Ramen Noodles

Rose pre-TARDIS, making ramen in her flat. She's got a cold and needs some warming up. A strange fellow is making an aweful lot of noise outside. So, she invites him in. 8/Rose.

This is for Wolf spirit of the northlands, who sent a simple, but very inspiring prompt. I currently have a second part to this waiting in my Cravings folder! It's a 10.5!

Also, I've gotten a very nice one from My Beautiful Ending that I think will be a 10. I feel like I've been forgetting David a bit—lately it's been 10.5 and 9. And, last but not least an 11/Marshmallow bit for Who's Clues.

Do you guys want to see some pieces without Rose? Like a just Doctor, or just Doctor-and-other-companion bits? I absolutely refuse to write Martha (nothing personal, I just don't watch the third series at all, so I wouldn't even know where to begin with characterization), but I could do some others if you would like.

-XXX-

"Ahhh—ahhh—choooooo!"

Jackie winces from her seat on the couch. From where I stand in the kitchen, I glare.

"Sorry my illness disrupts your programming." I murmur under my breath. "Can't help it."

My mother sighs heavily. "I'm sorry, Rosie, it's just hard on my ears, love."

"Yeah, well think about how it feels on my throat." I sneeze again, following it up with a few harsh coughs. My hacking sets her on edge.

For the last three days, I've had the sniffles. Only recently, it's turned into full-on sneezing and a nasty cough. Also, my chest has been aching, and my throat sore. My voice doesn't just sound funny now; it's starting to go out on me. I sound like a twenty-year smoker. Unfortunate, seeing as I quit just five months ago to prevent such trouble. Mum reckons it's something I picked up at work. With several hundred people drifting through the department store on a daily basis, I can see her point.

"Alright, sweetie," She says after my seventh coughing fit. "I'll pop down to the druggist to see about getting you some drops. Maybe some cough medicine, too."

"Please."

"And I'll put the kettle on before I go." She stand, crossing to the breakfast counter. Once there she leans across to pat my cheek. "You alright to be alone for a few minutes? Won't take me but twenty minutes…"

"'S okay, Mum," I assure her, tightening my bathrobe around my waist. It's worn, a little threadbare, and faded from all its washings. What was once a bright purple now has turned to a light lavender. Not that I mind terribly. Lavender is pretty. "I'll be fine. Done this before, remember?"

"Yeah, I do." She's in the hall now, putting on shoes and shoving on her jacket. Purposeful, she comes back into the kitchen to kiss me firmly on the cheek. "Don't die while I'm out."

"I will try my very best."

She snags her hand bag off the hook, leaving me to my own devices. Which, at the moment, consists of making Ramen Noodles in the microwave. If I wanted, I could try chicken noodle soup. However, I'm feeling far too sick and far too lazy to exert myself that far. It's chicken flavoured Ramen. I mean, close enough, right? There are noodles in it. It tastes sort of like chicken. Works for me, at the very least.

The water reaches a boil after about five minutes after Mum leaves. I put in the noodles after crunching them up against the counter, then lean back. My tea sits steaming by the toaster, the bag floating on the very top like a soaking pillow. It's an Earl Grey blend, not my favourite. Actually, we're out of my favourite. I should've asked Mum to pick me up some more at the druggists….

"BANG!"

I jump wildly, scared out of my skin by the noise.

From outside, I hear some shuffling, then another loud "BANG!" It's clearly coming for the railing, near our door. I creep to the kitchen door way, listening intently.

I can tell it's not a gun. I've heard gun shots before, and that's not it. A large part of me whispers "Go away, quick!" Really, I ought to stay in the kitchen, wait it out, maybe call Mum and tell her to hang around the druggist's for a bit longer. But instead, I advance toward the door. The shuffling continues, but the banging has stopped entirely. With a breath, I sink to my knees to come level with the mail slot. After raising the flattened brass, I peek out of the narrow hole.

What greets me is a pair of knees. I follow them up to see a velvet frock coat, silver waistcoat and white cotton cravat. This resembles one of the costumes used in last semester's Victorian-themed "The Hounds of Baskerville," which is the only way I can remember the terminology. A mass of dark curls brush the shoulders of the frock coat, though for the life of me I cannot make out a face. Whoever he is, he is leaning quite heavily on the metal railing, breathing as though he's just been punched in the gut. Hesitantly, I rise from my knees to look into the peekhole.

The stranger has a thin, angular face, with pleasant blue eyes that are currently scrunched in discomfort. I feel immediate pity, as it appears he is in great pain. Without hesitation, I open the door.

"Hello?"

He doesn't respond. The eyes have closed now.

"Um, hi. Can you hear me?"

One lid rises. "What?

"Sorry," I step forward, hands out. "I just heard a bang and went to check and…are you alright?"

He shuffles to face me, still clinging to the rail. "Ah, I'm a little worse for wear at the moment, though I should—ah," He stumbles, wincing with the motion. "Be fine in a few hours."

"Are you sure? Do you need some aspirin, or something?"

"No!" He jolts forward, eyes wide. "No! Not aspirin!"

I jump back, startled. "Sorry!"

"But thank you," He says hastily. "That's very kind. Not a whole lot that can help now, though. Point of no return, you know."

I don't. But I play along, nodding. "Some tea, then? I'm about to have a nice cuppa myself…."

The stranger smiles wanly. "Why not?"

"Alright then." I start for inside, then go back. "Do you need any help?"

"Oh, no. I'll manage." He assures me. He stumbles in. It's only when he's seated at the bar that I notice his leg. It's on the opposite knee, the one I couldn't see from out the mail slot; a long, bloodied gash. The tattered pant leg (which is a pity, seeing as those are not cheap pants—I work in a department store, trust me, I know) covers the worst of it, but I can see the reflection of a dark, wet liquid drying to his pale limb.

"Do you need anything for that?" I ask softly, nodding to the wound.

As though it's not obvious, he blinks slowly, then laughs and looks down. "This? No, no, it'll be fine, I promise you." He adds at my concerned stare.

"O-okay," I mumble. I turn to the kitchen to fetch another mug, pretending not to notice the blood dripping off of his boots onto our white tile. Mum would probably have a fit when she got home, even after she sees his leg. But that's Jackie, I guess.

I return with the cream and a sugar pot. He generously helps himself, stirring in a healthy measure of cream. When his sits back, sipping his tan-ish concoction, I see a flush of fresh color rush to his face. Smiling, I push a plate of biscuits his way too. While I stir my noodles, all the way across the kitchen, he nibbles on the stale ginger snaps. I am please to find him to be a very comfortable sort of person, just the sort you could drag in from off the street for a nice cuppa and a solid conversation, having never met before. Which is exactly what I'm doing now.

"So, you don't want any meds?" I confirm.

"No, thank you."

I watch him over my rim. "May I ask…what is with the period get up?"

He smiles. "It's for a drama I am participating in. Do you like it?"

Well, I have to admit it goes nicely with his shoulder-length chestnut locks. Before I can answer, I'm taken out with an attack of coughing. My lungs are practically in my throat, begging for me to end their abuse. My guest leans over the bar, brows furrowed with concern.

"Are you alright?"

"Oh, yeah," I manage weakly, doubling over. "Just got a bit of a cough. You know. Cold season."

He shakes his head. "That sounds far too wet to be a cough."

"S'probably nothing."

He looks doubtful. One hand flies to an inner pocket of his coat. The other motions for me. "Come here."

Withdrawing his slim, long-fingered hand, he produces a stethoscope. "May I?" He gestures toward my chest in the most gentlemanly manner possible.

I nod. "Why not?"

Wryly, he smiles again. "I'm a doctor, actually."

"Ah, that's why."

"Probably," He agrees, a little too cheerfully for a man with a bloody leg (which is still dripping onto the tile). With no further ado, he pops the ear pieces in and settles to listen to my chest, instructing me at various intervals to breath in and out. I comply.

After several moments of listening he drops the metal end having reaches an apparent conclusion. "You might have pneumonia." He tells me seriously, tucking the stethoscope back into his pocket. "I can't know for certain. But you should probably be in bed, have some hearty soup, sleep until you can get to a doctor."

"But you're a doctor."

He shakes his head. "I mean one who knows your entire medical history. One who didn't just meet you in the last fifteen minutes. Now, where is your husband?"

"My…oh!" I gasp, shaking my head violently. With a quick motion I remove the CZ ring that rest on my wedding finger—it had been a late birthday gift from Gran two months ago. The only finger it would properly sit on was that one. "I'm not…attached. I live with my Mum, here."

"Ah." This response seems to please him by a fraction. "Sorry."

"No problem. I'm Rose, by the way. Rose Tyler. I just thought since you'd already gotten to second base, you might want to know my name."

He flushes. "Smith, John Smith."

"That's not generic." I quip. Then I cringe. "Sorry, you've probably heard that one."

"Only a million times."

"Sorry."

"Not at all. Now, I suggest a soup-"

"Would Ramen work?"

He falters. "What?"

I show him. John lifts my spoon, poking the processed noodles fretfully. "I…suppose so. Chicken is said to fight off infection. What did you say this was again?"

"Ramen Noodles."

"Naturally."

In response I slurp down a spoonful.

We spend another ten minutes discussing various subjects-from illness to jobs to noodles, then a brief splash of London politics, when he stands to go.

"I'm afraid I must be going now." He sobers. "There is a rather important changing of the guard I must attend."

This sounds a little barmy to me, but I don't comment. "Well, thank you for the advice. And it was nice meeting you, John Smith. Drop by again sometime, just perhaps not in the same state. And get your leg checked out, would you?"

"I am a Doctor," He winks. "Goodbye, Rose Tyler. It was brilliant meeting you. You make a lovely cup of tea. I do hope our paths cross again someday."

"Yes, that would be nice."

I show him out, watching his velvet-clad back disappear down the line of stairs, and then into the darkness of the night. Once he is entirely out of sight, I go to the bar to wipe up the dots of blood on the tile.

Five minutes later finds me on the couch watching Big Brother and Mum wandering through our front door.

"Sorry it took me so long, sweetie, the line at the chemist was a nightmare? Are you okay?"

"Yeah, Mum," I pause to flick off the telly. "Maybe tomorrow I ought to see Doctor Jenkins."

"Yes, of course dear. That's what I've been telling you all along!" She says, both of us knowing full well she hadn't, even though she probably should have. "Do you want your drops?" Mum thrusts the bad of cherry-flavour drops toward me. I shake my head.

"No, thank you. I think I'll just kip off to bed."

"Alright, sweetie."

That night I dream of far off planets, a man with an ever-changing face, and a blue box that can speak in your mind and is bigger on the inside. It's a myriad of colours, settings, faces. I'm spinning in a coral-like cavarn that pulses with life. It's utterly beautiful. I wake barely remembering a thing except for how exciting it felt. Like, somehow, it was all real. So very, very real.

When I drag myself to the kitchen, I happen to catch sight of the Ramen wrapper lying on the counter. I must've forgotten to throw it away last night in between the conversation with a Doctor John Smith, and my mother's arrival. I pick it up and note the expiration date on the back—which is a whole four months passed.

The dream suddenly makes some sense.

-XXX-

There you go! Sorry if the 8th's characterization is blurry—I am going off just the film, which I haven't seen too recently. I thought I might "shake it up" with him.

A couple of interesting points:

1. The Doctor was hitting his regeneration. He had just returned from Gallifrey. No, I don't know why he was in front of the Tyler's apartment, why don't you ask him.

2. He would've asked Rose to come away with him, except she was ill.

3. He was very, very glad to know she didn't have a husband/boyfriend.

4. I am super-very-extremely tired. Sorry about any mistakes. Hope you enjoy.

5. Thank you for the reviews!