Character/Pairing: Ten/Rose
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: The BBC owns all, I am merely borrowing.
Spoilers: Through Girl in the Fireplace.
She hesitated, worrying her lip and glancing back at the space where the door had been. If she could get him to babble for just one more minute...
"It's going to be awhile, Rose."
Turning back, she found him watching her with mild amusement. She slowly approached the sofa and sat gingerly as far away from him as possible. The smile slipped from his face and a crease spread across his brow.
"You all right?"
"M'fine. Really," she assured him, with a tight smile. "S'nothin."
"You've been crying," he murmured, lightly brushing fingers across her cheek.
She immediately jerked away from his touch and inhaled sharply. "No, I haven't."
His hand remained frozen in position for a moment, before he drew it back to fiddle with his hair. "I...I thought you'd stopped looking for me. I mean, new new me. Not exactly the same. Different." He sighed. "And then Mickey came along and well..."
"You think I'm still with Mickey?" Rose interrupted. "Seriously? With Mickey?"
"Aren't you?" he asked with a hint of vulnerability.
"No wonder you're runnin' off with strumpets," she muttered.
"Strumpets?" he asked, his tone indulgent. "Rose, have you been perusing the early literature section again?"
"Not as much as you've been learnin' French."
He instantly stiffened. Rose ducked her head and watched his hands as they tightly gripped the edge of the sofa. No matter how many times he insisted they were manly, she thought they were more on the delicate side. She wondered if Reinette had noticed.
"I have inot/i been learning French," the Doctor said carefully. "I'm already familiar with a variety of dialects."
"Bet you're familiar with plenty else that's French."
"Well...enough to get by. I should probably brush up on monetary variances and garden layouts. Never know when you might get stuck in a labyrinth of hedges." His tone remained light, but Rose knew he was well aware of the insinuations threading their conversation.
"How long were you there?"
"Couple hours. Although, most of that was spent dancing not..."
"Dancing!"
"Couldn't get out of it. Believe me, I tried. I'm rubbish at dances from that period. All that prancing about in heeled shoes. Ever try completing a successful minuet in chucks?" He grimaced and flexed his feet. "Not easy."
"Learned some new moves, then?"
"What?"
"Thought you didn't dance," she explained, smoothing her robe.
"Might've lost my head if I didn't. Refusing to dance is a serious offense. Especially when the one asking is the King's mistress."
"Yeah. 'Cause you're very particular 'bout your partners."
"What's that suppose to mean?" he asked, finally sounding cross.
"Nothin'. Just..."
"What?"
"Doesn't matter."
She heard him take a deep breath and wondered if he was counting to ten. Knowing that overly large brain of his, it was probably closer to a million.
"Rose..." he began sincerely. "There's nothing to be jealous of."
"I'm not...!" she spurted, stopping when she realized the outburst was only confirming his assumption.
"It's all right," he said, patting her shoulder a little awkwardly. "Very human of you. But you really don't need..."
"Human of me?" Rose got to her feet and stumbled away from the sofa. "'Cause that's how you've always seen me, isn't it? Just a stupid human."
"You know that's not true," he said, shaking his head. "You're really not with Mickey?"
"No! Haven't been for ages. Since before you changed, even. God, you never listen! He's got a girl. Works at the chippy." She clenched her hands into tight fists and snapped, "And what am I suppose to think? Obviously m'just the next in a long line of companions you keep 'round so you can feel impressive."
His face was inscrutable as he stood, dark eyes never straying from her face. Rose met his gaze defiantly, waiting for the outburst that had to be lurking beneath his apparent calm.
"We should go for chips," he commented mildly, stuffing his hands in his pockets as he ambled towards her. "Haven't done that in...oh, much too long. That was our first date."
"What?" she mumbled, retreating until she could feel the leather covered books against her palms.
"Chips," he affirmed, close enough now to reach for her hands.
Chips would mean London. "You sendin' me home?" she asked, voice quavering no matter how desperately she tried to appear unruffled.
Startled, he tightened his grip on her hands. "Why would I..." he started, eyebrows quirking oddly. "How could I..." He drew her hands to his chest and Rose found herself leaning forward involuntarily. "How can you not...know?"
