Rose wasn't jarred awake the next morning at the crack of dawn as she had been since the TARDIS landed. Instead, she slipped softly out of dreams and into a reality that seemed as fantastical as many of her dreams. She was lying on her side with the Doctor spooned against her from behind. His breath stirred her hair. His arm was wrapped around her waist. His hand stroked her stomach through the thin cotton of her nightgown. Rose stretched a little, trying not to disturb him, but hoping to distance herself a little.

"Morning," he rumbled. Rose shivered. So, that hand wasn't moving involuntarily in his sleep.

"Morning," she murmured. This was the sort of exchange that any couple would have. If they were normal, she would next be refusing to kiss him until she'd brushed her teeth. Or one of them would get up to put on some tea.

Instead, the Doctor gave her a small, playful push. "Maid'll be here soon with dresses for meeting Napoleon in." Rose flushed and scrambled out of the bed. The Doctor threw her a smirk that seemed out of place. It was so filthy, it made her shiver. "You don't want to start a scandal?" he asked, as though asking if she preferred chocolate or vanilla ice cream. Rose decided he was teasing her and rolled her eyes

"Get up, Doctor." She walked over to the secret panel that still stood open. Through the hole, Rose got a great look at the Doctor's own, magnificently furnished room. Sure enough, the only window he had faced east to catch the rising sun and moon. He'd failed to mention the large, heavily brocaded window drapes that blocked all light. His room was darker than hers.

With a secret smile, Rose turned back to the lanky figure still lounging on the bed. "C'mon. Back to your own room," she ordered. With a pout that made her think very wicked thoughts, indeed, the Doctor got up and grabbed his jacket.

When he met her at the door, Rose could see behind the playful pout. There lurked a real sadness. She reached out for his hand and gave it a squeeze.

"See you in bit. Just got to get cleaned up and dressed."

The panel had just clicked shut when the door to Rose's chamber was opened by the same curtseying maid from the night before. Rose whirled around, fairly certain her face was scarlet.

"I, uh, was just admiring the room," she said. The maid said nothing. "How long before breakfast?"

"Nearly two hours, miss."

"Good. Plenty of time for a bath first, then."

"But, miss, we need to start preparing you right away."

"Exactly. And those preparations will start with a good scrub." When the maid continued to fret, Rose put her most officious tone into play. "I've been on the road for two weeks. I will not be introduced to this emperor or any other when I'm covered in a layer of dust. I assure you that I will be ready on time."

The maid dithered for a moment longer before bolting, Rose assumed, to comply with her request. Rose heaved a sigh, rolled her eyes, and plopped onto her bed.

You're getting a bath?" Jack asked from somewhere near her feet.

"Damn straight." Rose muttered, knowing that scolding him for coming into her room without so much as knocking would have about as much effect as a asking the Doctor for a smooth landing. She made a mental note to tell the Doctor about it later.

"Well, I'm not," he declared proudly.

Rose lifted her head and stared at him pointedly. "If you want to stink, go right ahead."

"Napoleon was known to prefer a "natural" scent to a clean one," Jack explained.

Rose wrinkled her nose. She'd learned from the Doctor that she wasn't to judge based on her own standards, so she didn't say the first thing that came to her mind. "That's…great. I'm still having a bath."

Jack nodded sagely. "Probably for the best. Most people don't like the fug of body odor." He cast a sly glance in her direction. "Particularly species with superior olfactory senses."

Rose blanched, then flushed. Two planets ago, the Doctor had found the dungeon she was locked in solely because of his "superior olfactory senses." He'd gone on to say that he could follow her scent anywhere. Rose still wasn't sure if she was insulted or not about that, but the look in his eyes as he'd said it had her leaning towards not.

She didn't know how Jack knew about that, but it was best to nip it in the bud. "It's not like that, Jack. You know that."

"Could be," he told her with a jaunty wink. With Rose doing her very best impersonation of a cod fish, Jack whistled and strolled out.

As he left, Jack threw a flirtatious grin at someone down the hall towards the Doctor's room. Almost immediately two male servants carried a large, gilded tub into the room. The girl Rose supposed was meant to be her maid for the duration of their stay trailed behind them, barking out orders as sharply as any gentlewoman. Water was already half-filling the tub, the steam perfuming the room with the heady scent of antique roses. It took some force before the servants agreed to let Rose bathe herself. She'd had to threaten to call for her guardian before they'd retreated. How the Doctor's reputation spread so quickly, she'd never known, but she took full advantage of it. At least she hadn't had to channel her mother. Acting like Jackie Tyler always put Rose out of sorts.

After quickly bathing in the water that was so lousy with perfume that it made her a bit light-headed, Rose wrapped a towel around herself and went to summon the maid, Marie, to help her get into the bloody great dress she was supposed to wear for breakfast. Upon opening the door, Rose found not the curtseying yet bossy girl, but the Doctor, half-turned away.

"Ready?" he asked, turning towards her. His eyes met hers, widened, glanced down, down a bit further, lingered, and then jumped back up to hers. When he met her gaze again, the Doctor seemed to realize that he had been caught staring. He flinched, guilt leaking from every pore. "A h," he stated eloquently, the tips of his ears going pink. He refused to look away from her eyes, as if they were safe harbor.

For her part, Rose also stared at him. He'd changed into the green jumper she though made him look dead sexy. His eyes were darker than usual, inviting her to take a swim in the uncharted depths. There was a flush in his skin that caused a matching tint to bloom in hers. And though she wasn't sure, she thought he might be breathing faster than usual.

"Not ready then," he said after a few minutes of strained silence. The quick click of rushing footsteps down the hall galvanized him into action. "Right, well, shift yourself," he said uncertainly and immediately retreated to his own room.

Rose continued to stand at the door, at a complete loss for what just happened. After a few moments, Marie appeared and bustled herself and Rose back into the room, shutting the door behind her.

"Sorry, miss, were you waiting for me? I was just getting a comb for your hair." She displayed the most exquisite hair accessory Rose had ever seen. It had been made by a master silver-smith, that much was clear. Fine filigree ran down each tooth of the comb, tapering to a stop an inch before reaching the end, the handle composed of three perfectly blooming roses, also in silver. Dewdrops glistened on the petals in the form of tiny diamonds, and the larger, center rose had a large pink diamond nestled in its heart.

Rose stared at it in awe for a moment before she felt Marie seize her towel. It took every ounce of her will to not yelp and snatch it back, but she knew this was the custom for the wealthy at the time. Forcing a scowl from her face, Rose allowed Marie to help with what felt like 37 thousand undergarments, the piece de resistance of which was the corset. Finally, Rose, in all her petticoated glory was bundled into a dress, which was the color of cedar needles in the sun, with spring green trim and silver leaves dancing across the cloth.

Her hair was twisted in such a fashion that the single comb could hold it up, its tines peeking out to grace the nape of her neck. Two identical locks fell to frame her face.

And yes, Marie had overestimated how long it would take Rose to do her hair and bathe, but Rose had underestimated how long it would take to dress. In order to be on time, and Rose could already hear the Doctor pacing restlessly outside her door, she had no choice but to throw on the lightest coat of mascara she'd worn since she was eleven, a dab of lippy, and then dash.

After thanking Marie, Rose took a deep breath and let herself into the hall. The Doctor paused mid-stride and turned warily towards her. Again, his eyes widened when he spotted her, and again her breath caught at what she thought she saw there. She might even have heard him mumble, "beautiful."

Then, his manic grin was back and he was offering his arm as he had when they met Dickens. Just like that time, he tightened his arm so firmly around hers that she could move in as close as she wanted to and be able to reasonably blame his grip. She took full advantage of this and pressed into his side.

"Jack'll meet us there," the Doctor told her. "He's messing with his hair for the sixth time this hour."

Rose chuckled, knowing the Doctor wasn't likely to be exaggerating. "You're just jealous that you haven't got enough hair to mess with," she teased.

The Doctor sent her a fake glare, and Rose giggled. As the best friends that they were, the Doctor and Rose descended to breakfast.

*

Rose's first introduction to Napoleon was one that no one was likely to believe. She knew by now that nothing was ever quite like it said in the guide book, but she expected there to be at least some likeness.

Napoleon wasn't short for one thing. Rose hadn't been able to see that during the coronation, they were so far away. The Doctor had prepared her for his height by leaning so close she could feel his breath on her ear. She'd barely been able to pay attention to what he said. How could he expect her brain to work when it was overloaded by sensory input?

Still, Rose was able to betray no surprise when she saw the Frenchman. At least, she was able to do until she realized just how very misleading the advertising had been.

When she and the Doctor entered, the footman's introduction of them was drowned out by a whinging voice. "Please, my lord, I have a family and no skills in any trade."

"Others have managed before you," Napoleon said in a bored tone.

"But, my lord, please tell me. Why am I being discharged from your army? The battle was won."

At this, Napoleon smirked, and Rose began to suspect he had something up his sleeve. There was no way Napoleon was a practical jokester. Was there?

"I know the battle was won. You led your forces admirably. Which is why, when you leave the army, you will remain in my service as an advisor. And in order to keep your leadership skills sharp, you will be residing here." The emperor produced several documents, the top displaying a drawing of a suitably lavish country home. "There is a veritable army of staff to be at your disposal."

The man, who had been so tense that he'd been vibrating with panic, (and Rose had wondered if that whine was really his voice or if the sound came from him like a string,) sagged with a relief Rose had only felt when she'd met the Doctor's eyes, bright and alive in his face, over the body of her father. This man might have been relieved now, but Rose could still see the sheen of the cold sweat that he'd had only a moment before.

"Yes, my lord. Thank you, my lord."

The Doctor's elbow digging into her side reminded Rose not to stare. Napoleon was enjoying his prank immensely. Rose had the feeling that if whoopee cushions had existed in the nineteenth century no chair would have been safe. She thought she caught the footman rolling his eyes, and forced the resulting grin into a polite smile. Gripping the Doctor's hand tightly, Rose turned to Napoleon.

Rose's voice dripped with syrup when she addressed the not-so-little emperor. "I can't express what pleasure I feel at meeting you."