Disclaimer: Quite obviously I don't own Doctor Who. Or the film 'The Red Shoes', from which the fic title was nicked.

Characters: Tenth Doctor, Rose

Summary: Rose is persuasive / how the Doctor got his fez. Absolute nonsense.


The Red Shoes

He'd fought some fearsome creatures in his time. Daleks, Cybermen, Slitheen, Mummies (both the Egyptian and the parental kind), Sontarans, the Nestene Consciousness - you name it, he'd probably fought (and beaten) it.

But this was one adversary he was completely and utterly floored by.

Rose Tyler, in an alien marketplace, with her eye on one specific prize.

"But they're so pretty!" she protested, her voice up a notch or two as she tried to wheedle it out of him.

"They're completely impractical!" he retorted, frustrated at her apparent inability to notice that. "How on Earth – or on any planet for that matter – do you expect to be able to run in five inch heels?"

She glanced longingly at the offending articles, the gorgeous sparkly red shoes she had spied mere seconds after exiting the TARDIS. She might have said that the sequined shoes had called her to them – actually, given that they were alien and she didn't know anything about them, she probably could still get away with saying that – and she knew she just had to have them.

"Please?"

Oh, so she had resorted to plain begging now?

"Please?"

Urgh, he hated being so vulnerable, so susceptible to her charms, but they were working a treat against his will power. And the worst thing was, she knew it. She fluttered her wide, sad, eyes at him pleadingly, revelling in his obvious internal battle as he grappled with giving in and letting her get her way, or maintaining his 'tough guy' persona.

"Pretty please with a cherry on top?"

Okay, this was really taking the mickey now.

"What's in it for me?" he jested.

"My eternal gratitude?"

He looked pensive for a while, as though considering her offer.

"Nah, not good enough, sorry. Try again."

"I'll listen when you tell me not to wander off."

"Be realistic, Rose."

"I'll get you a new tie?"

"What's wrong with the ones I've got?"

"I'll get you one of those Vespiraxian ones with all the digits of pi on it."

"Temping, but I'll have to decline."

"I'll stop nicking all your custard creams."

"And the pink wafers?"

"Of course."

"Again, be realistic."

"Fine!" she exclaimed in exasperation. "What do you want me to do in exchange for the shoes then?"

"Cup of tea."

"What?" She looked at him, dumfounded. Had she really heard that right?

"You, me, and a cup of tea. Well, two cups of tea, because otherwise there wouldn't be very much to go arou-"

"Are you serious? That's it?"

He nodded. "Yep."

She eyed him suspiciously. "Alright, we have a deal. Two cups of tea in exchange for the shoes."

He held out his hand to her to seal the deal. "Don't worry I haven't spit on it," he assured her. "We're not in New New Texas anymore, Dorothy." Hesitantly, she slid her hand into his, and they shook on it. He straightened up, brightening, and grinned at her. "One pair of shoes coming right up."

As he turned to walk away, she called out to him. "And get some bazoolium while you're at it too!"

He snapped back around. "What for? That wasn't part of the deal."

"Well I'm going to need a present for Mum when we crash back home, or she'll make us tea."

He blinked at her. "Wait, who said anything about..."

"Come on Doctor, you've seen my attempts in the TARDIS kitchen; I almost made the Athena constellation implode on itself! Unless you want another stellar catastrophe on your hands, leave the tea-making to Mum."

"That's still not a fair exchange, Rose..."

"I'll throw in the tie to make up the difference," she appeased.

"Ro-ose..."

"And a fez."

"Done."

When he finally returned with the shoes, she made well sure to stow the promised fez deep within the recesses of the TARDIS wardrobe. She might have agreed to get him one, but there was no way she would let him wear it. Ever.


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