If you're interested in seeing the dress described in this chapter you can see it at regencydresses. com /images /view /917 /1913titanicyellblujpg. html (only take out the spaces in the URL, of course - won't let folks include real links, evidently). In my version I left out the little fur accent on it because I'm too much a product of my era to find real fur on anything cool. :P Add it back mentally if you want.
FYI: I hated writing the last (well, next-to-last) bit in this. Ha. Ted.
John may have purchased the package Rose picked up for him, but it didn't seem to be technically his.
Foster and Co. had turned out to be a women's clothiers; Rose stood before a TARDIS mirror and looked at herself in the dress John had bought her. She didn't know how fancy a dress this was for the time period, but she had certainly never felt more dressed up, or pampered, or romanced.
It was made primarily of a light blue silky fabric with a darker blue patterned fabric in the middle around her torso. It was made to look as if it wrapped around her and so had a v-neck, lace over her shoulders but no sleeves, and the skirt fell in silky, diagonal tiers. There were tiny strings of pearls accenting the shoulders and around the bodice. Rose had found some accessories to go with it – shoes, little earrings, a matching hair comb with a feather.
She simultaneously rejoiced and fought back the panic that now always lurked at the back of her mind, determined to keep it from spoiling the moment.
She felt like she was being hurtled down some rapids with no way of steering herself. Events were happening so fast and felt so powerful, she didn't know how she'd stop them or slow them even if she wanted to. Which, God help her, she didn't. As long as they'd both been stationed at the school, things had seemed containable. Alone with him at night, everything had felt so perfect that she could believe it was all destined to work itself out somehow. But now the container was broken and she didn't know where things might spill. Reality had tromped in and reminded her there was no such thing as a guaranteed happily ever after.
She was clinging to the hope that things would right themselves once the truth came out, that no matter what the Doctor's initial reaction to his human activities once he came back, they would come out okay like they did at the end of every other adventure. But usually that meant physical survival, which currently seemed like nothing compared to the kind of survival she wanted this time.
She thought occurred to her—and not for the first time—that she didn't even know for certain he'd remember any of this once he came back; it was one of the many things he hadn't had time to explain. It was an outcome she knew would be more torture than relief. There wouldn't be anything for him to object to or change his mind about...she'd just have it all to herself to mourn, grieve, secretly lose her mind over and never recover from. That is, if she could even keep it to herself forever, which she frankly doubted she could.
But if he did remember and yet didn't want to continue what they'd started...the thought made Rose nauseous with dread.
Rose felt a tickle in her head that she thought meant the TARDIS liked the dress; Rose figured she probably knew who'd given it to her. She wondered if, due to wandering around in Rose's brain, the TARDIS knew the whole story.
"Can you make sure this all turns out all right?" she whispered to the ship. "That he and I stay together when this is all over?" She couldn't keep herself from adding: "Together...as a couple?"
She felt a comforting sensation that was somehow non-committal, like someone stroking your hair quietly when they don't have an answer for you.
Rose now wished she hadn't asked.
The village was draped in bluish moonlight when Rose arrived. John waited amongst some trees, wearing a dark gray suit, coat and hat as handsomely as anyone she'd ever seen. She smiled: the clothes of the period were far more formal and complicated than anything the Doctor would ever choose on his own (though they were equally as severe), but she couldn't say she didn't enjoy seeing him in them. There was a masculinity to them that intensified the force of his own. Besides, seeing a handsome man all buttoned up and proper always gave Rose pleasantly wicked thoughts about rumpling him up.
And he was such a handsome man, she thought. Alternately goofy and sweet and then powerful and intense, with a sexual edge that was sheer force of nature. When he was with her he didn't act as though he wasn't aware he was sexy...he acted as though he was so confident of it he needn't give it another thought. The effect was knee-weakening.
And there he was, pacing like a nervous teenager on prom night. Over her.
She smiled privately. Really, what did he have to be nervous about?
Then the smile dropped: wait, what did he have to be nervous about?
She felt a brief surge of fight-or-flight adrenaline, despite simultaneously experiencing her usual reaction to his presence: feeling pulled, wanting his attention on her.
The latter won out. She walked quietly forward into a spot of moonlight so he could see her.
He turned in his pacing and stopped when he spotted her, his face lighting quietly. The weather had warmed enough that night that Rose could get away with wearing only a wrap, which she held open to show him the dress.
John's look melted into a kind of awe, and Rose's heart fluttered happily. He moved quickly to her and put his hands on her hips, avidly feeling and admiring the flow of the fabric over her body before sliding his arms around her back and pulling her close.
"And I thought it was pretty in the window," he murmured.
"Thank you," Rose said sincerely. "No one's ever given me anything this beautiful."
"I could say the same about you," he whispered, breath warm against her lips before he kissed her.
She sighed and wrapped her arms around him as well; warmer out or not, the weather still wasn't exactly balmy, and his body heat was a welcome thing. "So what are we doing here?"
"Well, Miss Tyler, if you're amenable, I should very much like to escort you to the Village Dance."
Rose looked over John's shoulder and saw the Village Hall not too far away, lit up from within, people coming and going from the open doors. She'd forgotten the dance was tonight.
She stared at him, concerned and confused. "You want to take me somewhere public?"
"Very much."
"But the Headmaster...you'll be dismissed."
"I have it on good authority I won't be," he said, "because I resigned."
Rose felt like the rapids she was riding just sped up. "Resigned? Just like that?"
John bowed his head with a sigh. "I know it's been less than a day since this all happened, but my mind's been running furiously. One thing I've known since the moment the Headmaster forbid me to see you was that...it was never going to happen. And not only that...I don't feel the same about my position as I did before all this. So it didn't take me long to conclude that I can't stay there. I felt leaving on my own was better than courting the school's wrath by disobeying."
Well yes, that made sense, but…the fabric of their plan was unravelling. Rose's fight or flight was back. "What will you do?"
He smiled gently. "Right now, I plan to take you to a dance."
He was deflecting; deflecting meant he had something to deflect from. "You know what I mean."
He stepped back and took her hands. "Yes, I do."
"Not to mention, those people hate us." Rose was becoming short of breath.
"Rose." John brought her back to the present with the simple use of her name, in that way that only he said it. "Believe it or not I don't want to scandalise anyone. I'm not trying to prove anything—I just want to show them. Show them how proud I am that someone as bright and full of life as you would have me. No one in there really understands what's happened, and some may never do. But it's certain no one will if we act the way they expect us to, if we keep hiding in the shadows, behaving as though they were right to disapprove."
Rose worked hard to stay in the moment, not to panic until she heard something worth panicking about. Right now, all he was saying was that he wanted to take her out in public and show everyone he chose her without reservation. She had to admit, there wasn't much to dislike in that plan. She felt herself getting lost in the deep tones of his voice and his adoring look.
"We don't have to go in if you don't want," he continued. "But all I really want is one dance in front of everyone I know with the woman I love. I want that freedom, because we didn't do anything not to deserve it."
Rose had been reduced to just trying not to swoon. The sincerity in his voice and eyes was one thing, but it was the mischievous grin beginning to form that sealed it. It was a Doctor and Rose thing to do, really, flaunting a stifling convention imposed by a judgmental group. It was almost like freeing a civilization from a dictator.
John seemed to read her mind—he leaned in and spoke conspiratorially. "Really, if you're honest, after all the fear and worry we've been through, can you truthfully say there's no one you'd like to rub it in to?"
Rose's own grin began to form. After the despicable way she'd been treated ever since she got here, all because of her station? Only all of 1913.
She offered him her hand and her most playful smile. "Lead the way."
The Village Hall was small, modest and adorned with simple party decorations. It also contained nearly everyone Rose had ever worked for at the school.
Conversation didn't stop when they entered but it definitely experienced a lull, only to flare up again in the form of murmurs and hushed excitement. John smiled at her, looking relaxed as he took her wrap. Rose tried to adopt the same air, but couldn't help looking over the people around them. Some looked disbelieving, some looked luridly entertained. Mixed in with that was a healthy dose of disapproval.
But Rose began to notice other things, like the fact that no one was dressed quite as resplendently as she was. She wasn't overdressed, but all the other women's apparel was more subdued and everyday, the colours more drab and earthy, more...ordinary. No one else wore anything quite as ethereal, or as fairytale. The layers of her skirt wafted gracefully as she walked, and the fabric gave off an iridescent shimmer in the low light.
Compared to the others, Rose absolutely glowed.
Rose realised in a rush of understanding that John had made an impeccable choice for her dress, and that he had neatly orchestrated a show-stopping entrance for her. He'd presented her like a princess; she felt her throat constrict with emotion.
On impulse she turned to him, stretched up and gave him a heartfelt kiss on the cheek, purposely ignoring what anyone's reaction might be. John looked quietly pleased and his eyebrows questioned. "Thank you," she whispered, hoping every bit of her gratitude showed on her face. From the soft glow that lit John's eyes, she supposed it did.
They crossed the room to choose a table. John, for his part, seemed to be enjoying himself more and more as the moments passed. He smiled widely and said hello to people, even people Rose was sure he'd never have talked to at the school. The more taken aback they seemed, the more openly friendly John was. The high point came when they encountered a small group of other professors—Rose stiffened as John gently steered her in their direction, but his sidelong grin at her made her go along anyway. The professors stopped in their collective tongue-clucking as they approached, their dissatisfaction evident.
"I say, old man—" one of them began.
John interrupted by thrusting his hand out to shake, acting friendly and oblivious. Rose nearly choked when he opened his mouth and pure Northerner flowed out, accent and all: "'Ey up, chuck, you all right? Belter of a party!"
Rose managed to hold in the loudest of her guffawing as they turned and made their retreat, but there's no way the men could have missed her shoulders shaking; John looked as though he'd never been more entertained in his life.
A man at the front of the auditorium called for everyone's attention. "Ladies and gentlemen, take your partners...for a waltz!" John looked at her with his eyebrows raised in invitation. Rose smiled and nodded— when she was very young one of Jackie's boyfriends had taught her to waltz by letting her stand on his feet as he danced. She'd never liked the bloke that much, but now he didn't seem so bad.
They reached their place on the floor and the music began, and they started to circle with the others. Rose unconsciously closed her eyes and bit her lip, working to remember long-ago lessons. When she opened them again she found John smirking at her in amusement.
"Hush," she hissed.
"Didn't say anything."
"No, but you were thinking."
"I can't think either?"
They fell into an irresistibly enjoyable bickering. John altered his steps, sped up and slowed down, smiling like a loon every time he confused her and got a rise out of her. Rose retaliated by whispering filth in his ear that distracted him to the point that they collided with an older couple. They worked to keep from giggling as they apologized but were not overly successful. The older couple's stern looks only caused more snickering once they were off again.
Teasing and giggling soon became gazing and drifting on each other's smiles, interrupted only briefly when John met the eyes of a ginger woman standing off to the side, looking at them with a calm kind of approval. John nodded at her in acknowledgement, smiling gently. When Rose asked John what it meant he explained quietly, and Rose met the woman's eyes with her own thankful look.
Despite John's request for only one dance, one soon became two and then three. They only stopped when John spotted the Headmaster at the door. They didn't know if he'd been notified of the situation and had arrived to prevent them furthering the school's scandal, and they didn't stop to find out; they merely grabbed their things and slipped out a back door into the night.
Out in the chill they walked with hands clasped between them, until John impetuously stopped and swung her into his arms. Rose giggled and smiled at him.
"You're right, that was an adventure," she beamed.
John's eyes gained a kind of hopefulness. "It wasn't all the adventure I had planned."
"Oh?"
John paused, then plunged. "I want to marry you," he said quietly.
Rose felt her stomach hit the soles of her shoes. "What?" she breathed. She cursed herself for letting her guard down, for forgetting she'd suspected something before.
"I want to go somewhere where no one knows us and start again," he said, his look loving and intense. "But before that...I just want us to go. See the things we've talked about. Roam and explore and make love under exotic skies." His eyes became beseeching. "I've enough money saved that we could do it for a while, at least. Just jump on a train or a boat and end up...anywhere."
Rose had to choke back a laugh-sob at the familiarity of his words. How could anything be so romantic and so tragic at the same time? She should be celebrating, clutching him for joy; he'd just given her the most miraculous option a girl in this 1913 situation could have ever had, sweeping her off her feet like a prince. He was being utterly wonderful, and she should be rewarding him with her elation. Instead she was gaping at him like a fish.
She fought to find a way to say yes to him. Would marrying him be a betrayal when the truth came out? What difference would it make when she'd already dug herself in so deep? What good did it do to dash John's hopes for reasons he wouldn't understand? When the people they supposedly were wouldn't even exist another thirty days or so? Again, that was if he even remembered.
But the travelling...it didn't really matter where they were on Earth while they hid from the Family, but they couldn't leave the TARDIS. Could she put him off of that bit for a while until she figured out what to do? It didn't seem like he'd want to wait—he had the air of someone who wanted to be impulsive and romantic, who couldn't wait for his life to start.
And meanwhile his face was falling because it had been so long and she hadn't answered. "Rose?"
"I'm sorry," she stammered. "It's just...quite a lot to take in, all at once."
The disappointment in his face was heartbreaking. "I thought you'd be overjoyed at this. I thought a trip like this would be everything you'd ever wanted."
"It is," she pled truthfully. "You were absolutely right. It's just that—"
"What?" he asked. Rose found she couldn't speak. "What is it?" he asked again. His voice started to shake with emotion and anger. "You don't even have anywhere to live and you still won't say yes to me?"
Rose put her head back, trying to stop the tears. She felt like she would die from this; even if she said yes now, her hesitation had done its work. "John," she said, her voice breaking, "I promise at some point you're going to understand this..."
John's disbelieving reply was cut off by a collective scream from the occupants of the Village Hall. He and Rose turned as one to the source of the noise, which was followed by the hoarse bellow of someone who sounded very much like Jeremy Baines: "We asked for SILENCE!"
Rose knew exactly what was going on. She would not have believed the night could get worse. And yet it had.
And then it got worse still.
John ran without hesitation toward the Village Hall, his Doctor-like instincts apparently active. Rose screamed after him in horror: "John, NO!"
He didn't stop. Rose took off in pursuit. She didn't reach him until he was already inside, staring in confusion at a room evidently held hostage by Baines, Jenny, a man she recognized as Mr. Clark and a strange little girl holding a balloon.
"Ah! If it isn't the man of the hour," Baines said, his face lighting unpleasantly when he spotted them both. "We have a few questions for you, Mr. Smith."