Listen to: "Molly on the Shore" by Percy Grainger or "Ain't We Got Fun?" by Doris Day


Chapter II: It's Just a Good Story


By the time the Doctor traveled from the British Museum in central London to the Tyler estate in Bromley, which was about a fifteen kilometre drive, and rang the bell at the front door, Mrs. Tyler was apologizing to Mr. Harkness in the grand foyer while Mr. Tyler sat in the adjacent drawing room, listening to the dull noise of Percy Grainger's "Molly on the Shore" on the gramophone.

"Once again," Jackie gently grasped the upper arm of Mr. Harkness, "I truly am sorry for Rose, I don't know what's gotten into her. She's been like this lately."

Mr. Harkness smiled politely and reached down for the doorknob of the large white doors that situated themselves at the end of the foyer. "No, no, don't you worry about anything, the food was great, and seeing your beautiful daughter and her just as beautiful mother was worth the journey."

She giggled and fanned herself, growing a blush on her cheeks, while he flashed his white grin at her. "Pete, did you hear that? Mr. Harkness told me I was beautiful," she called.

A grunt was heard as Pete's only reply.

"And at that, I'll bid you farewell, Mrs. Tyler," Mr. Harkness inclined as he twisted the doorknob of the door and swung it open far enough to reveal a rather tired looking Dr. John Smith with the copy of The Secret Garden under his arm and a briefcase in his hand.

Shrilly, a confused and irritated Jackie Tyler exclaimed: "John? What on bloody earth are you doing here?"

A half-asleep Pete practically hopped up from his sitting chair and rushed into the foyer with a wide grin on his face. "John! Good to see you lad! Come on in then! We were just showing our guest out!" he cheerily explained, gently nudging Mr. Harkness out of the way to open the door wider, letting the Doctor inside.

"Pete, did you invite him while you knew I had a guest?!" Pete's wife demanded, crossing her arms and pressing her lips together.

The Doctor shook his head and faintly rocked side to side. "No, sorry, Jackie, I came unannounced. If now is a bad time-"

Pete scoffed and put a friendly hand on Dr. Smith's shoulder, "No, of course it's not. You're always welcome here! Our guest was just leaving!"

Mr. Harkness waved bye to Jackie and slipped out the door, leaving a disgruntled Jackie left to call after him: "Wait, no! Mr. Harkness!"

Jackie clenched her fists and whirled around to face Pete and a frightened Dr. Smith. "Pete! I cannot believe you! I didn't get to even ask how long he'd be in town for! Now Rose may never find a bloody suitor thanks to your tactless arse practically drop-kicking the handsome man out the door, you daft bastard!"

She let out one final frustrated huff before stomping up the stairs and down the hallway towards her bedroom, slamming the door.

Pete turned to the Doctor and laughed heartily, clapping him on the back. "Thanks mate, she's gone. Now I can listen to my records in peace without her droning on and on about how attractive bloody Mr. Harkness is and how 'utterly perfect' he is for Rose." He then wondered back into the drawing room, picked up his glass of whiskey, and pointedly downed the glass.

"So," Dr. Smith cleared his throat, strolling into the drawing room, "Rose has a boyfriend then?"

Mr. Tyler snorted in response and sank down into his armchair. "Not that I know of. Mr. Harkness is some 'suitor' my wife drug into this house to hopefully try and match-make for Rose."

Trying to play off as having a mere casual interest in the matter, he asked: "Does she fancy him?"

"Who, Rose?" Pete asked as he loosened his tie, chuckling to himself, "No, she hates the poor bastard."

A silent part of the Doctor became elated at this news, nudging him to search for her and have his go at wooing her. "Speaking of Rose, Pete, I actually have a gift for her," he stated, putting down his suitcase and showing him the book. "The other day we spoke while I was looking for you and she expressed to me her interest in reading. So I promised her I would bring her a book from the museum library, that's all."

Through the dimly lit room, Pete squinted to make out the book's cover. Only vaguely interested he replied: "Huh, yeah, that was nice of you. She's upstairs in her room I believe, probably still upset after what happened at dinner. That should cheer her right up, hopefully. I can't take two upset women in this house; I just can't." Pete shook his head and pulled out a cigar and a lighter, lighting it and sighing in relief.
A bit awkwardly, the Doctor nervously played with the cover of the book. "Do I have permission to…?"

Pete slapped his hand in the air as an expression of him not caring. "Come on, mate, you're practically family. When you get back down here, we'll talk about how the wireless business is coming along. Perhaps you'll have some new insight none of us suits have thought of."

At the mention of him being like family to the Tyler's, he felt his shoulders immediately slump in response, not wishing at all for Ms. Tyler to see him as an uncle or such. Sure, he could never court her or anything of the sort, but he would at least like to be her best mate. She could use someone to be there for her during her days of solitude on an estate where her only company was the staff and her parents. "Yeah, yeah, sure thing, lad," the Doctor affirmed before he set out up the stairs, down the corridor, down a hallway, down another hallway, and to Rose's door; leaving Pete to thoughtlessly stand up to go fumble around with the records.

At Rose's door, at the very end of the long hall, the lighting was minimal and the Doctor grew nervous, tugging on his buttoned collar. Suddenly, a loud blast of trumpet sound erupted from behind the door and the muffled lyrics follow:

Every morning

Every evening

Ain't we got fun

Not much money

Oh but honey

Ain't we got fun

Smirking slightly, the Doctor shoved his hand in his pocket and used his other one to knock five times on Rose's door, bracing himself for her wrath.

The rent's unpaid dear

We haven't a bus

But smiles were made dear

For people like us

"Dad, go away!" the Doctor heard over the music. "I don't wanna talk about it, I'm still fuming!"

In the winter in the Summer

Don't we have fun

Times are bum and getting bummer

Still we have fun

"Rose, it's Dr. Smith, I have your book!" he called back, biting his lip anxiously.

There's nothing surer

The rich get rich and the poor get children

In the meantime

In the between time

Ain't we got fun.

A few moments pass before Rose replied. "Well, come in then! Do you like the sight of my door or something?"

Laughing inwardly and shaking his head, the Doctor twisted the doorknob and entered, for the first time in over ten years, into Rose's room. The first encounter with Rose's room occurred on her ninth birthday party that was held at the estate. Rose had left her new doll in her room that she wanted to show everyone, so he had volunteered to quickly race up the stairs and retrieve it so she wouldn't be kept waiting for too long. The look on Rose's face when he appeared out on the lawn with the doll was worth the shortness of breath and runner's cramp in his side.

However, her room had drastically changed since that party those years ago. Instead of it being drowned in an array of pink like it was when she was eight years old, he was shocked to find it was a clean and modern white in a sort of princess-like state. The wide windows were open to let in a breeze from the hot, humid air, causing the long white curtains to fly across the room. On the ceiling hung a crystal chandelier and paintings hung along the ashen walls. There were paintings of ballerinas dancing in forests to string quartets, paintings of greenery and landscapes with misty skies, paintings of sailboats in harbors, paintings of women with hats and umbrellas, and a painting that had initially caught the Doctor's eye. He immediately identified the painting as a work of Pierre-Joseph Redouté: a painting of budding pale pink roses in an antique brass crested vase with greenery situated around the roses in the vase. It was the only thing left in Rose's room that had something pink even incorporated into it. Her bed and sheets were white; the circular rug was patterned with white, cream, and red; and the seating was all off-white.

"Doctor, are you just gonna stand there and look daft, or are you gonna give me what you came all the way here for?" Rose's voice interrupted his thoughts, bringing him back to the reality of the fact that the loud music was still playing, and Rose was sprawled on her bed, clutching tightly onto one of the numerous pillows she had laying around.

We've only started

As mommer and pop

Feeling his face grow warm, the Doctor hurriedly stepped inside of the room, closing the door behind him, babbling: "Right, er-I apologise I was-well I was…Your room looks different."

Are we downhearted

I'll say that we're not

Rose let out a laugh and her eyes scrunched up in a cute manner. She rolled onto her back clumsily and kicked the pillow away from her. "I should hope so, the last time you were in here I was nine years old and a spoiled brat, I should say."

The Doctor tore his gaze away from Rose's dress that was slowly hiking up her leg and focused on what she had just said. "You remember that?" he warily asked.

Landlords mad and getting madder

Ain't we got fun

Times are so bad and getting badder

Still we have fun

"Of course I remember that," Rose murmured. She pulled herself up and turned over, propping herself up on her elbows, now facing the Doctor. "You were my hero," she continued, matter-of-factly.

Her blonde hair was beginning to tumble out of the meticulous burettes she had placed in it to style something akin to a bob, and…and Jesus Christ, why hadn't he noticed sooner how pleasant her face was? Her big brown eyes and her slight blush on her cheeks and her chin was soft and her neck was so smooth and her shoulders….

There's nothing surer

The rich get rich and the poor get laid off

"How do you remember that?" the Doctor asked, still taken aback by the fact that Rose thought of him as anything else but her dad's mate.

She shrugged and flopped back onto her back. "I dunno, I just do. Now, what book did you bring me?"

In the meantime

In between time

Ain't we got fun.

The gramophone in the corner of Rose's bedroom immediately stopped producing music, indicating the end of the song.

Rose made a movement to get out of her bed and change the song, but the Doctor was quicker. "I'll get it," he told her, walking over to the gramophone and taking the needle off of the record. As the record slowly came to a halt, the Doctor turned his attention onto the shelves of records Rose had beside the podium that housed the gramophone. At a first glance, most of the music she had was modern things like "Ain't We Got Fun?"

He reached out to gently leaf through the selection, but Rose's voice startled him, making him jump. "Doctor, are you gonna show me the book you have underneath your armpit or are you gonna just dig around some more?"

Dr. Smith immediately backed away from the shelves bashfully. "I'm sorry, I didn't realise-"

"Yeah, you didn't realise that that doesn't bother me, what bothers me is the fact that I hate waiting and you're making me wait for my book," she sternly interrupted him.

He chuckled in response and hurried over to where she laid on the bed. "Oh, alright, you're so demanding," he teased.

Rose looked up and noticed that he held the book out towards her, but stood at the foot of the bed-a good three metres away from her. Sitting up from her position, she looked warily at him. "What are you doing so far away?"

Blubbering, the Doctor blushed and retracted the book, "Well, I-you're on the bed- and I have to-"

"Sit ," Rose demanded, patting the space next to her.

"I have shoes on, Ms. Tyler," he nervously replied, pointing down to his shoes, his ears turning red.

Rose sent a him a mischievous smirk before crawling across the bed and dragging him onto it, making him exclaim a few "oh"'s and "alright"'s. With the Doctor sitting beside her on the bed, Rose leaned into him taking the book from his hand. "Oh, and by the way, please call me Rose. You aren't my driver, Doctor," she told him with a sideways smile.

"Dully noted, Rose. As with the fact that you do not mind if shoes are on your bedspread," he tremulously looked down at the brown stain his shoes had already caused upon the clean sheets.

Blatantly ignoring him, she began to carefully eye the front cover the book that was decorated with a small blonde girl in a red dress and hat holding a small golden key. Her other hand dug through the tall hedge that she stood in front of. The border around the cover was shades of green with vines of roses wrapped around. Her eyes began to well with tears and she slowly drug her fingers across the cover, feeling the different textures of the materials used. "Doctor, I cannot believe you," she hoarsely whispered, stray tears began to fall onto the cover of the book.

Growing panicked that Rose was offended that he gave her a children's book to read, he swiftly rambled: "I know it's technically a youth's book and all, but I promise that you'll enjoy it as much as I-"

He was cut off when Rose's arms wrapped around his frame as the book was tossed forgotten on the bed. "No," Rose disputed, her voice muffled in his shoulder, "I cannot believe you found the book I have always dreamt of."

"You can keep it," he smiled, cradling Rose's head in his hand. Some of her hairs tickled his nose, but he found that he didn't care at all, because he had never felt so relieved in his life. She had loved his choice. She loved what he had picked out for her. Nothing felt as powerful as that did. Nothing.

#

Across the lawn came the Master of Misselthwaite and he looked as many of them had never seen him, Rose read from the bottom of the last page of The Secret Garden. And by his, side with his head up in the air and his eyes full of laughter walked as strongly and steadily as any boy in Yorkshire-Master Colin.

Letting a chill pass over her and her eyes flutter shut, she gently closed the book and hugged it gently against herself. After the Doctor had departed the night before, she had read the book all through to the night until at about five o'clock in the morning when she had finally finished, eyes dreadfully tired.

Outside of Rose's window it was still dark, with the distant treetops illuminated by the estate's lampposts. A gentle breeze wafted throughout her spacious room, creating goose bumps along her bare arms. She let out a contented sigh and brought the book out from her chest to admire the cover once more, before setting it on her bedside table and staring blankly at the wall across from her bed.

The parallels from the book to Rose's life were enough to draw her in some sort of contemplating trance. Of course, at an obvious first glance, the little girl, Mary, was Rose: ill-tempered, standoffish, lonely, and bold. That would leave Colin to be the Doctor: a tyrannical know-it-all that comes across sometimes as perhaps feminine. But, in the book, Mary was hopelessly in love with Dickson: an exotic, mysterious, poor boy. Sure, he didn't exactly return the feelings, but if Colin is the Doctor, Rose thought, then who is Dickson?

#

This time around, the Doctor had to produce a book that topped the seamlessly-fitting: The Secret Garden; which meant-of course-that instead of giving Rose some crummy old library book, it had to be a book that he owned himself. Purchasing a book would make it seem as if he was trying to buy the way into her heart…er, mind. Over the past night, he had to routinely put himself in check over stray thoughts of Ms. Tyler, his best mate's daughter who he had known since she was just a wee thing. Thinking of her as anything else but a surrogate daughter was horribly inappropriate, and made him guilty on the sake of Pete. To bloody hell with Jackie.

Just in his small one bedroom flat in Mayfair he had at least three-hundred books of all sorts, but it had been years since he had last counted, so he could have around five-hundred by now easily. Instead of a sofa or a gramophone or a kitchen table, the majority of his sitting room and kitchen was filled with sagging wooden bookshelves and towers of books where he had run out of bookshelves. Because he was a librarian, most would think it would be all be in some sort of order, but that was not the case. He had nonfiction books on dolphins and whales by Sense and Sensibility, and the Bible by War of the Worlds. No sense of organization or array at all, in fact. Just stacks and stacks of beaten and battered books.

His eyes rested on Pride and Prejudice while leafing through his selections. No, no good at all, he thought as he tossed the copy behind his head. Rose Tyler was a feminist in every shape and form, but a whole book about it? Plus some ill romance to fluff it up? How offensive. That was most certainly out.

Next the Doctor came across Jane Eyre, another mindless version of a woman's inner thoughts. That one went out the window.

After making the sure the copy was safe and sound in the gutter, he came across his copy of A Study in Scarlet that he had been looking for since well into last year. He threw that onto his armchair.

After some more leafing through, Dr. Smith finally laid is eyes on the plain cover he was imagining in his head.

Alice's

Adventures in Wonderland

By

Lewis Carroll

#

It was pouring by the time Rose made it to central London after lunch. Accompanied by only her driver, she had made it clear to her mum that she wanted to come alone to shop for autumn clothing.

"Mr. Jacobs, can you take me to Bond Street please?" she leaned forward from the back seat of the model T sedan.

"Sure, love, which shops will you be interested in?" Mr. Jacobs replied.

"Chanel please."

He nodded in response to her as she settled back into her eat.

A few moments passed before Rose asked impulsively: "Sir, how far away from Bond Street is the museum?"

Raising an eyebrow he answered: "About a mile, Ms. Tyler. Are you interested in going?"

Looking out the window at the grey skies, Rose pondered on that. "Today is Sunday, correct, Mr. Jacobs?"

"The museum is closed on Sunday, ma'am, you're correct."

Rose ran her tongue over her teeth in deep thought. "Have you ever taken Dr. Smith home?"

Discreetly grinning, Mr. Jacobs nodded. "Yes, Miss, he lives in Mayfair."

Bond Street was in Mayfair.

"Where in Mayfair?" she pressed further.

"15 Bruton Place."

Clearing her throat and nervously tapping her finger on her leg, Rose ordered: "I believe it's too rainy for shopping today, Mr. Jacobs. I wish to visit our friend, Dr. Smith, instead if you don't mind, of course."

Mr. Jacobs smiled. "Sure thing."

Once the car had pulled up in the front of the quaint building just a few blocks from Bond Street, Rose immediately began to regret her decision. What if he wasn't home? But what if he was and he already had company? Sure, over her nineteen years of knowing the Doctor he had never had any serious girlfriend, but that didn't exclude the possibility that he was gay. He being gay actually made more and more sense after she began to intently scrutinise his behavior. A forty-something year old man with no wife, no children, perfect hair, soft hands, kind eyes….

"Ma'am?" Mr. Jacobs's voice harshly interrupted the silence of the car. "Did you want to proceed on to Bond Street, or do you want me to escort you inside?"

Letting out a shaky breath, she responded with: "No, um, I'm still contemplating on whether or not to go inside or not."

"You know, he's always in," he advised casually, pulling the Sunday paper from beside him and folding it open.

"Is he though?" she doubted, looking up at the windows of the flats above. All of them had boxes of flowers hung, and one particular set of windows had pink roses planted, she noticed.

Her driver chuckled lightly and flipped his page. "Ms. Tyler, I'm afraid to say that Mr. Tyler is all the mates he's got outside of work nowadays."

"Really?" her heart fluttered as she clenched and unclenched her fists.

He sat down his paper and looked back at Rose. "Ms., I really do have all the time in the world, but I sure would like to read my paper in peace. Now get on with it then, love," he winked.

A beat passed before Rose eventually nodded, grinning. "Alright. I'll go see him."

"Jolly good then, Ms. Tyler," he affirmed, moving to open his door handle.

Before he could fully open the car door, Rose held up a hand to stop him. "Don't worry about it, Mr. Jacobs. I can walk a few steps by myself."

Not going to bother to refuse, he picked his paper back up and focused his attention back on it. "Flat number 3C, ma'am."

Mentally, she made a note of that before stepping out of the passenger door and into the rain….and a puddle.

"Bloody hell!" she cursed under breath, hopping onto the curb and rushing into the building.

Before climbing the staircase up to the third level, she brushed water off of her hair and hat, and examined the damage done to her plum satin shoes and white stockings. One rule about satin: do not get it wet.

Still cursing under her breath, she declared defeat with her shoes and slowly began to climb the creaky wooden stairs up to the third floor.

Down the hallway she went until she came to a door reading 3C in brass paint. The door itself was an eggshell white with peeling sides revealing the true material of the door: steel. With one delicate hand knotted into a fist, she knocked three times on the door before pulling her hand back and waiting with her breath held.

A faint "one tick!" is heard from behind the door and Rose then became very nervous because he was home and in any moment he would be opening his door to find a damp, wilted Rose Tyler standing in a puddle of rainwater at his doorstep. Was it too late to run? she thought.

Dr. Smith's door swung open with him behind it, grinning manically. "Rose Tyler! Just the woman I was preparing for!"

With a blank stunned expression on her face, Rose found it hard to utter anything in response, so the Doctor continued on, ignoring her reaction. "Did you finish The Secret Garden? I thought you'd like it, mostly because Mary reminded me of you the first time I read it a couple of years ago. I was honestly shocked that the book was considered a children's novel with the particular diction and style the author used. The ending I found particularly profound when I realised that the garden had changed Colin and Mary so much. How did you enjoy it, Rose?" he rambled on and on in one breath.

"I-,uhm," Rose nervously started. She couldn't embarrass herself now by just spitting out something senseless and ill. Clearing her throat, she straightened her back. "I was confused on who Dickson was supposed to be."

"Oh, well Dickson was related to-" he started to explain before Rose interrupted him.

"No," she shook her head. "If I'm supposed to be Mary, and you're supposed to be Colin," her voice hitched, "then who is Dickson supposed to be?"

Obviously, she had caught him off guard by the way he started to stammer and look anywhere else but her. "I-" he coughed, "er-Dickson and Mary and Colin aren't supposed to be anyone, Rose. It's just a story. A good story, but still a story."

Grinning and gaining more confidence with herself, she shook her head at him again. "Oh come on, Dr. Smith, Mary is a little girl with blonde hair and an attitude problem. Colin is a sickly, nerdy little boy who has to be always right and always in control. So, who is Dickson? Who am I in love with, John?"

She used his first name, sending chills down his spine. Soaked from head to toe, it made the mint-green fabric of her airy curator dress stick to her figure, showing her hardened nipples. Swallowing thickly, he hoarsely avoided her question. "Are you cold?" he asked, making sure his line of sight was safely on her face.

"Actually, I am a bit chilly," Rose acknowledged. "If you haven't noticed, it's raining outside."

Turning his head back and laughing charmingly, he opened the door a bit wider. "Yes, I believe it is raining outside, Rose Tyler. Come in, I'll get a towel or something of the sort, I suppose."

"It's about time you acted like a gentleman, Dr. Smith," she smirked, stepping through the door. As he closed the door behind her (but not before noticing the way her shoulder brushed past his arm), Rose took a look around the flat. It appeared to be only three rooms: one room for the kitchen and sitting area, one room for the bedroom, and another for the lavatory. Yet, with so little space, so much was taken up by shelves and stacks of books. So much so, that there were pathways created for walk space.

"That's funny," she said in a baffled tone, turning around to look at the Doctor. "It looked bigger from the outside." She found she could only keep that straight tone for a few seconds before snickering and covering her mouth as she laughed about how terrible his flat truly was.

Laughing inwardly and looking down at his shoes, he retorted: "Yes, very funny, Rose. My flat is a piece of rubbish, I know." He headed inside of the lavatory and returned with a white towel rough from continuous use.

"It really is," she nodded in agreement, still giggling as she took off her sopping wet cloche hat and ran her fingers through her medium-length blonde waves. She hoped all of the hairspray would stick through the humidity in the air from the rainstorm as she took the towel from him and began to rub the hat dry with it.

"I'm glad you came over," he changed the subject, shoving his hands in his trouser pockets. She noticed while he had the same colour suit as always before (blue), but this new suit was more stylish and fit his slender body better (or perhaps it was the same suit and Rose was just seeing him in a different light).

"What? Do you already have another book for me?"

Quickly brushing past Rose he exclaimed over his shoulder: "Rose Tyler of course I have another book for you! Who else do I have to show off to?"

Rose rolled her eyes at the comment as she hung her hat on the coat rack near the entryway and began to pat-dry her dress.

The Doctor began to dig underneath his armchair muttering under his breath, inciting Rose to give his back an odd look. "Aha!" he cried, sitting up with a book in his hand. "I've found it!" Using his sleeve to wipe the cover of the book clean, he stood up from the cluttered floor.

"Doctor, what was it doing under your seat?" she warily wondered.

"Safe keeping, Rose. All of my most important of things go under my chair! That way I never lose them in this mess," he gestured around them.

She nodded as she closely eyed the wreck of the flat he lived in. "Yeah, I see that. You need a woman in your life," Rose observed, placing the damp towel next to her rumbled hat.

He scoffed in response and slapped his hand towards her. "Nah, I think I'll be good…until there's a fire of course."

Rose weakly laughed but continued to look around the flat in horror.

"Now, do you want to see the book I've picked out for you?"

Rose nodded as the Doctor handed her the plain covered book. "Alice's Adventures in Wonderland," she read aloud with a small smile on her face.

"Have you ever read it?" he asked, hoping that she had and this would be nostalgic for her.

Opening the book and flipping through the pages, stopping on all the illustrations, she grinned. "Yes, of course. My mum read it to be when I was little girl. She always teased that the book was actually written about me."

"I thought it would be a more fun read than The Secret Garden," he chuckled, anxiously tapping his finger against his thigh.

She looked up from the book and held his gaze. "Will you read it to me?" If he read it to her, they would be forced to share that small armchair he had crammed in the corner of his sitting room, forcing the two of them together. The more she looked at his ridiculous tight suit the more she wanted to just touch it-to drag her fingers and along his shoulder and down to his chest, ripping off that hideous maroon knit tie.

Tugging on his ear awkwardly he sputtered, his voice growing high-pitched: "I'm sorry, what?"

Taking a tentative step forward, she over emphasised every word as she repeated: "Will you read it to me?"

Dr. Smith tensely laughed. "I think you can read by yourself, now, Rose."

"Doctor," she grew serious, making him gulp, "I grew up hearing this wonderful story from my mother's voice. Now I wonder what it would sound like in yours."

Some part of him felt like he was being seduced by Ms. Tyler, making him try to think of Pete's face to try and calm himself down. He couldn't sit there and read that book to her. One thing might lead to another…but what if she wasn't thinking of that at all? Of course she wasn't, she was not even twenty yet and only saw him as an uncle or cousin or something. It was raining outside and she just wanted someone to read her a pleasant story, that's all. "Alright, Rose Tyler, I'll read this bloody book to you," he caved easily, pointing to the only seat in the entire flat.

Smirking inwardly, Rose sank down into the armchair gave him a look that said Are you gonna sit down too?.

"Oh no. No, Ms. Ty-I mean, Rose. I'll be fine on the floor thank you very much," the Doctor firmly stated. He kicked away some of the books on the floor with the toe of his trainer before sitting down on the hard floor, shimming around in an attempt to become comfortable.

She cocked an eyebrow at him and didn't say a single word-just looked at him. He would have to cave. There was no way he would stay on the stiff flooring for more than a couple of seconds when he could be sitting in his own armchair with herself perched on his lap. Highly inappropriate, but something she itched to do. She wanted to see how far she could push him towards her. He wasn't like any of the other men she had ever known. They would all jump at the chance to be in close contact with her, but he was entirely different. Anything having to do with her in that aspect made him jumpy and anxious, which she supposed was a good thing, as long as she managed to coax him out of that behavior at some point in the future.

"Well, I mean-" the Doctor rambled while reading the expressions on Rose's face, "If you thought we could maybe share the chair? Each one of us could sit on an arm and-"

Smiling, she interrupted him. "Doctor, sit down and read to me," she murmured, pointedly rising from the chair and gesturing to it.

Grimacing because he clearly lost this battle, he creakily stood up.

#

"Alice was beginning to get very tired of sitting by her sister on the bank, and of having nothing to do: once or twice she had peeped into the book her sister was reading, but it had no pictures or conversations in it, 'and what is the use of a book,' thought Alice 'without pictures or conversations?'" the Doctor softly read aloud from the first page as the faint pitter patter! of the rain drops fell against windowsill. Rose grinned from upon his lap, staring down at the pages of the book along with him. His body was warm against hers, and she pushed her back a bit further in his chest. He attempted to ignore the way his heart continued to speed up as his suit grew more and more damper from her dress.

"So she was considering in her own mind (as well as she could, for the hot day made her feel very sleepy and stupid), whether the pleasure of making a daisy-chain would be worth the trouble of getting up and picking the daisies, when suddenly a White Rabbit with pink eyes ran close by her," he continued, trying to maintain a monotonous voice while a war played out inside of his head. His best mate's daughter sitting on his lap? Sure, she did that when she was still in primary school, but now? The Doctor only ever saw adult couples doing what they were doing. Making them a couple, and Rose and him were definitely not a couple. He was so old and skinny and she was so young and…not skinny. He could tell by her figure she had to use a tight corset to maintain the flat-chested appearance that was so coveted and in style for women.

The Doctor knew once Rose settled her head on his shoulder and he could feel her slow, warm breaths on his neck that he was going to be guilty for the rest of his life.

#

"So she sat on, with closed eyes, and half believed herself in Wonderland, though she knew she had but to open them again, and all would change to dull reality-the grass would be only rustling in the wind, and the pool rippling to the waving of the reeds-the rattling teacups would change to tinkling sheep-bells, and the Queen's shrill cries to the voice of the shepherd boy-and the sneeze of the baby, the shriek of the Gryphon, and all the other queer noises, would change (she knew) to the confused clamour of the busy farm-yard-while the lowing of the cattle in the distance would take the place of the Mock Turtle's heavy sobs," he murmured, flipping the last page of the book. Rose's breath had grown slow for the last twenty minutes or so, indicating she had drifted to sleep. Yet, he choose to continue with the book, in case she slept lightly enough for some part of her to somehow hear him as he finished the book.

"Lastly, she pictured to herself how this same little sister of hers would, in the after-time, be herself a grown woman; and how she would keep, through all her riper years, the simple and loving heart of her childhood: and how she would gather about her other little children, and make their eyes bright and eager with many a strange tale, perhaps even with the dream of Wonderland of long ago: and how she would feel with all their simple sorrows, and find a pleasure in all their simple joys, remembering her own child-life, and the happy summer days," he finished, gazing at Rose those final few words he said. Her eyes were shut and her face was relaxed, tucked into the crook of his neck. He slowly shut the book and put it in-between himself and the seat. "The end," the Doctor whispered, gently raising a hand he caressed her hair, feeling how soft and clean it was. A few bobby pins held the shorter pieces of her hair away from her face and discreetly tucked them underneath the rest of her hair.

Should he wake her up? he thought to himself. A glance at his watch told him it was already afternoon tea time. Her driver was probably quite annoyed with the two of them, since she had arrived just after lunch. "Rose," he lightly shook her shoulder, waking her up.

"Hm?" Rose groaned, sleepily, taking her head off of his shoulder (to the Doctor's faint disappointment).

"It's already five o'clock," he said, looking up at her as she stared at his flat, obviously disoriented.

She grew sheepish, feeling guilty that she fell asleep after she had asked him to read to her and he kindly obliged. "Is it really? Are you finished with the reading already?"

The Doctor laughed and tugged the book from beside him and showed it to Rose. "Yes, I just finished, actually. I lost my sense of time, it seems."

"I'm so sorry I fell asleep, I feel so awful," she said, clutching the sides of her face.

He scoffed. "No, don't worry about it. You'd only been asleep for about twenty minutes, anyways. And, it's grown late."

"Oh," Rose jumped up from her place on the Doctor. "Mr. Jacobs must be so furious with me. He's been waiting for hours, it must be."

With an aching loss of warmth, the Doctor rose from his seat, resting the book where he had sat. "Yes, well, I'll see you soon with another book, then," the Doctor smiled, a bit disheartened on the fact that she would be leaving and he would be all alone in his chair.

"Actually," Rose apprehensively wondered, "I was going to ask if I could maybe stop by the museum one day." Then she quickly added: "If you have no engagements, of course. I wouldn't want to bother you at your job."

The Doctor could not contain the elation at hearing her ask if she could stop by the museum and he grinned widely. "Rose Tyler, I think that would be just splendid! Come by any day we're open and I'll be there!" Sure, perhaps he came across as pathetically desperate, but he could honestly not care less. The idea of showing Rose off to the two other workers in the library was thrilling to him (for the Doctor's austere day-to-day life). He could just see their faces as he presented his exquisite companion with yellow hair and pink skin.

Smiling and inwardly sighing in relief, "Great, I'll drop by soon," she replied.

The two walked over to the door and the Doctor took her now somewhat-dry cloche hat from the rack and handed it to her. "I enjoyed your visit," he said, opening the door for her.

"I'll see you soon, Doctor," she smiled, her fingers fumbling with her hat.

Knowing he very well might have regretted it; he bent down and gave her chaste kiss on the forehead.

Feeling cheated out of a decent kiss, Rose grabbed the back of his head before he could fully pull away and pressed her lips roughly against his. The Doctor jumped backwards quickly in response, roughly tearing his hands through his hair.

Humiliated and mortified, Rose held back tears as she realised that the Doctor did not kiss her on her forehead because he was shy or uncertain, but because he truly did not see her in any romantic or sexual light at all. To him, she was just his mate's daughter. His mate's nineteen year-old, immature, obtuse, impetuous daughter. "I'm sorry," she shook her head, her cheeks growing flushed, "I'm so sorry. Please forgive me, Dr. Smith, I wasn't thinking." Putting her hat on her head, she turned on her heel and rushed away from the door and down the hallway, heels clacking against the wooden floor.

The Doctor wore a face of shock as he exasperatedly put his hands on his hips. After only a beat of silent thought, he swore under his breath and raced after her, catching her hand before she could descend down the stairs in her escape.

Her eyes widened and she gasped when she felt herself turning around to face the Doctor. Then, she grew even more astonished when his lips came crashing down upon hers, giving her mind no time to register anything at all. He furiously grabbed her waist and pulled her tightly against him, his hands clutching at the small of her back impulsively. All he could think about was how warm and soft she was against his chest, and how incredible her hot breath felt in his mouth.

It took her a few moments before she could fully respond against him, moving her lips against his just as rapidly. She scraped her fingers up his arms to his shoulders, then continued the ascent to rest at the nape of his neck.

The Doctor broke away from the attention on her mouth to trail warm, open-mouthed kisses on her jaw and neck. In response, Rose tilted her head back and bit down on her lower lip.

After he reached her shoulder, he ceased and rested his forehead against hers, his breath winded as much as hers was. He took his hands off of the small of her back to take hold of her own hands and drag them off of his neck. He clasped them together before bringing them to his lips and kissing them gently.

"I'll see you later, yeah?" she smiled softly, looking up at him through thick eyelashes.

The Doctor nodded and dropped Rose's hands down to her side. "Yes, I would like that, Rose Tyler, very much so."

Sighing, Rose wrapped her arms around his neck and buried her head into his shoulder. "Oh, and by the way, Doctor," she mumbled, "I loved your boxes of roses."