This story took longer than I hoped, what with the new year and all - and happy new year to all of you :)
Enjoy, dear Reader,
L_M_D
On the third day of Christmas, my true love gave to me three French hens, two turtle doves and a partridge in a pear tree...
"Paris!" the Doctor exclaimed, holding open the door for Rose. She'd dressed for the occasion in a rather pretty black dress, the Doctor had noticed, with a faux fur shawl draped around her shoulders.
The stepped out into the busy street. Rose grinned. Ever since she'd told the Doctor that she'd never been to Paris, he'd been promising to take her. And it was as gorgeous as she'd hoped.
The bright autumn day wasn't marred by the slightly cooling breeze. In fact, Rose was glad of it as they made their way through the packed streets, before settling down in a traditional café that the Doctor had declared as "perfect".
Rose had finished a ridiculously beautiful hot chocolate and left the Doctor "human-watching" as he called it, whilst she nipped to the Ladies. On her way back, she was surprised; she couldn't find the Doctor. She glanced where they had been sitting but there were four people on that table – three women and one man. She squinted to get a better look. It was the Doctor. The Doctor and three (remarkably attractive, she now noted) young women. A boil of rage and something like humiliation began rolling in her stomach.
She marched over there and demanded sarcastically to be introduced to the Doctor's friends.
"Oh!" he blushed bright red. "Rose this is Jeanette, Renée, and Adelaide." He pointed at each woman in turn. All three giggled.
"Is it now?" she asked pointedly. The Doctor didn't (or pretended not to) hear her. She flopped into the remaining seat grumpily.
Jeanette took a sip of her espresso, Renée took a drag on her cigarette and Adelaide, the worst of the three, Rose decided, was engaged in a low conversation with the Doctor. A conversation which involved far too many arm touches and giggles.
"Is this your wife?" she heard her ask him.
"No! not at all…"
The conversation got too low to hear, and Rose turned bright red, anger and embarrassment combining to create what she suspected was a highly unflattering shade. She cast a swift look at the other women. Renée, or Jeanette, or whichever, the only other blonde: platinum hair long enough to sit on and straightened to within an inch of its life. Has to be from a bottle she thought unkindly. The other one, Jeanette she supposed, was watching Adelaide's conversation with the Doctor with nearly as much interest as Rose. Her copper hair curled elegantly at the neck. Adelaide, the one the Doctor just so happened to be leaning rather close to, pushing his glasses more firmly onto his nose, had short hair, jet black, flicked slightly to one side.
"Doctor!" she exclaimed, a flash of genius overcoming her. "Aren't you forgetting the tickets to that thing that we're going to?!"
The Doctor just gave her a befuddled look; one that said both we don't have tickets and also plus if we do, I have a time machine remember?
So Rose began chattering away over the top of Adelaide and the others, referring to many inside jokes and laughing rather too hysterically. When this elicited little to no response, other than a pitying look from the French girls, she flopped back in her chair and sent several imaginary text messages, practising her moody look as she did so.
Rose, the Doctor realised, was acting in a slightly peculiar manner. He continued his conversation about Aristotle half-heartedly as he attempted to figure out what was wrong with his companion.
Rose watched the Doctor and his new friends over the top of her mobile. All three of the women were leaning forward, hooked on his every word, ample cleavage showing. First Madam du Pompadour and now these three. He really did have a thing for French women.
She chewed on the edge of a nail. Then she noticed Adelaide's perfect French manicure, and stopped immediately.
After another fifteen minutes in which the Doctor flirted, giggled and was flirted with and giggled at, Rose got up, and walked away.
The Doctor immediately got up to follow, but was stopped by the pouting Adelaide tugging at the edge of his tan coat, insisting that he should not go, he should go with them and have another drink (and plenty more, it was implied). The Doctor brushed them off and ran after Rose, forgetting, in his haste, to say goodbye.
"Rose!" He shouted. "Rose, wait!" He blessed Gallifrey that this regeneration was young and fit and had relatively long legs. "Rose!" He caught up with her, grabbed her by the arm, forcing her to turn back to him.
She would not look at him, Rose told herself. Instead she stared hard at the concrete by his feet. If that concrete ever was alive, the Doctor reasoned, it was definitely dead now. He took a moment to be thankful that look wasn't directed at him. It would have stopped both his hearts.
He enfolded her into a hug, and despite herself, Rose felt tears forming.
"What's the matter, Rose?"
"N-nothin'…" she hiccoughed.
"Rose?" his voice was soft, and she couldn't help but look at him.
"Oh it's just those French… hens… throwing themselves at… I mean, ignoring me…." She went back to staring at the concrete.
"Hens?" He couldn't help but ask.
"Shu' up." She sniffled into his coat.
Both his hearts plummeted. She was crying. Or close enough. So he hugged her tighter, for once at a loss for words as it dawned on him what she'd meant. She was jealous. He couldn't help allowing himself a small smile of pride before addressing her.
"Anyway, enough about that. We've got all of Paris to see." He straightened up, and began walking off slowly. Rose stared at his back in disbelief. Bloody alien!
He turned back.
"Oh and Rose, I don't think I managed to tell you before we got waylaid. But you look… well…" he blushed slightly. He'd wanted this to sound much more romantic. "Beautiful." He settled for. "Just… beautiful."
She smiled at him faintly, walked up to him and took the hand he offered.
"Now," he continued. "All of Paris. Where do you want to start?"