Rose isn't sure what she's expecting from her first assignment.
She's been too busy to think about it, honestly. Between the concentrated madness that is end-of-year exams and the slow-burning stress of prepping for her interstellar navigation certification test, she's barely had time to eat and sleep lately, let alone fret about where Starfleet will post her after graduation.
But that's all over and done now, and she's nailed it, well done her. High honors in astrophysics and probability mechanics, plus an interstellar navigation certification. The petty side of her wants to gather up all her diplomas and honors and shove them in the face of everyone who's ever implied (or said right out) that she wasn't good enough or smart enough or posh enough to get anywhere in life – because she is and she has and they can all just go to hell.
The other side of her just wants to jump for joy and squeal like a little girl, but her mum's done enough of that for the both of them, cheering (obnoxiously) all throughout the (ordinarily quite somber and dignified) Academy graduation ceremony.
Right now, though, she's too paralyzed with anticipation to do any of those things. It's a misty San Francisco morning, cold and wet and smelling of salt water, but she feels hot and on edge, standing on the lawn outside the Academy in her high-necked dress uniform, looking down at the datapad that has her first assignment on it. All she has to do is turn it on and look.
Again, she isn't sure what she's expecting. Rose doesn't like to think that she's full of herself, but she's good. She knows she's good – the diplomas and certifications are just validation, proof for everyone else. High honors and the navigation certificate and enough recommendations from professors to track her into command school, if she wanted to go, ought to be enough to ensure a good posting. If Rose allows herself to dream, she thinks she might want something like the USS Bannerman, or the Torchwood – smallish ships, not massive four- or five-hundred man heavy cruisers, but they do always seem to be doing something exciting.
(Deep down, in her heart of hearts, all she really wants is a ship with an open helmsman's chair and a captain she can convince to put her there).
All that said, when she finally clicks on the datapad and opens her assignment, it's a little bit of a shock.
She's never even heard of the USS TARDIS.
"So. USS TARDIS. Harmony-class, crew complement of 125, five-year deep space survey mission."
The first officer of the TARDIS is quite possibly the loudest Starfleet officer Rose has ever met. She's human, maybe a decade or so older than Rose herself, with red hair and a slightly snappish manner that seems to send ensigns scrambling every which way with yes ma'am, right away ma'am every time she gives an order.
"You in there, Lieutenant?" Rose snaps her eyes back to Commander Noble, who's paused the running introduction to the ship in order to give her a quizzical look. It makes Rose feel a little like she's just dribbled on her shirt.
She composes herself enough to choke out a "Yes – sorry, ma'am." It sounds nervous, instead of confident, and she kicks herself, because she is a professional and this shouldn't be hard. It's what she's studied for, trained for, dreamed about since she was younger than she'll ever admit out loud. It's all hitting at once, though – that this is where she's posted, and it's where she's going to stay for the next five years.
It's big and it's thrilling and really quite inherently dangerous, and she ought to be scared, but she isn't, and that's a little bit scary.
The commander's expression softens and she just…smiles at her. Rose finds herself having to revise her earlier opinion of her. Not snappish, maybe – just in charge.
"No worries, Lieutenant. I remember my first assignment. It can be a bit overwhelming." She smiles again, more broadly this time, and waves Rose on, out of the loading bay and into the ship's inner corridors.
Rose has been on lots of ships. Heavy crusiers and frigates, transport ships and hospital ships, interceptors and shuttles and tiny little science vessels. Not all of them were Starfleet ships, of course. The little shuttle that made her fall in love with ships, all those years ago, was an absolute junker of a thing. It couldn't even fly, though her mum swore it could once, back when it'd been her dad's. Mostly it just sat there, looking lonely and sad out in the alley off the estate courtyard, a relic left behind when the universe cut Pete Tyler's life short. Rose spent ages chasing other kids away from it, cleaning graffiti off the broken windows and trying to make sure nobody nicked it for parts.
Eventually, she got too big to crawl inside the twisted shell of the shuttle, too old to play pilot and pretend the alley was a shipyard, or that the stars beyond the grey London sky were something she could reach.
That's when she applied to the Academy.
None of the ships she's been on, though, ever looked quite like this.
The TARDIS is no fresh-off-the-line, pride-of-the-fleet cruiser, streamlined and shining. There are no pristine white walls and rounded curves here, though there's plenty of lovingly polished metal. Everything looks a bit patched together, honestly, as though Engineering doesn't have access to all the parts and resources they need (though Rose is familiar with the ship's mandate and service history, and she knows that they do). It's an old ship, and the age shows, though not in any ways that make her feel unsafe or uncomfortable.
The commander doesn't stop talking as she leads Rose through the corridors and towards the turbolift – which gets stuck, for a few seconds, between Deck Nine and Deck Ten, making Rose wonder if she ought to feel a little unsafe after all – chattering amiably about the layout of the ship, and the makeup of the senior staff, and which deck her quarters will be on. Rose is only half-listening, too busy drinking in the sights and sounds and smells of the ship, because you're only ever somewhere for the first time once, and she wants to remember this.
The last stop before Commander Noble releases her to report to duty is the bridge.
Like the rest of the ship, the bridge shows its age. It doesn't look anything like what she's seen on newer Starfleet vessels – or on any Starfleet vessel, really. The walls look dull, the way metal does when it gets old, and there are patterns worn into the floor from long use. There are odd little roundels set into the walls, too, shining unnaturally in the warm light. She can't tell if they have a function or if they're just an odd design choice.
It's strange and wonderful and nothing like she expected, and Rose loves it, with a fierceness that surprises her.
(And the helmsman's chair is there – right there – and she wants to slide into it so badly she can taste it. The fact that her first duty shift isn't on the bridge is a stinging disappointment).
Commander Noble briefly introduces her to the bridge officers on duty, and there are far too many names and faces all at once for Rose to remember them all, though everyone seems friendly enough. Then there's the soft shhhh of the turbolift opening behind them, and a tall, thin, sort of gangly-looking man in command gold saunters onto the bridge.
The commander huffs and rolls her eyes. "There you are, spaceman. We're only ten minutes from launch. You ought to have had your arse in that chair half an hour ago." She gestures towards the captain's chair.
Rose blinks in surprise, because that means – this must be the captain.
There's no picture of the TARDIS' captain in its official Starfleet file. In fact, his profile is the barest one she's ever seen. All that's listed there is a name (John Smith) a service record (distinguished) and his various degrees and certifications (many). The man himself seems fairly young, maybe mid-thirties, with messy brown hair and a wide grin plastered on his thin face.
Despite the fact that his first officer is talking to him as though he's a particularly willful child, the captain is all smiles; in fact, he's apparently not paying her any mind at all, because he's looking right past the commander and at – Rose.
Commander Noble notices, and rolls her eyes again. "Right." She gestures at Rose. "Your newest crewmember. Lieutenant, this is Captain–"
"Oh, come off it, Donna. Let's not give her the impression that there's formality on this ship." The captain flashes Rose a brilliant smile. She absolutely does not go weak at the knees. "It's not Captain. I mean, I am the captain, but I'm the Doctor. Not the ship's doctor, the ship's captain. But I'm the Doctor. You can call me the Doctor, I mean. And you are?"
Rose blinks again, a little thrown off-guard by the captain's – the Doctor's – onslaught of excitable rambling. She does, however, manage to get out an introduction.
"Lieutenant Tyler, sir. Rose Tyler."
"Well then, Rose Tyler." He skips the 'Lieutenant' altogether, which is improper and ought to be annoying, but Rose can't find it in her to care, because the weight he puts on her name makes it sound so much more important than any rank designation ever could. "Welcome aboard."