"So what's it like, then?" Shireen asks. "If there's no sex?"
Laughing (and blushing only the tiniest bit), Rose glances all around the chippie like something in there will jump to her aid. "Not everything's about sex, mate," she says in lieu of a proper response, but Shireen imagines it's the best that she can come up with on such short notice.
Still. Shireen quirks an eyebrow at her in disbelief.
Rose ducks her head, apparently fascinated by the basket of ships in front of her, by the vinegar pooling at the bottom of the wax-paper. "It isn't like that, anyway. With her and me. She's made it pretty clear that she isn't into that sort of thing. Honestly, though, it's sort of…nice," she admits (to the chips, not to Shireen). "I dunno. It takes the pressure off."
"Think I'd rather put the pressure on," Shireen says, clicking her tongue suggestively.
"I know you would," Rose teases. "But…"
She worries her lip between her teeth. "I sort of…wouldn't," she confesses.
"What do you mean?"
Sighing, Rose directs her attention back to the chips, eying them warily like they might start judging her at any moment. "I don't know. It's like…I guess it feels good? I didn't hate it. And Mickey was loads better than Jimmy—"
"Prince Charles' withered left testicle would be a better shag than Jimmy. And if you're wondering if I'm saying I'd rather shag Prince Charles, the answer is honestly, maybe."
"—but do you ever get the feeling that you're only doing that stuff cos other people want you to?"
"Nope," Shireen replies, shaking her head. "Not even a little bit."
"See, I knew I shouldn't have said anything, I should've known you wouldn't get it—"
"Hang on, why's that matter?"
Rose stares at her. "You don't think it's weird?"
"'Course I think it's a little weird, but it's not about me, is it?" Shireen downs a swallow of her coffee, wincing at its bitter-burnt aftertaste. She thinks of days gone by, coffees plucked off of counters when no one was looking, of candy bars nicked and lipsticks swiped, of giggles and racing hearts and clasped hands as they ran. "It's none of my business what the two of you do or don't get up to. All I need to know is that no one's getting hurt and everyone's happy. And just because something's weird or different to me and what I like doesn't mean it's bad.
"Besides," she chuckles, "it's hardly the strangest thing about you."
A grin spreads across Rose's face and there, that, that's the Rose that Shireen remembers, the one she's known for almost all her life. It's a relief, honestly; sitting across from a quiet and shy Rose was just plain—well, weird.
"I mean, the sudden lesbian thing for starters…" Shireen says delicately, waiting for Rose to take the bait. She doesn't have to wait long.
"Do you know, I think it's actually possible for people to like boys and girls at the same time," Rose says, rolling her eyes. "In the future, some of us shag pretty much everybody and everything," she mutters under her breath.
"What?"
"Nothing. So tell me more about you, what's going on with you?"
"Nah, we already talked about me plenty. You don't really want to hear any more about uni." Shireen leans forward, elbows on table, chin in hands. "Tell me more about how this thing works with the Doctor if you're not smooshing bits."
Rose laughs again, and it's a genuine laugh this time—Shireen can't help but think of late nights and sleepovers, of people shushing them in movie theaters, of notes passed and whispers behind hands in the back of class.
"It's like…"
Pushing her hair behind one ear, Rose considers. "It's like, being comfortable and excited at the same time, I guess? It's like…if you're waiting in line for a roller coaster, and it's one you've been on before, so you know what to expect, you know you're safe, but there's still that thrill that goes down your spine whenever she looks at you. You know? Or it's like when you come in from the rain, and you're cold, but it's toasty inside, and you bundle yourself up in a cozy jumper with your favorite tea and a book, and she's there with you, and the two of you don't have to talk, you just read together. It feels like that in your chest, all sort of happy and heavy and warm. Or it's like the two of you have got a secret that no one else knows, no one else in the entire universe. It's going on an adventure that you never want to stop, but even when you get to the end, it's all right, cos she's still there. Or it's that feeling when you've just had a good run, and your head is spinning, and you're tired and aching, but you feel so good. Like, you stretch, and that stretch just feels delicious, and all that energy is still thrumming in your veins, and that's how it feels to hold hands with her. Or—"
She stops because Shireen is laughing. She doesn't mean to; nothing Rose said is particularly funny. It's just, for someone who claims to do so much traveling, who seems like she's seen so much and grown so worldly, Rose can be awfully transparent, sometimes.
"Oh my god," she manages between breaths. "You love her!"
Rose sputters indignantly. "I never said that!"
"You didn't have to!" Shireen laughs. "It's bloody obvious, isn't it? I mean, I knew you had feelings, but this is like a whole other league—"
"Shut up!" Rose says, chucking a chip at her, but it just bounces off Shireen's forehead and she thumbs off the vinegar and keeps laughing. She can't believe it. Rose Tyler, actually properly in love!
But really, Shireen thinks as her chuckles subside—really, if she's being honest, she's actually glad that Rose is still so easy to read. She's already changed so much—for the better, mostly, Shireen thinks—but the fact that she still wears her heart on her sleeve, even after all this time, even despite the travels and the bumps and bruises along the way, loosens up muscles that Shireen didn't even know were tense. It's nice to know that no matter how much Rose changes, no matter how far she travels, some things will stay the same.
(Shireen won't admit, not even to herself, the fear that one day something will happen, and she'll never see her best mate again.)
She shakes her head. "The Doctor—does she know?"
Rose opens her mouth like she's going to argue, seems to think better of it, and shrugs. "I don't think the Doctor really notices stuff like that," she says, her voice softening. She picks at the tabletop, where a corner of the laminate has peeled back to reveal moldering particle board underneath. "I mean, she's really smart. Like a walking encyclopedia. She knows everything about everything no matter when—I mean, no matter where we go. But when it comes to feelings, she's kind of…well…"
"A robot? An alien?"
"More than you know," Rose says drily, popping a chip into her mouth. A thoughtful expression on her face while she chews, she stares out the window, at the bustling London street, teeming with people and cars and shops just beyond the grey-grimy glass. "I guess if she figured it out and it bothered her, she would've got rid of me by now. Right?"
Shireen shrugs. "Maybe. Or maybe she's just afraid."
"Afraid?"
"You said she's lost a lot of people. What if she's afraid of losing you?"
Rose's eyes narrow in suspicion. "So those psych classes are really paying off, huh?"
"Freud's got nothing on me," Shireen jokes, and Rose giggles.
"Speaking of Freud," Rose starts, "Did you know that he actually—"
A jingling bell and tiny puff of wind let Shireen know that the door has opened behind her, and for some reason, that seems to cut off Rose's line of thought entirely. Her eyes stray to the source of the sound, and a slow grin blossoms, lighting her face up like a firework. Curious, Shireen turns around to see what Rose is looking at.
(Shireen never does find out what Freud actually. But she is 100 percent prepared to tease her friend mercilessly after this, to mimic the way Rose is smiling like a drunken idiot, to laugh at the totally rapturous look on her face, until she realizes just what she's looking at.)
A woman stands in the door of the chippie, silhouetted in gold by the sun setting somewhere behind the London skyline. She steps forward, and Shireen can see that her long brown hair is pulled back into a messy (but not too messy) plait, her hands are shoved into her pockets, her fair skin is dusted with a smattering of freckles throughout, she's wearing a pair of battered old Chucks, and her suit balances somewhere precariously between fitting too tight and fitting like it was tailored just for her. And full lips and glittering eyes and a set of killer curves mean she's very, very pretty. (Like, almost-worth-hopping-the-fence-for pretty, Shireen thinks with an appraising look.) But none of that matters in comparison to the expression on her face, to the shy grin, the flushed cheeks, the gaze focused on one person to the exclusion of absolutely everything and everyone else around them.
It's suspiciously similar to the look on Rose's face. God, it's like even her freckles and the wrinkles in the corners of her eyes are happy to see her.
A secret that no one else knows, indeed.
Shireen hides a smile of her own. "You'd be the Doctor, then?" she asks.
"I would," the Doctor says, tearing her eyes away from Rose while she extends a hand for Shireen to shake. "And you must be Shireen. I've heard good things. Well. Mostly good things. A bad thing or two. But mostly good."
"Likewise," Shireen laughs, shaking her hand. "Come to collect Rose?"
"Yes, we've got an, erm…"
The Doctor pulls back, tugging on one ear. "…a situation," she finishes. "Something came up. Spot of trouble in the seventy-third century—I mean, this century—I mean, you know how it goes, I can barely keep track of what galaxy this is, much less which millennium—and it requires both halves of the team, I'm afraid. Unless you need a bit more time…?"
"I think we're good," Shireen replies before Rose has a chance to answer, pushing up from the chippie booth. The moment Rose stands up, Shireen wraps her up in a tight hug, ignoring Rose's squeak of surprise.
Rose's arms wrap around her, and Shireen remembers dozens of other hugs they've shared, after school, after a fight, after that one time Rose went missing for a year. She bites back a sudden swell of emotion and tightens her embrace just a little more, angling her head just a little closer.
"She knows," Shireen whispers.
She swears she can practically hear Rose's heart speeding up at that. When she pulls back, Rose is staring at her, mouth open and cheeks flushed.
Shireen winks.
"You realize I love you, right?" Rose asks.
"You better. And you better bring me a souvenir next time!" Shireen calls after her as she walks (or skips might be more accurate) over to the Doctor. But she knows that Rose is barely listening, and honestly, she can't blame her—god knows she wouldn't be able to pay attention to anything else if anyone ever looked at her the way the Doctor looks at Rose right now. Or if anyone reached for her hand the way the Doctor reaches for Rose's.
Christ, they're obvious. The both of them. Why would either of them ever wonder?
Shireen and Rose wave to each other as the Doctor leads Rose away, out of the chippie and onto the crowded London sidewalk. Rose throws Shireen one last glance through the window and Shireen thinks she sees her mouth a thank you. She just nods in response, grinning.
Then she frowns.
"Seventy-third century?" she asks no one in particular.