Just a short chapter before we get to the action, hope you like it!
For Rose the days went by only punctuated by the constant nagging of her mum to find a job and the trips to the pub with Mickey.
Her encounter with John Smith was starting to seem like a distant dream, something that had never actually quite happened. That was until Jackie Tyler threw a newspaper down onto the table top.
"Rose, honestly sweetheart, I can't have you moping about the flat all day now that you're out of work. I've circled a few things you might like in there." She said, brows knitted together in concern for her daughter. She'd noticed the constant look Rose had had on her face for days…weeks even. She was on autopilot. The poor girl didn't know what to do with herself.
To her surprise, a smile crept across her daughter's face before she broke into a laugh.
"Honestly mum, who finds a job in the newspaper these days?" Jackie harrumphed.
"You might just if you'd care to look."
With an exaggerated eye roll, Rose turned her attention to the carefully outlined paragraphs. She'd be lying if she said she didn't feel bad. Her mum had been trying bless her, but what was she supposed to do? Find another job in a shop? Fold clothes until the day she died? The thought made her heart heavy.
She guessed it was her own fault for dropping out of school for a useless boy. She guessed that made her pretty useless too.
Rose half heartedly pointed to one of the listings.
"Waitress…I guess I could do that. Anything but folding." Her mum beamed, happy to see she was trying at least.
"What about the butcher's? Pays a bit more." Rose's loud retch put an end to that idea.
A week later Rose found herself leaning with her back against the wall at the entrance of Pilazza. Her mum had scoffed at the posh sounding name, muttering something about airs and graces. But Rose didn't mind it. It was something different. She even sort of liked the uniform. Every girl wore a figure hugging black skirt that seemed just a little too short with a white blouse. Different from what she usually wore, but that was the best part. Different.
But then a week later it all seemed so familiar. The new outfit was just a uniform and the gorgeous food was overpriced and undercooked.
So there she stood, leaning against the wall, observing the world around her but not quite feeling it. She didn't understand what was wrong with her lately. Ever since Henriks was lost in flames she felt something was terribly wrong. She was anxious and bored, and sometimes she found herself reaching down to take someone's hand. Only of course they were never there.
"Rose, did you take the rubbish out?" One of the girls who worked behind the bar whispered to her, urging her to move before her manager spotted her obvious negligence. With a half hearted grateful smile, Rose made her way into the kitchens.
She'd never realized just how weak her arms were until she had to lug two heavy black sacks of old dough and rotten vegetables to a garbage dumpster. She gave a reassuring smile to one of the chefs on a cigarette break behind the restaurant as he regarded her futile efforts with a raised eyebrow.
Opening the dumpster, she recoiled at the whiff of decay it gave out, quickly heaving the sacks in. Even the chef grimaced at the smell, stamping out his vice and returning to his post.
"Need a hand?" She dropped the lid with a clang.
There he stood, the pinstriped man, almost lost in the darkness of the night.
"It's you again." Rose whispered, unsure whether to take a step backwards or forwards. She found herself glancing around to see if anyone else was seeing this man whom she was almost sure was a figment of her imagination.
"Me again? I've had warmer greetings." He gave her a half smile, eyes glistening from the orange streetlights.
"Who are you?" She whispered. He dithered for a moment.
"No one, not really." Rose scoffed.
"Honestly, I think I deserve a little bit more of an explanation than that." He sighed.
"Alright. If you want to know…I'm the Doctor." She raised an eyebrow.
"The Doctor."
"Yes."
"If you say so." She said finally. He just grinned.
"So you show up at my house pretending to be someone you're not…then you show up at my work calling yourself the Doctor. Are you legally insane or has no one realised yet?" The Doctor raised his eyebrows, almost impressed by her brazenness.
"Well….I thought it was charming."
"Charming?" She laughed under her breath, in disbelief at the remarkable man before her.
"You terrify me." She continued. If the night wasn't so dark she'd be sure that she'd seen him flinch at that. The mood had sobered.
"What did you mean before? In my flat, you were talking like you knew me?" Rose almost didn't want to ask the question. Beneath all of his bravado he seemed fragile, strained almost. But most of all he looked tired.
"You wouldn't believe me if I told you." The Doctor simply smiled his sad smile again.
"Okay…then what do you want?" He scuffed his shoe against the floor, suddenly unsure of the right words to say.
"Just…checking up on you, I suppose." Rose felt herself almost blush. How could a stranger, lunatic or not, care so much?
"I just don't get it." She said, regarding how much more pronounced the bags were under his eyes this time. He took a step towards her and despite herself, she fought not to move away. Soon he was so close she could count every smatter of freckles across his nose. He looked at her with such fondness and familiarity it made her heart begin to pound.
"Something's going to happen, Rose. Something new and brilliant and you'll see that not everything is chips and buses and folding clothes." He whispered, and in his voice she could hear him urging her to take note. Before she could help herself, her mouth opened.
"What's going to happen?" A soft smile brushed the Doctor's face.
"Something extraordinary. Just keep an eye out."
The moment was ruined however, by a crash as the metal door to the restaurant hit the brick wall.
"Rose, we need you out front!" Her manager yelled, the annoyance plain across his face.
As she turned back to the Doctor, she was met with nothing but the empty darkness of the night.