Accidental Agreement

It comes out rather unexpectedly, one day.

Over tea.

And biscuits. Never forget the biscuits.

But yeah.

Unexpected, to say the least.

And it comes out as a question.

Well.

It's not so much a question as it is a statement of fact.

She just says it.

And he doesn't deny it.

In fact, he agrees.

Which again, is unexpected. But also rather wondrously pleasant, and her heart beats uncontrollably and her breath comes in sharp and shaky at the very simple, monosyllabic response that her not-question gets.

And this is how it begins:

Imagine, if you will, the very domestic scene of the Doctor making tea. It's a bit odd, really, to think of him doing such a thing. But he does it, of course he does. Just as he does other silly, almost too-human things.

Like ironing.

Yeah. Okay, fine. He doesn't do that. Iron his own shirt? Him? How ridiculous. That's what Rose is for.

Which, in itself, is a little odd. Because seriously; Rose? Ironing? That's almost even more disconcerting. For the very simple fact that she is really rather atrocious at this domestic lark herself. She burns his shirts. She also burns toast; she's not so good in the kitchen either. But there was indeed this one time where she was forced to iron his shirts. Some sort of lost bet or something. Not important.

And so, no one does the ironing. But that's okay, because there's lots of futuristic technology to deal with that.

On a side note, taking into account their inability to look after themselves properly, the TARDIS decides to clean herself, lest she risks her two occupants setting her on fire with the Hoover or something.

So anyway. The Doctor makes tea, and he does other stuff as well. Not ironing, not vacuuming, but he does do one thing that a lot of people – a lot of his friends, even, including Rose, not so long ago – do not think he does.

But that comes later.

He's pouring out the tea into their well-used mugs when she stumbles in, her hair dishevelled and her eyes sleepy and her mouth yawning really, really widely.

He smiles at her warmly, and hands her the white, pink-spotted mug. "Morning," he greets joyfully.

"Mmmphn," she mutters, taking a sip of her tea. They sit opposite each other at the kitchen table, and after a few more sips, Rose appears to wake up fully. "Morning," she replies properly.

"Nice sleep?" he asks, taking a bite of the toast he's made earlier.

"Alright, ta," she answers, leaning forward and stealing a slice off his plate.

"Oi!" he chastises half-heartedly. "Get your own."

"It would've been nice if you'd made some for me," Rose counters, taking a bite and widening her eyes theatrically. "Mmmm," she mumbles appreciatively.

He gives her a reproachful look, then grins at her. "I'm going to take you somewhere brilliant today, Rose Tyler," he announces.

"Oh yeah?" she replies excitedly. "Where?" She leans forward again, and takes two of the biscuits from his stack next to his mug.

Grabbing her wrist playfully, and taking the biscuits back, he entwines their fingers absently. "We're going to visit the Great Palace of Mosneska on the planet Zelfador! It's beautiful, Rose," he tells her wistfully. "Got a great banana grove, too, and..."

He continues narrating to her the wonderful features of the palace for another ten minutes, eyes bright and happy, and he's unconsciously stroking her thumb with his as they hold hands across the table. This, and not the information guide he's giving her, is what Rose's attention focuses in on. She brings her mug to her lips with her free hand, hiding a smile, and nods along in all the right places of his monologue.

The Doctor eventually pauses for breath, and Rose takes the opportunity to ask, "Can I dress up?"

Momentarily flabbergasted by her question, the Doctor's mouth falls open. "Wh...what?"

"You said it was the Great Palace, yeah? So what can I wear? I should dress up special for a palace, surely," she reasons, gently extricating her hand from his so that she can tie her dishevelled hair up into a bun.

"Weeelll..." he begins slowly. "Nothing too..." he trails off, looking sheepish.

"Too what?" she prompts.

"Revealing," he mutters quickly. "They've got quite stern rules and sensibilities about attire. You'll probably find something in the wardrobe that'll be suitable, but yeah, nothing too..." He accidently eyes her chest for the briefest moment before continuing hurriedly, "Lacy, transparent, non-existent."

She scoffs, folding her arms. "When've I ever worn something like that?"

His eyes glaze over slightly and he looks up at the ceiling nonchalantly. "Ooh, just last week you wore that little lilac number to dinner with the Etorial Empress, and let me tell you, her husband's eyes were not on her cleavage."

Rose blushes and coughs a little awkwardly. "Well. I wasn't to know," she defends. "And anyway, you said it looked lovely!" she realises then, with a triumphant smirk.

The look on his face as he meets her eyes again will fuel her dreams for at least ten years, she decides. "It did. That's the point," he replies, in a low, sort of sultry voice that she really isn't expecting so early on in conversation. Plus, although they often flirt mercilessly like this, it is very early in the morning, and she isn't quite awake enough to react as calmly and easily as she usually does.

She bites her lip to hold back a too-flirtatious remark, and he leans forward abruptly.

"But you know. When we're on our own. Not amongst...others," he continues, with a delightful grin on his face, as if he isn't implying what he is implying, and instead simply talking about the Great Palace of Wherever He Said again.

She clears her throat. "I'll keep that in mind," she replies, a relentlessly dangerous tilt to her voice. She flushes pink again, and, metaphorically rolling her eyes at her own bashfulness (because, seriously, since when have Tyler women been bashful? she asks herself) she leans forward herself to feign utter confidence.

"Good," the Doctor replies, and it comes out a little like a high-pitched squeak. He leans closer still; almost nose-to-nose. And if his tie slips into her mug because of the way he's leaning across the table, neither of them notice. There's always this unstoppable force, see, which pulls them closer to each other without either of them truly noticing. Which is why random objects or people that get caught in the crossfire of said gravitational pull often don't even get a considerate glance; Rose's half-full mug of tea is no exception.

"'Cos you'd like that, yeah?" she continues, tongue between teeth, laughter bubbling up within her. "Just us in the TARDIS - you, all manly and sexy in your pinstripes and me, in a little lacy dress?"

His Adam's apple bobs as he struggles to find a response to that other than, "Guh..."

She smiles at that reaction, glad to see that he hasn't been expecting her to retaliate in this way. "I'll take that as a yes."

He stares at her unblinkingly. "Maybe you should."

There are a few tense, electricity-filled moments where neither of them say another word, and consequently, neither of them are courageous enough to move that little bit closer and touch the other's lips with theirs.

Then, as abruptly as he started the conversation, the Doctor leans away, his back against his chair again as he frowns at the table. "We have to get some more of these, they're lovely," he mutters, gesturing to the knocked over pile of biscuits by his mug.

"You love me," she says then, a bit irritated at his lack of continuity regarding their banter, and it's not really a question, remember.

"Yeah," he says, an answer to her non-question or maybe just agreeing with her statement of fact, and starts munching on another biscuit.

He stills his movements, realising what he's just agreed to. His eyes wide, his mouth dry, he tries to clear his throat, and starts coughing wildly.

"You okay?" she asks innocently, as bemused at his coughing fit as she is concerned, getting up from her chair and patting him on the back, whilst trying to control her own joyous yes!heagreed!yay!-dance she has going on internally.

"Yeah," he wheezes out, before grabbing her wrist. "Rose, I didn't - "

" - You didn't?" she interrupts with a raised eyebrow. "You didn't what? Say what you said, or mean what you said?"

"Wha – what? No, I was going to say, I didn't swallow a bit of biscuit properly. We should really stop buying banana flavoured cookies, because they are so delicious that I just wolf them down without chewing properly, and then a few crumbs get caught in the back of my throat and I can't swallow, and - "

" – Doctor," Rose interjects. "Don't avoid the issue."

He looks up at her; sees her teasing smile, all tongue and teeth, and a raised eyebrow, a darker colour than her hair, and her hand on her hip, looking all bossy and lovely and he realises that he should really, really admit to what he just admitted to more often because he means it and she deserves to know that.

"Rose..." he begins, tugging his ear nervously.

"Yes, Doctor?" she answers patiently.

"Um..."

Rose twists and leans against the table, watching him carefully. "Yeah?"

"I...the thing is, I..."

"Yes?" she urges him hopefully.

"Oh, what the hell," he mutters to himself, before standing up and hauling Rose close to him.

"Hello," she grins.

"Hello," he agrees, and he ducks his head to press his lips to hers.

And thus the agreement is sealed with a kiss.