Author's note: Hey everyone! So, I learned something this week... Avid procrastination leads to an obscene amount of one-shots. Oh, yeah. These next few weeks are going to be fun. Here's the first one for you! Read, review, enjoy and all that jazz! :)
...
It all started with a visit to Shareen's one afternoon.
Though he would never tell Rose that he didn't much care for the trips to her best friend's (well, best friend who wasn't him) flat, he usually tried to make an escape as quickly as possible. Upon arrival, most of the time.
He suspected that Rose knew that he didn't think much of Shareen, though.
It wasn't that he hated her or anything, but whenever he was in her proximity, Shareen would rake her eyes over him very obviously, sometimes even giving him a wink when she thought Rose wasn't looking. It was as though she was purposefully trying to spite Rose through doing this, and he severely did not appreciate that fact.
Additionally, she was always telling Rose that he was no good.
He'd walked in on more than one occasion on which she was telling Rose off for not having left him yet, or for abandoning her friends for him, or, perhaps the situation that had angered him most, for leaving her mother all alone while she was off, quote, "partying with some bloke".
And then Rose would be upset. He would see it in her eyes when they came back from their visits; the tiniest seed of doubt that grew larger and larger each time she spoke to her friend. The tiniest remnant of her being contemplating whether, just maybe, leaving him was the right thing to do.
Alright, perhaps he did hate Shareen. Just a little.
As he reluctantly went back to her flat to fetch Rose that afternoon, he walked in on a rather interesting conversation. He was hidden from view by the wall separating Shareen's living room and the foyer, allowing him to eavesdrop freely.
"Mm wouldn't mind having a bloke like Jamie Oliver to cook me breakfast in the morning," Shareen said, obviously commenting on the television program they were watching, "Don't you reckon, Rose?"
"Yeah, I suppose," she answered half-heartedly.
Shareen snorted at that. "What, does your Doctor already bring you breakfast in bed every morning? He a chef extraordinaire too, then?"
"Well, no, but—" she started.
"I knew it!" she spoke over Rose, "Does he make you cook for him? Well, that'd be just typical, wouldn't it? I bet he just sits back, feet on the table, and nags you until you're forced to give him something! Probably too lazy to cook anything himself! Probably can't even cook himself anything!"
"Oi, don't be so harsh on him," Rose said defensively, "He doesn't make me do anything. It's just that, with all the running about that we do, we never really have a chance to eat in. And when we do, I usually just cook us up something quick so that we can get back out there again. Besides," the Doctor could hear the smile in her voice, "I don't trust that man around the kitchen. Too many sharp objects."
The Doctor gave a little indignant frown at this.
"Well, if you ask me, your way of living doesn't sound very sustainable," Shareen commented.
"Oh, don't start," Rose muttered exasperatedly.
"No, Rose, listen," she started nonetheless, "You think this life is all fast-paced and exciting now, and I don't blame you. It sounds bloody amazing. Just about a thousand times better than life is around here on the Estate, anyway. So I get why you would abandon us like that, without any warning. "
"Shareen, you know that wasn't meant to ha—"
"But what happens when you want to take it slowly one day, Rose? What happens when you eventually want to settle down, maybe have a family? When you actually want someone to bring you breakfast in bed. Will the Doctor do that for you? Just stop? 'Cause I reckon he won't. And I don't think you've accepted that fact yet. I don't think you'll ever accept it, and that breaks my heart. Worst of all is knowing that it'll break yours too, one day."
"I—I—" Rose seemed to be at a loss for words.
And that was how the Doctor knew.
Shareen had finally gotten through to her. That seed of doubt that she'd planted had finally sprouted an ugly weed. He could feel it in his bones; Rose was actually considering leaving it all, leaving him, behind. And that terrified him to no end.
He took the sudden quiet that stole over the living room as his cue.
"Rose?" he called as he entered.
When she looked up at him, he could see that small tears had formed in her eyes.
Shareen was shooting him a glare that conveyed the deepest of dislikes. The Doctor found himself returning the look with an expression that said the feeling was very much mutual.
"You ready to go?" he asked Rose, pretending that he couldn't see that she was crying.
"Yeah," she said, blinking rapidly as she got up off the couch she was seated on. Instinctively, she grasped his hand, "We'll be off, Shareen."
"Take care," she called after them as they left.
…
"How much did you hear?" Rose asked him pointedly when they were alone in the console room.
"Hmm?" he asked innocently.
"Don't give me that," she told him, "When you came in, you had that I've-just-been-doing-something-I-shouldn't-have look on your face. How long were you eavesdropping for?"
"Rose, I resent the fact that you think I'd skulk around corners listening to other people's conversations like that. I have boundaries, you know," he said righteously, hoping that the ploy would pay off on her.
"Oh?" she raised her eyebrows, putting her hands on her hips, "So, who'd the tip of that converse sneaker sticking out behind the foyer wall throughout my entire conversation with Shareen belong to, then?"
The Doctor blew out a sigh. He'd been caught in the act. Of course he had; Rose never missed anything. "Alright," he relented, "Fine! I was eavesdropping and I heard the entire thing."
Rose sighed, as well. "I'm sorry you had to hear that," she told him earnestly, "Shareen was just being daft."
"She was?" he asked her quietly, some of that fear of Rose's departure seeping through the cracks. He really, really didn't want her to go.
Rose took his hands firmly. "Yes," she told him adamantly. She grinned, "You're stuck with me, remember?"
"But all those things she said," he continued, not wanting to be lulled into a false sense of security, "About you wanting a family and a more—stable way of life. She was right, Rose. You're going to want those things eventually, and I—"
"Hey," Rose said, tilting his chin upwards to focus his gaze that had fallen to the floor back on her, "I understand that you'll never be able to do that, Doctor. I do. And I don't need that, because this, travelling with you, saving people, that's enough for me. It'll always be enough. I'm never gonna leave you."
He looked at her in awe, too afraid to take this declaration of hers at face value. "Rose, I—"
"Ssh," she said, putting a finger to his lips, "Don't argue. That's the choice I've made, and I want you to respect it," she slowly moved her finger away from his mouth, still holding it up as a warning, "Now, I'm going to go shower and then I'm going to go to bed. Don't let me catch you fretting over this while I'm away."
She turned on her heel and left him staring after her.
…
Rose was woken up the next morning by a soft calling of her name. When she opened her eyes, squinting up to find the origin of the sound, she was met by the Doctor cheerfully grinning down at her.
"Morning," he said, grin widening.
"Yes, it is," she groaned as she glanced at her alarm clock and noticed that it was only 06:30, "I thought our arrangement was that you'd only check if I was dead at 08:00?"
The Doctor chuckled and sat himself down on the edge of her bed. It was there that Rose noticed the tray loaded with food that he was carrying in his arms. Seeing her spot it, he held out the tray to her cheerily.
"What's that?" she asked, taking it from him and examining the contents. There was a selection of foods on the tray; ranging from a rather dodgy-looking omelette to a rather delicious-looking cup of tea. There was also a very out of place packet of jelly-babies.
"It's breakfast in bed," he told her, as though this fact was meant to be obvious.
"Oh," Rose said softly, a lump suddenly rising in her throat.
She looked at the contents of the tray again; at the omelette that he had probably gone through the trouble of making himself even though he couldn't really cook, at the cup of tea that he had made just the way she liked it (strong with two sugars), at the packet of jelly-babies which he had added, knowing that they were her favourite sweet, but also that she never finished them in one go and usually kept some for later.
Finally, she looked back up at the Time Lord, who was looking at her, very much concerned whether she liked what he had done or not.
"You put all this together yourself?" she asked him.
"Yeah," he said, still looking worried. He looked at the omelette and winced, "Sorry about that. Never been good with eggs, me. You usually make the eggs and—well—I suppose I've just never really felt the need to learn."
"You made me breakfast in bed."
"Yes," he said slowly, tugging at his ear, "I—I just wanted to show you—you know—that I could—that I could do that. I mean, should you ever want me to."
He couldn't believe how completely idiotic he was sounding at the moment. If there was one thing that he knew, it was that he was making absolutely no sense.
But Rose understood.
She shuffled the tray to the side and got out of her bed. She moved around to where he was perched on the mattress, positioning herself so that they were standing face to face with barely any space between them. There, she placed her hand over his two hearts.
And then she smiled a tender smile.
"Jamie Oliver's got nothing on you," she told him.