With his first real paycheck, the Doctor took her to dinner. He brushed off her comments that it wasn't necessary. He was fairly certain that there was some kind of human custom about using one's first paycheck to do something special. Plus he owed her. Owed her for the clothes and the spare room, and for finding him a job, and for feeding him the past few weeks until he could offer her just one meal in return.
Well, and of course for everything else she'd ever done for him. But seeing as how there really wasn't any means of repaying that kind of devotion, he didn't even bother with an attempt.
He asked her to choose, and to choose someplace nice. Someplace where they could have a regular adult conversation without having to shout over the noise of the football match on the telly and the enthusiastic fans crowded around it. She had made the reservations and changed into something 'more appropriate'. More appropriate apparently meant a dressy pair of black slacks and an attractive blue blouse that clung nicely to her curves and left her shoulders bare. No heels, she didn't even own any from what he could tell, and she was better off that way. You never knew when even the most innocuous occasion might require a quick life-or-death dash to safety. He had glanced down at his own brown pinstriped suit and trainers, and asked whether he needed something more appropriate as well.
"No," she said, smiling encouragement, "You're perfect."
The meal was not so perfect. Well, it was as perfect as it could be, he supposed. He tried his hardest not to squint every time he placed a piece of food into his mouth and had it taste almost, but not entirely, like it should. He wondered if he'd ever be able to recognize when food really was 'off', seeing as how it all sort of tasted that way to him. He resigned himself to a life of checking the milk expiration date and smiled forcibly around his fork at Rose.
She, at least, seemed to be enjoying her food. And the wine, which flowed as freely as the conversation. They had been rehashing old adventures, recalling old friends. The Doctor managed to forget his disappointment at the mediocre meal in the subtle glow of the candlelight and the tinkling laugh of his dinner companion.
"Hmmm…" she pondered, resting her lips at the edge of her wine glass and making it hum along with her. "My favorite Jack moment…" She giggled then, her eyes lighting up with the memory she had yet to share. Taking a quick sip from her glass and setting it down, she asked, "Remember Kyoto? When he propositioned the samurai?"
The Doctor groaned and, nodding, covered his face with his hand.
"And then, the samurai said he didn't bed boys." She giggled louder, and the Doctor joined her chuckling. "And Jack was soooooo indignant. He was brooding for days!"
"Your calling him 'boy' every chance you got didn't help." The Doctor waited until she raised her glass again to her lips, before continuing in a mocking falsetto. "Come along boy, time to go. Here boy, I cut your steak into little pieces for you. Silly boy, you never mix whites and colors." Rose snorted aloud into her drink, almost spilling it, which was the reaction he had been hoping for. Her cackling laughter approaching a girlish shriek in her hilarity, she pounded her palm upon the white tablecloth. The other patrons in the restaurant turned in their direction with disapproving glares. The Doctor unselfconsciously beamed around the room at large.
Blinking, suddenly, he removed his eyeglasses and held them in front of his nose for examination.
Rose composed herself, her breaths still wheezing out of her. "Okay, next time you warn me when you're gonna do that."
"Hmmm," the Doctor replied, subdued. "More fun this way, though." He started polishing the glasses with his cloth napkin.
Rose squinted at him from across the table. "Somethin' wrong?"
He flicked his eyes up to her. Rose appeared as though he was viewing her through a soft focus lens. He blinked again. Hard. "Nah," he answered, fitting the glasses back over his ears. The image was not much improved.
"Been meanin' to thank you," Rose continued, finishing her glass.
"You're welcome!" He replied brightly. "Whatever for?"
"For this." She swung her hand around to indicate the restaurant. "For takin' the job when Pete offered it. For…" Her voice trailed away, and she stared into the empty bulb of her glass. "Stayin'"
Not for the first time, he felt a cold, irrational fury sweep itself through his entire being. Irrational, because really, how can you be furious with yourself? Time and again he had asked himself, would he have done this to Rose? Left her here with only an imperfect copy to keep her company. Grounded her here: one planet, one time, one universe. Taken her free spirit and chained it for the duration of her forever. He'd like to think that he was a better man than his double.
He knew better.
"No thanks required." He drained his own glass, then leaned forward to remove the wine bottle from the coaster and offer it towards her empty glass.
"Shouldn'" she said, glancing at the bottle. "Already a bit giddy." Then, as if her arm was being metaphorically twisted, she held the glass out towards him.
He filled it carefully, noting with some trepidation that his hand was shaking slightly. "If anything," he continued, "It's me who needs to thank you." He poured the remainder of the bottle into his own goblet. There wasn't much left. Sitting back in his chair, he gazed into the glass. The wine was a lovely color. Velvet burgundy with reflected hints of gold. "I owe you, big time," he murmured. Now, that was an odd phrase. Something Jack might say. It tasted strange. Not the wine. No, that tasted quite nice actually, despite the fact that just about everything had tasted less than nice to him ever since he had come here. The phrase. Big time. As if time had size or shape or could be measured. Stupid phrase. What did it even mean? He bet Rose would know.
His eyes snapped up to her, and his vision swung into place half a moment later.
Okay. That was odd. He blinked again. It didn't help. He raised his fingers and rubbed at his eyes under his glasses.
"You all righ'?"
"I'm always all righ'," he answered automatically, lowering his hand and blinking furiously. Things remained fuzzy. He wondered if it was his stupid spectacles after all.
"Got somethin' in your eye?"
"No, I…" He shook his head in an attempt to clear it. The world swung. "Whoa." He blinked up at her, staring until his vision came to rest. Her face was tight with concern. "Sorry." He hurried to reassure her, "'S nothing, really." She looked very much as if she didn't believe him. As if she was thinking of tossing him into a cab and driving straight to the Torchwood offices for an immediate physical. "Jus' a bit dizzy, that's all."
When the hell had he started sounding like Jackie?
Rose's eyes went wide. One hand flew to her mouth and color rushed into her cheeks. "Oh my God!" She squeaked out, between uncontrolled giggles. She pointed an unsteady hand in his direction, "You're hammered!"
"What?!" He was indignant, "I never!" He was certainly not hammered. Was he? He hadn't had that much to drink. He glanced at his half filled wineglass and tried to do a mental calculation of how much he had consumed during the course of the evening. He found himself momentarily flummoxed; trying to remember exactly how many times his glass had been filled.
"Yes," said Rose elatedly, nearly bouncing. "Yes you are!"
The Doctor closed his eyes and took a moment to examine the situation. He couldn't just ask whether or not he felt intoxicated, because truth be told, he wasn't sure he ever had been intoxicated. At least not alcoholically so. He had often enjoyed alcoholic drinks for the variety of tastes they presented and for the agreeable company that generally went along with them, but his body had always quickly metabolized the liquor; recognizing it for what, in essence, it really was. A poison. In his memory, which he had to admit was a bit hazy…everything was a bit hazy right now…he couldn't actually recall an instance where he had allowed himself the benefit of a buzz. And if his current situation was any indication, it was in no way similar to the various psychotropic toxins he'd been exposed to over the years. Or morphine, for that matter, which an overenthusiastic Earth doctor had once administered to him. Taking physical pain out of the equation, it turned out, increased his reckless stupidity tenfold, but was otherwise not particularly enjoyable.
This, however, was somewhat pleasant. Warm and…floaty. He didn't think that was really a word in English, but it seemed appropriate. The way his vision seemed to be working a step or two behind his eyes was a bit disconcerting, but not so much that he would worry. Worry, in fact, seemed a somewhat distant concept. As if there were a muffling curtain between himself and concern. For instance, he recognized that Rose's laughing at him would normally put him out of straights, but at this point he was merely enjoying it for its pleasant bell-like tone. He opened his eyes to meet orbs dancing with mirth. "Perhaps I am a bit tipsy," he admitted sheepishly.
Rose laughed aloud again, throwing her head back with abandon. "What's so funny?" he asked, unable to curb the smile which stretched across his face at her reaction. He had always loved her laugh, her smile. Her. Somehow the floating feeling made it easier to think that. It would probably make it easier to say, as well. Some part of him knew he should be worried about that, but luckily that part of him was locked firmly on the other side of that lovely wall erected between himself and sensibility. "'S a normal human reaction."
"'S jus'," she shook her head, cheeks glowing red in the flickering candlelight. "You. Gettin' sloshed. Never thought I'd see the day."
"You're one to talk." And really, she had nothing to brag about. She had tossed off the last of her own drink while he'd been pondering, and her eyes now wandered lazily about the dining room as if not entirely under her control. She was dangerously close to knocking her fork onto the floor with an errant elbow.
Suddenly, the somewhat snooty waiter was there, as if just appearing out of the ether. Rose declined dessert, and the Doctor did as well (making sure to do so verbally and not bring on the vertigo a simple head shake seemed to instill). He paid the check (how domestic was that?) and found that he wavered only slightly upon lifting himself from his chair. Rose took his proffered arm, and leaned upon it, her eyes dark and shining. Outside, the crisp, cool air whipped into his face, and things almost immediately became clearer. He made to hail a cab, but she tugged on his arm and he looked down.
"Le's walk." She said, and he noticed her swaying a bit, still attached to his arm. "'S a nice nigh', an 's not far." He begged to differ with her assessment of the weather. It was cool, bordering on nippy, and he could feel it like a layer of icing over his surprisingly warm skin. Her cheeks, however, were flushed. Her eyes glassy. "Need ta' sober up a bit," she explained further.
Assenting to her wishes, he strode off down the sidewalk in the direction of her flat. She soon left off clinging to his arm and instead wrapped herself around his waist. It was not a particularly comfortable way to walk. She shuddered, and he realized she was pressed closely to him in order to take advantage of his body heat. This, he realized, was something she had never done before. Even on the frozen surface of Woman Wept, she'd kept to her own parka; knowing, of course, that physical contact with him would not do her any good. This heat, was his alone. Was something his genetically superior Time Lord body would never produce, would never see the need for. This was something his other self could not give her.
He held her tight, enjoying the remaining hum of apathy burning with the strange heat inside his veins, and the feeling of her hands against the soft cotton of his shirt. Eventually, she moved away, the brisk walk having leeched warmth into her muscles. She held his hand, no longer swaying, but appearing not entirely steady all the same. She was quiet, thoughtful, and he refused to break the silence; not wanting to do anything that might rupture the peace of the evening.
She stopped suddenly, as if caught in a thought, and he found himself jerked back towards her after reaching the end of her extended grasp. He turned a quizzical look upon her. She was smiling secretively, and gazing off towards the children's play park across the way. The Doctor didn't know if he liked the idea of Rose having secrets. Well, secrets yes. Mysterious was good. He liked mysteries. Liked solving mysteries. Regular Sherlock Holmes, him. But he didn't much like the idea of Rose keeping secrets from him. Although, now that he came to think of it, he was hard pressed to come up with a reason why. He supposed it was just another facet of him wanting to know more about everything there is to know than any other single individual in the universe. And when, on those incredibly rare occasions, Rose knew something he didn't…well…she'd better share.
She turned a blazing smile on him. "Come on," she said, tugging at his arm and skipping into the street. He followed helplessly in her wake.
They crossed the narrow roadway and slipped between two parked cars at the opposite curb. Stepping over the low metal chain link divider at the sidewalk's edge, she tread lightly upon the dew wet grass of the abandoned park. Moonlight glinted off the blue green ground cover, and off the creamy curves of her shoulders. She twirled to face him, and the same silvery light made waves in her hair. It looked almost white in the washed out colors the stars and moon allowed them to see with. She giggled, still holding his hand tightly and waited for him to step over the low slung chain and join her.
"Little late for a ride on the swings. Is this park even open?" Someone had to ask the adult questions on this excursion. He was merely surprised that it was him.
"Don't be daft," she answered, and stuck her tongue into the corner of her mouth, flashing the enigmatic smile he knew so well. "Course 's open. Don't see any bars, do yah?" He didn't see any bars. He didn't see much of anything at all. Just that smile. That quirky, unpredictable, absolutely baffling, perfectly adorable smile.
He stepped over the chain.
She tugged again at his wrist and led him off across the slick grass. This was a traditional London park, and though they had entered near the play area, Rose soon took him past that more prosaic entertainment to the wide open lawns that lay beyond. A great green expanse of field faced them, dotted here and there by an ubiquitous London Planetree. He had seen similar places before on the other Earth. Hyde Park came to mind, and come to think of it, this might even be this universe's equivalent of Hyde Park. He wondered what the name of the place was as Rose led him across the turf.
The strange quality of the light over the empty parkland gave an eerie cast to the scene surrounding them. The great dark sky arched above, hung with tiny diamond stars like sequins on a black velvet dress. Beneath their feet slid the quicksilver stalks of grass. The whole universe broken down into a simple chessboard black and white. It made him feel for a moment as though there was nothing else in this universe but the shining earth and the sable sky, and two tiny figures stuck in the middle. A part of both and a part of neither. Running furiously in the space between, because they had nowhere else to go. Running because it was all they really knew how to do.
And now they were running uphill, and he had to work to keep his feet stable on the slippery ground. Rose was still hanging gamely onto his hand, slipping and nearly going down herself in her enthusiasm. Laughing gently, and helping one another along, they made it to the top of the little rise. There was no tree or monument mounting the crest of this hill, nothing to block their view of the park stretching out all around them. And there, beyond its tree lined edges, was the city. The Doctor could see that it too had been reduced to greyscale. That the buildings, and bridges and streets and cars, and even the winking houselights (which would no doubt appear warm and yellow were one to get any closer) had their color leached from them with the setting of the sun. It was like looking out on an alien world and he wondered if this is what she had meant for him to see.
She was looking at him, watching him take it all in, with that all too knowing smile quirking her lips. "Go on then," she said, tilting her head and raising her eyebrows meaningfully, "Lie down."
Something in the Doctor's chest fluttered like a caged bird, and he was made suddenly aware of exactly what was meant by that strange human euphemism about having one's heart in one's throat. Something of his surprise and confusion must have shown on his face, because it prompted an almost immediate response.
Rose rolled her eyes. "'S not like that, I jus' want to show you somethin'." She sat down on the ground and he joined her. "You have to lie on your back," she said, putting action to her words. Her arms splayed out to either side of her, one coming to rest against his thigh. "Like you're makin' a snow angel," she clarified.
The Doctor shifted away, giving himself the room to stretch out, then joined her. The ground was cold and damp against his back. He could feel a chill seeping into his hips and shoulder blades, where they pressed more solidly into the earth than the rest of his body. It was not the most comfortable of sensations. He could come up with 20 more sensible places to go stargazing just off the top of his head. And anyway, the stars weren't half as clear here as they had been in Norway.
"You have to relax," she said. "Let your body jus' sort of…meld into the earth. And don't think about anything."
The Doctor reluctantly relaxed his muscles until he could feel the press of the hard earth beneath the dew soaked grass. Exhaling all the air from his lungs in a calming breath, he turned his attentions to the distant firmament. Stopping his mind from racing was another matter entirely. Not thinking was not a possibility. Thinking, in fact, of only one or two things at once was difficult to imagine. He couldn't just shut it off like that. He could, however, let it wander out of his conscious control. Yes, maybe that would do it. Wandering and wavering and traveling in and out of the void and the vortex and through dimensions, unfettered, unanchored by gravity or time or-
Oh.
The Doctor gasped and sat up straight. Eyes wide he turned to her. She was watching him, and her smile was smug.
"You can feel that?!" he wheezed, when he could find his breath again. She nodded. "Always?" he asked, incredulous.
"No," she said, turning her gaze back up to the sky, "Not all the time."
He took a few more heavy breaths, then lay back down. Letting his thoughts take a holiday, he concentrated on the feeling of the ground beneath him. On the damp grass and the cold dirt. On the harder, warmer dirt beneath that, on the molten mantle and the burning core, and he felt it again.
The world was spinning. Twirling on its axis. Moving so quickly that he was bound to be tossed off; thrown into the freezing dark of space from which no regenerative return would ever again be possible. It was a terrifying feeling. Like there was nothing at all holding him to the surface of this blindly careening object. His whole body freezes with the blind panic of a child who has begged to have the merry-go-round pushed faster – faster – realizing only too late that he can't quite keep his grip. His fingers scrabbled irrationally at the dirt, searching desperately for purchase. Reaching for something, anything, to help him hang on.
His hand brushed up against Rose's, and she took it. Their fingers wrapped about one another, and the motion of the Earth slowed to a stop. Feeling it was safe, now, to turn his head without the threat of falling off the edge of the world, he looked at her. She returned his gaze solemnly. Her hand squeezed his, and he returned the pressure.
