Disclaimer: Doctor Who is Play-Doh. I do not own the Play-Doh. It is very fun to mold the Play-Doh. But BBC owns the Play-Doh.
Damn.
Missed her again.
It's beneath him. Skulking about the halls. But blast it all, that strange, peculiar maid is nothing if ever moving. Skill and wit about her, she sweeps through chores with ease. Delivers his daily meals, and tidy's like the devils at her heels. Efficient. Tight-lipped. Professional.
He would say she avoids him.
Yet she never halts! With all she does she never falters in her tasks. It's near maddening.
But then he catches her unawares.
He keeps hidden, as if coming across a rare creature in the wild, and observes her. And she's off on a dream. Eyes gazing beyond blue skies into supernovas themselves as if contemplating why they burn. A tint of longing building behind caramel eyes. And he wonders if she wishes to touch the stars. Hold them dearly. As if they hurt.
It's times such as these that he's assured no one knows her better than himself. He inherited her after all, and there's a familiarity that nurtures their kinship through this, he's sure. She promised to serve their family forever, and shows that even now as she faithfully follows him here to the small Farringham school, far from her dear mother back home.
Still he must say that there are moments when labels dictate nothing. She breaks the rules as if they were only words, nothing binding keeping her from acting beyond social norms. That maid will waltz into his room. Tired. Irritable. As if he's her escape she may freely impose on. As a school teacher far above her status he should be appalled. No call. No knock. Simply enter, sit, eat, drink, and talk.
Except he cannot find it within himself to mind.
Actually it's quite endearing that she find herself at ease with him. He rocks back in his chair, an amused smile spreading, as she vents. Openly trusting him not to judge her, only understand. And by some strange accounts he can empathize that the entertainment value for a maiden in an all boys school is as dreary as it sounds. In retrospect, what activities can be found in the general area that even he can partake in simply for recreational value? Chess? Despite the mountains of free time the educational staff has after hours, he can never find a good partner, because typically that maid very busy.
"The Matron plays chess." she had told him.
"Does she?" He answered inattentively.
And beyond the simple acknowledgement that the Matron plays, he never took into consideration that he could test the fact. Even after the maid rolled her eyes and told him to ask her for a game. Truthfully he was not interested in discovering the Matrons competitive side.
Games bring new faces out of all people. There are those who become blinded by the goal of victory, those who take every move into consideration, or those that expect a loss. And then there's that mad maid.
Oh she'll tease, but though her honey words are appealing, they sound only of empty promises.
Then when indulging herself the maid will always choose to eat a pear before him, laughing, and the meaning of her humor is beyond his comprehension.
Her radiant smiles reserved for him always teeter on the edge of something special, yet secret. Like an elusive answer in plain sight.
And it's times such as these when she wears a mask specially catered to him that John questions whether he really knows Rose at all.
A/N
Yes, HN/FoB was all good and emotional in the series. Loved it. But does everyone have to take it so seriously? Not that I don't love the love, but the direction of the drama becomes so much of a repetitive roller coaster that it overshadows a lot of opportunities. So, here's my version. Which I hope will become more of a boat, ship, raft, thing. Nothing's really planned yet, so there's a slight chance of showers ahead.
