A/N: Written for the "Halloween and hayrides" prompt for the Fall Fic Fest over on Tumblr. Very late, I know, but I didn't want to leave this story undone.
The Dashing Doctor
The costume shop is ransacked by the time Rose loses patience with the Doctor's grumblings over the inaccuracies of her werewolf ensemble - namely the short skirt and fishnets which every bloke at Jake's party is sure to be gaping at - and insists that, if he is going to complain, he find something just as ridiculous to wear.
Naughty Scooby Doos and nuns and a few phallic innuendoes hang in their plastic casings, waiting for some desperate soul to claim them. The cashier eyes them sullenly from the front counter as they trawl the empty aisles and the Doctor turns his attention to a fetishized Disney princess pinafore.
"You could probably pull off the fishnets," says Rose, looking first him, and then the model on the package, up and down.
"Probably?" The Doctor scoffs. "Rose Tyler, I'm insulted. I know I could." He flips through the hangers for a size that will fit him, intent on proving his point, but freezes barely halfway along the rack, brows furrowing and mouth flapping like a guppy's.
Rose's hand rests on his shoulder as she peeks over it. "Oh," she says.
"Th-that's you," he squeaks.
Well, a pale imitation. The leggy blonde advertising the skimpy black server's outfit, sheer stockings, and mid-calf boots (not included) has nothing on the one standing next to him.
"Yeah," Rose drags the word out, sounding embarrassed. She takes the plastic package from the Doctor, studying it. "I didn't even know they still made these."
"When did they start making them? You haven't worn that in ages." He nods at the outfit, feeling an irrational surge of jealousy. Besides the brief arch of one eyebrow, Rose doesn't pay it much mind.
"After we left the first time. Someone got wind of what we had to do with the Cybermen, I dunno how. Dad thinks someone from Torchwood leaked it, 'cause once I . . . came back, everyone connected the dots. Was chaos for a while, PR wanted me to endorse Rose Tyler lunchboxes."
"Did you?" He can't imagine she would - neither of them has ever enjoyed being in the limelight - but briefly entertains the mental image of a Defender of the Earth knapsack next to Barbie and Dora the Explorer.
Rose shakes her head. "I had enough to be dealing with and Dad knew it. He made them back off eventually. Didn't stop the knockoffs, though." She unfolds the dress and holds it up to herself where it hits at mid-thigh, just like the original. Even on the run from Cybermen and a mad scientist, her legs had been the most compelling sight.
"I liked that dress," says the Doctor. He tears his eyes away from her denimed legs before remembering he's allowed to do that now. To run his hands up and down her long, lithe legs and to feel them wrapped around his waist, to kiss the freckle on the back of her left knee and feel the fine hair on her upper thighs tickle his shaven cheeks. Still, old habits die hard, particularly when such habits are as foolish and long-standing as his. He can still remember stuttering and staring over Rose's bare shoulder when she asked him to zip her up like it was yesterday.
"I know." Rose grins, looking smug. "You were even more obvious back then, Doctor."
"What?" The Doctor straightens his tie, half-faking affront. "I thought I was very gentlemanly."
"Gentlemanly, yes," Rose agrees. "Subtle, no."
"Oh, as if you were any better, Miss Lucy's-a-bit-thick."
"You know, she's actually really nice. 'S a lot easier to be civil when you're not distracting me in some tight tux."
"I'm flattered," says the Doctor dryly. But if Rose looked smug, his smirk more resembles the cat who found a whole flock of canaries. Or the Time Lord who was lucky enough to find - and be found, in return - by one human girl.
"That Torchwood source didn't reveal anything else, did they?" he asks. "Say, how the Defender of the Earth may have had a companion the night of the Cybermen uprising? Great hair? Looks good in a suit?"
"Dad kept it quiet," says Rose. "The Defender of the Earth from another universe was enough to handle without her Dashing Doctor."
Minus the dashing, the Doctor droops. "No couples' costumes from PR, then?" If Rose is going to be ogled anyway, it may as well be in a costume that he can complement: the Romeo to her Juliet, Mickey to her Minnie, plug to her socket - or so says the grinning man on one of the plastic pouches, plastic prongs strapped across his torso and a leer on his face.
But Rose has already taken his hand, leading him past shopfronts and early trick-or-treaters, through the enticing scent of the food court and into a department store. Directing him to the menswear section, she throws first a jumper and trousers, then a leather jacket over their linked arms. It takes him longer than he's proud of to understand what she's doing, by which time a snooty salesman is holding open a changing room door.
"This isn't really what I had in mind, Rose," he says, straightening the leather jacket's lapels. It hangs looser on him than he's grown used to, no distraction to any potential Rose-suitor. He shivers as Rose wraps her arms round his waist to whisper in his ear.
"I'm the Bad Wolf," she reminds him, "you're my Doctor."