Straight Up With a Twist (2/4)
Author: WynterEyez
Fandom: Doctor Who
Series: Talk to the Hand
Rating: T
Characters: Ten-II, Rose Tyler
Beta: None, though that would've been a damn good idea, don't you think?
Spoilers: Journey's End, obviously.
Summary: Follows Crossed Wires. The Doctor settles into his new job and gets a BFF. Rose gets abducted by aliens.
A/N: I'm trying for four chapters, though it may turn out to be more. They seem to spend an awful lot of time sitting around cuddling and talking… I'll try not to have too much of that in the next chapter. And Ten-II's little dark streak just kinda snuck in, too. With this chapter, I fill the hurt/comfort quota of this cliché. Just… don't blink, or you'll miss it. And the Weeping Angels will get you.
Part 2 - Rose Tyler vs. the Human Pox
As abductions go, it's relatively quick and painless. They take her to a lab and draw a blood sample, clucking to her in a faintly scolding tone until she realizes they want her to talk so their translators can pick up English. Once the translators kick in, the Flock captain explains their problem to her, asks for Torchwood's aid, then send her back to Earth using a beam only slightly faster than the lift beam simply because this time it's aided by gravity.
She hastens back to Torchwood and makes her report to Pete, who is already making plans to contact the Flock by the time she leaves for the day. Rose debates staying to help, but Pete shoos her off, and she reluctantly agrees. She feels a little more exhausted than usual, but she attributes that to spending nearly an hour suspended upside down thanks to the Flock's lift beam. So she heads home without even checking the progress of the growing coral.
The Doctor is already at the flat, which is a surprise; usually he heads straight to Torchwood after work to spend time with the TARDIS coral. And then she gets a good look at him. Even in the dim light, she can see the skin around his eyes is puffy and irritated, and his face streaked with tears. At her entrance, he tries to open his eyes, but can only manage narrow slits. "Rose?" he asks uncertainly.
"Are you all right?" she cries.
"Can't see too well yet," he sighs. "My vision should be cleared up by tomorrow. Right now, though, you're just a pink and yellow blur."
Which she finds interesting, since she's wearing green, not pink. But she doesn't say anything.
"I had an interesting day," he says dully.
"Yeah. Me too."
"I sort of volunteered us to take a couple of the editors to dinner. Then I saw an old friend. And then I learned about pepper spray," he says, wiping at his swollen eyes. "Ow," he mutters, when he realizes that only makes it worse.
"I was abducted by chickens."
"And then she tazed me."
"They were purple."
"Tazed me! It was just a hug!"
"And the size of horses."
"Wellllll, it was a long hug, because I was just so happy to see her, and then I may have accidentally grabbed her bum."
"They were very polite, despite wanting to use me to make human noodle soup for the captain's sick son."
"And I may have said something about her being softer than I remember. Apparently that's rude. And inappropriate. Then she whips out the pepper spray and WHAM!"
Rose pauses in her rant, deciding this is much more amusing. Especially since the Doctor has leapt to his feet and is now re-enacting the whole terrible experience with a throw pillow. "And so there I am, blind, and I trip and fall and grab for the closest thing to me, which is her, and we fall and then my face lands in something soft and squishy and much more inappropriate to touch than bums and then…" he pauses dramatically, "she tazed me." He pulls down the collar of his shirt to show her an angry-looking mark on his chest.
"It wasn't my fault I fell on her! It hurt! Felt like birds were trying to peck my eyes out. Big ones. Giant purple chickens, trying to peck my eyes out!" The Doctor blinks when he realizes he's somehow jumped from his train of thought onto hers. "Wait…" He eyes her blearily as it finally sinks in, and he tosses the now-battered pillow aside. It's nice to know that purple chickens take precedence over being tazed, she thinks. "You were abducted for what? By what?!"
"I was joking about the human noodle soup," she says. "Though the captain's son was actually sick. But, yeah. Purple chickens." She waits, giving him the chance to jump in and tell her everything there is to know about the Flock, from their planet of origin to the number of feathers on their left wing.
Instead, he flops back onto the sofa and stares up at her, and she suddenly realizes he has no idea what she's talking about. Rose thinks she rather likes knowing more than the Doctor. "So. Purple chickens the size of horses. Tell me about them." His eyes are alight (though that could just be the irritation), and he leans forward expectantly.
Rose smiles inwardly. His interests may be a little more human, but deep down, he is still the Doctor. Always eager to expand his knowledge of the universe. She sits down next to him, resting her head on his shoulder.
"They're called 'the Flock,' or at least, that's how they translate their name. They brought me aboard because they saw me kill a few Frumpers – accidentally, admittedly, since it turns out they were allergic to my perfume, but they were impressed anyway – and figured I was a member of Torchwood. So they asked for our help-"
"They saw you kill… what?" the Doctor asks blankly.
"Frumpers."
"Frumpers. And those are… a cross between a frock and a jumper?" He's wearing that adorably baffled look he usually saves for when he's trying to figure out stupid apes and their foibles and is failing miserably. The effect is a little spoiled by the swollen red eyes.
"Frumpers," she says again. "They're basically vicious vermin that eat anything in sight. The Flock is after this particular batch because they carry a disease – not fatal or even remotely harmful to humans, the Flock checked – and they're trying to eradicate them before they spread across the galaxy."
"Never heard of them."
Rose raises an eyebrow. It's not often she encounters an alien species the Doctor hasn't met. To encounter two of them in one day is unheard of. "They look like spherical bunnies with round mouths and rotating teeth, like a chainsaw. The young ones roll along the ground using their four dangling paws to push them along. The older ones can float; they produce a helium-like gas that fills internal sacs. They sort of drift around, eating whatever they roll or float into."
The Doctor just gapes at her for a long moment. Then he bursts out laughing. "This would never happen in our home universe!" he crows. "There, it was Daleks and Cybermen. Here… purple chickens and balloon bunnies!"
Rose combs her fingers through her shorn hair, wincing at how much of her scalp is exposed. "You heard what I said about the chainsaw teeth, right?"
"I also heard what you said about their allergy to perfume," he says dryly, eyes crinkled in amusement.
"Only when they're juveniles, according to the files the Flock gave Torchwood. Once they're mature, their body chemistry alters."
He dismisses this with a wave of his hand. "Just rupture the gas-filled sacs and they'll be immobilized, if not killed outright." His casualness about killing takes her by surprise. Sometimes she forgets this adorably confused part-human Doctor was exiled from his universe for committing genocide.
Rose quickly changes the subject. "Who is this 'old friend' who treated you like a self-defense class dummy, anyway?" she wonders. He hasn't been here long enough to have new friends, let alone old ones. But she likes his use of 'friend.'
His eyes light up. "Donna is a temp at The Star! Isn't that brilliant? She's my new assistant!" Then his face falls. "Well, maybe. If I didn't scare her off when I licked her head."
"Donna?" A slow smile curves her lips. "Donna Noble?" He's right; this is brilliant. If she's anything like her counterpart in their home universe, she's more than capable of handling the Doctor and his eccentricities. She'd already proven she can defend herself. Befriending this Donna would help ease his loneliness.
Assuming he doesn't blow by doing something weird, that is.
"Wait… did you say you licked her head?"
"I had to make sure it was really her," he says defensively.
Rose rolls her eyes. "You really need to learn that there's only one place for your tongue: in your mouth."
His lips twitch as he hides a smile. "Really? I'll remember that next time we kiss."
Rose hastily amends, "Okay, there are only two places for your tongue: in your mouth, or in mine. Nowhere else."
The Doctor opened his mouth again. "And what about-"
"Later! We'll spend some time figuring out where you can and can't put your tongue later."
"Tonight?" he asks hopefully.
"Maybe… Depends on just what you've gotten us into. What's this about a dinner?"
He slumps. "I… might have volunteered us to take a couple of the editors and their spouses out to dinner at Sorrelli's," he mutters.
Rose groans. Not only is Sorrelli's one of the most expensive restaurants in London, it's also a favorite of the local celebrities – and, therefore, is a favorite hunting ground for the paparazzi. So much for keeping a low profile… She hopes the background she and the Doctor have been slowly building for him is solid enough to stand up to the scrutiny of the tabloids.
Then again, he is one of those tabloid reporters, so at least he should know what to expect. He didn't seem too concerned, so maybe it was okay.
"And just how did this happen?"
"I went to talk to Greg about Gareth's column and I sort of blurted out that I was dating you. A woman. And therefore am not gay. When he laughed, I told him I'd prove it. Next thing I knew, dinner at Sorrelli's." He gives his hair a frustrated yank. "I could have just said I didn't want to do the column! Stupid, stupid ego!"
Rose smiles in sympathy. Having a male ego and female hormones did not work to the Doctor's advantage, that was certain. "So, when is it?"
"Friday."
Rose grimaces. She'd hoped for something later, after this whole Frumper affair was done with.
"Doctor, why is it so important that no one thinks you're gay? Would it really be that horrible?" She leans into his chest, head over his heart. "You know you're not. I definitely know you're not. Mum and Pete know you're not, thanks to our little 'encounter' in the linen closet after the last Vitex function. So, why not just say 'no' to doing the column and let them think whatever they want to think?" She shrugs. "They'll find out anyway once we start letting ourselves being seen together in public." She has a horrible thought: what if he's a bigot? She doesn't think she can stand it if he is, and not only because she has never tolerated that sort of attitude. The Doctor she knew has never hated without reason, and this version of him, born in battle and cursed with a human's impulsiveness, would be a nightmare if he found a focus for his hatred.
He just groans, and ruffles his hair. "I don't know," he admits, his frustration evident. "Part of it is an ego thing, I think. Part of it is because I love you, and I don't want anyone to doubt it – this job's given me a new perspective on celebrity relationships, and I don't want anyone to question what we have. And mostly… it's because I'm not who I used to be. Once, I could charge in, take control of a situation, win everyone's trust – well, mostly - with my confidence, my charisma. And now… I don't know who I am. People question me, they doubt me… I can't just win people over with my smile and a wave of the psychic paper anymore. It's like they sense that I'm different. Alien. Which I am, but that was an advantage when I was mysterious and ancient. Now my differences run more towards the bizarre. What advantages do I get from having the occasional… urges to get in touch with my feminine side? Or from having an actual feminine side, for that matter?" He scowls as he tries to organize his thoughts. "I guess what I'm saying is that I don't have that control anymore. If I can't make a couple of editors see that I'm not gay, what chance do I have of convincing others of the truth in a dangerous situation?"
"In other words, you're one of us mere mortals now, and you're having trouble coping." He stiffens beneath her, and she bites her lip. Not up for gentle teasing, then. "Don't worry, Doctor," she says soothingly. "This is all still new to you. You're the cleverest man I know. You'll figure this all out someday. I have faith in you."
He laughs softly and pulls her closer. "Ah, Rose… as long as you believe in me, I'll be all right." He runs his hand through her hair, then freezes when his fingers encounter the buzzed half of her scalp. "Rose, what happened to your hair?"
~oOo~
Thursday is as slow a day as Torchwood can possibly have, which is fortunate for Rose. She's not in the mood to deal with her teammates, most of whom can only gape at her newly cropped hair. She'd been forced to chop the rest of it off, so it's now an uneven tawny cap that sticks up worse than the Doctor's. She hides herself in the office, spending her time sorting through reported sightings of Frumpers, trying to find a pattern that can help narrow down the location of their nest. It's a personal vendetta, now; she hasn't had hair this short since she was six and a boy sitting behind her had amused himself by putting gum in her hair.
And then the world suddenly spins around her, and next thing she knows, she's throwing up in her office rubbish bin. Reluctantly, she heads down to the infirmary to see Dr. Owen Harper, Torchwood's resident medic. He was positively gleeful as he delivered his diagnosis.
"Looks like you caught the Human Pox," he says cheerfully. "Probably from that Frumper that gave you the partial cue ball look."
Rose glowers. "Human Pox? Is that what they call it?"
"Nope. They have another name for it, something that translates as 'That Which Brings Agonizing Pain and Slow Grisly Death by Dissolving the Skin and Liquefying the Organs.' I thought 'Human Pox' was better. Much easier to say."
Rose stares. "The Flock said it was harmless…" she whispers, horrified.
"Don't worry, it is," Owen assures her. "The Flock sent their data on the disease and its effect on humans. It's nothing severe; just some nausea, a sore throat, and a slight fever. Oh, and don't be alarmed if you break out in a rash, because some blotchiness and slight skin discoloration are apparently normal. And in case you want a second opinion, I can scan you." She trusts the alien scanner, with its ability to analyze any biological contagion within seconds, more than she trusts a bunch of purple chickens she'd only just met the previous day. The scanner confirms their diagnosis, and Rose releases a breath she didn't know she was holding. Skin dissolution and organ liquefication hadn't sounded like much fun.
"They brought me on board… Owen, could I have infected them?"
"Doubt it. If you were going to be part of a team sent to eradicate a virus, wouldn't you want to be either vaccinated against or immune to the virus?" He shakes his head. "Don't worry about it." He grins broadly.
"What are you so happy about?" she growls as Owen smirks over the results.
"We now have a contaminated blood sample to work with. With it, I can whip up a vaccine by the end of the day for the rest of the staff. Sorry, love, but I won't be able to do anything for you."
With that he sends her home, warning her that she'll be contagious for the next twenty four hours.
Thursday at The Star is also mercifully slow, if a little off-putting. Overnight, Donna seems to have realized her future with the paper lies with the Doctor, and has gone from her normal bolshie self to the perfect, obedient assistant, following his requests without question, anticipating his needs, and, most startling of all, remaining totally silent, except for a mumbled apology for her actions the previous day, or to agree with whatever he says – no matter how bizarre.
The Doctor watches her suspiciously for awhile, wary of possible alien replacement or takeover, but then realizes this is just what humans call 'brown-nosing.' Or 'sucking-up.' He's not sure which.
He doesn't like it. He'd rather have his feisty Donna, the woman who stands up to him, who stops him. The woman who can laugh with him, cry with him, allow him to experience the universe anew through her eyes. He doesn't want this woman who is so terrified of losing her job that she may as well be a mindless automaton.
He wants her to be comfortable with him, because he has no intention of letting her go now that he's found her.
So he invites her along to Friday's dinner.
~oOo~
Rose realizes Dr. Harper might have been a little off in his diagnosis when she wakes up purple. And when the hell had 'rash' meant 'swelled up to twice her normal size'? Her shrieks startle the Doctor, who immediately comes running to her rescue… only to backpedal when he sees her in all her chromatic glory.
"Rose, you're mauve!" he yelps, his eyes very wide. "And… well… it's not a good color on you. Makes you look a bit fat, really."
"Bloody Owen and his bloody alien medical scanner!" she seethes. "Blotches? Blotches? Does this look like blotchiness to you?" She waves her purple arm in front of his face, and he pulls back. "'Slight skin discoloration,' he said! Does this look 'slight'?"
The Doctor continues backing away, his eyes on her flailing limbs. "Could you not do that? You could still be infectious. Dr. Harper gave me the vaccine last night, but you know Owen; doesn't always get everything right. Especially when it involves my unique biology, like when he told me that Goroanian wine was safe but it wasn't, not for me anyway, and I spent the whole night praying to the porcelain god, well, not so much praying as-"
"Doctor!" she snarls. She's not in the mood for one of his endless babbles. "I'm sick! I have an alien virus! Aren't you going to, I don't know, comfort me, at least?"
The Doctor takes a tiny step towards her and, stretching his arm as far as it can go, gently pats her on the head and murmurs, "There, there," before snatching his hand back and haring off towards the sink and anti-bacterial soap.
"Some doctor you are!" she yells after him. She mentally crosses the 'hurt/comfort-doctor/patient' role-play off her list of fantasies she has yet to try with the Doctor. Apparently he doesn't have the stomach for it.
He's back after a few moments, his hand red from the thorough scrubbing he'd just given them, and his brow furrowed in thought. He studies her for a moment, then frowns. "Rose, we can't go to dinner with you looking like that."
"Oh, you think?" she fumes. "I didn't plan on waking up purple!"
"But…" he whines. "How am I supposed to prove to Greg-"
Rose snaps. She'd been hoping for offers to make breakfast, to stay home and tend to her every need, or at least a 'how do you feel?'
"Get some perspective! Your sexuality is not the most important thing right now!" she snarls. "I keep expecting Oompa Loompas to come through the door so they can roll me off to the juice room!" Later, she'll feel bad about yelling at him, knowing it isn't really his sexuality that's the issue. For now, though, she's nauseous, she's itchy, and she's purple. Sympathy for other living beings isn't a priority, especially since she can't even get any sympathy for her condition.
"Do Oompa Loompas exist in this universe?" he asks, intrigued.
Rose somehow manages not to kill him.
But it's a very near thing.
~oOo~
"Get changed," she tells him later that evening.
He's sprawled across the sofa reading a history book, and jumps at her snapped command. The Doctor eyes her purple-skinned form warily and scoots back a little. She'd call him a big baby, except that it has finally occurred to her that he's had little experience with being ill, and the prospect clearly terrifies him. It's sort of cute that he has no clue how to deal with the situation.
"Why?" He glances down at his T-shirt and jeans. "What's wrong with what I have on?" he asks, puzzled. He begins examining his shirt critically for any stains or holes.
Nothing, she wants to tell him. She loves how he looks when he's dressed casually, with none of the little feminine embellishments he occasionally adds. "You can't wear that to dinner."
"I told you, I'm going to cancel-"
"No you're not. This is important to you, yeah? You need to go. In fact, I even found you a date."
He doesn't look as grateful as she had expected. "Rose, they're expecting me to show up with you -"
"No they aren't," she says.
He ignores her. "And if I show up with some random woman, they'll suspect I picked her up off the street or something."
"Trust me," she says firmly. "By the end of this night, they'll know you're Rose Tyler's man."
He eyes her suspiciously for a moment, then shuffles off to get dressed. Rose is working on another Torchwood report when he comes out of the bathroom forty-five minutes later.
He looks fabulous in a white version of his favorite suit, silver pinstripes gleaming when the light hits it just right. The shirt he wears is silver silk, with a patterned red tie. The stained red Converses complete the look.
He is wearing make-up, but he's learned subtlety since his first disastrous experiments. There's a hint of red lip gloss on his lips, and enough mascara to make his eyelashes devastating. Anyone unaware of his quirks probably wouldn't even notice.
Who'd have thought a man's competence in cosmetic use could be such a turn-on?
He smirks and pivots lazily, allowing her to admire him from every angle. "Like what you see?" he purrs.
Oh, God, she likes… Suddenly, Rose wishes they had taken their relationship public, rather than waiting. She would love to show him off to the other society girls, the ones who make snide comments about her mysterious past and her lack of high-class friends and her even more telling lack of a boyfriend.
But that will have to wait. Rose would at least like to be flesh-colored before being seen in public again.
"Just a few more days," the Doctor says, for once actually grasping the fact that this illness is making her miserable. Or maybe he is simply thinking of his own frustration. Either way, it's still going to be a long wait. Though she isn't contagious any more, and the puffiness has gone down. Maybe they could arrange something later…
He tugs nervously at his tie, which is already askew. Rose aches to straighten it for him, but he's still skittish about letting her get too close.
Rose sighs and goes back to her report, and the Doctor takes a seat on the sofa, drumming his fingers on the arm's padding. It suddenly dawns on her that they've never gone on a real date before; their desire to keep things private for the time being had limited them to fast food runs and grocery shopping. The Vitex functions don't count; most of the guests tended to be stuffy business people and politicians, and the events were usually dull evenings of drinking and talking. The lack of media coverage make them safe to bring the Doctor to, but the evenings usually ended either in the Doctor making himself scarce partway through, or the two of them running off to the nearest convenient closet. Definitely not a date! Rose resolves to fix that as soon as possible.
The doorbell rings, and the Doctor jumps to his feet, his eyes very wide, his hands anxiously smoothing the non-existent wrinkles from his suit as he braces himself for what's to come. Rose wonders what he thinks she's found for him, and suspects he expects anything from a shape-shifting alien to a clone to Dr. Owen Harper in a cardboard cutout Rose Tyler mask. She's certain the truth has never once crossed his mind.
"Your date is here." Rose opens the door and steps back. She really wishes she had a camera on hand, because the expression on his face when he sees the woman in the doorway is priceless.
It's Jackie Tyler.
TBC…
By the time I get the next chapter up, there's going to be a new Doctor. *sobs hysterically*