For AsTheWheelWeaves
Rose looked around the mess of boxes piled in the living room of her new flat, trying to suppress the panic that the thought of unpacking all of them brought. What had she been thinking, moving halfway around the world on her own? Her stepfather had offered to help her out, get her a job and a flat in London with his connections, but Rose had said no, feeling that she had to do something with her life on her own.
Now she had a dingy studio apartment in New York that she could only afford because of Pete's parting gift, no friends on the same continent as her, no job, and an overwhelming amount of boxes stacked in front of her.
Guiltily, Rose grabbed the lighter and pack of cigarettes from her purse and climbed out the window to stand on the fire escape. She'd told everyone back home that she'd quit months back, and she had, but it seemed the stress of moving had her picking up bad habits again.
Rose took the first drag and felt the nicotine hit her system as the smoke burned down her throat, familiar in its slight discomfort. Her eyes slammed shut as she took a second drag. She could practically feel the stress floating away with the tendrils of smoke.
"You know those could kill you, right?" A voice from above her said.
Rose's eyes slammed open and she looked up, trying to locate who was talking to her. A man in a battered leather jacket was lounging on the next landing up, back against the railing and lit cigarette dangling from his fingers.
He painted a very attractive picture, all boneless grace and caged energy and cheekbones.
Rose tilted her head to the side and shot him one of her signature tongue touched smiles. "Could get hit by a car while crossing the street, too. At least this," she raised her cigarette, "is killing me slowly."
He chuckled, low and deep, and Rose shivered. Her upstairs neighbor was incredibly attractive, that was for sure and he was a feature that hadn't cost her an arm and a leg in rent money.
"Wasn't expecting to find a fellow countryman was moving in downstairs," he commented before taking another drag.
Rose startled. She hadn't even thought twice about his accent, having momentarily forgotten that she was in New York, not London. "That's me then, unexpected," she said. "How long have you lived in the city?"
"Couple of months, needed to get out of London for a bit," he said with a shrug.
"Mind if I come up to your landing?" she asked. "My neck's starting to hurt from looking up at you."
"Be my guest," he answered, gesturing to the empty space next to him.
Rose climbed the ladder separating their landings and settled on the grating next to him. "I'm Rose, by the way. Rose Tyler."
"John Smith," he said in return. "Most people call me the Doctor though."
"That's not cryptic at all," Rose commented, bumping his shoulder with hers. "Supposed to sound impressive?" She felt oddly comfortable with this stranger which meant she should probably be running in the opposite direction but she stayed seated at his side, smiling up at a face that was even more compelling up close.
"Sort of, yeah," he answered with a gorgeous little smile of his own.
"That mean I'm worth trying to impress?"
"It's not every day that a pretty blonde from back home moves in downstairs from me," he hedged, smile fading into a little smirk as he avoided the question.
"Wanker," Rose laughed. "I'll take the compliment though. Was thinking living near you was a nice perk that wasn't advertised by the landlord, myself."
"That remains to be seen, you haven't been here long."
"Long enough," Rose said with a shrug. "Besides if you start makin' too much noise I'm just gonna come up here and bang on your window."
He took a long drag of his cigarette. "Like a challenge, me. Might have to start being louder to see if I can get you up here sometime."
They continued chatting and flirting shamelessly until they'd both smoked their cigarettes down to the filter. Rose reluctantly excused herself, telling him that she had to get at least partially unpacked if she wanted to sleep in her flat tonight.
John looked like he wanted to ask her to stay but he didn't, just told her she was welcome to drop in for a beer sometime if she wanted. They parted ways, back to their separate apartments, but Rose could barely concentrate on unpacking a thing when she was busy wondering how his cigarette smoke would taste secondhand on his lips and if those fingers that had gripped the cigarette were as talented as she guessed they were. She had no clue who he really was or what he did but she would bet her next two month's rent that he was dangerous but that didn't mean she wanted him any less.
Later that night, Rose was sprawled bonelessly across a completely constructed bed that wasn't hers and was also occupied by her gorgeous upstairs neighbor. She now knew exactly how smoke and tea tasted on his breath and that his fingers were even more talented than she expected and she couldn't be happier with her decision to move to New York City or to come upstairs when he showed up at her window to offer her his bed for the night.
She had a feeling that John was going to be as much of a guilty pleasure addiction as her cigarettes were and god damn, either of them might kill her but she couldn't be arsed to care when he rolled over and captured her lips in a searing kiss again.