A/N: OMG…I just realized how long this chapter is. Anyway…it starts with some…well, some of the same—introspectivey stuff. BUT…there is pseudo-plot at the end…well…not so much the end as shortly after the Doctor contemplating…stuff, and then rambling on in a fluff-like way for pages and pages. Oh yeah. Fluff warning. Lots of fluff. Wow. It's about…5am. How did THAT happen? I was going in to proofread and before I knew it…blah. Ok…I hope I caught all my mistakes and places where the writing was just sucky and made them better. It's late. Or early. I'm posting this puppy.
Chapter 4
He was slipping.
He pointedly ignored the words his mind hurled at him as he gathered Rose gratefully in his arms, feeling like his head was clear for the first time in…well, he wasn't quite sure.
The irony wasn't lost on him that time itself had it's meaning from the moment he'd seen her escorted into the underground holding room. When he'd glimpsed that frilly pink skirt fluttering underneath the musty blanket they had draped over her head, everything had…stopped. He'd struggled with himself, insisting over the screaming in his head that any girl could be wearing those little pink shoes, that he didn't know the smooth line of her ankle, the very texture of her skin by heart, that he couldn't sense her presence the moment she walked into a room.
Then they'd lifted the dark material away, and the conversation around him had faded to static, the screaming within escalating into a violent, ragged shriek that clawed through his mind. He'd just looked at her, trying to drag himself out of the cacophony inside his head that was yelling her name over and over, trying to shove it down inside where he could leave it until after he had come up with a plan and saved everyone, when he was alone in his room and had the luxury of giving in to choked breaths and pounding hearts and how she'd stood in front of him, so blank and unaware and he'd been so afraid…
Then something the men behind him were saying had penetrated, and everything inside him had shut up.
"They did what?" He hadn't turned around, just focused on Rose, just focused on keeping the tremor of anger out of his voice.
"I'm sorry?"
"They left her where?"
"Just…in the street."
Something in him had switched off then. Someone had done this to Rose, his beautiful Rose, who was so good and sweet, and then they had left her, vulnerable and alone—no. All the doubts and rules and niceties and fairness had sloughed away, everything that insisted day after day that she was just a companion and that danger was part of the job description, everything that told him he was here to save this straggly group of people—the world had narrowed down to one thing—someone had hurt Rose. Someone was going to pay for hurting Rose. If saving a few random humans happened to be a side effect of saving her, fine. And if it wasn't—they could go rot. Rose was in trouble.
The next…hours? Days? Years? Surely not years…there was no way that was right… Well, it had all been a bit of a blur. He just knew that how ever long it was, he'd been stomach-twistingly frantic and icily furious and more than willing to rip the earth itself apart if that would have saved her, and hadn't felt anything else until he had seen her smiling beatifically at him from down the street.
Firmly ensconcing the irritating whispers of his conscience in an ignored corner of his mind, he wrapped his arms more tightly around her and inhaled the scent of her skin, her hair, feeling calm spread through him in lazy ripples before he reluctantly released her.
Enfolding her hand in his, he led her down the street to join in the coronation festivities.
Friends cared about friends—it was only natural. And when they were lost, they tried to find them. And when they were in danger, they worried about them. And when they were safe again, they hugged them. And held their hands. And found excuses to touch them, just to convince themselves that they were okay. It was no more than that.
After cake and orange-aide, and sparklers at twilight, after Rose finally pled exhaustion and they returned to the gentle hum of the TARDIS, The Doctor wandered around the dim blueness of the empty console room, poking at the occasional button or lever.
Slipping.
He laced his fingers behind his neck and exhaled a frustrated breath as he stared, unseeing, at the coppery ceiling. He wandered around the control panel, fiddling with various switches, making unnecessary adjustments to the ship's trajectory.
Slipping.
He wasn't sure as to what had upset him so much about what The Wire had done to Rose. She had been in worse danger before and—his fingers twitched in guilt and unease—surely would be again. The experience hadn't even seemed to give her a moment's pause—water under the bridge, soup off a duck's back, a Zentlack in a desert, and so on.
It had just seemed like…such a…a…violation. The Wire had ripped away a part of her, and then some miserable bastard—one of the humans that she spent half of her time protecting—had dumped her out on the street, alone, to fend for herself.
Are you sure it isn't just because someone dared to touch your girlfriend?
Well…that thought also had—wait! No!
He leaned back against the railing and glared balefully at the control panel. Glowing lights and flashing buttons stared impassively back.
Maybe a little.
Slipping. Slipping. Slipping.
"Shut up!" Startled by the sound of his own voice The Doctor glanced around quickly to make sure that he was still the room's sole occupant. Somehow, he didn't think it would go over well if Rose stumbled upon him having an argument with his own mind. It wasn't like it was weird or anything. Weeellll…not that weird. It was just that he was the person that he had known the longest, not to mention someone he had interests in common with, was of a comparable intellect to, and got along fairly well with. Most of the time. Humans didn't always see it that way, however. He was fairly certain that Rose's reaction would involve soothing tones and no sudden movements, then slowly backing away.
Either that, or she'd be amused and want to know what the disagreement was all about, and then he'd have to think of something to tell her that didn't involve fighting with himself over his feelings for her.
Feelings that, he admitted despairingly, were not staying quite as tethered and controlled as he had been struggling to keep them.
Well, he'd just have to do better. Easy-peasy.
He cued the TARDIS to alert Rose that they would be landing soon, and, spotting a burnt out fuse, clambered under the control panel to replace it while he was waiting.
He would have to dial down the casual touching a bit, for sure. Stop taking any flimsy excuse he could find to wrap his arms around her, or hold her hand.
He just had to stop acting like a love-struck school-boy and show a little discipline. Surely it couldn't be that difficult. He was a bloody Time Lord.
Right. Because that had been working so well up until now.
After…Rennet, after that whole dreadful, painful experience, the image of Rose's tearstained face had haunted him. He had probably overcompensated a little, just a smidge, wanting so badly to remove every scrap and trace and memory of sorrow from her shining eyes.
After waking up on the sofa with her draped across him, luxuriating dreamily in the knowledge that it was exactly how he wanted to wake up every day for the rest of his life, the realization of how much he had been letting his guard slip had jolted him fully to consciousness like an icy bath. He had gently detangled himself from her embrace, carried her back to her room and tucked her into bed, but it had been all he could do not to crawl under the blankets with her and curl him self around her, wake her up with sleepy kisses.
And then, of course, choking on regret and feelings that he shouldn't be having, he had overcompensated to the opposite side of the spectrum and practically ignored her after they'd fallen out of the time vortex into the alternate London. He'd been so busy focusing on not getting too close, and trying to stifle his feelings, and at the same time trying to stifle the urge to lock her up safe inside the TARDIS where she couldn't get captured and potentially damaged by the villain of the hour, that he hadn't even recognized the real danger until it was almost too late. She'd handled the Cybermen almost without breaking a sweat.
Pete and Jackie Tyler had been a different story.
He'd sent her out into that world with a few flippant reminders that they weren't her real parents, and then chastised her when she tried to see them. If he'd just taken the time, paid attention for a millisecond, he would have realized instantly how much importance she was placing on them, but he was too busy making sure he looked too busy to care, too involved in his own egocentric problems. And after that world's Jackie had died, and Pete had rebuffed her, and then loosing Mickey on top of that…she'd been so distraught—he couldn't just leave her like that, especially considering how much of her heartache was kind of, somewhat his fault. So he'd taken her back to her mom's flat for a visit and played nice all day. He'd even acquiesced to staying for dinner. That Jackie cooked. And then, of course, he'd turned around and put her right back in mortal danger again, and even though she seemed to be bouncing back from it without a problem…well, he'd thought she could really use a break from the running and fighting—it wasn't that it would be a nice break for his own peace of mind or anything—so he had proposed a vacation—95 life threatening free, guaranteed.
He dropped his head down on the metal grating beneath him with a clanging thump. What was wrong with him? He was over 900 years old and relatively brilliant. Why was he acting like an emotionally retarded teenager?
He was attempting to extricate the fuse from beneath a tangle of wires when the clunk of Rose's shoes on the console platform alerted him to her presence.
"We there, then?"
He glanced up at her through the metalwork. "Yep—just arrived. Give me a minute…I just have to—" He broke off abruptly as he took in the exposed length of her legs. She was reclined against the railing, the poster child for youthful insolence in chunky sandals, a cropped dark denim skirt and a black halter top emblazoned with the Jolly Roger, her hair pulled into two messy braids. She shifted, brushing a few escaped strands behind her ears, and his brain suffered momentary oxygen starvation when his vantage point afforded him a glimpse of red lace the same color as her lipstick, high on her thigh.
He banged his head against the framework as he scrambled out from under the console.
She hurried forward, brushing his hair back and frowning at the slightly abraded skin on his forehead. "You alright?"
He grinned brightly in reassurance and quickly stepped back from the warmth of her fingers, before her proximity unraveled the remaining fibers of his control and he decided that the flash of crimson he had seen required an in-depth investigation.
She watched him for a moment more, then, when she was satisfied that he wasn't about to collapse from head-trauma related injuries, she smiled in excitedly. "Lets go then, yeah?" She leaned over to pick up a canvas tote bag, then turned and sauntered toward the door of the ship.
He blamed the view of her bare back, long legs and swaying hips for the words that tumbled from his mouth before he could stop them. "You aren't going out dressed like that!"
She turned, raising an eyebrow. "Why not? I thought you said it was going to be hot here. Tropical, even."
"Oh…um…well, it is, but…the thing is…"
Rose's forehead crinkled in worry. "It's a local custom thing, isn't it? Religious, even. Full-length robes in all seasons or some rot? You know I'm not the best with those—remember that time in the Brox colony, with the shrimp thing?" She shook her head. "This isn't good. I know I'll end up mucking it up, and there we'll be, in a dungeon again." She bit her lip, thinking, then sighed and let her shoulders droop in resignation. "Maybe we should go somewhere else. I don't want it to be my fault when we—sorry—if we get picked up by the local constabulary."
He rolled his eyes. "If we get picked up? I'm not going to fault you for the attempt at positive thinking, but—"
"I know. I shouldn't bother." She flipped a braid over her shoulder and started walking back towards the console. "We're sure to be stuck in the pokey or being chased by an angry mob within the hour." She flopped back against the railing and glanced sideways at him. "We braving it?"
He rolled his eyes. "I was going to say that your positive thinking skills could use some work. You should know, this is a very peaceful section of a very peaceful planet. Didn't I promise you a hazard-free vacation? Have you got no faith at all? …And side note—'the pokey'? New house rule. You—"he tapped the end of her nose lightly"—are not allowed to watch westerns anymore."
"Peaceful like Herminia 5 was? And is it a religious thing?"
He decided to ignore the first question (how was he supposed to keep track of every world war on every planet ever?) and did a quick mental calculation of the odds that Rose wouldn't notice that everyone else outside was dressed in deference to the balmy weather. Deciding that she was probably a bit too observant to pull that one over on her, he sighed. "No, they don't have a religious thing."
She looked at him speculatively, eyes narrowing. "Then what, exactly, is wrong with what I'm wearing?"
He scanned her outfit quickly, searching for a legitimate objection that would avoid addressing the fact that he was dubious about the continued operation of his brain's higher functions around this much of her bare skin, and that he was likely to do something rather stupid and male if he saw anyone else admiring said bare skin too intently. His eyes lit on her feet.
"Your shoes!"
She gave him a skeptical look. "My shoes? I'll have you know, these are the height of fashion in London right now…ish."
"Well…the thing is…if we do, by some obscure, itty-bitty, minor chance, find our selves running for our lives…those really aren't the best choice, you must admit. You could break an ankle trying to run in those."
She rolled her eyes as she pushed off the railing and sashayed back towards the door. "I'm trying to exercise positive thinking." She glanced over her bare shoulder at him. "Coming? 'Dad'?" She didn't wait for him to catch up, but strode ahead, muttering to herself. He wasn't able to catch all of it, but he was certain he heard bits that included 'puritanical aliens' 'old enough to dress myself' 'stupid bloody leather jacket' 'lame trench coat' and 'worse than my mum'.
At that he hurried to catch up and voice his protests. "Rose Tyler, that is the worst kind of slander, and I am deeply hurt that you would say such a thing, I want you to know. Answer me this—has Jackie Tyler every let you take on the king of the 42nd century French repressionists at table tennis?"
"I'm not even going to dignify that with an answer."
"And for the record, my leather jacket was not stupid," he pouted.
She glanced at him, lips twitching slightly as she fought to keep a severe expression on her face. "It was, a bit."
"No it wasn't! That jacket was brilliant!" He sniffed in indignation. "I looked cool in it."
She raised a questioning brow, struggling harder not to give in to his silliness. "Is that so?"
He glared ferociously at her. "You know I did. That jacket rocked."
At his final comment, Rose lost the fight. Five minutes later he was tapping his foot and impatiently as she leaned against a low wall catching her breath, the occasional snicker or giggle still tumbling out between gasps.
"Are you quite done?"
"Yeah…I think I…" her lips twitched upwards and another peal of laughter burst forth. "You—you said….snicker …you…snerk…you looked….hahahahaa!"
He rolled his eyes. "It wasn't that funny."
She made a visible effort at bringing herself under control and looked at him with wide-eyed sincerity. "You're completely right Doctor. Your jacket totally rock--snicker--it—"
The Doctor crossed his arms and settled in to wait for her amusement at his expense to run it's course, trying not to admit to himself how endearing her pink cheeks and sparkling eyes were.
She finally composed herself and wiped lightly at moisture under her eyes, in an effort to keep her make-up reasonably intact. "Sorry 'bout that. And maybe you looked a bit cool in the leather jacket," she conceded with an impish grin as she grabbed his hand and they started walking towards the town.
"I absolutely did."
"But you do admit that your trench coat is lame?"
"What? It most certainly is not! Have you seen the pockets in this thing?" He reached his hand into the left one and pulled out an ornate tiffany-style lamp. "No…not what I was looking for…" He rifled through the depths, jerking back as a muffled roar came from within the fabric. "…don't know why I put that in there…maybe the other pocket…" He paused in his searching to glance over at Rose. "It's not lame," He insisted.
She sighed in mock-resignation. "Oh, all right. All your clothes are amazingly, stunningly cool. In any century. On any planet."
"Wellllll….I wouldn't go that far. There were some choices that some of my earlier selves made that might have been a bit dodgy."
She smirked. "I know. I've seen the wardrobe, remember?"
He winced as he mentally catalogued the contents of the rows of and rows of racks and drawers. "I'll have you know—I have not worn that gorilla suit. Weeelllll—once. For a party. But everyone was wearing them. Or, at least, the invitation said they would be. And the parachute pants? They were a gag gift. Oh…and that hideous coat…"
"Sarah-Jane and I had a lot of time to talk once we got past our differences," she informed him with an arched eyebrow.
"Ohh. Well." He ran a hand through his rumpled hair, then looked at her with concern in his eyes. "But I really, honestly, haven't worn the parachute pants. I need you to believe me, Rose. I know I've made some fashion mistakes in my lives, but I need you to know, that is something I'd never do."
"Oh, who knows, Doctor—your next regeneration might pick them up first thing." She giggled at his horrified look.
"Never Rose. How I look, and how I act, and even my favorite foods and places may change—but I am still the same man. And that man would not wear parachute pants."
"I really hope so. I mean, could you live with the shame of a whole life spent in a pair of those?"
He shuddered. "That's it. I'm throwing them out as soon as we get back to the TARDIS."
She glanced sideways at him. "So what is it with the whole 'One outfit per regeneration' thing, anyway? Doesn't it get a bit dull?"
"Rose…dull isn't often a problem for me—between running away from people trying to dismember me and trying to find the answers to bizarre space-time anomalies, I don't often get all that bored. It seems simplest to find a look I like, and stick with it."
She contemplated his words for a moment, then tilted her head and placed a thoughtful finger against her lips as a wicked glint flickered into her eyes. "Can't say that you don't have somewhat of a point there."
"I always have a point," he answered warily.
She rolled her eyes. "Oh yes. Always." She grinned, tongue teasing out between her teeth. "You never ramble or tangent."
"An eventual point, Rose. I always have an eventual point."
She chuckled slightly. "Anyway, I think I might take a page from the book of the great and mighty Doctor."
"You're going to ramble? Or always have a point?"
She bumped his hip with hers playfully. "Silly. I think I'll find a look and stick with it. I mean, a bit mad to spend time worrying about what to wear every day when, like as not, we'll be running for our lives before lunch, and usually somewhere sooty, or muddy, or grimy, or a combination of the above. Like you said—plenty to keep life exciting without worrying about clothes too."
"Hmm."
"I think I like this look."
He should have seen it coming, but he still choked slightly and stumbled over is own feet as he looked at her temptingly scanty attire out of the corner of his eye and contemplated Rose dressed in her current get-up on a regular basis. Would he become immune to it over time, perhaps? No—most likely he'd just give in and ravish her right on top of the control console…at least five times a day. He pulled his hand out of hers and glanced down, on the pretext of searching for something in his pockets, hoping that she hadn't noticed his quickened breathing and pulse, or seen his eyes momentarily loose focus as the thought of divesting her of those naughty red knickers and… His gaze wandered back to her bare legs entirely of its own accord. He dragged it back up to her face with effort, taking in every frustratingly delectable inch of Rose in between.
She gave him an innocent look that was completely undermined by the mischievous smile playing around her lips.
He took a deep breath, and adopted a serious demeanor. "Rose—we discussed those shoes. Running away? That thing we do on most days that the sun…well, or suns…or local moon…or artificial visible spectrum generator…depending where we are…shines?"
She put a thoughtful finger to her lips. "Yeah. That's a good point." She paused and glanced down at herself. "But I can probably make this look work with a pair of Sketchers."
He shook his head. "Still not the best choice in chilly weather, though. And we do encounter that from time to time."
"Hmm…you're probably right, there."
"I am. Remember the frozen sea? And the snowstorm in Bangladesh?"
"So…I'm going to need a parka, yeah?" She laughed as she capered ahead of him. "And knee socks!" she shouted back over her shoulder.
He tucked his hands into the pockets of his trousers and strolled after her. An observer might have discerned a hint of wistfulness in his smile as he watched her prance down the street, taking in the vivid colors and exotic sights with innocent delight—but then again, maybe not. He had a lot of practice hiding his feelings.
She turned and shouted back for him, breaking through his melancholy, and he hurried to her side, grinning as he caught up with her in front of a tea merchant's stand.
They spent remainder of the morning there, lounging on oversized pillows, sampling exotic blends paired with lacy cookies. The rest of the day was taken up with wandering the sprawling marketplace, haggling over wares and purchasing trinkets.
The Doctor smiled as he watched Rose ooh and ahh over a rack of flowing dresses. He really needn't have worried about her following through on her threat to traipse about the universe in a mini-skirt and a halter-top. The girl liked clothes far too much for that.
"Bloody…this is gorgeous!"
"Oh—Rose, not that one. Grell. That color doesn't exist on earth. Just in case, you know."
She pretended to pout for a second, then laughed and took an armful of dresses into the curtained-off changing area.
A few minutes later, she tapped The Doctor on the shoulder, startling him out of thoughts that, he assured his conscience, were most definitely not regarding what was happening behind the thin drape of fabric, or how easily a gust of wind could toss it aside, and were absolutely not anything to do with how much more easily a Time Lord could do the same.
"So Doctor…do I look…dangerous?" She tossed her head like a 1950's era silver-screen femme fatale, then grinned, tongue poking out between her teeth in the way that he found so very, obnoxiously adorable, and so very, obnoxiously tempting.
You have no idea… he thought, as the light breeze tugged at the silky, deep mauve fabric, the dress dangling from delicate straps, draping and caressing her curves, the hem fluttering, flashing enticing glimpses of knee and thigh. He licked suddenly dry lips and cleared his throat before answering. "Well…to be fair…I think the red lipstick might clash juuussst a little."
"Hmm….you think?" She tilted her head to the side, pretending to ponder, then laughed and stepped back behind the curtain. "You know, it's too bad," she called to him as she began changing back into her own clothes.
"Hmm," he responded, trying not to focus too intently on the soft rustle of fabric over skin.
She snorted in mild exasperation. "'What's too bad Rose? I'm deeply interested.' 'Well, Doctor—I had this plan. I figured that I could be a super hero, and change my name to Danger Girl—go about dressed in mauve costumes and right wrongs and the like.' 'But Rose, you already do an amazingly fantastic job of righting wrongs and saving worlds—better than me, even!' 'Oh Doctor, don't sell yourself short—you help too!' 'Why thank you—"
"Rose…I'm capable of holding up my end of the conversation, you know."
She stepped out from behind the curtain and hung the dresses she had tried on back on the rack. She arched an eyebrow at him. "Really? You could have fooled me," she teased.
"I can, Rose. Watch this. Or rather, listen to this. Well…a little of both, actually, since being a good conversational companion involves active listening and body language as well as just words—more in some places than others. The Delforians of Rux-12 communicate almost entirely through complex dances—as do honeybees on Earth, incidentally Which is actually to be expected, come to think of it…since honeybees evolved from the Delforians. Or was it the other way around? Of course, in some places, visual stimuli plays no part whatsoever in communication—for example, among the Mole People. They actually communicate through a combination of sonic vibration and smell. And then there's—"
"Oh, right—I remember now. It's not holding up your end of the conversation you have a problem with—it's not holding up all ends of the conversation." She hooked an arm through his and they stepped back out onto the street.
"Now there's no need to get snarky—weellll….I suppose I do a bit, don't I?"
She held her thumb and forefinger a few centimeters apart and glanced at him through her lashes. She grinned. "Just once in a…always."
"Hmm. Need to work on that. Alright…active listening. Rose, I would love to hear more about this 'Danger Girl' character."
"Ah yes, Danger Girl. I hear she's all the rage these days. Going about, fixing things and helping spread harmony throughout the universe."
"With a name like Danger Girl, I'd expect her to spread more chaos than peace."
"You would think so, wouldn't you. But, well, you'd be wrong. She's helpful and charming and agreeable—"
The Doctor snorted in disbelief. "That doesn't sound a bit like you, Rose."
"Actually, mysteriously, it sounds exactly like me." She gave the Doctor a light shove in the shoulder at the derisive sound he made. "…an amazing coincidence, if I do say so."
"Not such a coincidence, if you're the same person."
"Oi, Doctor—don't you know the rules? Can't talk about my secret identity now, can I?"
"Hmm. Right. Forgot about that part." He thought for a moment. "Would Danger Girl have a sidekick?"
She placed a finger against her smiling lips in contemplation. "Maybe."
"And the sidekick would get to know about her secret identity, right?"
"Well…once she was sure that said sidekick wasn't really a double agent who was going to betray her to super villains and the media."
"And would she wear spandex?"
Rose wrinkled her nose. "Ooh. I think that's a no."
"Oh, too bad…what about her sidekick?"
Rose grinned widely, the pink tip of her tongue taunting him. "Well…I think that would depend on the sidekick." Her gaze traveled over his lean body appraisingly. "If it were…for example…my mum—I think spandex might be out."
"Good call. I can stand behind a superhero like this. So, is Jackie close with this Danger Girl?
"Sneaky Doctor—very sneaky. But you will not uncover Danger Girl's true identity that easily."
"Oh, that's not it at all…I just…well, if Jackie were to, say, turn down the job…I've always fancied the idea of being a superhero sidekick. Particularly if I got to be a sidekick with a cape. And I was thinking, if Jackie knew how to contact Danger Girl, well, I could be getting tied up by villains and awaiting her clever rescue in no time."
"If you got the job, of course. I hear superheroes are very picky."
"I am prime sidekick material, I'll have you know, Rose Tyler! And I look fantastic in a cape."
"Are you now? What are your qualifications?"
"Oh…sorry. For superhero ears only, I'm afraid."
"Well, I am kind of her…personal assistant, you might say. I'm very qualified to interview prospective sidekicks."
"Hmmm…I suppose that's all right then. Well…first of all, I buy the personal assistants of superheroes lunch, if they are interested."
"You have the job."
"Brilliant! I have achieved my life-long ambition! Or, rather my…oh…half-hour long ambition, but none the less…a goal is a goal."
"So, you were going to buy me lunch?"
"Wellllll….I didn't say when I was going to buy it. Or even if you were the assistant I would buy it for-ow OWW! I'm sorry! I'm kidding! If you grab us a table at that café we passed on the corner, I'll meet you back there in a few. I saw some fuses that might work for the TARDIS, and those always come in handy—so I'm going to run and grab those right quick, and I'll be back before the condensation has a chance to settle on your glass."
"You know that making a promise like that is just asking for trouble," Rose replied, smiling.
He frowned. "You do make a good point. Glad I didn't actually say that I promised. That could only compound the severity of my blunder. Which—I hope you know—has no scientific basis, whatsoever."
Rose rolled her eyes. "See you in a minute. Either that or from one side or the other of a cell door in a few hours."
"Peaceful planet, Rose! I'll be right back." He turned after a few steps and walked backwards. "Peaceful planet!" he called back.
"Right! Heard that before!"
He waited until Rose had stepped into the seating area and out of his line of site before doubling back to the stall they had left a few minutes before. He thumbed through two racks of multi-hued garments before he heard a throat clear behind him. He turned around to see the short, grey-skinned proprietor calmly holding up the mauve dress.
"I assume you are looking for this?"
"Well...I..." He scratched self-consciously at the back of his neck. "Yeah. I was."
"I thought you might be back." The man nodded to himself and pushed his round, wire-rimmed spectacles further up on his beaky nose, then quickly rang up the purchase and neatly folded the dress before tucking it inside a shiny satchel. "Indestructible," he said with a wink, poking at the silvery bag. He handed it to the Doctor, who smiled bemused thanks, tucked it into his left pocket and turned to step back onto the street. He winced when a muffled roar issued from the pocket he had deposited the bag in. He glanced back at the proprietor. The grey man gave him an enigmatic smile. "Indestructible," he repeated.
Rose was still at the table when the Doctor returned, which he did, a few minutes later. Neither of them ended up in the pokey. No one tried to kill them, maim them, torture them, poke them with uncooked pasta, or drag either of them off to be their barbarian bride, aside from one overzealous seven-year-old girl who followed the Doctor around like a Cocker Spaniel for three hours on the second day of their stay. It really was a very peaceful planet, with a high dependence on the tourist market. By the end of two days, they were both bored out of their minds.
"So, where to now?" Rose asked, lounging against her favorite piece of railing in the console room.
"I say we go further than we've ever—oh. Wait. We've already been to New Earth."
"Didn't really get to take in the sights last time though, did we?"
The Doctor tilted his head back, thinking. "That's true. We could do that."
"…or…"
"Or…we could…" a beep from the console drew his attention. He poked at a few buttons, then slipped on his glasses and squinted at the monitor display in front of him. "…or…we could go there."
Rose leaned over his shoulder and puzzled over the swirls and dashes undulating across the screen. "All right then—what's there?"
He shivered imperceptibly as her breath tickled his neck. He closed his eyes for a moment, savoring the warmth of her bare arm, pressed against his, then he pulled away and turned to face her. "I have no idea."
Her brows drew together as she pretended to mull over the news. "Hmm. Could be anything, yeah?" She looked up at him for confirmation, the gleeful twinkle in her eyes making a liar of her sober expression.
"Yeah…well, no. Not anything. Not, for example, earth. Or New Earth. Or…Roxwagum. Well, probably not. I mean, spaciel shifts, solar winds…perhaps if there was a ripple in…" he turned back to the console and tapped in some data, then frowned at the monitor display. "Hmm…that's not it…" he spun back to face Rose, grinning exuberantly. "I have absolutely no idea!"
She matched his smile, excitement glowing in her eyes. "What do you say we go find out then?"
18
