(For Day 1 of Ficmas. Thank you @doctorroseprompts!)
The Doctor likes to think it takes a lot to rattle him.
Most of the time he’s right about that.
But the way Rose is looking at him right now, her eyes sparkling in the warm light of her mum’s flat, a slow smile spreading across her face so beautifully it would take his breath away if his respiratory bypass didn’t render such things impossible…
Well. That is enough all by itself to shake him to his very foundation.
The Doctor shoves his hands into his trouser pockets and preens like an idiot, reflexively, not knowing what else to do and still getting used to this strange new body of his. He smiles back at her before he realizes he’s doing it, the strange, bubbly sensation rising up in his chest at once so intoxicating and glorious it takes all his formidable self-restraint not to throw himself at her feet on the spot.
“Sit next to me?” she asks. Shy, but insistent. His Rose. (Does he dare think of her as his?)
She pats the seat next to hers. He complies wordlessly, immediately.
He marvels, and not for the first time, at how eager this new incarnation is to please her.
(He decides to shove aside – just for now; just for tonight – the nagging worry that his unflagging devotion to Rose Tyler will one day lead to ruin. Because tonight is Christmas. A time for joy, for hope. For new beginnings. There will be more than adequate time for worry tomorrow.)
Once he’s joined her at the table Rose wastes no time, quickly tugging his hand onto her lap and stroking the back of it gently with her thumb, and then he really does stop breathing.
Later, the Doctor watches Rose pull her Christmas cracker apart, his eyes filled with stars as her tongue-touched smile lights up the room.
And he watches her later still, after the news report about Harriet Jones, when they’re standing outside the TARDIS under a blanket of falling ash. (She still wants to travel with him. Will wonders never cease? He, of course, would love for her to come. Will always want her to come.) Her hand rests on his arm and their heads are inclined together, close, as he points out the stars and their next destination with an outstretched arm he hopes isn’t shaking too badly from nerves.
Rose is smiling at him again. Her smile is infectious – just like her laughter; her spirit; her faith in him. He pulls her in closer, until he can feel the warmth of her breath against his cheek.
And he allows – just for tonight – the giddy hope Rose feels in this moment to roll over him and carry him along with the tide.
@goingtothetardis prompted me with “Ten x Rose: ‘not wearing that’” to help give me ideas for @doctorroseprompts‘ 31 Days of Ficmas. It inspired the following ficlet, which I wrote for the prompts “holiday baking” and “Santa/Elves.” This is completely ridiculous. ;)
AO3
“No, Rose,” the Doctor says emphatically. He raises his hands in front of him, palms out in defense, and shakes his head. “I am not wearing that.”
Rose lowers the apron she’s been holding out to him. “Why not?” She begins to pout, jutting out her lower lip in disappointment.
The sight of it – of that famous Rose Tyler pout; of that luscious lower lip , sticking out so temptingly and tantalizingly – is almost enough to get the Doctor to cave on the spot, beg for her forgiveness, and agree in advance to wear anything she might ever want him to wear for the rest of his lives.
But then the Doctor glances down again at the monstrosity she’s holding in her hands. It brings him to his senses immediately.
“No,” he repeats, more forcefully this time. He shakes his head again for good measure. “Time Lords do not wear… those… sorts of things.” He waves his hand dismissively at the ghastly apron and tries to arrange his features into an expression of unambiguous disgust.
Rose narrows her eyes at him. “What – you’d rather get your posh suit all flour-covered, then?” She points behind him at the TARDIS’ kitchen counter, which the Doctor knows without even having to look holds enough ingredients to bake enough holiday biscuits for a small Judoon army. “You do remember we’re baking for mum’s Christmas party today, right?”
The Doctor closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Yes. I am well aware,” he says morosely.
“Right then,” Rose says, thrusting out the apron towards him once more. “Put it on.”
“No!” he says again. Deciding to go for broke, and figuring he can play the pouting game at least half as well as Rose can, he folds his arms in front of his chest and puts on his best pout, jutting out his lower lip in a way that has, on a few occasions at least, allowed him to get away with things he ought not have.
To his grave disappointment, however, his pout appears to have no effect on Rose whatsoever.
“Please wear it?” she asks him sweetly, changing tactics.
“But it’s got gnomes on it, Rose!” the Doctor cries out, throwing his hands in the air in exasperation. “Gnomes!”
Rose looks down at the apron. “They’re elves, Doctor,” she points out. “Father Christmas’ elves.”
The Doctor scoffs. “Gnomes, elves. Potato, po-tah-to,” he says dismissively. “That thing is way too… too festive and jolly and… and domestic for me.” He sniffs, and shakes his head one more time. “I’ll take my chances with getting my suit a bit dirty, thank you very much.”
“But I bought it just for you,” Rose says in a sly, slightly sultry voice she reserves for times she wants to go in for the kill. She slowly walks – no, saunters – over to where he’s standing, her hips swaying just a little more than absolutely necessary and oh, gods, he knows this won’t be good.
“Mum and I always wore Christmas jumpers and aprons and things when we baked for the holidays when I was a kid,” Rose continues. She’s standing very close to him now and places both of her hands on his chest. She looks up at him from beneath her lashes and he knows, with a sinking certainty, that he’ll be wearing that bloody apron in less than ten minutes flat. “It just won’t feel like Christmas at all if you don’t wear it, Doctor.”
She leans forward and presses first one, and then another, gentle kiss to each of his cheeks. He groans, gritting his teeth as he tries to hold on to what remains his resolve. Because he wants Rose to be happy – of course he does! – but that apron has dancing gnomes on it for Rasillon’s sake and a Time Lord has got to draw the line somewhere.
“Rose,” he whines, both wanting her to continue touching and kissing him like this and desperate for her to stop. “I… I just can’t –”
“Fine,” Rose says, sounding exasperated. “I’ll make a deal with you, yeah? I’ll agree to wear that thing you picked up for me on Vasilio 7 later tonight if you just wear this bloody apron for one hour.”
The Doctor’s eyes just about fall out of his head. “Wait a minute. You mean you’ll wear the… thing? The thing that comes with those… things?”
Rose nods, smirking. “Yes, Doctor. Promise.”
And that’s how the Doctor learned to stop worrying and love dancing gnomes.
A Ten x Rose AU ficlet for the incredible @whatisthepointofyouhardy, in honor of this. I hope you like it my dear!
----------
“John,” Rose says, walking up to him and grinning. “Wanna dance?”
John isn’t sure why she’s asking him. If perhaps the three glasses of white wine she’s had tonight, painted as a beautiful rosy flush on her cheeks, are making her less inhibited around him than she usually is. Or if, rather, her ex-boyfriend’s presence at this wedding has something to do with it.
But it doesn’t matter. Rose Tyler is asking him to dance, her tousled blonde hair and honey-colored dress floating around her like something from a fever dream. Whatever her reasons might be he doesn’t have it in him to refuse.
“Sure,” he says, shrugging, trying to look casual about it, not able to look her in the eye.
She tugs him onto the dance floor a moment later, laughing as they weave their way around half-drunk couples swaying to a cheesy song John can’t quite place. It’s one of those ballads you really only ever hear played at weddings. He’s never seen the need to learn its name.
“Okay,” Rose says when they arrive at a relatively deserted spot on the dance floor. She turns to face him and smiles. John swallows thickly and wills his heart rate to slow as he places one hand on the small of her back and the other, gently, on her left shoulder.
She wraps her arms around his neck; and then just like that, they’re dancing.
John has lost count of how many times he’s imagined holding Rose in his arms over the years. Hundreds? Thousands? None of his visions compare to the reality, though – of what it’s like to hold her close as they dance together, her gorgeous, honey-brown eyes looking directly into his. He can feel the heat of her against his palm through the thin fabric of her dress, and her breath against his cheek when she rests her head on his shoulder.
The song they’re dancing to may be terrible – is terrible, in fact. But Rose tightens her hold around him at the crescendo, and suddenly John hopes it never ends.
A Tentoo x Rose ficlet for the lovely @whoinwhoville, who, as a winner of this, asked for a ficlet where the Doctor and Rose watch a movie together.
---------------
The film they’d been watching ended more than twenty minutes ago. But the Doctor doesn’t get up to shut off the telly.
He’s so reluctant to move he even wishes, for the first time in months, that he still had a respiratory bypass so he could forego breathing for a while.
His only regret is he can’t see Rose’s face in his current position.
Because he’s facing forward and her head is resting on his shoulder. It’s been there, in fact, ever since Meg Ryan shocked Billy Crystal in that old New York deli. And now Rose is sleeping with his arms wrapped lightly around her and her lips parted, allowing him to feel each and every one of her sleepy little breaths against the sensitive skin of his throat.
This is the closest they’ve been to one another since that horrible, wonderful day when they were left here together in this parallel universe. She was so reticent with him at first -- so reluctant to touch him in any way, or to let him in. And now here they are, snuggling together on their sofa and watching a classic romantic comedy that, fortunately, is more or less identical to its equivalent in the prime universe. Her hands are pressed lightly against his chest as she dozes, and the Doctor is so full of hope for the future it feels like his single heart might burst.
There’s an infomercial on, now, for some rubbish hair product the Doctor would never use in a hundred lifetimes. It’s terrible, and under normal circumstances he’d never subject himself to it. In the moment, however, he finds he doesn’t mind it one bit.
1. John Smith followed Captain Harkness’ directions to the letter, and ended up at a nondescript building in the center of London shortly before midnight.
2. He knocked on the door three times, as was the usual arrangement. A single electric light snapped on from within before their contact opened the door for him.
3. “You’re new,” the woman said. She had tousled, blonde hair, heavily made-up eyes, and lips the color and plumpness of overripe cherries. She looked him up and down, the corners of her lips quirking up into a half-smile. She beckoned him follow her inside with a quick tilt of her head. “Come in, then.”
4. She was captivating. Utterly captivating. John knew he was supposed to be paying careful attention to everything this woman was telling him, but he found it an impossible task. Her eyes were pools of molten honey and they missed nothing, taking in everything about him as she spoke. He felt like the roles had been reversed, somehow – that she was the one gathering the information and he was the informant, for surely she was learning everything there was to know about him just by sitting here, watching him.
5. “I’ll have more for you tomorrow,” she told him when she was finished. She nodded him a polite goodnight and then closed the door behind him.
6. John walked home in a daze, wondering what the hell he would tell Captain Harkness in the morning.
send me a fandom/pairing and an AU and I’ll give you 5+ headcanons about it
1. Rose Tyler is Blue Box High School’s new art teacher. John Smith has been teaching physics there for ten years.
2. They meet on her second day of classes. He’s walking down the hall, his nose buried a book, and she’s walking in the opposite direction staring down at a text her mum just sent her on her phone. They collide spectacularly, right in the middle of the hallway, both falling to the ground, his books and papers and her mobile scattering in every direction.
3. They stare at each other for a very long moment without saying anything at all, both too mortified to speak. She breaks the silence first – by laughing. It starts out as a nervous giggle, but before long she’s laughing so hard tears are rolling down her face and her stomach hurts.
4. “She’s so pretty,” John thinks to himself, wondering who, exactly, she is, and why on earth he was unlucky enough to meet her now, here, in this ridiculous way.
5. Jack, their best man, works this story into his toast at their wedding two years later.
send me a fandom/pairing and an AU and I’ll give you 5+ headcanons about it
The Doctor stares at the disaster he’s created on the stove, willing the contents of the stockpot to rearrange themselves into something edible.
It doesn’t work.
Sighing, he grabs a slotted spoon from the cupboard and attempts to pry loose the burned remains of the perfectly good potatoes Rose brought home from the market yesterday from the bottom of the pan.
Domesticity isn’t something that comes naturally to him. It’s not something he thought he’d ever want. But for Rose – who gave up so much to save the universe; to save him – he’s determined to give it an honest try.
Sometimes, when the Doctor can’t sleep, his mind wanders back to that wonderful, horrible night when he and Rose were reunited at last.
It had been like something you’d see in old Hollywood movie, really – both of them running towards each other, oblivious to anyone and everything else as they ran, hurtling along the empty ruined street as though drawn together by their own, private gravitational pull.
And then, suddenly, the comparison to anything one might have seen in a cinema sixty years ago came to an abrupt end with one fateful blast from a Dalek.
During these sleepless nights the Doctor then thinks about the impossible chain of events that led to his birth. Or, rebirth, he supposes. He thinks about how he is here, with Rose, curled up beside her in their comfortable bed while the other him, the other Doctor is somewhere else. Travelling all alone, now, even if technically he’s found another companion with whom to share the endless empty hours.
The Doctor can’t bring himself to hate him for leaving them here. He knew why he did it right from the start, even if it took Rose longer to understand. Their weak telepathic connection was severed the moment he took Donna away in the TARDIS back on Bad Wolf Bay, but he knows – he knows – that wherever, whenever he is, he is suffering. And always will.
On these nights, the Doctor wraps himself around Rose’s sleeping form and breathes in her unique scent. He marvels at her beauty, in his luck – and in the beautiful, miraculous gift the other Doctor gave him in this second chance.
