Authors Notes: This is my first foray into an alternate universe. Written for the audoctorose challange over at another site. Prompt word was CINEMA and the picture I chose was from Singing in the Rain. Many thanks as always to my beta's naughtybunny23 and janna_hawkins.
Characters: Alternate Ten (John Smith) and Alternate Rose Tyler.
Disclaimer: Dr Who and it's characters are owned by the BBC and sadly not by me nor do I own anything to do with Singing in the Rain except the muse to put the two together.
It was very late in the evening of a particularly trying day when Rose emerged from the back door of the film studio. The lead actress, Delphine, aka The Bitch from Hell, had decided to make everyone suffer because she was having a bad hair day. Lately, Rose seemed to bear the brunt of Delphine's rapidly increasing temper. Like many actors and actresses, bridging a difficult transition, from silent film to talkies, Delphine had met some particular vocal challenges; that is, she was unable to sing a single note on key. Rose was called to give the public what she could not - the gift of song – and Delphine took every opportunity to show her resentment towards the petite blonde with the golden voice.
Rose sighed. She had just spent the last nine hours in the recording studio as the producers laid down the musical tracks for this particular movie. She loved what she did but it hurt somewhat to know that she would never get the credit for it; all of that would go to Delphine. Someday though … someday she would be known for her voice and for herself but until then she would continue to sing with her whole heart. It was after all one of the few times she was truly happy and it paid the rent.
"Ah well," she spoke aloud, "dreams can wait until I'm home." She gazed up into a night sky, heavy with thick grey clouds. She started walking but within minutes the heavens opened and hundreds of fat wet raindrops were set free. Rose would have been soaked to the skin had she not remembered that morning to pack her large umbrella in her bag. She opened it with a flourish, its huge canopy, big enough for two, gave her ample shelter from the rain, to stay dry. Now protected from the deluge she continued the short journey to her little apartment.
She was but one door away from home, with images of a warm bath and hot chocolate playing in her head, when she saw him. A lone figure moving down the street … no, not moving, more like dancing down the street towards her. As he danced he splashed his feet into puddles and swung himself effortlessly around lampposts, seeming to relish in the heavier than usual California dew.
She knew she should stop staring at him and should just go inside but there was a grace about his movements that stopped her from turning away. As he came closer to her she could see he was dressed in a well cut but slightly worn suit in a colour she could not determine due to the dimness of the street lamps. Time seemed to have stilled as she continued to watch his energetic yet rhythmic approach. It was only when he stopped directly in front of her that she realized that she had been gawking at him like a young school girl and embarrassment flushed her, staining her cheeks with a rosy red hue.
He did not appear to notice her embarrassment; instead he turned on the most winning smile and in a rich but not overly heavy Scottish accent, bid her good evening.
"Good evening to you too sir," she replied in a friendly yet wary tone. His close proximity allowed her to see he was indeed a very attractive man, even with his hair plastered all over the place. She had a slight fancy that it would be very springy and soft under her hands when it was dry … oh and where did that thought suddenly come from? she thought as her face burned even brighter, making her extremely thankful for the black cover of night.
"So," he spoke, suddenly breaking through her thoughts, "what's a pretty girl like you doing out so late? One might think you were one of them wee water sprites come to grace us mere mortals with your presence."
Oh, he's a charmer this one, but she could not deny that the solid timbre of his voice sent thrills up her spine and it made her want to keep talking to this unique stranger. She unconsciously moved closer to him, bringing him under the shelter of her oversized umbrella.
"No, Sir, I'm not a water sprite, although if I were I wouldn't have to work so hard." She sighed as the bitterness of reality consumed her. "I'm just a singer, using the one talented gift I have to benefit the careers of others."
"Would you sing for me, sweet lady?"
"I … sir, I think you're laughing at me. Having a joke at my expense."
"Not at all; in fact I'm quite serious. I would love to hear you sing. With such lush lips as yours I am sure the music that leaves them would be equally so," he finished, his smile warm and full.
Rose felt herself falling into this moment; it was like something out of the movies. Yet the rational part of her tugged at her consciousness, urging her to remember that there was no movie magic; it was all just plain hard work. She shook her head to clear it, grounding her thoughts once more in the bluntness of reality.
With a sad smile she addressed him. "Thank you for your compliments sir, but please forgive me for not taking them too seriously." She points to his sopping clothes and wet hair before continuing. "I can't help but think that you must be just a bit crazy."
He looks down at his wet clothes but instead of being upset or embarrassed he laughs, a beautiful hearty sound that Rose thinks should definitely be bottled and sold as a cure to lift sad spirits.
"Ah yes, I can see why you would have cause to doubt my sincerity but actually I was practicing for an audition. I'm an actor although so far my talents have been limited mostly to the theatre, you know Shakespeare and all that."
"So for you 'all the world's a stage and 'the play's the thing,'" teased Rose despite her initial attempt to end this strange conversation. "So what possessed you to 'audition' in this tempest?" she said, waving her hand, indicating the rain storm.
Suddenly he took her hand in his, his unfathomable brown eyes meeting hers. "Like every good story the hero wins the heart of the woman he loves. The hero in this story wants to shout it to the world so he does so by singing and dancing during a substantial downpour. My flat was hot and stuffy; my inspiration missing so I thought, what harm could it do and …" he breathed softly, gently stroking her hand, "it appears to have been my best idea yet as it seems it's not only my muse I've found."
Rose gasped at his last words. For some reason nothing else existed except the two of them. It was like a bubble had encased them and all she was aware of was this stranger and the rhythmic thrumming of the rain.
Suddenly the man let go of her hand; reality returned but the magic stayed. He gazed at her, hope shining in his eyes. "I shouldn't keep you out in this weather any longer but before you go, will you tell me your name?" he pleaded.
She could not refuse him. "It's Rose … Rose Tyler," she replied softly.
He took her hand again, raising it to his sensual mouth before brushing her knuckles with his kiss. "Rose Tyler, I think you may just be my lucky star. Would you would permit me to see you again?"
She was lost. The fact that he was a stranger no longer seemed to have any bearing. In mere moments he made her feel special, wanted, cherished … loved! She could only say one word. "Yes."
The smile that adorned his face was the only proof she needed of his joy at her acceptance. He insisted on walking with her the remaining short distance to her front door. They did not speak again except to say goodnight and it was only after Rose closed her door that she remembered she still did not know his name. She quickly ran back outside, forgetting her umbrella, not caring about the rain that drenched her skin as she raced to catch up with him further down the street.
"Your name," she gasped, in between breaths. "You didn't tell me your name."
He raised his hand and swept a loose wet tendril of hair back behind her ears before letting his fingers fall to her lips. He gently traced the outlines of her mouth before slowly leaning in to steal a sweet kiss. As he lightly brushed her lips with his own he whispered against them "It's John, Rose. I'm John Smith."
The chimes of a distant clock sounded, heralding in a new day. The bells broke through their intimate moment in the rain but what should have been awkward was not.
"I'll see you tonight," he said and with a final light kiss to her forehead he turned away from her then, continuing down the street. As Rose made her way back to her residence she could hear him singing snatches of a happy tune.
"I'm singing in the rain …"
She smiled. Perhaps there was a little movie magic in real life after all.
