My usual response to GA: Seeing Red and the way people talk about Jason's actions is something along the line of "You're right, no matter the actual reason he did it, whether or not he had a point, he shouldn't have kidnapped Mia, that wasn't very nice of him. He gave everyone a good scare and caused collateral property damage, which was villainous of him (which makes sense, considering that in this era he is a villain). He could have sent her an email."
But now that I think about it wouldn't it have been extremely funny if he had just sent her an email. Imagine Mia opening her computer to write an essay on Mrs Bovary so she's already feeling terrible and she gets an email which says:
"Mia. I know who you are. I'm a lot like you. You don't want to disappoint your mentor but I had a mentor like that once, people who grew up in their mansions like them, they don't understand that sometimes it's necessary to do bad things to survive. I know you were forced into the sex trade by your father and later ended up in the streets, had to turn to sex work to survive, and eventually tested positive to hiv. I'm a lot like you. You need to start killing people. Sincerely, the Red Hood."
Like, honestly. How would the story go. Where do you even go from there. I'm sorry this is way too funny like can you imagine.
Author’s Note: Okay, so I wrote the last chapter, and it became too long for one chapter (in this model, the chapters are 1k words or less), but I didn’t want to post them separately, because there wasn’t a decent way to break it apart. So here is the ending, in two chapters! I hope you like it!
AO3
Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 / Part 5 / Part 6 / Part 7 / Part 8 / Part 9 / Part 10 / Part 11 / Parts 12 and 13
Chapter 12:
The sound of a key in the lock brought John leaping off the couch for the front door. He had let himself into Jack's flat with the spare key, of course, and it had felt like an eternity waiting for him to get home. He'd even tried to call a couple of times, but Jack had turned off his phone, no doubt due to the work meeting. He grabbed the knob and flung the door open so forcefully that it tore the key out of Jack's hand with a jingle, the keychain and other keys swinging back and forth as it dangled from the keyhole.
Jack stared blankly at the keys, then glanced slowly up at John. “So you're ready to go?”
“What took you so long!” John's eyes bulged with pent nervousness and frustration.
“I told you, I had a meeting! Then I had to stop at my friend's place and pack her a bag. She's gonna stay with Rose and help her out for a couple of days.”
John's shoulders relaxed slightly as he let out a tense sigh. “Sorry. I've been going out of my mind just sitting here.”
“Doc, you need to relax. Having an appendectomy is really not that big a deal most of the time, and Martha assured me she's doing great.”
“I know that,” he said defensively. “I'm just... impatient, okay? ...And maybe a little high strung.”
“A little.”
“A very little,” John said pointedly.
“Well, let's go then,” Jack said, tossing his head at the outer hallway. John stepped out, and Jack locked up behind them.
John glanced at Jack as the walked down the hall towards the exit. “Listen, Jack, I need you to make a stop on the way. Just one quick stop...”
Donna sighed and picked up the ringing phone, glancing at the caller ID before answering. “John, I can't talk now, I'm elbow deep in the books.”
“Forget the books, Donna, I need you to do something for me.”
“But I gotta get started on payroll, and I'm already behind,” she whinged. “Can't you get Jack to do it?”
“I would, but he doesn't know how to work the fryer. And he's also with me.”
“Don't tell me you want me to make you supper, because that is not happening. You're a big boy.”
“No! This isn't about me. It's my... this... someone I know, she's in the hospital, and I want to bring her something decent to eat. But I'm kind of in a hurry.”
There was a lengthy pause before Donna finally sputtered, “You know a girl?”
“Yes, I know a girl!”
She grinned, leaning back in her chair. “Is she pretty?”
“Donna, shut up. I'm in a hurry.”
“Well, that's a funny way to talk to someone you want a favor from.”
John paused. “Sorry.” He sounded humble enough.
“Right, you want me to cook dinner for your friend?”
“Well, you don't have to do it personally. Who's in the kitchen tonight?”
“No, it's okay, I don't mind.”
“I thought you were elbow deep in the books!”
“Yeah, but this is for a girl! I didn't know you knew a girl!” She grinned.
“Right. Fine. Whatever. Just... listen carefully. I have a menu written down, and some recipes, it's in the top drawer of the filing cabinet.”
Donna crossed the office and rifled through the contents of the drawer. “Okay, think I found it.” She scanned the papers, frowning. “You want me to make all this... right now?”
“There won't be time to make all of it, so just do the main dish. Skip the starters and all that nonsense. But I've got the dessert already prepped in the fridge. Pack it all up for takeaway, I'll be there soon. And Donna?”
“What?”
“Under no circumstances are you permitted to alter that recipe, you got it?”
A defensive squeak escaped her throat. “What's that supposed to mean?”
“Donna... promise me you'll follow that recipe to the letter.”
She sighed. “Fine, whatever.”
“Good. Thanks, Donna. I owe you for this.”
“Ugh... this is awful...” Rose sneered at the plate of tepid, sticky pasta, and the cold side dish of soggy broccoli with some sort of disgusting orange sauce on it, which was probably supposed to be cheese flavored, but a reluctant taste test left that particular question unanswered. “How do they expect people to get better on food like this? If you can even call it food.” She pushed the plate away and reached for the jell-o cup, peeling the foil back and plunging a spoon in. “I guess it's jell-o for dinner.”
“If you want, I can grab some takeaway,” said Martha. “There's a chinese down the block, won't take a mo'.”
“I thought you weren't supposed to bring in your own food.”
“Well, technically no, but I won't tell if you won't.” She winked.
Rose grinned. “Well... it would be a lot nicer than...” she grimaced at her plate of glop again.
“Say no more!” Martha stood and wheeled the food cart back. “Here, I won't make you keep looking at it,” she said with a laugh. She grabbed her handbag and slung it over her shoulder. “Be right back!”
“Thanks, Martha!”
Martha slipped out the door and walked down the stark white halls of the hospital ward. She pulled out her phone and scrolled through her call log, looking for the restaurant's number.
“Hey, Martha!”
She glanced up and saw Jack walking towards her, followed closely by a man she could only assume was the infamous John Smith. “Jack! Hi! I was starting to wonder if you were ever gonna make it.”
He slung her overnight bag off his shoulder and handed it to her. “Yeah, I had an extra stop.”
Martha took the bag wordlessly, glancing past Jack at the man that stood slightly behind him. “Is this Batter Fry?” She grinned.
The man furrowed his brow in confusion. “What?”
Jack stepped aside. “Oh! Sorry. Martha, this is John. John, Martha.”
They shook hands. John quirked an eyebrow. “Batter Fry?”
Martha giggled. “Sorry. It's what I've taken to calling you.”
John grinned crookedly and chuckled. “I've been called worse. How's Rose?” There was a nervous quaver in his voice.
“She's good!” Martha smiled reassuringly. “You ready to meet her?”
John grinned briefly. “Yeah, I mean... is that okay? Can I see her?”
“Yeah, she just sent me for takeaway though.”
“Oh, don't worry about that,” John said, holding up a paper bag.
Martha grinned. “Oh good! You thought ahead!” She bit her bottom lip. “Hang on. I have an idea.”
Rose was sipping on her styrofoam cup of tea and flipping through the telly (and finding absolutely nothing on, of course), when an unfamiliar person knocked on the jamb of her open door and stepped across the threshold.
“Hi, I'm Jack. Jack Harkness, Martha's friend.”
“Oh!” Rose relaxed a little. “Hi, I'm Rose. Martha just stepped out for some food, but you're welcome to sit and wait for her.”
“Thanks,” he said, lowering himself to the nearest chair. “I can't wait long, I've got dinner plans, but maybe she'll be back soon enough for me to talk to her.” He glanced at his watch. “Oh! Almost forgot. I brought your phone.” He fished it out of his pocket and handed it to her.
She grabbed it eagerly, “God, thank you so much! I need to check my messages, nobody knows I'm here.”
“No problem, no problem,” he said, smiling. “Hey, I hope you feel better soon.”
“Thanks,” she said with a little smile, punching in her phone password, then scrolled to her email. Oh god... there were several messages from John. She quickly read through them, her chest tightening anxiously as she felt the worry in his words. “Oh, Doctor, no,” she muttered under her breath before hastily hitting the reply icon.
Doctor, I am so sorry I haven't replied to your emails. The truth is, I ended up in hospital with an appendicitis! I guess it wasn't food poisoning after all. Anyway, please don't worry about me, I'm doing much better. They're sending me home tomorrow. I'm so sorry to have worried you.
She tapped the send icon.
Four feet away from her, where Jack Harkness sat quietly, she heard the tell-tale chirp of a phone. The kind of chirp one hears when they receive a message.
Jack reached into his pocket and pulled out a phone glancing at it. “Oh, this isn't my phone. I must have grabbed my friend's by mistake. Hey, Doc?” he hollered.
John stepped into the room.
“You've got an email,” Jack said, tossing the phone to him. John caught it deftly, glancing at Rose, unable to keep the concern off his face, even though he smiled.
“Hi, Rose.”
Chapter 13:
Rose's hand flew to her mouth, her cheeks blooming red. “Doctor!”
He scratched the back of his neck nervously. “Hehe... yeah. Umm... is this okay? Me, here?”
She grinned, biting her bottom lip and nodding. “Yeah. Yeah, it's good.”
“Well, I gotta go!” Jack announced abruptly, standing. “Have a seat, Doc.” He strolled past him and paused just long enough to say, “I'll catch you two lovebirds later.” He winked and disappeared through the door.
Rose and John both laughed, blushing and avoiding each others' gazes. He was about to sit when Martha rushed in.
“Hi, Rose! Here's your food.” She set John's paper bag on the food cart, unable to contain a giggle. “I've... er... got something busy to do. I'll be back later, yeah? Have fun, kiddos!” She grinned, then batted her eyes at John teasingly before hurrying out of the room.
“Oh my god,” Rose giggled. “So... our friends are friends.”
“Turns out,” John laughed, hesitantly stepping further into the room. He scooted Jack's now empty chair closer to the bed and sat down. “I hope you don't mind me coming here. It's just... when I found out...”
“It's okay,” Rose said with a smile. “I'm glad you came.” She started running her fingers through her hair and smoothing it down. “God, I must look a mess.”
“You look beautiful.” He smiled. “Er... listen... I know you can't come out tomorrow night, so I brought you something. It's what I was going to make you tomorrow.” He reached for the paper bag.
Rose sighed. “I'm so sorry about tomorrow. What rotten luck.”
“Hey, it's okay,” he said, leaning forward a little. He looked like he was going to take her hand, but hesitated. “What matters is that you get better.”
She smiled and reached for his hand. “Thanks. Doctor.” Her smile spread into a grin when he took her hand in his and gave it a squeeze. “I'm on the mend, really. In fact, I'm starving! And this hospital food is positively inedible!”
John glanced at the food cart with a sickly frown. “So... what is it exactly?”
Rose laughed. “I don't know, to be honest. I selected Pasta Dinner from the menu, and this is what came.”
John shuddered. “Well, hopefully mine will be a little more appetizing.” He let go of her hand and opened the bag, pulling out takeaway boxes and laying them out on the cart. He grabbed the hospital dishes and shuffled them over to the sink area on the opposite side of the room, then wheeled the cart so that the tray attachment was in front of Rose. “Here we are! Consider this a preview of our first proper date. Er... if you want.”
She grinned. “Of course I want! Thank you, Doctor. This is really sweet.”
John breathed a sigh of relief. “Good! Okay, so first...” he whipped the lid off the first box.
Rose squeaked in delight. “Batter fried chips!”
“Of course!” John grinned. “How could I not?”
Rose dug into the chips hungrily as John took the lid off the second box. “And here's the fish you should have had,” he said. “My own recipe. The fish you had at my restaurant was actually my sister's.” He grimaced.
Rose picked up her fork and flaked away a bit of fish, then scooped it up and studied its appearance before placing the bite in her mouth, closing her eyes. An explosion of flavors hit her tongue, savory herbs and seasonings working together to enhance the delicate flavor of the fish without overpowering it. It was excellently cooked, the flaky texture supported by the crunch of the breading. Not greasy or soggy at all. It was, in a word, perfect.
She opened her eyes and found John watching her with the hint of a smile on his face. He didn't look worried or eager, like chefs often did when she tasted their food in their presence. In fact, he seemed rather confident. “Doctor, this is gorgeous!” she finally said. “Why on earth isn't this on your menu?”
“Because my sister, Donna, was rather upset with me for not letting her put her batter fried cod on the menu, so I... sorta fibbed a little and told her I didn't want to serve fish at all.”
Rose laughed. “So that fish I ordered...?”
“Yeah,” he sighed. “That was Donna's. We talked about it though, and we finally came to an understanding.”
“Which is?”
“Oh, my fish recipe is going to be available starting next week. Already ordered new menus.” He grinned.
“Well, you'll certainly be seeing me there for lunch,” she said, eating another large bite. “God, this is the best fish I've ever had, I think.”
“Oh, I don't know about that. It's probably just because you're so hungry.” Still, he couldn't keep that proud idiot grin off his face, and his cheeks had turned a little pinker. “You know, in the interest of full disclosure, that's my recipe, but my sister's the one who cooked it. She's really an excellent cook most of the time. It's just that bloody cod...”
Rose giggled through a bite. “Please tell her thank you for me. I'm actually rather glad I ordered that cod.”
“Oh?”
“Well, would you have emailed me if I hadn't left you that review?”
John stuck out his bottom lip thoughtfully. “Well... there's still the question of service.”
“True." She swallowed her bite. "Anyway, it all worked out in my favor, one way or the other.”
“Mine, too.” He smiled.
She finished the fish and chips with surprising speed, then eyed the last takeaway box with anticipation.
“I made this especially for you,” he said, lifting the lid off the box to reveal a sticky toffee pudding in the shape of a rose.
“Ah!” Rose squeaked excitedly. “Sticky toffee pudding! And it's a rose!” She laughed.
“Well, you were looking for it on my menu. I'd never actually made sticky toffee pudding before, so this probably isn't the best you've ever had. But I've been practicing all week.” He scuffed his shoe on the linoleum nervously.
“It's a shame to eat it, it's so pretty,” she said, biting her bottom lip. “Thank you, Doctor. No one's ever gone to this much trouble for me.”
“Rose Tyler, it's my honor,” he said, reaching for her hand and giving it a squeeze.
She ate every last bite of the sweet, dense cake, and although she had to admit she might have been a little biased, she really did think it was the best sticky toffee pudding she had ever eaten. When it made an appearance on the new menu at The Blue Box, it topped the dessert list under the title of Sweet Rose.
Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 / Part 5 / Part 6 / Part 7 / Part 8 / Part 9 / Part 10 / Part 11 / Parts 12 and 13
Chapter summary: John is worried.
On Sunday morning, John sat at his computer and typed the following email.
Rose, how are you?
He hit the send button and rested his hand on his chin, staring at the screen for a few minutes before sighing and shutting the computer down.
Six hours later, John was staring at his phone, and the empty email box. He tapped the compose button and hastily typed out the following.
Rose, is everything okay?
He hit send.
The rest of the afternoon passed, with no replies. Then the dinner rush hit, and John didn't have time to check his phone for a good two hours. When he finally had a moment, he quickly checked his email.
No new messages.
He hit the compose button again.
Rose, I'm sorry. I meant well, honestly. I promise, I didn't look you up. A friend of mine suggested--
He sighed and hit the trash icon.
God, he'd really fucked up.
Unless...
He hit the compose button again.
Rose, what's going on? I'm worried.
That morning, Rose had awoken with a horrible pain in her stomach, severe enough that she could barely walk to the kitchen and make herself a cup of herbal tea. God, food poisoning is the worst. When this was over, she was going to give that restaurant the most scathing review of her career.
She sat at the table and blew on her cup, balking even at the mild smell of the tea, her stomach turning over. She took a deep breath to fight against the nausea, closing her eyes and resting her head in her hands.
There was a knock at the door, followed by a melodic feminine voice. “Rose? Rose, are you okay? I saw your blog, I'm just coming to check on you.”
Rose groaned and pushed herself up, clutching her stomach as new pains stabbed at her. Hunched forward in discomfort, she made her way to the front door, using the wall for support. “Just a tick, Martha, I'm comin'.”
She opened the door. Martha Jones was standing there with a large vase of pink and yellow flowers in her arms, and a huge smile on her face, but her smile instantly faded when she saw Rose. “Oh my god, Rose, you look awful.”
Rose made a scoffing sound, rolling her eyes. “Yeah, thanks for that, I wouldn't have known otherwise.”
Martha grimaced. “Sorry. Really though, are you okay? I don't like your color.”
Rose shuffled to the couch, her arms wrapped around her stomach. “I'm fine. I mean I'm not fine, but I'll be fine. It's just food poisoning.” She glanced at the bouquet, then Martha, raising one eyebrow. “Thanks for the flowers.”
“Oh, they're not mine,” Martha said, setting the cheery bouquet down on the coffee table. “Found them sitting in front of your door. There's a card, too.” She fished it out from amongst the blooms and handed it to Rose.
Rose glanced at the smooth, plain white envelope, then opened the flap and pulled the card out.
Hello, Rose! I couldn't stop thinking about how terrible you must feel, so I decided to send you some flowers. I hope you don't mind, and I especially hope that they brighten your day. It was a bit tricky, 'cause I don't actually know your address. But the florist said you were in their system, so I asked them to send the flowers along. Please feel better soon. I'll email in the morning to check in.
Yours, the Doctor.
Rose smiled wanly. Guess I should check my email.
“So? Who's your secret admirer?” Martha grinned, sitting on the arm of the couch next to Rose. “Don't tell me it's that fellow from the restaurant. That battered chips bloke.”
Rose smacked Martha on the thigh. “Shut up!” Still, she couldn't hide the hint of a smile.
“It is! Batter Fry!” Martha giggled.
“His name is John,” Rose corrected.
“Yeah, all right, John then.”
“We've been emailing.”
Martha grinned as she bit her bottom lip. “Rose, that's fantastic! Is he nice? He'd better be nice, or he'll have me to condend with.”
Rose rolled her eyes again. “'Course he's nice. You think I'd go for a wanker like Jimmy again? Naw, I learned my lesson.”
“Good.”
Rose groaned, clutching her stomach again with a shiver. “Ughhhhh,” she moaned in frustration. “God, my stomach hurts so bad.”
Martha frowned, brow stitched in concern. She reached over and felt Rose's forehead. “My god, Rose, you're burning up,” Martha said.
“Well obviously, I'm sick.”
“Where does it hurt?”
“Everywhere,” Rose moaned.
“Where does it hurt the worst?”
Rose gestured to her right side.
“Let me feel,” Martha insisted. Rose gingerly moved her arm out of the way and Martha reached down and palpated her lower right side, eliciting an immediate groan of pain that caused Rose to double over. “God, Rose, you might have an appendicitis. Let's get your coat, sweetheart, you're coming with me.”
Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 / Part 5 / Part 6 / Part 7 / Part 8 / Part 9 / Part 10 / Part 11 / Parts 12 and 13
Chapter summary: John and Rose chat a bit.
Author’s Note: Last update for a bit, since I’ll be in the throes of moving for at least the next week or so. Thanks for your patience!
John set down his phone and threw back the covers, getting out of bed long enough to grab his laptop from the desk. He settled back on the mattress and fired up the email program.
Rose!
I wasn't expecting to hear from you. I'm doing well, thank you for asking, and I'm looking forward to cooking for you on Monday. How are you? I hope all is well.
Sincerely,
John
P.S. You may call me Doctor if you like, but don't feel like you have to. John is perfectly acceptable. It did make me smile though, if I'm honest.
Well, if it makes you smile, I will continue calling you Doctor. I'm doing fine myself, ta. I'm sorry to email so late, I hope I'm not bothering you. I actually sat down to ask you if you wanted me to bring anything on Monday, but then I realized that was silly, and just said hi instead.
Rose,
You can bring anything you like, but the only thing I require from you is your presence. I admit to being curious though. What were you thinking of bringing? Oh, and you aren't bothering me. I was extremely busy last week, but I find myself having more room to breathe this week, and I'm even catching up on a little reading.
Yours,
John
John slammed the backspace key repeatedly. “Yours?” That's a bit forward, isn't it? Still... sincerely seems a bit academic...
Amiably,
The Doctor ;)
I confess, you are remarkably entertaining, Doctor. Your emails are so carefully crafted, it's like reading a letter. I like that. People are so casual with their emails these days. Well. I'm one of those people, haha! Anyway, I think at the time I was considering a bottle of wine, but that's more the sort of thing you do if you're going to someone's house for dinner. I'm probably just supposed to show up with my notebook and my tongue ready to score the evening.
Rose smashed down the backspace key and felt her cheeks burning. Oh my god...
I'm probably just supposed to show up ready to judge the meal.
Rose,
Of course, I wouldn't try and stop you if you pulled out a score chart, but honestly, this is just meant to be a nice evening for you. I promise, I'm not trying to butter you up or add a few bonus points to my review. I just feel bad that you didn't receive the welcome you deserve, and I want to make it up to you, that's all. Leave your professional side at home and just enjoy the evening.
Honestly, when was the last time you dined out for fun?
With much curiosity,
The Doctor
P.S. There was a short unit on professional letter writing my first year at Oxford. I guess it stuck.
You went to Oxford? Of course you went to Oxford, what am I saying? You're a scientist and a professor. At least, I think you're a professor. You mentioned working at “the university”. Is it Oxford you work at now? Your credentials are intimidating, I must say. I haven't even got my a-levels.
The last time I dined out for fun? Well, my job is fun! So unless it's a bad dining experience, I always enjoy myself. But the last time I dined at a restaurant without my little notebook? God, I can't even remember, to be honest. That sounds sad, doesn't it? I mean, my mum takes me out once a year on my birthday, but much as I love my mum, sometimes that's more stressful than my normal job. Haha!
Rose,
I'm not a professor, actually. I simply have access to the labs there. I also mentor some of the first year students who have a particular interest and aptitude for physics and astronomy. I was there last week helping three of them do research for a presentation on time travel theory.
Please, don't feel intimidated! I didn't go for the credentials. I just wanted to learn. A-levels or not, you're obviously an incredibly intelligent person. Don't put yourself down just because you don't have a silly little document. You're much more valuable than that. I love reading your blog, actually. You have a very poetic, yet conversational writing style that I find quite charming.
Since you can't remember the last time you dined out for fun—birthdays with mum excluded—I insist you leave your little notebook at home and just enjoy a meal with a friend.
Assuming we are friends, that is. Are we?
Most expectantly,
The Doctor
Yes, definitely friends. :) And thanks for the kind words. You seem like such a nice person, I'm not surprised to hear you give back to your college community by being a mentor. But oh my god, how do you find enough time to do so much? You seem so busy, what made you want to open a restaurant on top of everything else?
Rose,
Science is my occupation—my passion, really. But cooking is my hobby. It's something to do for fun, and also a way for me to decompress mentally. When I'm working on a difficult problem, or find myself backed in a corner by something I can't make sense of, cooking serves as both a distraction and a method of letting my subconscious work out the mystery. Sometimes focusing too much on the conundrum makes it even more puzzling.
But, when you're a single bloke, you end up wasting a lot of food that way.
John stared at the screen for several thoughtful moments, his hand moseying towards the backspace key. “Single bloke.” Is that weird? That's not weird. ...Is it? He sighed nervously, chewing his lip, but pulled his hand away from the backspace key and resumed typing.
Anyway, I also employ my sister, so it serves as a livelihood for her as well. In fact, she makes more than me! But don't tell her that. Wait, she does payroll, she already knows. Haha! She takes care of the business end of things, which I find to be a total nightmare. As far as I'm concerned, anyone that willingly manages bills, books, payroll, taxes, licensing, and probably other stuff I don't even realize... they deserve way more than I do.
Yours,
The Doctor
Doctor, unless you're making this up, you're quite extraordinary.
I'm not, really.
Making this up, or extraordinary.
Well... I'm not making this up. ;)
So you admit, you are extraordinary.
I hope I am, but I think that's for others to decide, not me.
Well, I'm someone else.
I'll leave you to draw your own conclusions then.
You've given up the formal letter writing.
I'm feeling a little less formal, I guess.
But Rose, we've spent entirely too much time talking about me. That's not fair, is it?
I'm sorry, Doctor, I'm just in the habit of being the one asking questions.
But I'm dying to know more about you. You fascinate me.
I couldn't possibly! There's a reason nobody ever asks me anything, other than my opinion on where to get the best pasta.
Well, that's a valid question. However, I was hoping for something more personal.
Like what, my shoe size?
Ha! Okay, I laughed out loud at that one. What made you decide to become a food critic?
Honestly? It was a job.
Well, you said your job is fun, so what's your favorite bit?
