A/N: This has a tenuous link to Hair Care. Technically, I could have developed it into a longer (better plotted) one-shot, but… it does follow on from the last chapter. And I'm afraid I don't have enough time to go developing long DW fics. I must wait for exams to finish for that…
So! Please excuse the wobbly 'plot' and the loose hair association. I hope it will give you at least some enjoyment…
Disclaimereth: Forsooth and lackaday, 'tis thine BBC that doth verily possess't.
Rose held out her hand and smiled, winningly, at the host.
"Hi, I'm Diana and this," she said, motioning to the Doctor, "is…"
She peeked at the Doctor out of the corner of her eye, and the Doctor regarded - with some alarm - the tongue poking out the corner of her mouth.
What was she going to…
"Syngeon," finished Rose, almost gleefully.
The Doctor glared at her.
The host, however, didn't notice.
"Syngeon?" he asked, curiously, looking from the Doctor to Rose, "That's a very unusual name, isn't it?"
"I s'pose," answered Rose, grinning mischievously, "But I think it suits him quite well…"
Rose snuck a look at the Doctor's face, and was amused to find that he seemed to have been rendered completely speechless. Instead he was foolishly opening his mouth as if he had something to say, seeming to think better of it, and then closing it - all with the air of a severely wounded party. He was also self-consciously smoothing his left eyebrow, though Rose had told him it now looked perfectly normal - the hair restorative had worked a treat.
Realising that the Doctor was not going to say anything else - exactly as she had intended - she excused them and steered him forcefully away.
Once out of earshot, he turned on Rose, angrily.
"Syngeon!" he exclaimed, "Of all the names, in all the universes, Syngeon?"
Rose giggled, perhaps unwisely. "I like that name," she said, simply, reaching for a glass of champagne as a tray passed her.
The Doctor looked at her through narrowed eyes, "You wouldn't happen to be making fun of me, would you, Rose Tyler?" he demanded, dangerously.
"Me?" asked Rose, her eyes wide and innocent, "Never. I wouldn't dream of it. Just thought it was a nice name."
The Doctor scowled at her. "I don't believe you," he said, huffily, "You've been planning on calling me that for a long time. Ever since that PR woman said we absolutely had to be meet him. I thought it was a bit odd, you being so keen to make the introductions."
"Yeah, well," returned Rose, quickly, "At least it distracted you from getting all excited about the man's name being Alfonso."
The Doctor looked up, delighted, "Is his name Alfonso?"
Rose rolled her eyes. "Maybe."
"I love the name Alfonso!"
"I know," muttered Rose, tiredly, remembering the excitement the last time they had met someone of that name.
"It's a brilliant name! Just like Alonzo… You know, I've always thought it would be brilliant to meet someone called Alonzo and someone called Alfonso. At the same time. And then, I could say Alfonso! Alonzo! Allo-"
Rose stopped him short by suddenly clamping a hand over his mouth.
The Doctor stared at her, completely astonished.
"Well," he said, affronted, as she removed her hand, "That was rude. Very, very rude. Ruder than me, even."
"Sorry," apologised Rose, "But I was worried you might've been getting a little distracted. And not at all focused on the task in hand."
The Doctor looked down at her, gravely, "Rose," he said, sternly, drawing himself up to his full height, "You should know me well enough by now to realise that I never get distracted when there are serious things to be dealt with."
Rose simply raised her eyebrows at him.
"What?" he demanded, as she continued staring at him with the same, imperious expression, "What?"
"Well," said Rose, slowly, "I was just wondering, seeing as how you never get distracted, or anything… why you weren't on a computer, checking the company records. Just a thought. You know. Especially because you said it needed to be done within the first fifteen minutes of arriving, before the memory was erased and the armed patrol guards came out…"
"Oh. Right." The Doctor looked startled. "Well, I'll just go do that, then…" He started to stalk off in a likely computer-bound direction. Halfway across the room he suddenly turned back to Rose. "And for your information," he said confidently, in a loud voice, "I wasn't distracted. No. I was just well aware that I don't need anywhere near as long as fifteen minutes to ha-" He stopped, as he became aware that his words were audible to everyone in the room. "To, uh… you know," he finished lamely. Conscious of the newly scandalised way in which the crème de la crème of London society was now regarding him, he turned and walked briskly away.
Rose stared after him, shaking her head, woefully, a smile twitching the corner of her lips. Seeing he intended to pass through a door at the back of the room, which may or may not have been locked, but was currently surrounded by lots of people, Rose put one of her many talents into use. She 'bumped into' a champagne bearing waiter who had been about to pass her by.
Rose, the waiter and about fifteen crystal glasses all fell to the floor - accompanied by the gaze of everyone in the room, who had turned after hearing Rose's shriek.
By the time Rose had picked herself up from the debris of spilt champagne - which was a terrible shame, because it was good stuff - and broken glass, the Doctor had disappeared.
Not much later, when Rose decided she had spent enough time in the party, making sure there didn't seem to be any problems, she casually excused herself. At a moment when everyone's attention appeared to be particularly focused on their individual conversations - or so she fervently hoped - she slipped through the door the Doctor had gone through about ten minutes before.
She found herself in a long, white corridor. Sighing heavily, she cautiously made her way down it, opening doors and praying she wouldn't accidentally come across anyone who worked there. Although she was fairly confident of her ability to lie, it was still much harder without psychic paper. She jumped, as she peeked round the corner of one door only to find a man tapping away at a computer. Quickly realising it was the Doctor, she composed herself and slipped inside.
The Doctor had found a large, black computer, plonked directly in the middle of an otherwise empty room. Opposite the door she had just entered by, was another, black door, with clouded windows. She ignored it and turned her attention to the Doctor.
"What do you look like?" she demanded.
He looked up, absentmindedly. "Oh, hello. What do you mean?"
Rose stared some more at the wildly scruffy hair, that seemed to have gained a good three inches of height, before shaking her head and saying, "Nothing. Have you got what you need yet?"
"Oh, yeah," the Doctor glanced at her before returning his attention back to the computer screen, "I got all that ages ago. I'm reading the in-office emails now. Apparently, Trisha from Accounts is seeing James from Marketing. Which is a shame, because Melanie from Personnel has a crush on him and sounds rather sweet."
"Isn't that an, um, violation of privacy?" asked Rose, primly.
"No, Rose, it's in-office mail. Any IT admin could read it. Besides, it's a good study in human nature! All the workers, gossiping away in the office, sharing their inner thoughts by email…"
"Oh." Rose thought for a minute, "James? Is he quite tall with blonde hair?"
The Doctor frowned, "I think so. And, according to Melanie, he has the "bluest eyes she's eve-"" He looked up quickly, "Hang on, how'd you know?"
Rose looked down. "I may… I may have met him at the party."
"You've been flirting already?" The Doctor looked astounded, "I leave you alone for two minutes and… How many times do I have to tell you? No flirting on the job!"
"We're always on the job," said Rose, with some confusion.
"So." said the Doctor, matter-of-factly, "No flirting."
Rose rolled her eyes. "I thought you were over the jealousy," she muttered. "Right," she continued, as the Doctor stared at her, a little startled, "We really need to go. I mean, aren't they about to come in and…"
"Yep, don't worry. I know where the delivery'll be and when. We can hijack it and safely destroy all the contaminated equipment before anyone knows. And all the info's stored…" he pulled something out of the computer, "on my handy Sonic USB Stick. Or, SUSB Stick, if you'd prefer.."
"Sonic USB stick? What? What's the point in that?"
"Rose," admonished the Doctor, sternly, shoving his glasses on top of his head as he prepared to explain, "The connection's faster, the memory's greater, it's formatted to several different kind of computers and…" he grinned, "it has a lovely blue light."
"Um…ok. Right," said Rose, impatiently, "That's enough of the technobabble."
"Well," the Doctor, mumbled, "You did ask…"
"We really have to go!"
Rose leant across the table and tugged on the Doctor's arm and reluctantly, he started to get up. She went and looked out through the door leading out to the main corridor.
"Ok," she said, turning back to the Doctor, "Coast clear."
The Doctor, however, seemed to have stopped.
"Rose," he hissed, with such force that she had to turn round, "They're stuck."
"What are?" asked Rose, wearily.
"My glasses." Forlornly, the Doctor motioned to his mess of hair, from which he was attempting to extract his glasses. Without any success.
Sighing heavily, Rose firmly gripped his glasses and yanked on them, hard. Ignoring the Doctor's yelp of pain, she quickly came to the conclusion that the glasses were well and truly stuck - how, she had no idea - and no amount of effort would shift them.
"Look, we'll sort it out at the TARDIS," said Rose, "We really need to-"
"But I look ridiculous!" complained the Doctor, still tugging on the frames, wincing as it pulled at his hair, "I can't go out looking like this!"
"You'll have to," said Rose, sternly. "Which would you prefer: looking ridiculous, but getting back to the TARDIS, or spending the night in a cell?"
"I don't know, Rose, surely -"
Rose snapped her head round as she heard footsteps approaching from the door on the other side of the room.
"Doctor, stop fussing about your hair and RUN!"
He obliged. He took his hand from his head to firmly propel her into the corridor. Their evening shoes skidded on the polished floor and the Doctor dragged Roes off in the right direction, picking up the pace as some angry shouts followed from the computer room.
"Hang on," he shouted, as they raced back through the party, amid shocked and scandalised stares; scattering champagne flutes, "Since when did you give the order to run?"
"Since you," replied Rose, disparagingly, "became obsessed with you hair."
You know, important, scientific studies have shown that each review increases exam concentration by thirteen per cent. Right now, my exam concentration is languishing at two per cent. Please, do the right thing…