Chapter 2
James scrubbed his hands over his face and grimaced. He may joke about his 'manly, hairy hands' but he hated how quickly the stubble returned to his face. When he had chips with Rose Tyler he was sure he was sporting more than a five o'clock shadow.
Rose Tyler. There was a conundrum. He'd done exactly as he'd said and locked himself in his office with Wilf for a good three hours when he'd returned from dinner. Truthfully less than an hour of that was spent discussing his fears about getting to know Miss Tyler outside of being a patient's next of kin. Wilf thought it was a wonderful idea, having been concerned for years that Rose worked too hard and devoted too much of her childhood to caring for an ill parent on her own. He thought James would be good for her, helping assuage any guilt she might have lingering for enjoying herself for a change.
James worried about being the lead psychiatrist on Jackie Tyler's treatment team and what the others might say. Wilf saw little problem there but said they would bring it up during the next care planning meeting if James felt it necessary.
Now, there was nothing stopping him from pursuing a relationship with the young woman. They'd talked more on the walk back to Nightingale, Rose saying it was nearing time for her to catch her bus back. She was twenty-five, a good ten years younger than himself, but not an impossible age difference. Whereas he'd had the opportunity to travel throughout college and university, Rose had only ever stayed in London, most of her time spent in Peckam, though she dreamed of going to Venice and Brazil and seeing Carnivale.
Groaning, he checked the time. It was nearing eleven o'clock. Much as he dreaded the thought of going home to his empty flat, and worse the empty bed, there was no point in getting caught sleeping at his desk. Again.
"Another late night, Dr. McCrimmon? Might not want to make a habit of that. People might start to think you can't handle being Chief Psychiatrist once Dr. Mott retires."
James looked up to see Dr. Harold Saxon leaning against the doorframe. At three years older than James, Saxon had applied for the Chief position three years running, ever since rumors of Wilf's retirement started to circle at the hospital. That they had gone ahead and hired outside the hospital angered the man to no end. And he saw no problem letting James know it.
James tried to get along with everyone at Nightingale or at least tired to be civil, but Saxon had antagonized him from the beginning, complaining about how he kept his office to how he chose to conduct his therapy sessions. James had made no secret that he'd had a traumatic childhood and often suffered from extended periods of insomnia, sometimes requiring medication, before he signed on, but Saxon was always hinting that perhaps there was more to it than just that.
"Oh, you know no rest for the weary. I'm just heading out now. Was there something you needed?" James hated spending more time than necessary in the blond man's company. He was brash, bold, and entirely too fond of listening to himself talk, and not in an interesting way.
Saxon smirked. "I think that's no rest for the wicked, something you might want to think on, eh, McCrimmon?"
James grabbed his satchel and stood, brushing past the other man to pull his door shut, making a show of jiggling the locked handle.
"I think it's you who's misquoting, Saxon. The quote talks about the 'tossing sea, which cannot rest, there is no peace for the wicked.' And I'm finding today rather peaceful if not restful. If there's nothing else, I need to get home."
Twenty minutes later found James, pacing living area of his apartment. It wasn't that he wasn't tired; he just hated to go to sleep. He'd been prescribed a milder sleep aid when he moved to London but he disliked taking it. It didn't stop the dreams; rather it kept him trapped in them until morning when the drug wore off. He wondered if it was too late to text Rose. His fingers found her number and hit send before his brain kicked in.
Two minutes later the phone beeped.
Doctor? I would have thought you'd be asleep by now.
Sorry! You must have to be up early tomorrow! Don't mind me.
It's ok. Did you need something? Can't sleep?
Yeah. Don't sleep much.
Me either. It's weird, Mum's been in and out of hospital since I was a teenager but I hate sleeping when there's no one else in the flat.
Everything seems like it's dangerous. Or alive.
YES! I bashed my toaster once with a bat! I was so mad. Had to have Mickey try and fix it.
Mickey?
My oldest mate. Mum prolly has photos of us in mud puddles.
So, I take it I shouldn't try and sneak into your flat at night then?
Not if you value your kneecaps, mister!
What about late night serenades?
I wouldn't. Bev down the hall might decide to keep you after getting a look at you. And if you think my Mum's scary. Well, she has nothing on Bev.
Noted. Would you like to get together again this week? For chips? Or something different. I can pick. Or you can. I'll make sure to bring my wallet this time.
I've never met anyone that can ramble in a text. I'd love to. I'll let you know my next night free.
That's not a line letting me off easy is it?
Wouldn't have given you my real number if it was. Try and get some sleep, Doctor.
Goodnight, Rose.
It took three days before Rose was able to get a day where she only worked one shift, though they texted or called each other in between. As much as she hesitated to have him see where she lived, there was no helping it. He knew she lived on an Estate, so that wouldn't come as a surprise and she was running late enough that he'd have to meet her there if they had any hope of having a decent amount of time together.
Skidding around the corner from the bus stop, she plowed into someone scattering her bag on the ground and sending her sprawling on top of a gangly body.
"OOF! Oh, I'm so sorry! I wasn't watch…wait, Doctor?"
Chuckling, he began disentangling his long limbs from her shorter ones.
"Hello, to you too Rose. Running a bit late?" He plucked something out of her fringe and squinting she batted at a dusty cobweb.
"Ugh. Yes and I'm sorry. Again. They had me moving shop dummies in the basement all afternoon for a new display. Lost track of time down there." She accepted her bag back with a grin and climbed to her feet. She held her hands out to the Doctor and he pulled himself up with a chuckle.
"Blimey, you're heavier than you look."
She was surprised when he kept hold of her hand on the short walk to the estate. She wasn't one for even casual contact with most people but she liked the way her fingers fit with the Doctor's.
"Oi, careful there or I won't be paying for dinner." He swung their hands playfully. "So you had an exciting day of manual labor?"
"Ha. My friend Keisha kept stacking the dummies in naughty positions. Thought I was gonna get fired more than once. It was a change from restacking jumpers all day, though. Don't know why some women feel the need to go through a display and mess it up, especially right after they just seen me stock it."
"Depends on the person or persons. If it's a group of teenagers or even two or three adult women, peer pressure causes people to do amazingly rude things in an attempt to impress or fit in. A single person may be depressed or angry and in an attempt to cope, trying to cause someone else to feel as badly as they do."
She gaped, she couldn't help it. She knew her mouth was literally hanging open. The Doctor frowned when he caught her staring.
"Er, something I said?"
"No, just wasn't expecting that sorta answer. Hafta remember you're all kinds of impressive." She grinned but still looked doubtful. "You sure you want to get to know me? I'm not that special."
They reached the lower door to Bucknall Hall and Rose pulled it open, holding it for the Doctor. They were quiet all the way up to number 42, Rose unlocking the door and moving aside to allow the Doctor in. He placed his hand on the door frame effectively blocking her.
"Rose," he said softly, "you are wonderful, please believe that. I've loved talking to you these last few days. You have me intrigued now, and I love a good mystery, so I'll have to figure out why you have such a low opinion of yourself."
Shoving him in the door, Rose chucked her shoes and scanned the room, hoping she picked up well enough for company.
"Well, you'll just have to stew cause I need a shower and a change before we go anywhere. Think you can stay out of trouble for thirty minutes?"
He gave a mock salute and belly flopped on the couch, grabbing the nearest gossip rag and making himself at home.
The hot spray felt wonderful after a long day. Rose knew she should hurry with James waiting on her but the shower was one indulgence she could still afford. Even bleaching her hair was left to her friend Shareen, who was just out of beauty school. All Rose had to pay for was the bleach, her friend volunteered the time. Speaking of which, she frowned at her ends, her hair really needed a trim.
Taking the time to let the conditioner sit, her thoughts drifted to theman she left lounging on her sofa. She hadn't told Keisha or Shareen about James, at least not the part about her agreeing to date him. It was pretty much a given fact amongst her friends that Rose did not date. She knew she was considered cold – and that was one of the nicer words she'd heard thrown around the shop – but even her Mum didn't know what went on when she'd run away for a year. This was the first time in close to a decade that she actually felt attracted to a man.
Shaking herself, she stepped out of the shower realizing she'd brought nothing into the loo to change into. Not that the trip to her bedroom was far, but she wasn't that comfortable with the Doctor to be running about in her skivvies.
It was eerily quiet when she poked her head out the door to the hall.
"Doctor?" Nothing.
"James?" He wouldn't have up and left on her would he?
"Doctor?" She padded into the living room, wrapping her old pink robe tighter around herself. Peeking into the kitchen, she bit back a laugh. There was the Doctor at her tiny table, bits of some sort of electronic something or other scattered around him, his brainy specs on his nose, looking all sorts of deliciously disheveled.
Until she saw the case to the toaster.
"Is that my toaster?"
His eyes went wide behind the dark frames. "Erm…yes?"
Tapping her foot on the worn tile, Rose found herself struggling to keep a straight face. James' hair, which had been sort of artfully messy, now stuck up on all directions. He had a few smudges of what she could only guess was charred toast on his cheek and chin and looked so thoroughly confused, she wanted to brush aside the fact he'd just taken apart her only means of making breakfast.
"An' how am I supposed to make toast?"
"I'm making it better?"
"Are you sure? 'Cause you don' sound it. An' I don't think all those pieces came outta that toaster."
A Cheshire grin lit up his face. "Oh, no they didn't! I thought if I added an extra line of heating elements, then you could get more even browning at a lower temperature."
Even though she was only in her robe, Rose moved to sit across from him, propping one foot to rest on the chair and wrapping her arms around her knee.
"An' where did the extra heating element come from? You don't carry that sorta thing on you, do you?"
Rubbing the back of his neck, he looked around the small room. It was pale yellow with light wooden cabinets, the curtains a cheery flower pattern. There was no hiding the room was worn but it was clean and tidy, with a few canvas paintings of fruits and flowers decorating the walls.
"Doctor?"
"I may have nicked them from the toaster oven. Did you paint those?"
Rose sighed. "Right. You owe me one toaster or one deluxe toaster oven. Or maybe both. You can have these two to muck around with."
"Now, Rose, I can…" he paused and looked at her. "I can muck around with these? You don't mind?"
Laughing, she rose to get dressed. "I mind that you destroyed my only way to make breakfast, not that you tinker. Gives me more to ask you about. Now, can I trust ya not to burn down the place while I get dressed?"
He looked at her, dragging his eyes from the towel wrapped around her head to her bare feet. She pulled her robe a bit tighter at the collar and could feel herself blush.
"I don't know; you look lovely as is. Pink suits you, in more ways than one, Miss Tyler."