Aquamarine
Rose and Corin stood in her office at Torchwood, gazing solemnly at each other, the click of a blue door closing echoing in both their minds. Wanting to change the subject, Corin sighed and said sorrowfully, "Well, I guess I have to face the inevitable." At her sympathetic, questioning look, he suddenly adopted a strangled, rising Dalek scream, "ShopPING!"
She screeched and threw up her hands in laughing horror. "Oh, god, no, don't! Don't ever do that again, please!"
Spluttering laughter at her reaction – even better than he'd hoped for – he said, a bit insincerely, "Sorry!" Then, "Shall we, though?"
She looked sidelong at him, slyly. "Not quite yet. There's two more things I want to show you."
She took his hand again and led him out the door, through the outer office and over towards the staircase. They'd almost made it when Marcie stopped them, calling out, "Rose, it's your father!" and waving the telephone handset at her.
"Dad!" she cried, taking the phone. "How'd you know I was here?"
"Easy," came the reply. "My spies downstairs told me."
"Hmmm. I'm going to have to talk to security..."
"Won't do you any good, sweetheart. They work for me, not you."
"Hmmmph."
"Anyway, I'm calling to ask if you and Corin would like to meet me for lunch, since you're here."
"Actually, we're on our way out the door to go shopping."
"Good, cause I'm on my way to a meeting. The invitation reads one pm."
She glanced at the clock on the wall. It was only 10:30. She looked at Corin. "Lunch with dad after we shop?" He nodded OK. "All right then, see you at one!"
They made it to the stairs that time, and began descending. Corin gave in to his curiosity: "Do you always do what Pete asks?"
She stopped on the landing, and faced him, thoughtfully. "When I first got here, it was tough - for both of us. We were related, but we weren't - and neither of us was used to the other being around. But after a while... we worked it out. He feels like my Dad now. And he's a good man - honorable, smart... - and he's never tried to boss me around. So, yeah, on the occasions that he does make a request, or a suggestion, I do generally do what he asks."
Corin nodded, satisfied and a bit impressed in spite of himself, and they continued on, down two flights, then out into a long hallway. Down to the other end, passing a number of windowed doors opening onto busy labs and quieter offices, then through another set of double doors, Rose opening them with a flourish, then turning and sweeping him in.
It took Corin a moment, but then he recognized the room. Once, in another universe, it had been the control room for an experiment in offworld energy gone horribly, terribly wrong. If he closed his eyes, he would see the flow of flickering power, Daleks and Cybermen flying past, see his beloved slipping in slow motion from her control lever, away from him forever.
He kept his eyes wide open.
Not that he needed help doing so.
In this universe, it was an adult playroom. Eyes wide with delight, he took in a pool table, a table-tennis covering for it leaning against the wall, video game consoles, pinball machines, snack and soda dispensers, and scattered tables and chairs. And at the far end, the Wall – that horrible, monstrous, dementedly blank Wall that haunted his nightmares – was instead a riot of color, splashes and splotches and cartoons and graffiti in every hue and shade. He turned to Rose with a huge, wondrous grin splitting his face.
"I told you the memories had been painted over," she laughed. "You didn't know I meant it literally." She led him down to that end and showed him a rack of paintball guns with boxes of pellets in every neon shade, and then opened a cabinet stuffed with spray paint cans. "Feeling creative?"
He grabbed a can marked Candy Apple Red and selected a relatively unscribbled section. Carefully shielding what he was doing from Rose's prying eyes, he took a few quick swipes at the wall, leaned back a bit to admire his handiwork, then took a couple more. Then he turned, staying carefully in her line of sight, goofy grin daring her to ask.
She laughed, walked up behind him and put her arms around his waist, peering over his shoulder. He'd painted:
CG
RT
surrounded by a sloppy, dribbling heart. Eyes unexpectedly stinging, she gave him his prize. He turned in her arms to make it more, but she laughed again and danced away, saying "Not yet! There's still one more stop to make!" Wondering what else could possibly be in store, he put the can of paint back in the cabinet and followed her out the door. Back to the stairs and down one more flight, this one double; the next floor was two standard stories high. The attendant hallway showed only a few doors, each of these giving onto large storage rooms crammed with boxes and crates, reminiscent of the other Torchwood's warehouse. Which it was.
Rose opened one of the doors on the right, entering the largest room yet. Numerous workbenches were spread about among the crates, alien gadgets and machines in various states of torn apart strewn across them. Corin fairly itched to wander about and start tinkering, but managed to stay in the clear space near the door, hands jammed in pockets to keep them out of trouble.
Rose gestured around the room, and sprang the plan she'd made that morning while he slept. "Will this do?"
"Do for what?"
"Your workshop. Your lab. Your TARDIS-growing lab. I figured you'd probably need non-Earth materials and technology, so in addition to all this, you'll also get first dibs on any new stuff that comes in the..." That was as far as she got, because Corin swept her up and around and around, kissing her soundly.
When they finally came to a stop, she smiled dizzily up at him. "I take it that's a yes, then?"
He tried to act undecided, teasing her, "Well, I don't know..." but couldn't keep it up. "Oh, hell, yes, woman. It's perfect. Thank you, Madame Director Boss Lady Ma'am."
"You're very welcome, sir." They smiled tenderly at each other for a moment, then Corin made to dive into the pile of dohickeys and thingamabobs. Rose held him back, laughing. "Oh, no you don't! Not yet! Shopping first!"
"But-!"
"Shopping first, I said, then lunch with Dad, then as soon as that's done, we'll come back and you can spend the rest of the day tinkering to your heart's delight. I promise."
He sighed heavily. "Woman, you drive a hard bargain. Get on with it, then."
^..^
Clothes shopping with Rose wasn't as torturous as he thought it would be. Barrons proved to be an upscale, multi-level department store nearby; top floor: men's suits. Taken under the wing of a Mr. Atherton, Head Departmental Clerk, as soon as they arrived, Corin was whisked off to a spacious dressing room and measured in every direction before he could protest. Mr. Atherton's discerning eye then proclaimed him to be the perfect model for the wares of a certain well-known designer, and he proceeded to prove himself correct. The very first suit – a grey pinstripe – that Corin tried on fit him to a T, and won Rose's enthusiastic endorsement. Before he could say Boo, four more suits in the same line in various pinstripey colors had been hung up on the collection rack, and Mr. Atherton's busy assistant had gathered four coordinating shirts for each suit for him and Rose to select from.
"Just toss them all in," she said, and went off to pick out a large handful of ties, asking Mr. Atherton over her shoulder to next outfit her intended with a sharp tux. "Black tie," she answered his query. Corin soon found himself strutting self-consciously before Rose wearing the fanciest duds he'd had on since they had joined the serving staff at Pete's mansion. She whistled appreciatively, then showed him her prize: an ankle-length overcoat, medium brown. He almost cried.
After everything was rung up (the package of ID's arriving by messenger at the same time as the total), Rose commissioned Mr. Atherton to send the parcels to the flat, including Corin's old suit – he electing to wear the grey pinstripe out the door. Going down the escalator, Rose pointedly glanced at the large clock on the center pillar. Only one hour of her allotted two had been used.
Next floor down was casual men's clothing. Here, Rose really swung into action. Grabbing a trolley from the row by the escalators, she turned to Corin in the aisle and asked, "Jeans or khaki's?"
"Pardon?" he asked, being unfamiliar with either term.
She gestured to one side, then the other, where piles of blue dungarees and then racks of casual slacks were on display. "Jeans, or khaki's?"
"Oh. Khaki's, please."
Before he could sneeze twice, she'd found a style of slacks she thought would look good on him and selected one in his size (she'd carefully noted all his numbers upstairs), then a polo shirt, and pointed him towards the dressing room, promising to only make him try on just one set to check the fit. Again, to his surprise, they were actually rather comfortable. Reporting so back to Rose, she quickly grabbed three more slacks and five more shirts.
Then she towed him over to the shoe department. There, he rebelled. "Oh, no, no, no, no! You are NOT getting me into any of those ugly stiff leather torture devices! I like my trainers JUST FINE, thank you!"
"Good!" she said sweetly, surprising him yet again. "Then you can go pick out three more pairs of them. Then STAY THERE till I get back. I'm going to dash around the floor picking up odds and ends. Be back in fifteen minutes!" and she was off.
Wheeling her trolley back into the shoe department thirteen minutes later, she found him chatting up the salesgirl, who was entirely too interested for Rose's comfort, so she had the girl ring up her entire trolley of goodies – pajamas, dressing robe, belts, a wallet, socks, and handkerchiefs had all been piled on top of the slacks and shirts – as well as his three new pairs of trainers. When the damage was announced and paid, Rose again had the parcels sent to the flat, and she and Corin walked out the front door one hour and forty-nine minutes after walking in. "Am I good or am I good?" she smirked.
^..^
Back at One Canada Square, Rose and Corin again took the private elevator, this time up to the PTI floor, which proved to be at the top. Of course. They walked through the outer office, waved on by the secretary, and into Pete's glass aerie. He was leaning against the front of his desk, talking on the vid phone. Turning as they entered, he waved them forward and started to turn back to the phone, still conversing, then stopped and watched Rose come up to him. He managed to end the conversation and punch off the phone, then turned back and said with a huge, satisfied smile, "That's better."
"What, Corin's new clothes?" He hadn't been looking at Corin.
"No, you. I have literally never seen you look this happy." He kissed her cheek. "I may even have to forgive you," he added to Corin, only half joking.
Lunch with Pete in the executive dining room at the top of the skyscraper was a light, happy hour spent chatting about inconsequentials. After the goodbyes, Pete extracting another promise on Jackie's behalf for Sunday dinner, the couple descended again to Corin's new lab, and he began to gleefully explore his new domain. Rose just sat and watched, contentedly listening to his excited chatter. I could really really get used to this.
She knew, and knew he knew, that she had basically been showing off for him all day. This is what I've become. This is what our life could be like. It's not so bad, is it? Hoping he'd agree, yet knowing also that if he didn't, if he wanted instead to sail off around the world, or join the Peace Corps - or the lunar colony the ESA was just beginning to plan - that she'd be right there beside him. She sighed, content just to be in the moment.
^..^
There was one more surprise in store that day, this time for Rose. Corin had his head deep inside a Talarian ship's vertellian impeller – at least she thought that's what he called it – and was hammering about trying to wrench a piece off. She stuck her head in the upper end and lent a hand, saying ruefully, "Too bad you don't still have your sonic screwdriver."
Corin looked up at her from flat on his back and grinned. He slowly reached into his jacket pocket, and ever so slowly pulled out... a sonic screwdriver. Her jaw dropped. "No! I do not believe it! What did you do, pick his pocket?"
"Nope. It was – a spare." It had been River's. River. I guess that's one mystery I'll never solve. "Packed away in a storage compartment. I pulled it out to put together that weapon I tried to use on Davros, and just stuck it in my pocket afterwards. Completely forgot about it till now." He'd managed to absent-mindedly slip it from his old suit into his new pocket without her seeing it, or it really registering on his own consciousness. He clicked up a number and went back to work on the reluctant part.
Peering down at him through the metal, watching him work his beloved tool, alien oil from somewhere smeared unnoticed on his cheek, Rose was struck by a weird, echoing sense of déjà vu. How many times had she peered down at him like this, puttering happily around in the bowels of the TARDIS? ( CLANK-rattle-clinkety-clink echoed dimly in her memory.)
She smiled and ducked her head to wipe away a tear. The movement caught Corin's eye, and he paused, watching. Then he reached up through the metal, and she reached down to take his hand.
A moment of unspoken, perfect communion, and he went back to work, whistling.