Rule 341: Always Be Prepared To Be Taken By Surprise
Rose/10. Rose and the Doctor each have their own view of what it means to be fully prepared.
1
She didn't mean to wander off in the alien bazaar. It's just that she stopped to look at something shiny and pretty, and when she looked up he wasn't behind her anymore. So technically he's the one that wandered off, she thinks to herself as she tries to find him. She isn't that worried. Really, how hard could it be to spot one tall, gangly alien in a brown pinstripe suit in a sea of creatures who are mostly neon green? She and the Doctor are the ones who stick out like a sore thumb here.
Nonetheless, she is stymied at every turn, ends up roaming aimlessly in concentric circles around the center aisle until she finally gives up and sits on the edge of a fountain and waits for him to find her.
When he does, he looks rumpled and frustrated, and Rose suddenly feels all squirmy and like a child who is about to be reprimanded.
"What is the rule?" he says, sounding mostly resigned. "Go on, I know you know it.."
Rose bites her lip for a minute. "Don't…" she began.
"Don't wander off," he cuts her off. "And what do you do nearly every time?"
"Wander off?" she offers with a weak smile that fell quite short of its mark.
He snorts and runs a hand through his hair. She sits there for a moment and then feels for an opening.
"Want some tea?" she offers. She holds up two thermal cups that she has been holding for a ridiculously long time now.
He snorts again and plops down next to her. "Well yes, actually," he says. "But that doesn't mean I'm not still cross with you."
"Okay," she agrees amiably, and settles back to wait. Tea will help. And if it doesn't, she has a bag of some vaguely sandwich-like things that will do the job.
Rose Tyler believes in being prepared for any sign of trouble.
.
2
A week later, they are guests at a wedding of several serpentine creatures who the Doctor knows from generations ago. After the ceremony, which involved orbs and oddly low-pitched flutes and a sibilant chant that made Rose oddly sleepy, an overly friendly female with the eyes of a python and a flickering tongue to match takes a somewhat determined liking to the Doctor. Rose tries to help at first, laying a proprietary hand on the Doctor's shoulder during dinner, leaning in to whisper and trying to make it obvious to those around them that he's occupied. Their new serpentine friend is completely nonplussed – perhaps because theirs is a society in which there is no concept of monogamy, the Doctor explains to Rose later – welcoming Rose with a smile and continuing to hang on the Doctor's other arm before finally dragging him out to dance.
She turns and gestures an invitation for Rose to join in, too.
Rose declines with all the graciousness she can muster. No need to start an interstellar incident.
The Doctor makes a break for it several dances later and heads to her side, hair disheveled and lapels askew. "Rose," he whispers, "let's get out of here. This is getting to be a bit much. I think we just went through some kind of ritual dance that has implications I don't even want to think about. I swear I heard something about the word nuptial."
Rose giggles, earning her a sour look from him. "Ok, ok," she says. "Let me just figure out where I left my wrap."
She strolls back over to where they were sitting during the meal, looking for the gossamer shawl the TARDIS had dug up for her earlier, the loveliest shade of iridescent pinkish-gold, but it is nowhere to be found. Glancing around, she finds a door behind that looks like it could be a storage area. She glances back towards the Doctor who is waiting impatiently, and signals that she'll just be a moment.
He saw her, right?
She ducks through the arched doorway and finds herself in a room that stops her in her tracks. Highly polished silver surfaces on all sides, almost like mirrors but reflecting in a soft blur. Sparkling egg-like orbs dot the walls here and there and cast a pale blue glow, and there are fluttering things in the air that look like butterflies, but tinier and with trailing, wafting antennae that look like spider silk.
She is so transfixed that she doesn't notice when the door shuts behind her with a soft click, becoming a seamless part of the wall. She steps carefully into the center of the room, turning several times to watch the little creatures who spin around her. When an antenna brushes across her skin it gives her tiny shivers and makes her hear light tinkling music, as if from distant chimes.
There has never been anything so lovely in all the world, she thinks, and she stands, breathless.
And then it hits her. She has no idea where she came in. The walls are featureless.
It takes her twenty minutes of sounding out the walls to figure out where the door was, and another ten to figure out how it opens. When she emerges, she finds the Doctor striding her way, wrap in hand.
"There you are!" he says. He quite clearly has the equivalent of lipstick on his cheek. "Honestly, Rose, you picked now to go exploring? Do you realize I just almost got married?" He looks around hurriedly. "And here comes my soon-to-be mother in law. Time to go!"
Next time, he vows, he will do some research on mating customs at alien weddings. Much as he prefers not to research, it does, it appears, behoove one to be at least a little prepared.
.
3
The next morning the Doctor presents her with a bracelet he claims he found in the bazaar a few days ago. Or at least it looks like a bracelet. But on inspection she finds that it contains a small bell that chimes gently when she moves.
"Doctor," she says slowly, "is this a bracelet or is it a tracking device?"
He grins at her innocently. "Why can't it be both?"
"I do not need a bell!" she exclaims, thumping him lightly on the arm. "I'm not a dog!"
"No," he says slyly, "dogs will stay when you tell them to. You're really much more like a cat. Never could tell a cat to do anything. "
She punches him a little more firmly, and he rubs his arm with a pout on his face.
"Ok, no bell," he says. "How would you feel about a microchip?"
Rose gets up in a huff and gives him what he mentally classifies as a level 3 warning look, subclassified as Jackie Tyler Type 2. The Doctor maintains a mental database of all of the facial expressions of Tyler women after which one might be receiving a slap. Level 3 Type 2 is not quite the most dangerous there is, but it is certainly headed that way. She tosses the bracelet back in his lap and mutters something about a bath.
"Well, it was worth a try," he says to her retreating back. And then he whips out the sonic, liberates the bell from the still lovely bracelet that he will re-present to her later in the day, and tries to work out how he can insert a very tiny, non-detectable to humans, microchip somewhere in its clasp mechanism.
Because honestly, why not save himself some time in tracking her down?
Always pays to be prepared for the next time. Call it a new year's resolution, he thinks with satisfaction. Always be prepared to be taken by surprise.