Simulated Serenity

Words: 826

The Doctor grinned as he watched the sun rise through the kitchen window. He wasn't a naturally early riser, but today was a special day. Putting away the last of the pans, he looked around the now-spotless room, eyes settling on the tray he had prepared. It was pink, Rose's favorite color even after all these years, and the plates on it were stacked high with pancakes and fresh fruit.

Rose had been adamant that he not go out of bounds with extravagance, but it was their ten year anniversary. He had made no promises, just for that reason, and she was going to love it.

It had been months since they last travelled, and it would be months until they would again, but the child currently occupying Rose's belly was worth it.

The Doctor rubbed his hands together and picked up the tray, and since Rose was an early riser, had no fears of waking her up. True to his prediction, Rose was already stirring, and by the time he set the tray down, her eyes were semi-focused and she was brushing her hair out of her face.

"Good morning!" the Doctor chirruped, sitting down next to her and getting started on a banana, while she covered her entire plate with chocolate sauce.

"You shouldn't have," Rose smiled but continued eating.

He shouldn't have had, but he did. "I wanted to."

They finished breakfast quickly, but both were full and satisfied, even, as Rose reported after receiving an enthusiastic kick, their little Time Baby.

The Doctor left Rose to a bath and took the tray and plates downstairs, before washing himself as well. They had a long ride ahead of them, not only figuratively but literally as well, since the restaurant he wanted to take Rose to was far away. And, as annoying as it was, driving a car was very unlike driving a TARDIS (he'd failed both exams, but no one needed to know).

By the time they got to the restaurant, it was evening. Rose looked magnificent in a floor-length purple gown, and he had even worn dress shoes for the occasion.

A red-haired woman escorted them to their table and took their orders, leaving them with a bread basket and non-alcoholic drinks.

Rose took the Doctor's hand from across the table and beamed. She started talking, but after a few seconds, he could only see her lips moving. He was smitten. All those years ago, Jackie had been right. And, thinking of her blessing, given on that very night, the Doctor ran his fingers over the velvet box in his pocket.

". . . thank you."

The Doctor nodded when Rose finished taking, just as the redhead brought their food. They started eating, the box still in his pocket and probably burning a hole through it. It wouldn't stay in his pocket, of course, but for the first time in a long time, the Doctor wished he had some liquid courage.

Excusing himself from the table, the Doctor walked over to the redhead, and asked where the men's room was. She grinned and gestured for him to follow. After a few steps, she started talking.

"My own's name's Lance, you know. We met when I was temping at his company, and he gave me a cup of coffee. Proposed at the water cooler six months later, my Lance did," the Doctor's eyes widened and she began laughing. "I can see it in your pocket, you dunce! So can she, you know, and if she hadn't run yet, you're bound to succeed."

"What about your Lance, then?" the Doctor felt his mouth go dry, and he motioned for the woman to keep talking.

"My Lance? Oh, he's great. We had the craziest ceremony—I was glowing!" she stopped and grabbed the Doctor's upper shoulders, smile falling off her face to reveal seriousness. "Then he cheated on me with a giant spider and died, but for god's sake wake up, Doctor, because that never happened here, even though it did!"

"You're insane."

The Doctor tore away from her grasp and marched back to his table, where Rose was waiting, ignoring his previous need to compose himself. Behind him, the woman called out a broken, "Please!"

The Doctor turned around, and needed to take a step back, because she was right in front of him, her eyes wide and hopeful.

"Donna?"

Back at his table, Rose—notRose, notRose, notRose, because she was always just a bit too agreeable to be his Rose, and why was he only realizing this now?—took a step to him, before freezing. If he looked around, the Doctor could see that everyone, except him and Donna, had stopped.

And then it was just the two of them in a small, white room, him falling to the ground and Donna whispering that he was okay, and that it had only been a Bliss-induced hallucination, and that she was so, so sorry.