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: Rose Tyler, internet food critic of local fame, writes a review on the new restaurant in town.
Hello, readers.
We've entered the fourth week of October, and although my intention was to continue my search for the perfect sticky toffee pudding, my dessert train was derailed when I walked through the doors of a little hole in the wall known simply as The Blue Box.
On such a rare, warm fall day, with the leaves especially golden against the backdrop of a bright blue sky, I was ready for something sweet and warm. But when I perused the menu, I was caught off guard by three little words.
Batter fried chips.
If you've been following my blog for more than a minute, you know how I feel about chips. In fact, I performed a word search on all my entries for this month, and only three of them made no mention of those heavenly little golden wedges of glory. Come to think of it, I might have to go back and fix those posts, because now they feel a bit drab.
But for now, I'll stick to the subject at hand.
The Blue Box is a quaint little place. You almost wouldn't notice it, except for the brightly painted blue door with little square windows of frosted glass at the top, which I recognized as a replica of those old blue police boxes they used to have all over London. It had a sign above the door that said The Blue Box, crowned with a white lamp, which all suited the theme. It was delightfully charming, and drew me right in.
Inside was all rose and copper, accented with aqua lamps. The floors were a simple metal grate, which was a bit strange, and perhaps a bit too industrial—although, to be fair, I've never actually been inside one of those police boxes. I'll have to do further research to determine if an aesthetic similarity exists.
Here is what I do know about The Blue Box. It's a fledgeling shop, run by a young chef named John Smith, who also happens to be a Doctor of the sciences. His reason for this sudden, and seemingly random addition to his already robust career, remains a mystery. I tried to arrange an interview with Doctor Smith, but he was sadly unable to make an appearance at my table. Not really the best policy when it comes to serving a food critic, but I'm willing to give him a break on that point, since he is rather new to the industry.
As previously mentioned, I stopped in hoping to aquire some sticky toffee pudding, but when I saw Batter Fried Chips on the menu, I couldn't resist. And since I was going for an appetizer, I thought I might as well order an entree as well. And what goes best with chips? Fish, of course! So I ordered a plate of breaded, pan fried cod.
I'll get to the chips in a moment, but I'd like to give the cod some attention first, because I like to end on a positive note. And while the cod was beautifully fried, and the plating was lovely, it was altogether ordinary. Not bad, exactly, but it didn't really leave much of an impression. It had excellent texture; the breading was crispy, not soggy or greasy at all, and the fish was tender and flaky. But Doctor Smith would do well to experiment with seasonings on this dish if he wants to elevate it from mediocre to spectacular. Truly, the execution was spot on, other than the seasonings. And as I've mentioned a thousand times in the past, if it's not seasoned perfectly, it's not a good dish.
As for the chips, however...
Oh my god.
Heaven on a plate. Perfectly fried, perfectly seasoned, with chopped fresh oregano, and sprinkled with feta cheese and lemon juice. I probably put on ten pounds just looking at them, but I can't say I regret it for a moment. Those chips were to die for, and I think I might have to go back tomorrow for another fix, because I am hooked.
It turned out The Blue Box doesn't serve sticky toffee pudding, but I ordered a slice of their banoffee pie. Doctor Smith really knows his way around a banana, apparently, because I nearly ordered a second piece to take home with me. But after all those chips, I thought maybe I'd better pace myself.
All right, folks, here's your final score.
Curb Appeal: 4
Decor: 3
Appetizer: 5
Entree: 2
Dessert: 5
Service: 1 (really, someone should tell him not to leave a food critic hanging...)
Total score: 20 Stars (30 possible)
An acceptable score. I'll probably be back at some point and see how they're coming along. And hopefully Doctor Smith will be good enough to come to my table next time.
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 Jack begin to make plans, and Rose tells all to her readers.
“See? What did I tell you.” This time it was John's turn to shove his phone under the nose of his friend.
Jack quickly scanned the email conversation. “Huh...” he said, genuinely surprised. “Wow.”
John scowled. “Wow? That's all you can say? After your speech about the world of culinary criticism?”
“Hey, I stand by my original statement. Just 'cause the Chippie Chickadee doesn't fit the mold doesn't mean the mold doesn't exist.”
John rolled his eyes. “Whatever. Anyway, I need you to help me plan the evening. I've got the perfect dish in mind, but I want everything about the experience to be on point.”
Jack raised an eyebrow. “'On point'? What is this, a date?”
“What? No!” John felt his cheeks color. “For god's sake, I don't even know what she looks like. She might be an 80 year old woman.”
“Age-ist.”
“Stop it. Will you help me?”
“Sure. Whatcha need?”
“I need you to take Donna on a date.”
Jack burst out laughing. “Wh-what?”
“Seriously, Jack! She can't be there, she'll ruin everything.”
“What makes you think she'd even want to go on a date with me?”
“Well,” John said, looking him up and down. “Not to pet your ego, but have you seen yourself?”
Jack rolled his eyes. “I'm kinda seeing someone right now.”
John's eyebrows shot up and his mouth spread into a grin. “What? That's great! Why didn't you tell me?”
Jack shrugged. “Early days. His names Ianto.”
“Damn him!” John muttered. “All right, help me think of a plan B.”
“I could fix her up. How is she about blind dates?”
John cringed. “Ehhh... errrr... uhhh... maybe?”
Jack laughed. “You can say no, god...”
He grimaced. “It's just, she's got a bad track record with blind dates, and last time went so badly she swore she'd—and I quote—'pull her own eyeballs out through her nostrils' before ever doing that again, so...” he shrugged. “But, that was three months ago, and it's not exactly the first time she's sworn off blind dates, so... I dunno... I mean...?”
“What about a double date? Or a group date? I could gather up Ianto, Martha and Mickey, and this guy I know from work. Sort of a triple date, dinner and a movie thing? I could even tell her she'd be doing me a favor. Butter her up a little.”
“Oooh, she does like buttering...” John frowned. “Eh, that came out wrong.”
Jack laughed. “Hey, this is me you're talking to.”
Dear Readers,
Well, something unexpected happened last night. I was getting ready for bed—right in the middle of brushing my teeth, in fact—when my computer made that little ping of announcement, informing me I'd gotten an email.
I wasn't really expecting anything in particular, though I do get emails from readers from time to time (thank you!), and I sort of thought maybe it was one of those. I rinsed my toothbrush and went to my laptop, and what did I find?
An email from Doctor Smith of The Blue Box.
I admit to groaning in dismay, because I rather expected a tongue lashing. This wasn't the first email I'd gotten from a restaurant owner or chef after giving a reluctantly unfavorable review (honestly, I don't find pleasure in that, but it is part of my job). I sighed and opened up the email.
So, any bets on what he wrote? Scathing insults? Grovelling? Rude comparisons about my mother and farm animals?
Nope! Get this. He invited me to dinner.
In all my time as a restaurant reviewer, I can't count the number of hurtful things I've read. I've even received an empty threat or two. But this, my friends, is the first time my negative review resulted in a date.
Oh, all right. Not a date. Not really. I mean, I haven't even seen him. He might be some 80 year old professor type for all I know, complete with elbow patches.
So here's the actual scoop. I've been invited to a lock in at The Blue Box. Doctor Smith and his kitchen staff are going to serve me a five course meal at the Chef's Table, and I get to watch them work. Oh, and ask all the questions I want, of course.
I know, it sounds like bribery, doesn't it?
Truthfully though, he was very gracious apologetic for not being able to meet me. Turns out he's been away, so I was a little too quick to judge him on that point. But he simply wants to make it up to me.
Being a self-employed, independent restaurant review blogger, there aren't a lot of perks to my job. So when someone offers me a free five course meal in a quiet, empty restaurant—and a chef show to top it all off—well, how could I refuse?
The dinner in question takes place Monday night. Wish me luck!
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: Doctor John Smith reads Rose’s review.
“Hey, Doc! You seen this review?” Jack shoved his phone in front of John's face, effectively blocking his previously unobstructed view of the physics journal he was in the middle of perusing.
“Can't you see I'm trying to read?” he said with a scowl, pushing Jack's phone away.
“Yeah, but you're reading the wrong thing. You'll wanna see this, trust me.” He pushed his phone towards John again, a little less forcefully this time, but with definite insistence.
John sighed and dropped the publication on the desk, adjusting his glasses as he took the phone out of Jack's hand and started reading.
The Chippie Chickadee
Rose Tyler | Food Enthusiast | Restaurant Reviewer | Eating my way through time and space
Friday, October 27, 2017,
The Blue Box...
“Oh!” John sat up, suddenly aware of what he was reading. “Rose Tyler came here?” He looked up at Jack, wide eyed.
“Yeah, but don't get too excited. She only gave you 20 out of 30 possible.”
John's forehead creased, his mouth turned into a sour frown. “What? Why?” He glanced back at the screen, scanning the score chart.
“Wait... she gave me 1 for service?”
“Because you didn't come to her table.” Jack folded his arms across his chest. “John, you gotta greet the critic when they come to your restaurant!”
John cringed. Jack only called him John when he disapproved of something he'd done.
“Yeah, but what if I'm not here? I've been at the university all week! Barely even popped in other than to make sure the place isn't going down in flames. Donna's been running things in my absence.”
“Yeah, I figured that,” Jack said with an eye roll.
“Wait, what's that supposed to mean?” John said defensively.
“Did you see what Ms. Tyler ordered?” Jack leaned over the desk, staring pointedly at John. “Pan. Fried. Cod.” He straightened. “Your sister changed the menu while you were gone.”
John's eyebrows shot up. “Oh no. No... she didn't. She served the cod. The bloody cod!”
Jack flopped down in the chair opposite John's desk. “Well, it wasn't all bad. She said it was perfectly cooked.”
“Yeah, but the seasoning...” John moaned in dismay.
“You mean lack of seasoning.”
“Blimey, she's so attached to that dish, I don't get it. She won't let me touch it. That's why I didn't let her put it on the menu in the first place!”
“You really should have seen this coming, Doc.”
“Just a pinch of salt,” he muttered.
“You know how she can get.”
“Is that so much to ask? A little salt? Maybe even some pepper, I dunno...”
“She's so stubborn she makes mules look like Labrador retrievers.”
“I wish she'd just meet me halfway on this one,” John sighed, dropping the phone on the desktop and resting his chin in his hand.
“Well, look on the bright side. She loved your chips.”
“Did she?” John asked, still subdued, but faintly hopeful.
“Yep! And your banoffi pie.”
“Well, who wouldn't love my banoffi pie?” The corner of John's mouth tugged up into half a smile.
Jack stood and gave him a comforting slap on the shoulder. “Come on, now. It wasn't an altogether bad review. And she sang some pretty high praises over those chips, you'll probably have an influx of people coming for those.”
“Maybe I should email her,” John said thoughtfully. “Explain what happened.”
“John, no. Don't.”
He leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms with a frown. “Why not?” he said defensively.
“Because!”
John rolled his eyes. “That's not a reason!”
“John, listen. The world of food criticism is a very delicate balance. She's got a lot of readers. If you rub her the wrong way, she could blow you out of the water, and you'd be kissing The Blue Box goodbye.”
Dear Ms. Tyler,
I'm sorry to intrude on your quiet evening. Although, come to think of it, you probably don't check your email in the evenings. So forget I said that.
John sighed and hammered the backspace key.
Dear Ms. Tyler,
Or is it miss? Mrs.? ...Mr.?
He groaned, hitting the backspace again.
Dear Ms. Tyler,
“For god's sake,” he muttered, tapping backspace again. Maybe Jack was right. He sighed, shaking out his hands and wetting his lips nervously. Why was he nervous? It wasn't like he was having a conversation on the phone—an activity he was painfully awkward at. He wiggled his fingers and went back to typing.
Dear Rose Tyler,
My name is Doctor John Smith, and...
“Hmm... too pretentious.” Tap tap tap.
Dear Rose Tyler,
This is John Smith from The Blue Box. You know, that little restaurant you visited last week. I wanted to thank you for coming, and I'm pleased to hear you enjoyed the chips and pie. I've spent years perfecting those two recipes in particular, and it was most gratifying to hear that my hard work paid off at your table.
John scratched his neck, chewing the inside of his lip thoughtfully.
I'd like to apologize for not being able to say hello when you were my guest. As you mentioned in your review, I'm “a doctor of the sciences”, and I've been away all week working at the university, so I left the restaurant in the care of my sister, Donna. Honestly, I would love to meet you, and give you the proper Blue Box experience. It would be my honor, and of course, my treat as well.
Sincerely,
John Smith
Doctor Smith, I would be delighted to visit you at your restaurant again, if for no other reason than to enjoy another order of chips and pie. Would Wednesday do? Say, 2 pm? --Rose
Dear Rose,
I have to say, I was not expecting so immediate a response. However, as much as Wednesday at 2 would be lovely, I had something else in mind. I really want to make things up to you, so how about a lock in, and a seat at the chef's table? My staff and I will serve you a proper five course meal, and you can ask me all the questions you like while you watch us cook. Have you got dinner plans for Monday? That's our early close day. Perfect for an after hours service. Can we expect you at 8pm?
Sincerely,
John
John, I would be delighted. 8pm Monday then. Ta! --Rose
So, my headcanon about Girl in the Fireplace is basically that it never really happened. But there was a girl. And there was a fireplace. And the Doctor abandoned Rose.
Characters: Ten x Rose
Themes: GITF fixit, headcanons, mild angst, fluff, bad dreams, post School Reunion
Word Count: 1,245
Rose shuffled into the Tardis galley, rubbing her cloudy, sleep-shrouded eyes with one hand as she reached blindly for the teapot. Her fingers closed over the handle. No wait. That was a hand, not a handle.
“Now Rose, where are your manners? Didn't your mum ever teach you not to snatch toys from the other children?”
Rose pulled her hand back like it had been shocked. “Oh my god, Doctor! Sorry. Still half asleep apparently.”
He grinned. “Have a seat, Ms. Tyler, I'll fix you a cuppa. Didn't expect to see you up so soon.” He reached into one of the copper cupboards above the counter and pulled out her favorite mug; one that he'd given her. It was plain white, but when it was filled with hot drink, the picture of a pink and yellow rose bloomed into view.
Rose slumped into one of the dining chairs with a yawn, chin resting in the cup of her palm. “How long was I asleep?”
“Just two hours, thirty-seven minutes, forty-two seconds.”
She yawned again. “God, no wonder I'm still so tired.”
The Doctor brought their teacups to the table and sat across from her. “So.” He clacked his teeth. “What's up?”
“Mm?” Rose slurred in puzzlement.
“Well, 's not like you to go on so little sleep.” He pushed her teacup towards her and she put her fingers around it, straightening up in her seat slightly and using her now free hand to bob the string of the teabag up and down.
“I had a really weird dream,” she said. “You know, one of those ones you can't shake unless you get up and have a cup of tea first.”
“Ah. I see.” The Doctor blew steam away from his cup and took a sip. “Care to spill? Er, the dream, that is, not the tea.”
Rose chuckled slightly, rolling her eyes. “It was really weird. I mean it was a nightmare really. You, me, and Mickey, we were on this spaceship. It was an abandoned spaceship. And there was this fireplace that you could see through, and a little girl lived inside. Only it turned out she was real. The fireplace, it was like a window into another time. And time moved more quickly there, because she grew up really fast.”
The Doctor grinned. “Look at you. You been on the Tardis so long, you're having space dreams.”
Rose laughed. “Yeah, guess I am. Anyway, you went through the fireplace, and me and Mickey wandered off--”
“Blimey, you even wander off in your dreams! What is it with you humans!”
Rose frowned. “Doctor, do you want to hear my dream or not?”
He cringed. “Right. Sorry.” He scratched the back of his neck sheepishly.
“Anyway,” she said with emphasis, “We found the spaceship was being powered by all these human organs. We looked into little windows and saw hearts and eyeballs and such, all wired into the ship.”
The Doctor grimaced in distaste. “Well, that's rather...”
“Yeah, I know. Totally gross. Anyway, you ended up falling in love with this girl in the fireplace--”
“The little girl?” the Doctor cried in horror.
“No! No, I mean after she grew up. Remember, her timeline was moving faster than us.”
The Doctor shuddered. “Right.”
“So there were these weird clockwork robot things, and in order to save the girl—woman, sorry,” she amended with a roll of the eyes, “you had to break the connection to the ship. But the way you did it...” she trailed off, looking grim, finally emitting a sigh and taking a sip of her tea.
“What? What'd I do?”
She glanced sheepishly up at him. “You left. You broke the link to the ship, but you did it by trapping yourself in her world. You... you abandoned us. Me and Mickey and the Tardis.”
He stared at her aghast. “What? I would never!”
“Yeah, I mean that's what I thought... but it was so real. I had to get up after that.”
“Rose...” the Doctor reached over and put a hand over hers. “Really. I would never. That's a promise. Not for anyone... especially some random woman. Blimey! You don't really think...?”
“No! No, Doctor... I just... I mean, it was just a dream, but... that night... when I met Sarah Jane, and the things you said... I did wonder...”
“Rose!” He stood and scooted into the seat next to her, pulling her into a hug. “Never. Never ever.”
Rose leaned into him. “But Sarah Jane...”
“That was different.”
“How?” she asked, unable to keep the incredulity out of her voice.
The Doctor pulled back and looked into her eyes. “I'd been summoned back to Gallifrey. She couldn't come.”
“But you could have gone back.”
He shook his head. “No. I couldn't.”
“Why not?” Rose fought back tears.
He glanced at her grimly, then looked away. “It was the Time War, Rose. I... I wasn't the same man. I couldn't go back. I couldn't face her... Couldn't face anyone. Not after what I'd done.”
She stared wordlessly. His expression had turned so stern, so dark, she almost couldn't bear looking at him. She reached up and put a hand on his cheek.
He turned his gaze back to her, expression softening slightly. “Rose... I was lost. I never would have found my way back without you.”
“No, Doctor. You would have. The path was always there. You just needed a hand to guide you back, that's all. Could have been anybody.”
“No. I needed a hand, yes, but... I needed a light, too.” He pulled her back into his arms, resting his chin on her head. “A pink and yellow one,” he said with a smile in his voice.
She giggled. “Stop it, Doctor,” she chided.
“No, I mean it!” he said, releasing her from the hug. She sat up straighter, relieved to see he was smiling again. “Don't you see? You're my compass! How could I ever leave you behind?” He cringed. “Blimey, I'd be like Moses in the desert!”
Rose laughed, shoulder-bumping him. “All right, fine, guess I'm stuck with you.”
“Like gorilla glue!”
She laughed again, more softly this time. The tension she'd been feeling had melted away, leaving her more relaxed, and she couldn't help but yawn again, eyes feeling heavy.
“Come on, Rose,” he said, standing and pulling her to her feet. “You need the rest of your forty winks.”
“Hate to say it, but I think you're right.”
He pulled her shuffling form back to her room and pulled the covers back on the bed. She crawled in and settled down, but as he pulled the blankets back up, she squirmed in discomfort, feeling around beneath the blankets and finally pulling a book out from under her ribs. She chucked it lazily onto the foot of the bed and rolled over, falling asleep almost immediately.
The Doctor smiled faintly, reluctant to leave, looking down at his pink and yellow miracle sleeping peacefully. She deserved a nice long kip. Besides, Mickey was asleep, too. Best to keep everyone on the same schedule if their next adventure was to be anything worthwhile.
As he turned to go, he glanced down at the book. Madame de Pompadour.
Campbell x Bella | Unbeta‘d | 836 Words | Part 5/? | Teen (for language)
*Fluff; Romance Tropes; Takin’ Over the Asylum/Bella and the Boys AU; all the cliches!
Summary: “This is the shittiest day ever! How could things get any worse? …Ow! Watch where you’re going, you idiot! …Oh my god, look what you did!”
Bella and Campbell continue to be trapped in the lift, and I’m managing to divert the angst a bit, ‘cause no! This is supposed to be fluff! LOL! (Also, sorry I’ve taken so long with updating! Y’all know my life.)
“Manic depression. Well, they call it bipolar disorder now.”
She nodded. “I see.”
“Yeah, back in high school, I went through a really bad spell of mania. Parents almost had me sectioned.”
“God...”
He glanced up, smiling slightly. She felt a pang as she read a wealth of sadness in his eyes. Suddenly he grinned. “But! I've been good! Yeah... feeling better these days.” His gaze wandered. “For now,” he added, with an awkward chuckle.
Bella smiled, and before she really knew what she was doing, she found herself crawling over to the other side of the lift and sitting next to him. “Well, I hope it stays that way for a good long while, Campbell. Can I call you Campbell?”
He grinned. “Certainly! I insist!”
She smiled softly. “It's only fair I tell you about myself then,” she said nervously, “I was in a home once. Not a mental hospital, but a home for kids. Troubled kids. Most of us didn't really have parents, or if we did, they weren't up for it. God, we got into so much trouble,” she chuckled, then sighed. “It was sort of a toss-up which of us came out the other side with our wits intact.”
He studied her face. “Well, in the words of a wise woman I once knew for about...” he glanced at his watch, “thirty-two minutes, 'You seem all right to me.'”
They both laughed.
“Oh my god, I never tell anyone that,” she said, wiping her forehead with a shaky palm. “Sort of my little secret.” Her face looked suddenly alarmed. “Oh god, you can keep a secret, right?”
He laughed again. “Yep! I've kept a lot of 'em in my day.”
God, his laugh was infectious. She couldn't keep that stupid grin off her face every time she heard it.
“Sorry I made you miss your show.”
He shrugged. “Sorry I made you miss your interview.”
“S'alright,” she said, the smile spreading across her face again. “Now I can cross getting stuck in a lift off my bucket list.”
“Ach! There's the silver lining! It'll be one of those stories we can tell our grandchildren.”
Bella's breath caught in her throat as she felt her cheeks bloom red. Campbell let out a strained cough. “Ehm, that is, what I mean is our respective grandchildren.”
“Right, 'course, I assume our respective daughters will probably have children someday.”
“Yes, exactly.” Campbell ran a shaky hand through his hair, avoiding her gaze as he cleared his throat. “Right. That won't be for a while though.”
“God, I hope not,” Bella laughed, relaxing a little. “I'll probably be a pretty young grandma as it is!”
“Yeah?”
“Well, I have a nine year old, and I'm only twenty-nine myself.”
“Ah! I see,” he chuckled. “I'd have guessed younger.”
Bella wrinkled her nose. “Oh please, not on today of all days. I'm a frightful mess. You wouldn't believe the day I've had. Well...” she smiled slightly, “it started out fine. Good, actually. Things were going pretty well, and I was really excited about my interview today...” Her mouth pinched in a suppressed frown. “Well, anyway, one soak in a cloudburst, one lost client, and one mud puddle shower later, here I am, stuck in an elevator with you. You should have seen me in the cab on the way over.” She laughed, surprised to find herself rather relaxed about the whole thing, despite it being so recent. “I was such a sight.”
Campbell grimaced. “Well, that is a bad day, isn't it. Still, I'd never have guessed you were, as you put it, 'a sight'. Nope. I won't believe it. Impossible.” He smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling.
Bella felt a flock of butterflies float pleasantly through her stomach, and she shivered slightly, feeling her cheeks flush. Oh. I haven't felt that in a while. She looked down at her lap self-consciously and laughed. “I did! I had mud all over my face, and my hair was everywhere, and I was soaking wet. Well, I'm still pretty damp, actually. I was lucky I had a few tricks in my bag, otherwise I'd really have been in trouble.” She pulled the knitting needles out of her hair and presented them, feeling her half damp, crunchy mess of locks slip down. “My knitting most especially.”
His eyes widened and he grinned. “Ach, that is a good trick! Didn't know you could do that with knitting needles!”
She wrinkled her nose, an expression of combined pride and bashfulness. “Well, we women have quite a few up our sleeves.”
“Knitting needles?”
“No!” she laughed. “Tricks, you plum!”
He laughed. “I know, I'm kidding.” She started to twist her hair back into a bun. “Wait, no, don't it looks nice. Er... I mean, do what you want, of course.”
“Really?” she said skeptically as more butterflies floated through her stomach.
(First draft | 3,382 Word Chapter | Multichapter WIP)
The title comes from the song that very loosely inspired the fic in the first place. It’s a Punch Brother’s song, and you can read the lyrics here.
Characters: Tentoo, Rose Tyler, Donna Noble (duplicate).
Fic Summary: The Doctor and Rose go on a cruise to Iceland! The Doctor has been living in Pete’s World for three weeks now, but his maddening headaches, brought on by his severed link with the TARDIS, aren’t getting better like he thought they would. Meanwhile, someone is watching them on the ship. But who? And why? The Doctor and Rose are on the case to find the answer. But they discover much more than they bargained for.
Chapter Summary: A flashback, some sexytimes, and a smidge of plot advancement.
Author’s Note: I changed the end of Chapter 16. Mallory does not get hit in the head, he is put to sleep telepathically. I’ll be editing the chapter to reflect this change.
Guys, I need to know if I should change the rating on this chapter! Let me know if it’s too much for Teen. Thanks! =)
Part 17
Three days after they saw the Tardis for the last time:
The Doctor stood in Pete's massive cellar, shrouded in a gloom only eased by thin shafts of light piercing through the small, rectangular windows that huddled near the ceiling, just above the earth outside, barred with thick iron and heavily guarded by clusters of dense shrubbery. There was a corral of workbenches and man-sized tool boxes set on locked casters. Vast rows of wall-mounted hooks and nails regulated an impressive collection of hand tools; spare parts; racks upon racks filled with parabolts, nuts, and self tapping screws; nails of varying lengths and purposes; coils of wire, rope, or string; chalk lines, each a different length, width, and color; bits of sheet metal and old hubcaps; spare tires in a stack, buried under old, dusty car publications; myriad zeppelin parts; tape measures, squares, and squangles; stacks of lumber and metal tubing, and a thousand and one other things the Doctor had yet to identify.
It was the closest thing to being home that he could find, and that was an astronomical overstatement. There was no soft, friendly, comforting hum—unless the rumble of the furnace counted, which was a pretty poor comparison. The lighting options were either stark splashes from the windows in an otherwise dark room, or the harsh and chalky glare from overhead florescent bars, which hurt his eyes and exacerbated the aching pressure in his head, so he preferred to keep them off. Nothing even close to reminiscent of the warm, soothing gold and aqua glow the Tardis had always provided. And as for interest? Well, he had to admit there were plenty of bits and bobs to play with, yes, but not the sort that he found captivating; and anyway, what would he use them for? He supposed he could ask Jackie for a to-do list. The thought elicited a queasy sigh and a shaky hand running through his hair.
He heard the door at the top of the stairs open, and turned to face whoever it was that was so rudely interrupting his mope-fest.
Oh. It was Rose.
“I'm back, Doctor. I brought the tank, and the other stuff you wanted.”
The Doctor pasted on a manic grin and bounded across the room. “Rose! Just the person I wanted to see!”
It wasn't a lie exactly. She was really the only person he could tolerate at the moment. And it was always good to see Rose, even when what he really wanted was to be alone.
“Mum and Dad are still out. They won't be back 'til after four, 'cause Tony's friend's got a birthday. Looks like we're on our own for tea,” she added with a chuckle. She was slowly feeling her way down the stairs when the Doctor reached her, lifting the terrerium out of her arms and hopping back down the steps energetically.
“God, it's dark in here,” she said, reaching for the light switch and flooding the room in that harsh, chalky glow that he despised so much. “What do you need all this stuff for anyway?”
He set the tank down on the work bench and turned, trying to ignore the way the light made the room spin around him; the way it burned his eyes and made his head scream. “I've got a surprise for you,” he said.
She reached the bottom of the stairs, smiling. “Yeah?”
“I never told you, the day I left—er, the other me, that is—he gave me something. Something important. Something... brilliant. Fantastic. Molto bene!”
She laughed. “Well, you gonna tell me what it is, or what?”
The Doctor reached into his blue-and-red-pinstriped suit jacket and solemnly revealed... a thing. A small, lumpy, brownish thing. He stared at it, a grin spreading slowly across his face.
Rose glanced from the object to the Doctor. “What is that thing?”
“It's a Tardis coral,” he replied gently, lovingly, as if he were introducing a newborn baby.
She furrowed her brow, the corner of her mouth turning up slightly at the hint of a puzzled smile. “A Tardis coral—what, like... like... a piece of the Tardis?”
He nodded, eyes shining. “Yep!” he confirmed with a pop of the P, gently tucking the object back into his jacket pocket.
She smiled, still looking a little confused. “So... is it... I mean... what's it for?”
His whole face lit up with an eager smile as he leaned in close, grabbing her by the shoulders. “We're gonna grow another Tardis,” he whisper-cried, voice almost squeaking in his attempt to quell the urge to shout.
Rose's eyes widened. “What?” she said excitedly through a huge grin.
“I mean it, Rose! We can grow a new Tardis!”
“Oh my god!” she cried, clapping her hands and hopping excitedly.
“We'll do it right here, in Pete's cellar! Well, I mean for now, of course. Later, we'll have to find a more appropriate spot. But think! Now we won't be stuck here, with mortgages and jobs, and-and-and keys, and carpets and things!” He glanced up at the ceiling as if he could see the sky through all the drywall, beams, and two-by-fours. “Rose... we'll be home. We'll be free.”
Rose's happy grin faded slightly.
He tilted his head, furrowing his brow. “What, what is it?”
“Are you... I mean... do you feel that way? Stuck?”
The Doctor straightened and took a half-step back as he looked searchingly at her, confused. “N... no... I mean...”
She rubbed her arm timidly as an awkward pause stretched between them. Finally she spoke. “I sort of forgot, you know... how you didn't get a choice either. The Doctor... I mean, the other you, he... he left us both. D'you... wish he hadn't?”
“What?” he said incredulously. “No! No, 'course not!”
“But you feel stuck... here... with me...”
“No! Rose, that's not what I mean—”
“You miss her,” she said. Her tone was gentle; not unkind.
The Doctor blinked, swallowing thickly. He opened his mouth to speak, but closed it again, glancing away for a moment. “Yeah,” he finally said. “Yeah, of course I do.”
“And if given the choice...” She let the question fade.
The Doctor stared at her intensely. He looked hurt, almost offended. “Rose...” he croaked, his eyes burning, but not from the light this time, as sudden realization flooded over him. Did she actually think he'd have chosen the Tardis? He would never... would he? He missed the Tardis like an ache in the pit of his stomach, but Rose... Rose had shattered him. He reached up to rub his eyes, hoping she hadn't seen the tears that almost fell. “This light, it's-it's making my headache worse, I'm sorry...”
“Right. Guess I'll turn it off then,” she said hollowly, moving across the room and up the steps. The Doctor clenched his teeth and swallowed the lump in his throat as his eyes followed her. What was he doing? Why was he just standing there, letting her think that? He bounded up the stairs as she flicked off the lights and spun around to face him, the pathetic trickle of light from the window casting both of them into harsh contrast.
“Never,” he said tensely, his eyes searching hers.
A tear slid down Rose's face and she swiped it away. “Doctor... Doctor, I'm sorry—”
He pressed his forehead against hers and rested his hands on her cheeks gently. “I would never,” he repeated firmly. “I miss her. God knows I miss her, but not like you.”
“But you left,” she whispered, voice trembling as she clutched the lapels of his jacket. “The only one of you who had a choice left!”
“I stayed, Rose.”
“But you're the Doctor!” she hissed angrily.
“I'm this Doctor,” he replied firmly. “And this Doctor stayed. Not against his will.” His fingers slid down and tightened around her shoulders. “If given the choice, a thousand times again, I would always choose you. Always!”
“But I've trapped you here.”
“Rose, don't. Please.”
“You'll never see her again, and it's all my fault.”
“Stop it!”
“And the withdrawals. Oh god, Doctor, how could I do this to you? How could you do this to yourself? How—”
The Doctor pressed his lips to hers tenderly; a mournful, delicate kiss. He could taste the salt on her skin as his mouth lingered against her trembling lips, not searching for more, but refusing to pull away as he reached up and carressed her cheek, kissing her softly again, feeling more tears fall from her eyes. He wiped them away, bringing his other hand to the back of her neck as he kissed her once more, breaking free and nuzzling her cheek, the wetness of her tears washing his skin. “I love you, Rose. I could say it a thousand times a day for a thousand years, and it still wouldn't be enough to express how much. You are everything. Everything!”
He could feel her breath on his chin, could see her lips parted; their noses were touching, mouths separated by mere centimeters. He closed the distance between them, kissing her delicately at first, but then more fervently as she responded in kind, each kiss elevated to a new level of passion, their breathlessness turning into hums and moans of pleasure. A headiness washed over him and he found himself stumbling forward as she backed up, her arms clutching his shoulders as he pushed her against the door.
Her mouth broke free as she gasped for air, the Doctor's lips moving to her jaw, her neck, her collarbone; his hands roamed beneath the hem of her shirt, grazing bare skin, the contact coursing through him like an electric shock. He pushed against her with a sigh and she arched into him.
“Rose...” he said huskily, “is this... I mean...”
“God yes,” she moaned, sliding her hands down to frantically disentangle his belt. Her fingers grazed his sensitive nerves when she released the button of his trousers, eliciting a groan of pleasure as he hungrily thrust against her, face buried in the warmth of her neck.
He suddenly stepped back, gasping for air, hands tented over his forehead as he tried to gain control. “Wait,” he said breathlessly.
She was still leaning against the door, breathing heavily, fingers touching her swollen lips. “Doctor..?”
“I can't do this,” he gasped.
Her breath hitched. “Wh... what?”
“I can't make proper love to you up against the door of your parents' cellar!”
Rose gaped at him, then burst out laughing.
“What?” he said defensively.
“You looked so serious,” she managed through giggles. “I thought... for a second, I thought you wanted to stop!”
His eyebrows shot up. “What? Rassilon, no!”
She grinned saucily. “Come on, then. I still have my own room here, you know.” She threw the door open and grabbed him by the arm, dragging him behind her.
They ran up the staircase, Rose still giggling, the Doctor grinning and looking a little dazed as they passed what felt like an endless row of rooms before they finally reached Rose's, bursting through the door. The Doctor turned the lock, then took Rose in his arms again, lifting off her sweater and unclasping her bra as she helped him off with his jacket and t-shirt. He lowered her reverently onto the bed, capturing her mouth in a kiss once more, then kissed her neck—tickling that one spot she really loved with his tongue—further aroused by the moan and the shiver that ran through her body at the sensation. She groped blindly for his zipper and shucked him free of his trousers and pants as his fingers reached beneath her skirt and helped her out of her knickers. She hooked a thigh around his backside, giving him guidance as he entered, slowly at first, enjoying the mere sensation of being sheathed inside her. He rocked into her, pleasure mounting at the sounds she made. She was so beautiful in her pleasure, flushed and glistening, mouth grimacing in bliss with every thrust as he drove her to ecstacy, whispering Gallifreyan endearments to her, riding the tidal wave of his own climax with hers. They gasped for air in the afterglow, every molecule tingling with the euphoric buzz of waning pleasure.
As they lay together under the sheets, the sheen of perspiration still gracing their skin, Rose grew restless, clenching and unclenching her jaw, opening her mouth, then closing it again.. He could sense she was holding something back.
“What is it, Rose?” the Doctor asked gently.
There was a pause before she finally spoke, her hesitant voice a husky whisper. “Why did you leave?”
“He left, Rose.” The Doctor's voice was stony with frustration and defensiveness.
“But you're him...”
“Rose... We're the same. But we're also different.”
“How?”
“I stayed. And even though he didn't offer a choice, I'd have chosen that. To stay. That's what I wanted. That's what matters, isn't it?”
“But... how do I... you know, reconcile that? You're him, but you're not him. You stayed, but he left. How can I separate you and still think of you as the same man?”
“We were the same, even at the moment that the metacrisis took place. But in that moment, the moment our mind multipled and settled into two separate bodies, that's when things changed. Because we began having separate experiences, we began turning into different people.”
“So you're not the same.”
“You can't say we're not the same. But you can say we're different.”
Silence spread between them, tension building.
“Rose... we made different choices, but those choices were driven by the same thing.”
“What thing?” She couldn't hide the tremble in her voice.
“Fear.”
She let out an exasperated sigh. “Fear of what?”
“For him, it was the fear of the inevitable. The fear, the dread, of losing you again. Of having to carry on without you.”
She propped herself up to look him in the eye. He could see fresh tear tracks on her rosy cheeks. “And what were you afraid of?”
“Of missing even one single moment with you.”
Her face melted into tears and he pulled her close, swallowing the lump in his throat as his own tears coursed down.
It was moments like this when he remembered most acutely what it was like without her, and he hugged her tighter still, as if the universe might snatch her away again if he ever let go. His head screamed and burned with an intense pressure, the withdrawal headache that still hadn't stopped. But it faded into the background when he held her. It was the only thing that came close to soothing that ache. He peppered her hair with soft kisses, nuzzling her, breathing her in, cherishing every moment, every sense she stimulated, as if it would be their last.
“Mallory! Mallory! Wake up!”
The Doctor knelt beside the prone man and rolled him onto his back, checking his pulse. Normal. He could see he was breathing. It looked like he'd hit his head when he fell; a nasty bruise was forming just above his ear, and his hair was matted with blood, which had clearly wept from where his skin had split on impact.
“Mallory! Mallory!” He shook the Frenchman's shoulders, trying to rouse him without success. He leaned back on his heels with a shaky sigh and washed a hand down his face in agitation, then pulled the sonic out of his back pocket and scanned him, relieved to see his vitals were all stable. He was just in a very deep sleep.
A psychic coma.
The Doctor could wake him, but he'd have to use telepathy to do it. His stomach churned at the thought.
“Mallory! Mallory, wake up!” He shook the man roughly, almost violently, without result. He jumped to his feet with a growl of frustration, walking a brisk pace across the room and back again, staring down at the sleeping man.
He still hadn't tried to use telepathy on a human since his withdrawal symptoms had begun. The human mind was far more complex than an insect's or rodent's, but he didn't know if that would make it more durable.
“Rassilon help me,” he muttered in hoarsely.
After a deep, shuddering breath, the Doctor knelt again, placing a shaky hand on Mallory's temple and closing his eyes, allowing himself to make the connection.
In an instant, Mallory's mind tore open like wet newspaper, and the Doctor could feel the hunger in his own mind bubble into a frenzy, dragging him in through the ragged hole against his will. He snatched his hand away and stumbled back, pushing himself away from Mallory in panic. His fingers were numb and there was a halo around his field of vision, his mind burning in agony at the sudden separation. He groaned in pain, clutching his head, the pounding and pressure mounting to almost unbearable levels, his vision shimmering with every pulse.
Mallory sat up abruptly, sucking in a deep, gasping breath, eyes bulging wide, arms spread apart and trembling. Forgetting his own discomfort, the Doctor cried out and scrambled forward, grabbing the Frenchman by the shoulders as he was thrown into a coughing fit.
“Easy there, big fella,” the Doctor said huskily, his voice sounding hollow and far away, muffled further by a high pitched humming in his ears, which was mercifully beginning to fade. He choked down a lump in his throat, relief flooding through him, almost making him forget his own pain. For a moment he'd feared the worst, his memory shifting unbidden to that collection of dead creatures he'd destroyed with his psychically starved mind.
“Doctor?” Mallory said in confusion as he gained control of his breathing, grimacing in pain and putting a hand to his head. “Oh god... what happened?”
“Stay there,” the Doctor said, rising and stumbling over to the bar as a wave of dizziness overtook him.
“Doctor, are you alright?” Mallory asked.
“I'm fine, just give me a minute.” The Doctor guided himself around the bar and to the sink, filling a glass with water. He dampened a flannel from the linen drawer, and folded a second flannel around a handful of ice from the freezer. His equilibrium was stabilizing now, and he made his way back to Mallory more easily, though still much slower than his usual manic pace. He handed the glass to Mallory, who drank greedily as the Doctor gently dabbed at the cut on his head. “Do you remember what happened?”
“I'm not sure...” Mallory said, frowning.
“Can you stand?”
“I think so...”
The Doctor helped him up and lent him the support of his arm as he guided him to the couch, easing him gently down on the cushions and handing him the ice wrap.
“Merci.”
The Doctor ignored his thanks, pacing back and forth in front of the couch, too agitated to sit. “What do you remember?”
Mallory furrowed his brow as he strained to remember. “I... I remember Rose... and Helen.” He looked up at the Doctor. “They came to my door. I think... I think... Rose, she wanted to use my telephone.”
The Doctor stopped pacing and knelt in front of Mallory, grabbing him by the shoulders. “Did she? Did she make the call?”
Mallory nodded. “Yes, she did. She made a call, and Helen sat here with me.”
“Do you remember anything they said?”
“Helen... she...” he closed his eyes tight, shaking his head. “I... I can't remember.”
The Doctor stood and started pacing again. “Did she say anything about Aliens? Or Torchwood? Did they mention Torchwood?”
Mallory brightened slightly. “Yes. Yes, aliens! That's right. Helen told me about the aliens... but it can't be real... can it?”
“Can and is,” the Doctor replied grimly. “Do you remember what she told you about them?”
Mallory shook his head again. “It's all a bit fuzzy.”
“Well, Mallory... I'm afraid I have some very bad news.”
Several people have asked me to draw Tentoo in his “disguise” from Chapter 15 of The Woman and the Bell, so here you go! A bit messy, but I didn’t really have time for much more than this.
(First draft | 2,211 Word Chapter | Multichapter WIP)
The title comes from the song that very loosely inspired the fic in the first place. It’s a Punch Brother’s song, and you can read the lyrics here.
Characters: Tentoo, Rose Tyler, Donna Noble (duplicate).
Fic Summary: The Doctor and Rose go on a cruise to Iceland! The Doctor has been living in Pete’s World for three weeks now, but his maddening headaches, brought on by his severed link with the TARDIS, aren’t getting better like he thought they would. Meanwhile, someone is watching them on the ship. But who? And why? The Doctor and Rose are on the case to find the answer. But they discover much more than they bargained for.
Chapter Summary: The Doctor, Rose, and Helen formulate a plan.
Author’s Note: Bit of a shorty chapter, but I realized that I was either going to undercut my usual word goal of 3K-ish WPC, or the chapter was just going to end up being super long. So... enjoy 2K words or so!
“As much as I agree we need to find Scott, I think we have to be very careful how we go about it.” The Doctor was pouring coffee into Rose and Helen's cups as he spoke, while Rose spooned raspberry jam onto a triangle of toast, which she offered to Helen. The woman nervously raised a hand in silent refusal.
“Remember, the volchaski is telepathic,” Rose said gently, setting down the toast and licking jam off her finger. “Not only that, but it’s very aware of who all three of us are. We can't just go around asking questions.” She threaded her fingers together, leaning her elbows on the table as she tried to catch Helen's elusive gaze. “And while it's wary of you because of your friendship with Scott, it may not realize that you know as much as you do. If it finds out, things might go bad very quickly.”
“What are we supposed to do then?” Helen asked in carefully restrained exasperation.
“There's something else to consider,” the Doctor added, poking a fork at his eggs benedict without appetite. “Well, multiple somethings.” He glanced at Rose. “How exactly does it attach to someone? Can it only control one person at a time?”
“Well, my knowledge is limited, but I think it...” she glanced reluctantly at Helen. “You know... through the ear, and...”
“Oh god,” Helen whispered, shoulders slumping.
“I'm so sorry, Helen,” Rose said, placing a hand on Helen's arm. “Believe me, we'll do everything we can to help your father.”
“So it can only control one person?” the Doctor pressed.
“Well, it can't literally control a person, just influence their behavior. Obviously it exerts the most influence over people they've attached to. But they can still exert influence telepathically, though their range is somewhat limited.”
The Doctor sighed, dropping his fork. “That's what I'm afraid of.”
Rose placed a hand on his arm. “We'll just have to be careful, Doctor.”
He glanced at her. “No, that's not what I mean. Well, I mean obviously I'm worried about the telepathic influence, yeah. But... limited range? How limited? Because people have been having fear attacks all over this boat, according to what Mallory said. And I haven't exactly seen Captain Levy wandering around the ship.”
Rose sat up straighter. “Oh god, you're right. A ship this size...”
“Rose, how do they reproduce?”
“I don't know. They're a synthetic species. I don't suppose the sontarans created them with reproduction in mind. I mean, do they reproduce at all?”
“They might have evolved a way.”
“Still though, there was only one of them.”
“Self propogation. Like earthworms.”
Rose swallowed and swiped a stray lock of hair out of her face. “Okay, Doctor, let's not get ahead of ourselves. Maybe their telepathic range is larger than we think. There haven't exactly been thorough studies on them.”
“Yes, but think about it. Why wouldn't it have known where Helen was? Why did it insist on having us followed around?”
Rose chewed her lip. “Okay. Let's work on that theory then. Multiple volchaski, infecting enough people to exert influence over the entire ship?”
The Doctor and Rose both glanced at Helen. She stared back at them.
“Oh, you can't possibly think...” she said as the Doctor jumped up, pulling out his sonic screwdriver and scanning her up and down. “I think I'd know if a worm had crawled into my ear!”
“No secondary life forms detected,” the Doctor said, flipping his sonic and tucking it away again. “At least we know Helen's in the clear.”
Helen sighed and glanced at the ceiling. “Right, so what are we going to do about all this nonsense then?”
“If Captain Levy is still in control of the ship's crew, that implies there's a heirarchy of sorts,” Rose said. “So he's still our primary concern.”
The Doctor frowned. “Wouldn't it be nice if there was a Fright Night effect with all of them? Destroy the leader, the rest of them fall like dominoes...”
Helen furrowed her brow. “Fright Night?”
“There's no Fright Night in this universe, Doctor,” she muttered.
The Doctor looked aghast, then put his face in his hands, shaking his head. “Blimey, 'course there isn't. All my pop culture references are useless here!”
“Wait, you're from another universe?” Helen asked, then shrugged and rolled her eyes. “Why am I surprised?”
“There's still Underworld,” Rose encouraged. “And the Beatles... Oh! And Led Zeppelin—on an actual Zeppelin! Remind me to show you that later.”
The Doctor brightened. “Ohoho, brilliant!”
Rose grinned. “Tell you what. When this mess is over, you and I are gonna lock ourselves away for a week and binge watch all the most important cultural events of this universe's last century. You'll be back to your old self in no time.”
Helen leaned forward aggitatedly. “Hello, excuse me? Alien invasion happening!”
“I beg your pardon!” the Doctor said indignantly.
“She's talking about the worms, Doctor,” Rose said, play-slapping his arm. “Besides, you're human now, remember?”
“Well, half human.”
Helen stared at the Doctor, palming the top of her head. “You're half alien.”
“You say that like it's a bad thing,” the Doctor said defensively.
“Look,” Rose said. “Why don't we just finish breakfast so we can move on. We're getting distracted.”
They ate mechanically in heavy silence for a few minutes, avoiding the now cold eggs in favor of scones and fruit.
“You know,” the Doctor said through a bite, swallowing as he poured a warmup on his coffee, “I think we should revisit this idea of security cameras.”
“To find Scott?” Rose wiped buttery fingers on her napkin.
“Yes. And although it didn't pan out at the restaurant, I suspect the ship's security system is a digital one, and it's bound to save backup files to a hard drive. Liability purposes.” He poured more coffee for the two women.
“True,” Rose conceded.
“How are you going to manage that though?” Helen asked. “They aren't just gonna let you waltz in and access their systems.” She chased her words with a large gulp of coffee.
“Oh, I have my ways,” the Doctor said, bouncing his eyebrows.
“But Doctor, they've seen you,” Rose said. “I don't think psychic paper will be enough.”
“Psychic paper?” Helen asked.
“Hmm... right...” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I'll need a disguise then.”
Rose arched an eyebrow. “Don't tell me you're gonna wear a fake mustache...”
The Doctor wrinkled his nose. “I don't think we need to take measures as extreme as that.”
“Excuse me—psychic paper?” Helen asked again.
“It's...” the Doctor began, “...well, sort of like a fake ID for all occasions. It tricks the person's brain into seeing what you want them to see.”
Helen slowly shook her head in wonder. “God... this is... just, is this really happening right now? Or am I having a mental breakdown?”
“Oh don't worry, you're perfectly sane,” Rose said with a smile.
Helen blinked, nodding. “All right then, excellent...”
“Perfectly,” Rose replied. She turned to the Doctor. “Well, what should me and Helen do while you play secret agent?”
The Doctor sighed. “Never thought I'd hear myself say this, but... I think you'd better call Torchwood.”
Rose dropped her napkin. “You... want me to call Torchwood.”
“I know,” he replied with a sigh. “I won't pretend to be happy about it, but I think this might be more than we can handle on our own. We'll need their help with containment. Just... make sure they know what they're up against. The sooner they can get here the better. For now, we're in the happy position of the volchaski being stuck on this boat, but once we hit land in... what, 20 hours? There's a huge risk some of them could escape.”
Rose nodded. “The closer we get to land, the greater the risk. Even if we managed to keep them from dropping the gangplank, they could steal lifeboats—some of them might even try to swim for it.”
“Exactly. And there's no knowing how many are on board.”
Rose sighed. “Well, I can't call them from our suite, they might be listening in. We'd be asking for trouble.”
“My room's out too, obviously,” Helen said.
“What about Mallory?” the Doctor suggested.
Rose glanced between Helen and the Doctor. “Yes, good idea. Have you still got his card?”
“On the nightstand,” the Doctor said, tossing his head towards their room.
“Okay, I'm gonna get dressed then,” Rose said, pushing her chair back.
“Me too,” said Helen, following Rose's example.
“Me too, too,” said the Doctor, popping his eyebrows with a manic grin and a little shake of the head as he stood.
Rose shimmied into a thick sweater as the Doctor stripped off his jimjams and pulled on some jeans. He pulled more clothes out of the closet. “Whatcha think?” he said, turning to Rose. “This?” he held up a blue t-shirt that read, Actual Genius. “Or this?” A red t-shirt: Because Science.
Rose laughed. “Does it matter?”
“Think computer expert.”
“Then Actual Genius, definitely. Besides, in your case it's true.”
“Why thank you, Rose Tyler,” he chuffed, tossing away the rejected red shirt and shoving his arms into the sleeves of the preferred blue one, plowing his head through the neck hole.
“How are you going to keep them from recognizing you. I mean even if you wear a disguise, won't they be able to tell it's your mind?”
“Only if they're infected. Besides, I think I've enough mental control to tweak my psychic frequency a bit—enough to throw them off the scent.”
“Your face though.” She pulled on some jeans and buttoned them, slipping on some boots and grabbing her coat.
“Well,” the Doctor said, putting on his glasses. “There's this. And... well, I think I'll trim the ol' sideburns.” He ran his hands across them.
Rose's face fell. “Not permanently, I hope.”
He grinned. “I've always wondered if you liked them.”
She grinned against her tongue. “And how,” she swayed flirtatiously.
He laughed. “No worries, then. They'll just temporarily take one for the team.”
“Just don't do anything to that hair of yours.”
“Nope!” he said, popping the P. “I've got this.” He whipped out a rust colored beanie with an atom embroidered on the front, pulling it over his head. “Whatcha think? Will it work?” His fringe poked out from the top of the hat, covering his eyes slightly. He hadn't cut it since he'd come to this universe, and it was getting rather long in the front.
“Hmm... actually, I think that might work.”
“Plus, I've got these!” He bounded to the closet and pulled out a red and yellow plaid wool shirt and a gray hoodie.
Rose laughed. “When did you start wearing hoodies and plaid?”
“Well, technically I haven't... I borrowed them from your mum last minute. Started packing and realized I didn't have any winter clothes.”
Rose laughed again. “She loaned you Pete's clothes for warmth? God, she's practically your mother in law already!” Her voice caught on the words. There was an awkward silence, the Doctor's eyes shining as the corners of his mouth turned up in a wry smile. “Er, I'm surprised she didn't give you mittens,” Rose added in a rush, cheeks flushing hot.
“S-she did,” he stuttered. “Well, gloves. Nice ones. And a really warm scarf.”
“Did she give you the hat too?”
“Nope, that's mine.”
“Where'd you get it?”
“Same place I got the Star Wars shirts. I quite like it.” He grinned, running his fingers along the edge of the hat.
Rose bit her lip. “You're not... I mean... you know... not all the time? It's just you have, you know, really great hair... be a shame to cover it up...”
“Nah, I'll just keep it for special occasions. You know, birthdays... and, er... weddings...” He waggled his eyebrows.
“Oh god,” Rose squeaked, turning a deeper crimson.
The Doctor grinned, pulling off the hat and tossing it on the bed, wrapping his arms around her and propping his chin on top of her head as she buried her face in his chest. “I would, you know.”
“Me too.”
“Let's get off this boat in one piece then, yeah?”
“Yeah.”
He pulled back, lifting her chin and brushing hair out of her face, his expression now quite serious. “Rose, please... be careful.”
“You too.”
He helped her into her coat, then spun her around one more time and pulled her tightly into his arms, kissing her fervently. She kissed him back desperately, pressing her forehead to his when their lips parted.
“I'll meet you back here as soon as I can,” he said breathlessly.
“You'd better.”
“I love you, Rose Tyler.”
“Love you back, you crazy half-alien man.”
They kissed once more, then his eyes followed her retreating form, chest tight with apprehension.
