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make the man (ten/rose)
“Besides,” he sniffs, stealing his glass back from Rose and taking a sip, “costumes are shockingly lacking in pockets, more often than not.”
“Yeah, well, try wearin’ women’s clothes sometime,” Rose says dryly. “That’s not just a costumes thing.”
“This,” Rose announces, as she fiddles with the layers of her poufy dress, attempting to find a way to navigate onto the barstool next to him, “is, by far, the weirdest fancy dress party I’ve ever been to.” She finally manages to wriggle onto the stool, then huffs in frustration to find that her skirt has bunched up in between it and the bar. “I mean, the costumes are brilliant, but I don’t recognize a single one of of ‘em. Not even the one I’m wearing.”
“Well, It’s not really fancy dress,” the Doctor says, watching with some degree of amusement as Rose continues fighting with her gown. “Looks like it, but it’s par for the course ‘round here. No one would dream of coming to a party dressed as themselves. It’d be the height of impropriety to arrive not wearing some kind of outlandish get-up.”
“Is that what I’m wearing, then?” Rose asks, as she continues to adjust her skirts with difficulty. “An outlandish get-up? Here I was thinkin’ it was a sorta nice dress.”
He reaches to help her without thinking, grabbing a handful of what he’s fairly certain is the fifty-third century’s take on organza and shifting it a bit, so that she can sit more comfortably.
It’s only when he realizes that she’s gone rather still and quiet that he jerks his hand away, clearing his throat and focusing very intently on the whirl of dancing couples out on the party’s dance floor.
When the woman catches sight of him over Martha’s shoulder and opens her mouth to speak, the voice that comes out only makes who she’s not more clear.
watchingfromtheforrest asked “So I absolutely fell in love with the little advent short you wrote about Ten, Martha, and Jack landing in the parallel Universe. For my Advent prompt could you continue it? Billie, noticing Martha and thinking it’s Freema Agyeman, pauses production and goes over to the group.”
The Doctor disappears back inside the TARDIS almost immediately, after they spot the woman that isn’t Rose.
Jack ducks inside as well, meaning to follow him, but the console room is empty. He can hear rapid thumps coming from the corridors beyond, the echo of the Doctor’s footsteps as he runs away from the questions that Jack wants answered. If he knows anything about the Doctor – and, regeneration or no, Jack would like to think that he does – it will be some time before he emerges again.
“I said not blue,” the Doctor snaps back, glaring down his nose at the little green humanoid. He – or possibly she, Rose isn’t certain – can’t be more than three feet tall, easily dwarfed by the Doctor. The creature, however, doesn’t seem bothered in the least – he’s standing firm, glare of his own in place, small green arms crossed across his chest.
“I said,” Rose remarks offhandedly, “that you needed to rethink the way you phrased that before we swanned off, and you said ‘it’s fine, it’s fine!’”
The Doctor breaks from the glaring contest in order to give her a deeply wounded look.
The chill pouring off the ice cliffs of Lillyx Five, or the frozen wind whipping across the lifeless surface of Messaline, pre-terraforming – those sorts of places set a pretty high bar, as far as cold was concerned. But two weeks into this three-week assignment at UNIT’s northernmost monitoring station on the entire globe, Martha has decided that there can’t possibly be another place in the universe quite as cold as this one. Never mind what the thermometer says. Even though she knows for a fact that Messaline and Lillyx and half a dozen other daft places she visited with the Doctor were an awful lot colder than the inside of this state-of-the-art, temperature-controlled facility, she’s one hundred percent convinced that the North Pole is hell on earth – frozen over, of course.
The one positive thing about this entire mission is that Mickey is her partner.
The Doctor’s face is carefully neutral. “Rose, you have to understand–”
“You’re right,” she snaps, interrupting. “I do have to understand, because right now I don’t.” The sharp words feel good, solid and satisfying, in the same way a well-placed left hook or a solid, cracking slap might be. “So why don’t you explain it to me?”
It’s dark by the time they make it to Bergen from the beach.
When they arrive, Jackie goes to check them into the hotel while Rose pays the cab driver. The Doctor hovers behind her as she counts out the unfamiliar currency, his hands stuffed deep in his pockets. His eyes, though ostensibly occupied with taking in the sights and sounds of the city at night, stray back to Rose every few seconds, as though he’s certain that she’ll disappear if he stops looking at her for too long.
When they meet Jackie in the lobby, her mum presents Rose with a single room key and casts a concerned and significant look between her and the Doctor. She then promptly announces, loud enough for the entire lobby to hear, that she’s knackered and is going to bed.
“You tired?” Rose asks the Doctor, after her mum’s gone, and he pauses for a moment before responding – tilting his head to one side and squinting, as if he has to think very deliberately about his answer.
“Yeah,” is the halfhearted answer he settles on, after a few seconds. “Guess I am.”
“It looks better on you,” a voice says from somewhere behind her, and it takes Rose longer than she’d like to admit to place it.
andrastesgrace asked “The newly-regenerated Tenth Doctor and Rose Tyler have a conversation after The Christmas Invasion that helps Rose cement in her mind that the New New Doctor and the Doctor in leather are the same man. Bonus points if it includes Rose wearing the leather jacket.” (Fill #13 for my 2013 fic advent calendar).
When Rose wakes up the morning after Christmas, she’s on the couch in her mum’s flat.
The place looks like a tornado’s ripped through it – and one sort of has, so that’s not too odd. There are bits of wrapping paper littering the floor and empty bottles on the end table. There’s no noise coming from the kitchen, or from the direction of her mum’s bedroom, so there’s a fair chance that even though the wall clock reads ten forty-five, Jackie Tyler is keeping to her Boxing Day tradition of avoiding the inevitable hangover by sleeping in as long as possible.
“So last night–” Mickey starts off hesitant, like he’s not sure quite what to say, but it only lasts a moment. Then he shakes his head, as if giving up, and says, “You kissed me.”
Martha wants to melt into the floor and disappear, but Mickey just keeps on, blunt and to-the-point as ever. “An’ then you took off running.”
pbabala asked “For the advent calendar, could you write a first for Martha and Mickey? A first date, UNIT mission, first anything as long as it’s those two!” (Fill #12 for my 2013 fic advent calendar).
The words of the autopsy report in front of her are beginning to blur together, and she’s had to stop and restart this dictation three times.
Martha halts the transcription software for the third time in ten minutes and reaches for her coffee mug. It’s empty, of course. That’s just the sort of day she’s having, apparently – empty coffee cups and a mountain of work and a pounding headache from getting clocked over the head by a blowfish last night.
And headache or no headache, she’s got loads that needs doing. She should’ve had this and about four other reports recorded and filed by now, but she keeps tripping over her words or leaving important details out of the dictation, because she can’t stop thinking about last night. Can’t stop thinking about how stupid she feels, about how sure she was that it was going to be different, about the look on his face when she pulled away.
She can’t stop thinking about the fact that last night she kissed Mickey, and he didn’t kiss her back.
The Doctor shoots Jack what is probably intended to be a scathing look. Unfortunately for him, any intimidating effect is mitigated by the absolutely ludicrous effect of the too-large flower crown sliding lower on his head. His ears, in the end, are the only thing that keep it from sliding off his head and down around his neck.
theladyro asked “I always wondered what kind of god the 9th Doctor would make. I mean that cliche when they land on a planet where he fits the description of their god…” (Fill #11 for my 2013 fic advent calendar).
“Stop it,” the Doctor says harshly, as he adjusts the circlet of yellow flowers perched on his head.
Rose, who has not stopped laughing since the moment she entered the room several minutes ago, is entirely too busy howling with mirth to pay him any mind. “Never,” she chokes out, around a helpless giggle. “I am never gonna stop laughin’ about the fact that you’re wearin’ a yellow flower crown and a big gold dress.”
“It’s not a dress,” the Doctor insists, indignantly. “It’s a – a full-body ceremonial sash.” He waves his arms, which are still encased in leather, even if his jacket, jumper, and jeans are mostly hidden by a sweeping, expansive swath of marigold fabric. “I do not wear dresses.” He pauses for a moment before amending, “At least not recently.”
a beautiful sight (we’re happy tonight) (donna/lee)
“So why d–don’t you like it?” Lee asks, about a half an hour later. He’s skating backwards in front of her, with his arms held loosely out in front of him, in case Donna needs someone to grab onto while she navigates the perils of the ice-skating rink.
“I’m n–not sure that I understand,” Lee says slowly, his neck craned backwards as he peers upwards at one hundred feet of densely decorated spruce fir. “What’s it for?”
Donna shivers and tugs at her scarf, wrapping it a bit tighter around her neck. “I’ve been asking that question about Christmas trees for years, and no one’s ever given me a good answer.”
The Doctor, who is standing hand-in-hand with Rose a bit closer to the tree, whips around to gape at them with a scandalized expression. “You, Donna Noble, are a Grinch.” He points one accusing finger in her direction. “Ebenezer Noble. Donna Scrooge. Next thing we know you’ll be shutting yourself up in the TARDIS and shouting ‘bah humbug’ at all and sundry.”
“You know I hate Christmas, Spaceman,” Donna says dryly.
She’s already pushed past the woman and started into the other corridor when a smooth voice asks, “It’s your first time off-planet, isn’t it?”
kilodalton asked “For your fic advent calendar, how about a ficlet with some interaction between Rose and either Lynda or Jabe that passes the Bechdel Test?” (Fill #9 for my 2013 fic advent calendar).
Rose is lost.
She’s somewhere in the bowels of this barmy space station, turned around and confused by the maze of nearly identical hallways. She’s just about convinced herself to turn around and go find Raffalo again, to ask for directions, when someone comes around the corner.
It’s the…tree. The greenish woman in the red dress that the Doctor had been flirting with, earlier.
“Oh,” the other woman says, mildly. “What are you doing here?” The way she says you set’s Rose’s teeth on edge. It’s a bit too much like the way posh customers at Henrik’s say (well, used to say, she supposes) you there and that girl and excuse me, paying customer here.
Rose straightens up and replies, with a confidence she doesn’t entirely feel, “What’re you doing here?”