My most sincere thanks to all of my reviewers, but especially those whose remarkable restraint allowed them to say more than, "Glad you updated; update soon!" Those reviews are great, too; good to know you're liking it; but if you really want to help things along, feel free to let me know what you specifically enjoyed, make suggestions, or just tell me what's still got you stumped ;)
Happy belated birthday, The Hearts Of The Tardis.
Long chapter here, probably a shorter one to follow presently.
Beta'd by Faith-o-saurus.
Chapter 9 - Tempus Fugit, sed Non Satis
It seemed the Doctor, at least, had gotten plenty of sleep, since Rose found him already laying out breakfast when she came back downstairs on Tuesday morning proper. He held her chair for her as she seated herself at the table, but, she noted, had no compunctions about helping himself to the marmalade and toast first. Rose grinned as she took a sip of her coffee, happily forgetting about the dreams of the night before. Their current domesticity was just about perfect, minus a very important time-and-space machine. No need whatsoever for that annoyingly human marriage stuff.
She nudged his knee with her own just before he set to work on his next slice. "Whatcha got planned for today, then?" She asked. "The disk thingee done, yet?"
"Nope, not yet," he answered. "Might need to forage a bit more for parts; should be done tomorrow," he told her. "I was thinking of doing some scouting along with my foraging, though. Thought we could do some sightseeing?"
"Where at?" Rose asked. "Just here in London?"
"BBC Television Centre," he specified. "Meet you at Henrik's?"
"Yeah, three o'clock," she told him. "That where you wanna make the Easter egg?"
"Seems a likely candidate. Just need a little reconnaissance, first."
With that set, Rose headed off to work. She found herself getting more into the mindless routine of things and therefore better able to really observe the customers and her coworkers. It was actually becoming fairly entertaining (if occasionally frustrating) to note the vast difference in fashions and attitudes that were only decades removed from her own time.
Still, it was a relief to see the end of her shift arrive. She picked out just a single shirt against her earnings (a sleeveless, "V"-necked, TARDIS-blue blouse, made to fall to her hips instead of being belted into a high-waisted skirt), hoping to get some nice shoes tomorrow or the next day.
The Doctor met her as promised, and together they made the bus/underground journey over to Television Centre. They were able to join and then promptly slip away from a tour group easily enough. Security wouldn't be an issue, the Doctor quickly determined, and they were able to locate precisely which studio they would need for their recording: colour cameras, check; Autocue, check; video recording facilities, check.
"Put this on the list of things to do after the detective inspector arrives," the Doctor observed. The video recording actually took place in the basement "hub" of the building.
"And I guess he'll be the one actually recording it, then?" Rose asked as they reemerged to join a departing tour group. "Seein' as how we're both on the transcript?"
"Shouldn't be any problem with that," the Doctor replied. "The only thing he'll need to keep secret from Sally Sparrow is how I get the folder," he said, patting his coat pocket, even though Rose knew most of the folder's contents were either pinned to their wall or already burnt. "She only realized that when we met," he explained. "But there shouldn't be any harm in Billy hearing the recording. He'll be the one putting the Easter egg onto the DVD's, after all."
"That," Rose acknowledged, "and we sort of owe him as much as we can explain, since we'll be leavin' him to start a whole new life, here."
"True," he agreed.
They took the tube back toward Hyde Park. However, since it was still rather early and Rose now had a warm overcoat of her own, they opted to walk through the park past Kensington Palace. It was a nice stroll, with a hefty dose of reminiscing once they came upon the Queen Victoria Statue.
Dana only had wistful looks - rather than embarrassing conversation - for the two of them when they returned to their building. Rose wondered whether the personal stuff was saved just for her, or if the Doctor got his share, too, when he was on his own.
Back at the Tiny TARDIS, Rose cooked up dinner while the Doctor immediately dove back into his tinkering. He emerged only long enough to eat, and was still hard at work when Rose called it a night.
She made sure to bring a glass and pitcher upstairs, so as to avoid any early morning water runs.
Rose didn't realize just how tired she was until she saw her bed. She made it through her ablutions by sheer force of will, before collapsing on top of the covers. It was only after half an hour that she roused herself enough to properly cocoon herself beneath the blankets.
After working all night and into the wee hours of Wednesday morning, the Doctor still hadn't gotten the control disk recorder right, and it was truly starting annoying him. He had cannibalized Rose's phone as well as his timey-wimey detector, but it seemed he would need to do some covert acquisition out in town if he were going to achieve a truly functional control disk. The hologram wasn't the problem; he'd already encoded a message that would be recognized and displayed by the TARDIS as soon as the disk passed the front doors. The sticking point was recording both the time/space coordinates and a remote activation sequence, all of which needed to be read and actuated through the console-mounted disk player.
The Doctor went back to paper, adding the recorder components to his list for the timey-wimey detector. Several of the simpler items should be available at Henrik's; he could ask Rose to buy them with her salary. The rest would be more than she could afford in months, anyway. He would just have to do some creative borrowing. He might even have to stop by UNIT, if it already existed... maybe, tomorrow. But only if he really had to.
Looking over his schematics, the Doctor resigned himself to having made as much progress as he could at the moment. Several of the components he still needed were filled in with what he would have used, were he still on the TARDIS. He'd have to improvise once he saw what was available here and now in London.
His pencil still restless in his hand, and the sun not yet having made an appearance, the Doctor retrieved his overcoat and searched out his journal. He hadn't allowed himself the luxury since they had arrived in '69, but he felt he'd honestly done all the work he could right now, and deserved a little self-indulgence. He flipped to a blank page in the Journal of Possibilities, as John Smith had named it. The previous few pages all bore competing ideas for when and where the Doctor had considered taking Rose for his proposal. However, with the day rapidly approaching, and his efforts to reclaim the TARDIS being unexpectedly thwarted, he now reluctantly admitted that the "when" may already be decided for him, and the "where" restricted to her home planet (albeit his favorite) of Earth.
Several small, rough sketches made their appearance over the page, ranging from seashores, to forests, to man-made monuments, to fancy restaurants; even to the Tiny TARDIS itself. In some he and Rose danced; in others, he was kneeling, holding out the ring; in another, he was simply holding the ring out while tapping her shoulder for her to turn around. That one made him chuckle, but he wasn't sure it was the best option. Best to floor her with his (near-) complete submission to her earthly conventions, he thought. The restaurant scenario seemed the best, as it wouldn't require arranging for travel, but he'd still need to consider finances...
Time had gotten away from him, he realized, as he heard Rose's alarm sound. He didn't recognize the song that morning, but he could distinctly make out Rose's laughter after a few moments. He packed away the journal quickly, making a mental note to ask her about it when she came downstairs.
Rose awoke to an upbeat tune from her radio that she couldn't immediately place in her groggy state, but soon she soon broke into hysterical laughter as the bridge resolved into "I'm the urban spaceman," and a recitation of said spaceman's random qualities. How she had never associated the Doctor with the song she didn't know, but she'd never forget it, now.
She continued humming the song while she dressed, a little spring in her step as she recalled her plan to do something as simple as buy a new pair of shoes. She loved her running pumps, but she was hoping to add something a little flatter and more colorful to her wardrobe by the end of today's shift at Henrik's.
She was still humming and grinning when she made her way downstairs, and the Doctor immediately noticed, despite working to finish up the breakfast preparations. "What is that song, then?" he asked from his place at the toaster. "It's certainly got you in a good mood."
In answer, she walked into his arms and pulled him into a little dance between the oven and breakfast table.
"I wake up every morning with a smile upon my face," she sang. "My natural exuberance spills out all over the place"
The Doctor smiled at her, but she hadn't gotten to the good part, yet.
"I'm the urban spaceman. I'm intelligent and clean. Know what I mean?" She poked him in the chest to make sure he knew he was the spaceman in question.
His eyebrows climbed as she continued.
"I'm the urban spaceman. As a lover second to none, it's a lot of fun."
His look changed at that, and he suddenly dipped her. "You don't even know the half - no, the hundredth of it," he told her.
Rose felt herself blush at his look, and, emboldened, pulled herself up by the hands she had wrapped behind his neck to kiss him.
He didn't break the kiss as he spun her back to her feet.
But she did, when the smell of burning toast intruded on their moment. With a huff, she fished out her sonic, popped the toast up, and pulled the Doctor's face back around to hers before he could do more than open his mouth.
A situation of which she happily took advantage.
The Doctor's knees seemed to buckle before he straightened and hoisted her onto the kitchen counter.
He used the change in position to move on to her neck, breathily admitting, "I really hate... that I actually need you to... go into work... today."
Rose reveled in the thrill of what she could do to him, even if this was as far as he'd ever take things. "Same here," she admitted, "but I had plans, any - ah - anyhow." He was starting to explore where her replacing her sonic had left an extra blouse button undone. She wasn't complaining.
"I forgot you had this," he murmured, causing her to look down sharply at him in surprise. It dawned on her what he was talking about just as he pulled his face up and realization appeared on his own features. "The, uh, sonic," he clarified, clearing his throat, apparently only then noticing his proximity to certain sensitive areas.
Rose grinned at his awkwardness, and he gave her a mock-indignant look as he smoothed his hands down her back. He leaned back in for her mouth, then, literally taking her breath away - which wasn't at all fair, in her book, since he was the one with the bypass thingy, but darnit, she still didn't have any complaints.
He drew away slowly, then entirely too quickly shifted her back around to the table and left her there while he gathered up the rest of breakfast. "I've only got a few things that I need for you to pick up," he told her, sliding fried eggs onto their plates and taking the crispier (blackened) toast for his own. "Shouldn't be more than you've got coming for today's wages."
Rose steadied herself with the back of her chair, trying to very deliberately play off the high he'd left her on, noticing the impish twinkle in his eyes as he so quickly switched to casual conversation. She nodded as if following his words, but then they sank in and she blinked. "Hang on, you've got a shoppin' list? Today?"
Her tone brought him up short, as he was setting out the coffee mugs. "That alright?" he asked.
"Well, yeah," she admitted, realizing that they did have a mission, "I was just hopin' to get some new... shoes," she admitted, biting her lip.
"What's the matter with those?" he asked, glancing down at her pumps. "You need me to take a look and fix them?"
Rose laughed, knowing that Mister Trainers for Every Occasion wouldn't understand. Still, she explained, "No, they're fine. I just was hopin' for somethin' different. Some variety."
He looked at her very strangely, then, more than male cluelessness should warrant. "You do know," he began slowly, "that they're adjustable, right?"
"Adjustable?" she asked, rather blankly.
He grinned, then, dropping to one knee to slide her left shoe from her foot and taking out his own sonic. "Thirty-fourth century technology," he explained, as the heel morphed away and the entire shoe underwent a shift through every color in the spectrum. When he stopped, it was as flat as a ballet slipper, and bright pink.
Rose's jaw simply dropped, as she watched him gently replace the shoe on her foot.
He hopped to his feet, dusted his hands on his trousers, and pulled her chair out for her. "Adjustable," he repeated proudly. "I'd wondered why you'd bought so many pairs," he mused, taking his own seat next to her at the table.
The Doctor walked Rose to her bus before heading out on foot himself. Rose had seemed much happier about accepting the shopping list, once he had shown her how to twiddle the settings on her shoes (which were currently TARDIS-blue). She had, at first, berated him for not telling her sooner. However, she ended by happily declaring she'd never need to buy another pair again.
As reluctant as he was to watch her go off to work, he mentally thanked his lucky stars that she had a daily routine to hold to. The Doctor didn't know how he'd otherwise keep his distance for the next eight days. It was all he could do to rattle off that blather about the shopping, rather than continue their snogging at breakfast. And the other night, she had invited him to her bed! He wondered, sometimes, whether she genuinely had no idea what she did to him, or whether she was just trying to make him break first. Either way, he was sticking to his plan. Next Thursday, TARDIS or no TARDIS, they'd hopefully both be much, much happier. Yes, Thursday, he'd decided. If they might still be on Earth, he could allow himself a few hours' leeway rather than try to wake her up in the dark hours of Friday morning to propose...
The Doctor's morning passed swiftly and fairly successfully, once he had seen Rose off. Between the Imperial College, the Science Museum, and the psychic paper, he had acquired nearly all of the high-end items on his list for both the recorder and the detector. He would need to revisit the museum after hours for a couple of small tidbits that weren't immediately available, even to an eminent, sciencey, professor-type such as himself (or however the psychic paper had described him). If Rose was up to it, they could head back tonight, even.
He would have gotten back to the Tiny TARDIS before lunchtime if he hadn't become distracted by a few of the restaurants adjacent to his path. In his mind's eye, he was testing each establishment as a possible setting for his proposal to Rose. He even picked up a tourist's guide from a street vendor, hoping to gain some further insight on "romantic" sites in the vicinity. With all of the foot/bus/underground travel they had been doing, the sudden appearance of a limousine or other conveyance might tip Rose off long before the intended moment. Better to stay close to home, he figured, if he could find the right spot.
And the cash. He still needed to address that sticking point. Why, oh, why, with all of the circular paradoxes they had found themselves in, could he not have contrived a well-funded bank account? Even Rose had bus fare -
A bank account.
Yes! No. Yes! Could he? Should he?
The Doctor debated with himself on the way back to the flat. If he correctly recalled, the government had insisted on establishing an account for him, despite his Second self's own insistence that it was by no means either necessary nor desired. But did he want to risk yet another paradox, popping by the Brigadier's office and making himself known, before his Third self had the chance to arrive on the scene and explain his way through the mess that was regeneration? He couldn't risk changing his own history. Not for this.
But for Rose...
He waved to Ms. Phelen in the lobby, paying much less than half a mind to her inquiry and to whatever his response was. He had a date with the corkboard-under-the-stairs.
Rose found the Doctor working at the corkboard when she arrived back at the Tiny TARDIS. He spared her just a peck on the cheek and a quick glance over the items she'd bought before returning to his notebook. She tried to see whether she could help, but his notes were in Gallifreyan, and he was too engrossed to explain.
He did mention a possible late-night excursion and recommended she grab a snack and some shut-eye.
Rose left the merchandise on the breakfast table along with what looked like the Doctor's own acquisitions, and brought a sandwich up to her room. She figured she might as well use some of her free time for an extra-long shower, although, knowing the Doctor, she'd probably need a couple more after whatever he had planned for that evening.
The Science Museum was a piece of cake, the Doctor congratulated himself, as he and Rose shared some actual cake after their midnight infiltration. He should be able to complete the control disk that very morning, and possibly even have the timey-wimey detector in working order by the time Rose got back on Thursday afternoon.
Then, he had it all planned out. Come Friday morning, he'd go see the Brigadier. He could pose as a stranded companion of the Doctor's. He could gain the Brigadier's trust and the bank account details, all without revealing anything about changing faces. Then, his Third self would be free to convince the Brig of all those pesky details himself. In the meantime, he'd pick up Rose from Henrik's and take her to the bank with her paycheck, and surprise her with the knowledge that she was now free to quit whenever she liked.
The Doctor, with a sly grin at his own cleverness, said goodnight to Rose and sent her off to bed. He'd be getting a start on the recorder, now, he might as well clean up their dessert plates, too.
To be continued...
The title means: Time Flies, but Not Enough. A certain guest review asked for that, and yes, I've noted the rest of your request, as well :)
Stay tuned for: THE BRIGADIER! Who will be written mostly by Jonn Wolfe, since I know next to nothing about Classic Who.
Sixties soundtrack: "I'm the Urban Spaceman" by the Bonzo Dog Doo-Dah Band
All of my old betas seem to have moved on or busied themselves with legitimate, real-life nonsense. Anybody else want to take a crack at it?
