Not actually mine. Shocking, I know.
Through Doomsday.
, Rose remembers.
This, ladies and gents, is my very first completed Doctor Who fic. I am at once enormously proud of myself and terrified of posting it. Please be gentle - I'm American, and therefore of a very delicate constitution. Con crit and Brit picking will be embraced with open arms and cooed over like adorable little puppies.
There was little doubt that the Doctor was brilliant. A genius, as knew anyone who’d spoken to him for more than a minute – usually because he’d informed them of the fact himself. Rose Tyler, who’d seen both what he could do and what he would not, knew better than most.
She also knew that sometimes it was best to ignore him completely.
“It’s very important that you understand this, Rose. I need to be absolutely sure that you’ll do exactly as I say.”
Rose flipped to the next glossy page of her magazine. A month or so ago, the Doctor (not this one, but the one before) had somehow replaced all of her beauty and fashion magazines with issues of National Geographic. He’d no doubt expected her to pitch a fit, but she’d refused to give him the satisfaction. She’d been reading the magazines without complaint ever since.
Fascinating, she thought, intent upon the page in front of her and pretending she couldn’t feel his annoyed gaze. So that’s how salamanders are wearing their external gills this season.
The Doctor cleared his throat, loudly. “Just to be clear—”
“Doctor go. Rose stay. Rose good girl. Planet bad, make Rose lungs go squish.” She turned another page. “Rose no like squish.”
She didn’t look up, but she could hear his pout. “There’s no need to be like that about it.”
“Like what?”
“All…” he searched agitatedly for the proper word, “snippy and monosyllabic.”
“Planet’s got two syllables.”
“Rose—”
She dropped the magazine into her lap and looked up at his newly adorable face with its familiarly pinched expression of worry. She had to make a conscious effort not to reach up and ruffle his hair. “Don’t much fancy choking to death on a poisonous atmosphere this morning, Doctor. Go ahead and get your magical bird doohickey.”
“Small-scale Ibisian welder, Rose. Honestly.”
“Well, what are you doing standing around talking to me, then? There are things to be welded, man! Unattached bits of metal that need attaching!” She gave him a bright smile, which he returned, albeit reluctantly. “Go on. I’ll be here when you get back.”
“Right,” he drawled. “How foolish of me to think for a second that you might not stay put where I left you, but rather wander off and nearly get yourself killed. ‘Cause there’s certainly no precedent for that.” He shrugged on his coat. “What’ll you do while I’m gone?”
“The usual. Weep. Moan.” She paused, waiting until he was almost out the door. “Maybe give myself a manicure.”
He was back in the TARDIS like a shot. “No. No, no, no, no, no. Not in here, you’re not.”
“I’ll be neat about it. You’ll see – it’ll be like it never happened.”
“You forget I have highly-developed senses far beyond your limited human comprehension. I’ll be able to tell.”
“Haven’t yet,” she muttered under her breath. He frowned at her, and she rolled her eyes. “Just go already, will you?”
He shook a finger at her and took a few backwards steps towards the door. “If I find so much as one splatter of Pertly Pink on the console when I get back, you’re going to be in a heap o’ trouble, missy.”
“And the TARDIS was so looking forward to our spa day. Can we still giggle about boys and braid each other’s hair?” He was nearly to the door again when she called out, “Forgetting something?”
He paused. “Oh. Right.” He bounced back up to where she lounged on the jump seat. “Um...see you later.” For a supremely awkward moment his head bobbed oddly toward her face. He moved as if to gather her in a hug, but ended up patting her gingerly on the head. “Bye, then.”
She stared at him as if he’d suddenly grown a third eye. “Money. For the tiny crane stapler.” He blinked at her. “Big stack of shiny paper. You left it on the console?”
He whirled around to see the cash sitting just where he’d left it. “Money! Right! Very important, money. Well done, Rose.” He shoved the bills into his pockets. “And it’s a small-scale Ibisian welder.”
She went back to her magazine. “Whatever you say,” she replied breezily. “You’re the Doctor.”
“Yes. Yes, I am. And you, young lady,” he said, snatching the magazine from her hands and leaning forward until his face was only inches from hers, “you will not leave the TARDIS for any reason, under any circumstances, under pain of horrible, squishy death. Is that understood?”
Rose grinned at him. “First ‘missy’ and now ‘young lady’? Feeling your age, Doctor?”
“At the moment, yes.” He offered her the magazine. “Your salamanders.” He’d saved her page.
“Thanks.” She reached up and patted him on the head. “Bye, then.”
“You know,” he said wryly, “there was a time before I met you when I was generally considered to be quite intimidating.”
Once again engrossed in her reading, Rose replied, “I believe it. I’m terrified, frankly. Give me shivers sometimes, you do. Think I feel some coming on right—”
The door closed loudly behind him and Rose looked up. A slow, wicked grin spread across her face.
“Pertly Pink it is, then.”
Chapter Two
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rosa_acicularis) wrote2007-03-22 01:38 am
