort of catch up episode with Suicide Blond woven in...and the wedding. But this bit launches us into our finale. There's not too much to say about it in terms of plot if you've been following along...though I do make things a bit clearer to the less perceptive readers from this point onward. No need to pussyfoot around with all of that...foreshadowing business at this juncture...time to pony up the revelations.
Yes, there was a little twinge of Honey to the Bee there. But mostly that was a shout out to Van Morrison. Tupelo Honey is MY favorite song. But it wouldn't have worked nearly so well for Ten/Rose dancing. They needed something that popped. Also, I like the idea of him as "a working man" in his prime. He's just doing this clean up job on the windows of the universe, and at day's end...partying with his missus.
Comments are sadly lacking on this chapter and I think you've put your beastly paw on why that is...it doesn't really say anything profound to the long time reader...it just makes you want the next chapter to come around sooner. Which hopefully, will happen. Thank YOU for taking the time to comment on what you were feeling. Rose is still keeping things inside...hiding things...which will not become apparent until she is talking to Sarah Jane in the next chapter.
Rae
One writer's lacking...
From:You are right, N.B.
From:Re: I'm always (al)right
From:(no subject)
Date: 2007-11-18 08:09 pm (UTC)One thing that hits me is how much Rose is changing, and has already changed, and the impossibility of ever going back. That's a frequent theme with DW companions, but particularly Rose because of her unusual openness to the alien and her instinctive grasp of it. (Incidentally, you capture the dynamics of the gender war as applied to a teacher/pupil relationship and different learning styles quite brilliantly).
Army of Ghosts mentioned those changes, and if we get through to a reunion, it'll be with the air well and truly cleared, and Rose released into her life with the Doctor in a way she never would otherwise be.
One final point - the way you write about the TARDIS is quite beautiful and I've seen something similar happening in the design department on TV, not only between Classic and DW but over the entire NW arc. Desktop theme, indeed. Has the Moff no soul?
(no subject)
Date: 2007-11-18 08:32 pm (UTC)Ironically, as far as I'm concerned, that means he may be exactly the right person to steer DW on once RTD and David leave it. I do believe Russell must give us our romantic connection. If we do have the reunion I want, where the Doctor goes to Rose and lives out her life with her. Then, Moffatt will be playing to his strengths when he takes over.
He will be able to do exactly what needs to be done...write cracking good, slightly chilling, sexy tales about this time-traveling adventurer who has a colorful past. He would inherit a Doctor who has been married for years, possibly has had children, sex and held down a job. He'll have a deeper, more mysterious, less emotionally needy Doctor to work with. One who had a life but lost it all again...and now must put all of that is behind him. Basically, he'll have a Doctor and be single again...one looking to get out there and save a few damsels and worlds from monsters.
I can see us returning to the grand old asexual but likely to marry an Axtec princess sort of Doctor under Moffatt. And as long as I have my Rose as his true love story completed in canon...I'm fine with that. I do see Moffatt's stories having much in the way of emotional punch beyond the adrenaline rush of it all. He doesn't mind the Doctor having his passing flirtations...but he draws the line at sex in the TARDIS...or eternal flames.
Fingers still crossed for RTD giving us a complete wrap up to Rose Tyler's tale...not with any old...oh, she moved on resignation...but with the idea of the Doctor actually HAVING had a life with her. Then, I will go on watching Moffatt return us to old school form with new school style.
Ah...and here you are making points about my chapter...and I'm babbling about Moffatt. Okay, first, very glad you enjoyed the break in the tension. Ice cream...what could be more innocent? And, like you, I loved the insinuation in Fear Her and AoG that the Doctor and Rose had been knocking about for a very long time as a happy couple. And while, I take a great AU liberty in assuming they were married...rather than just considering a more permanent relationship...I do think I am consistent with the canon.
I'm glad you've qued in to the deep changes in Rose. When her mother says that bit about not being human anymore...in AoG...Rose has the oddest look on her face. Pensive and yet...almost as if she means to tell her mother something important. Later, in Doomsday, she tries to get it out...and we see that Jackie is the one Rose is protecting. It reminds me of when she told her dad, in Father's Day, that her mother doesn't know how to program the VCR. Jackie is fragile without Pete...and Rose means to take care of her. Even if that means Rose is denying her own place in life.
Thanks for the long, thoughtful response. I appreciate the workout on commentary. :hugs:
Rae
(no subject)
Date: 2007-11-18 08:52 pm (UTC)And while yes, it is a continuation and not a big, threatening button of a chapter, it has a lot of brilliant bits - much like everything I've found of yours. I'm not a big commenter just in general, but I will also not have you swayed by your own sense of hesitancy, so!
(Please Please don't let the format go wonky, HTML gods!)
The bits I loved about this chapter, in one big fat comment:
Striptease to Van Morrison (and Tupelo Honey!)
That she sings him the wrong lyrics just to make him cringe (because I love to do that to my mister, it's a great source of never-ending fun)
The descriptive bit about the eagles mid-flight
The way it goes back and forth from the story into them watching and feeling each other is absolutely engaging (no issues with pacing from me!)
All of the Dickensian names (and poor, old, never-widowed Mrs. Chuzzlewit)
She loves ice cream just to watch him fixate
How the Isolus and the TARDIS and the Gallifreyan and the ice-cream-and-cheese bits make so much freaking sense even in the midst of their flirting
“If I had to hazard a guess...I suspect your sudden recall has something to do with...” Starting violently, he nearly toppled sideways out of his chair. PURE EVIL CLIFFHANGER.
That she's avoiding her mother is exactly what I would do...well, did do.
Every last bit of the banter was brilliantly sweet and clever and sharp all at the same time, but (saving the bits others have mentioned):
I believe all of them could read. Even Leela. A few of could also read the interface.
Cheers for my jib, then.
"It’s because I can’t drive.” HA! The TARDIS does like her better. ;D
“We're in." “No, we wait. But, possibly not as long.”
"Well...if you really want to know,” he began cautiously, pausing to scratch his head. “I want to know about you.”
Your mother thought we were shagging the second time she set eyes on me. I doubt confirmation will shock her.
Small wonder I murdered you, if this is how you go on about my old boyfriends.
“I think it was me who said that...just now...back there...” Such a very, very Doctor Who moment, going so nicely into - what others have so accurately described - the opening montage.
(no subject)
Date: 2007-11-18 10:38 pm (UTC)But you did pick up on some of my personal favorite bits. I, too, sing lyrics wrong to tease people. And I wanted the Doctor to admit that he wasn't a very good driver. He never used to hit things dead on...and so I was surprised to hear him telling someone they didn't know where they were because it was "more fun that way." Mostly, it's because they never end up where he points them...however, they did manage to hit the Powell Estates pretty darn accurately. This speaks to either...HIM focusing more...or the TARDIS focusing more. For the purpose of Disheveled...it's the TARDIS.
And I do like that it takes about three minutes of chatting for Rose to attribute the "marry a milkman" advice to her mother. The Doctor does well as a bumbling husband. Even though with Ten...there is always that undercurrent of dangerous energy. Rose isn't afraid of him, so it's not an issue.
Rae
(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
Date: 2007-11-18 09:45 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-11-19 12:42 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-11-18 11:37 pm (UTC)Thank you. :)
(no subject)
Date: 2007-11-19 12:45 am (UTC)Luckily, Rose...after multiple orgasms...still wants to watch him lick something off the back of a spoon. I suppose when they can't get ice cream she settles for feeding him peanut butter.
Thanks for sharing your enjoyment with me, Omega. I need a bit of cheering up just now, so I can focus on Chapter 22.
Rae
(no subject)
Date: 2007-11-19 12:04 pm (UTC)I'm very intrigued by the Xmas special. The last two have done a fantastic job setting the emotional tone for what was to follow, and been a good family watch as well.
(no subject)
Date: 2007-11-19 12:33 pm (UTC)In one of my little unpublished reunion fics...the Doctor tells Rose he's decided there is only one cure for a love like the one he feels for her. She says, "Time?" with sad resignation. And he shakes his head and says, "Not in my case." Then, he gives her a ring. She blinks at it. "Marriage," he announces. "The long slow march to familiarity. Guaranteed to take the romance out of anything." Rose smiles and accepts the ring. "How long before it kicks in?" "Can't be too careful. Relapses are likely. But...seventy years or so should do it." "Seventy-years. I'll go a bit wrinkly." "I'm sorry, but I think it's the only way."
Rae
(no subject)
Date: 2007-11-19 12:06 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-11-19 12:45 pm (UTC)Also, since Rose tells us she "made up her mind a long time ago" that she is never going to leave him. And yet, she didn't make the seriousness of it all clear to her mother. And...since we have Jackie lamenting how hard it is to be "the one left behind"...and we have that business in AoG of Rose keeping the extent of the relationship from her mother. I think it is very likely that the Doctor believed Jackie meant more to her than HE did. To me, all of it is an alien understanding of things.
He gets hit hard in AoG when it seems he can't protect Rose from anything. His lifestyle takes it's inevitable toll. This is another reason why I favor him going to Pete's World to live semi-quietly with Rose. It would keep her safe and allow him the life he's never had.
He loses her mother in Doomsday...and it must make him feel like he's destroyed Rose. Rose, herself, is in a room with the Daleks, sure to be exterminated. It must have seemed to him that getting her to a place of safety was the only way to keep her alive. Most people don't mention the extent of failure and pain he's facing in Doomsday BEFORE the loss of Rose. And if she had gone into the void...? He would have torn our world apart to reach her.
Rae
(no subject)
From:(no subject)
Date: 2007-11-19 09:39 pm (UTC)Also, your attention to details makes this so much fun. I loved the Time Crash throwins (squee!) and the bobbity bits about why there's no ice cream or cheddar on the TARDIS (or babies...) And the dialog is as always spot on. Loved the Han Solo reference!
And now, if you excuse me, I'm off for some Van Morrison.
(btw--looking forward to "Bedtime Story" almost as much as the next chapter of this! although I must say, all of these rather juicy mental images are going to make me blush when I see the man himself in Hamlet next year, lol)
(no subject)
Date: 2007-11-20 03:25 am (UTC)After a rewatch...I think I'm even okay on regenerative spooling. Five doesn't know Ten...and he is very surprised that Ten remembers him...and since it is all part of a paradox Ten creates the same situation as I created could apply here...Ten remembering because he goes into it with a task to perform. Anyways, you must tell me what you think came from Time Crash so I can investigate it. Sadly, I truly believe RTD and I are going to run right smack dab into each other come Christmas. I can only hope he leaves me with my dignity (and that Disheveled gets finished before everyone sees where I've been coming from).
I ran across that cheese research at the Ig Nobel Awards...and simply had to work it into the fic. The Han Solo reference just popped into my head when TEN was running off at the jaw in there. Glad you are off to listen to Van. I love him for fic writing. Van Morrison and Fall Out Boy...odd combination but both work for me. Thanks for the lovely feedback. Loyal readers keep me writing..."Bedtime Story"...check!
Rae
(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
Date: 2007-11-21 09:20 pm (UTC)I enjoyed the banter and happiness with a undercurrent of doom. But I was fascinated with comments about the nature of the TARDIS. That the Doctor is slowly setting it free and the question of her will.
(no subject)
Date: 2007-11-21 09:35 pm (UTC):gives you asprin and other blood thinners:
I am absurdly grateful to hear from you, considering. Jeepers! :urges you to rest and not strain that extremely valuable brain of yours:
As you know...and hopefully remember...we have had a few long talks about the nature of the TARDIS in relationship to the whole of this fic. And so, I am happy to see that even in your brevity you have the full capacity of brain cells clicking over and have put your finger straight on the important part of this chapter.
The comments about the nature of the TARDIS are the ones that are there to foreshadow...so go you! And also, having brain/nervous system trials of my own...I can totally appreciate how tiring it is sometimes to read, type, create or really say anything worthwhile. Don't sweat it. But do keep me posted on your wellbeing...because now...I'm gonna worry about you!
Rae
(no subject)
Date: 2007-11-21 11:04 pm (UTC)I do get tired easily, but I saw a post from you which was a refresher of the chapters. I wanted to reread the last chapter and then I realized I didn't recognize it. I guess I miss more than I thought. I am improving week by week, though.
(no subject)
Date: 2007-11-22 01:20 am (UTC)And I thought you were quite young...37, hey? Did you have undiagnosed hypertension, or abnormally thick blood or bad veins ore is this one of those things that is a medical mystery? And don't bother answering me if you are tired. I'm just concerned about you.
Rae
(no subject)
Date: 2007-11-23 10:49 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-11-23 05:08 pm (UTC):tries to casually wipe my hand off on something:
:->
I am so glad to see you are overjoyed to read and blown away. I do try to combine good descriptive narrative with peppy dialog. Sometimes one or the other of those gets strained. But it is nice when the banter measures up. As for Doomsday...it is going to be hard on my loyal readers...I regret I can only tell you to finish the fic before you give in to despair.
Your comments need not be expansive. It is enough to let me know you continue to enjoy the story and love it. I'm always happy to hear if there's something people question or find particularly memorable about a chapter, as well. That helps me learn to be a better writer. Often, I think I am giving BIG clues about what's coming and find that nobody sees the clues. Other times I think that I have explained something fully and then find that I haven't been as clear as I should have been.
But the most gratifying thing is when people pick up on exactly what I want them to pick up on with a chapter. People did see what I wanted them to see in this one...so I hope I've done a good job getting you ready for the end.
Rae
(no subject)
Date: 2007-11-23 02:10 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-11-23 05:02 pm (UTC)Rae
*GLEE*
Date: 2007-11-29 04:40 pm (UTC)It's every bit as delightful as I remembered - dizzying and chaotic, yet seamless. (It's almost like having a conversation with The Doctor himself).
It's sweet and sensual and detailed and funny (I love the conversation about Dickensian names); and the two of them are as over-the-moon for each other as ever.
He whipped her up a pair of glasses. For some reason, that made me swoon with glee more than just about anything else in this chapter. Oh, Doctor. ♥
And yet, yet - there is this undercurrent of fear through this whole entry - a storm is coming - and I for one am terrified at what it means for the two of them. Their happiness is incandescent - you've made it that way with your beautiful and heartfelt writing. To see it snuffed out, even temporarily, would be heartbreaking. Which is perhaps the point - and a further indicator of what a captivating story you tell. But still...I kind of want to stick my fingers in my ears and eat my ice cream and think happily ever after thoughts because this?
This kind of love is what it's all about.
Welcome back, "Disheveled". How I've missed you.
THANK YOU, Rae, as always, for writing this.
Curiousity (and you) prompted me to look for your comment
Date: 2008-01-25 11:42 am (UTC)Okay...well the first thing that leaps out at me here is that you liked the dizzy chaos of this chapter. I didn't warm to this chapter so much and so it was good to hear that some people loved the light-hearted banter. Fear Her is my absolute favorite episode and I knew that I wanted to touch on what happened in it...but I didn't want to rework it because...well...I didn't feel there was anything to add. Or rather, I felt that what Fear Her told us was THIS was how the Doctor and Rose were in daily life...a sort of seamless unit, two people blending into one, full of bubbly joy and smooshiness.
There are things about Fear Her that I could linger over for chapters...like the way they are at the door of Chloe's home, moving like a synchronized dance team...that precise mirroring of each other is a sure body language sign of deep intimacy between two people. There is no place in Fear Her where the Doctor and Rose aren't completely committed to one another and very happy about it. Even as they argue about kids and how to raise them...and that, in itself, is a revelation of where there minds are. A few viewers didn't understand Rose's reaction to the "Dad once" remark...but I think it was all about unity rather than separation...I think he was telling her he would be willing to be a dad again. Rose, who clearly tells her Mum, in the very next episode that the Doctor will never settle down so she can't...is bound to react strongly to this idea of him having settled before.
The glasses...:grin:...I just thought that Billie looks so adorable in her glasses and Rose would, too. And I can see the Doctor doting over her this way. It is (as we really learned in S3) not like him to dote on people. It is an extraordinary measure of his love for Rose that even in the middle of life and death crisis he will take a moment to make sure she is okay. Witness his attitude toward Martha, Mickey, Jack, Martha's Family, Sarah Jane and assorted bystanders...and then look, just for example, at that moment in Age of Steel after he's been captured, when he quietly asks Rose if she's okay.
As you say...this kind of love is what the Doctor and Rose are all about. Love like theirs should be celebrated as it is very rare and beautiful. And really, I think would be less rare in our society if we cultivated it a bit more. In my opinion, we put far too much emphasis on instant gratification and tend to dismiss the sweet, sensual fun of deeper intimacy. Happiness, while transient in a world full of entropy, can still be incandescent.
I recently was thinking about my theory that the Doctor should go to Pete's World and live out Rose's life with her during the hiatus year. And as I thought about dealing then with Rose's death...and the sadness I would feel over that...I thought how I would handle it. And I envisioned this scene with the newly regenerated Doctor Eleven talking to Sarah Jane. She learns Rose is gone and starts to say she's sorry...but he cuts her off with a bright smile on his face.
"Oh, don't you dare, Sarah Jane," he says. "Don't you dare feel sorry for me. We had a wonderful life. Children and grandchildren and meaningful work. We enjoyed every second of it. And, you know what? It's not over, is it? I'll see her again one day."
"I thought you didn't believe in the hereafter, Doctor."
"I've learned to believe in a lot of things in the past ninety-two years, Sarah Jane. You'd be surprised by what I believe in now."
Rae
thanking you for telling Dishevled how much you missed it. You make all the hard work of writing seem worth the time and tears.
Re: Curiousity (and you) prompted me to look for your comment
From:the thing is...about the hiatus...
From:(no subject)
Date: 2007-12-04 04:44 am (UTC)I might eventually go back and leave feedback on some earlier parts and story point that I've particularly enjoyed, but mostly I to tell you how fantastic the whole thing has been as I now join the ranks of people hanging on for new additions to the story.
(no subject)
Date: 2007-12-04 05:07 am (UTC)Yeah, maybe you should fret a little bit. I tend to think of it as a happy ending...but the very few people who know stuff about it...have squeaked. Only one (or maybe two) people know all. Those people seemed satisfied.
I really appreciate you taking the time to leave me such lovely feedback. Glad you found the fic wonderfully done. :->
Rae
reminding you we should have a new chapter tonight or tomorrow.