Disclaimer: I do not own Doctor Who or any of its properties. If I did, Steven Moffat would not be in charge right now.
Notes: This was written forever ago and posted to Tumblr. In an attempt to update this account with some things, I decided to post it here.
Birthday Closets
Ever since they returned from Bad Wolf Bay, Rose and the Doctor made a concentrated effort to improve their communication. No more half-truths, no more dodged questions, no more conversations put on indefinite hold. For the most part, they were succeeding; the Doctor was certainly more open, now that he knew he had one life to live (and was getting to live it with her), and Rose . . . Rose knew what it felt like to be separated from the Doctor, unable to tell him how she felt. She'd decided the first time they'd visited Bad Wolf Bay that she'd never hold back like that again.
So for the most part, their communication had improved. But still, there were times when verbal communication wouldn't cut it. Times such as, for example, when Rose was trying to get her paperwork out of the way at Torchwood, and the Doctor was sulking so hard in the chair at the other desk that she was surprised the lights in the room weren't dimmed by the dark cloud hovering over his head. He wasn't sulking entirely quietly, of course; he kept spinning his chair around, tapping his foot and his pencil in turn, sometimes humming or whistling or calling her name. But Rose had become pretty adept at tuning out background noise—trying to get work done from home when her little brother was running about was excellent training for that—and so she ignored him, not wanting to have the conversation she knew he did.
And that, of course, is when her mobile vibrated.
Rose tore her eyes away from her computer screen and looked at it for a moment before she finally turned around and gave the Doctor an exasperated look.
"Seriously?" she asked, holding up her mobile. He looked at her over the top of his own mobile and raised his eyebrows. "You're that desperate?" He didn't respond. "Fine, just spit it out, then. What is it?"
The Doctor held up his mobile a bit higher and waved it before he looked back down at it, fiddling with it. Rose knew what that meant; it meant that he'd grown frustrated to the point where he was going to be obstinate and childish. If she wouldn't talk to him before, he was only going to talk through text now. She sighed, and disabled her phone's lock screen before she looked at the text.
'Rooooooose, it's your birthday! Let's ditch Torchwood and leave!'
"You're just using my birthday as an excuse," she said, and turned around to face him again. The Doctor gave no indication that he heard her, instead continuing his game on his phone, and so she blew a strand of hair out of her face and sent him a reply in return.
'you're just using my birthday as an excuse. you don't want to go home to mum any more than i do.'
Rose sent the text and watched as the Doctor exited out of his mobile game to read it. As could be expected, instead of replying verbally, he typed out a response with lightning speed and sent it back.
'I never said we had to go home to your mother, although I did overhear her talking to Tony about your birthday gift. As much as the idea of having a birthday celebration with your mother doesn't excite me, I can't say I'm exactly a fan of letting your little brother down. Are you?'
That was below the belt, and Rose scowled as she sent back her response.
'of course i'm not. you know that. i love tony more than anyone else.'
'See? Then let's go to the chippy and grab a bite, then spend the rest of the day in the city. The other day I took the tube down to the end of the Piccadilly line and around the bend, and I found this brilliant bookshop! Hidden right there on the corner, between the biscuit shops - and let me tell you, Rose Tyler, those biscuits can't be matched by anyone else. You'll love them - they're perfect for a day like today.'
Rose looked up to see that the Doctor was beaming at his phone, his foot tapping against the floor in a way that suggested excitement, rather than impatience. She smiled a bit herself, in fondness and guilt, before she sent her response.
'i'd love to but i can't. i really have a lot of work to do today.'
She saw the Doctor's smile fade before he replied.
'Work that can't wait until tomorrow? Really?'
'yeah'
'Rose, I can tell when you're lying. Why don't you want to go home?'
Rose looked up, running her tongue along her teeth, and felt pressed to continue the conversation verbally. But the Doctor didn't return her glance; he continued to study his phone, chewing the inside of his lip, and Rose looked back down at her own mobile before replying.
'it's nothing that bad, it's just that - you know mum's planning a big party.'
'Yes, I'm aware. Your mother will take any chance she can get to bring out the alcohol and attractive men.'
Rose suppressed a laugh. 'yeah, and see, it's just that the last time this situation happened i ended up hiding in a closet. on my birthday.'
It took the Doctor a moment to respond—Rose saw him frowning at his mobile, his eyebrows scrunched together, before comprehension lit his eyes and he sent back a swift reply.
'Paparazzi?'
'yeah.'
The Doctor frowned as he read her response, and finally looked up to meet her eyes. Rose gave him an apologetic smile and shrugged.
"I just . . . I'm just not a fan of that sort of attention, s'all. It's easier if I stay here working—makes it easier to explain, and Mum'll get over it eventually. Once everyone arrives they probably won't even notice I'm not there."
"I highly doubt that's true. You know I'm no fan of your mother's observational skills on a regular basis, but when it comes to you, her skills are top notch." The Doctor paused before he added, "That almost sounded like a compliment. Don't tell her I said that." Rose rolled her eyes, but grinned.
"Don't worry, your secret's safe."
"Anyway." The Doctor stuffed his phone back in his suit jacket pocket before he clapped his hands together. "Hiding in a closet. On your birthday. That's not all bad, is it?" Rose frowned and opened her mouth to reply, but he interrupted before she could. "Better with two?"
It took only a second—only a second of the Doctor's comment and his wolfish grin, before Rose felt a smile that echoed his spread across her face. "Well, if you put it that way," she said slowly, and she was already imagining the small closet just off the foyer, her hands in his hair, his hands riding up the back of her party dress, "maybe . . . maybe Mum's birthday party doesn't sound like such a bad idea . . ."