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[JACKIE]
When Rose comes home from America, there’s something different about her. She’s beaming and giddy and, while Rose has always been an upbeat girl, right now she’s glowing.
And Jackie should know. She’s seen every version of Rose that ever was: squalling infant Rose, giggling toddler Rose, showoff grade-school Rose, surly pre-teen Rose, career-focused teenaged Rose. She’s seen little girl Rose hide rescued kittens in her room at their flat in the Powell Estate, and she’s seen grown-up Rose hide smokes in the nooks and crannies of her drawers at the mansion, because she still doesn’t want to disappoint her mum. Jackie knows every permutation of her daughter that has ever existed.
As she stands in the living room and watches Rose bounce downstairs from where she’s just deposited all her luggage, trunks and backpacks and a dozen loads’ worth of laundry in her room, something occurs to Jackie. Something that would explain this new, never-before-seen Rose.
“Oh god. You’re pregnant!” Jackie says, hands coming up to cover her mouth.
Rose stops dead in her tracks, jaw hanging open. “Mum!” she screeches indignantly. “I am not pregnant! Why would you even think such a thing, much less say it?” She stares down at her own hips. “Do I look fat?”
“You’re lit up from the inside, I hardly recognize you!” Jackie says, waving in her general direction. “Running off to America for a week’s worth of press to announce a new album with the Doctor, you didn’t even consult with me — your own mother and manager! And you come home, looking like … looking like …” As realization sets in, a stone settles in Jackie’s stomach, and she can’t stop the frown that crosses her face.
“It’s worse than you being pregnant,” she says slowly, studying her daughter, remembering Jimmy Stone and the months of heartache they both went through. “You’re infatuated. The Doctor’s gone and seduced you, and you’re infatuated.”
Rose stomps down the last few steps, seems to realize how childish that looks, and manages to walk somewhat normally the rest of the way into the living room. “He didn’t seduce me, and I am not infatuated.”
“I told you, Rose Marion Tyler, what did I say? I said don’t let things get out of control. I said you need me there. I said no-mums-on-the-road rule sounds more like the Doctor’s trying to get into your —”
“Stop,” Rose interrupts, holding up her hand. “Just stop right there. ‘Cause none of this is what you think. I’m not pregnant, I’ve not been seduced, and I’m definitely not infatuated.”
Jackie crosses her arms over her chest and tilts her head, pursing her lips. “Right then. Tell me. What exactly should I think?”
This is the point at which Rose’s gaze falters, her eyes drop to the floor, and she looks for all the world like little-girl Rose who’s hiding kittens in her room. “I love him.”
“Oh loooord,” Jackie says, throwing her hands in the air and rolling her eyes. “Did he use that line on you? I thought I’d brought you up to know better.”
“Nobody used any lines!” Rose retorts, angrily now. “And the Doctor isn’t anything like you’re imagining, nothing like that at all!”
“I’ve never even met the man — he’s been avoiding me like the plague! What else am I supposed to think?! If he’s nothing like I’m imagining, bring him ‘round for tea tomorrow and prove me wrong.”
Rose stares at her, mouth moving for a moment, because she’s been outmatched, and it’s gone too far now, and anything she does to argue will only prove Jackie right. She finally nods. “Fine. He’ll be here tomorrow for tea.”
Rose goes into her room to make a phone call, and Jackie doesn’t snoop — she can’t technically hear the words Rose is saying, not with her ear pressed to Rose’s bedroom door, but if she wastes time going downstairs to the kitchen for a glass to clarify the sound, she might miss the whole thing anyway. It’s not technically snooping if she’s just listening to tones of voice — giggling, coy, pleading, a whole spectrum within a half-hour window. And later that evening, a limo pulls up to the mansion to pick Rose up, empty except for the driver (a kind, elderly gentleman who Jackie is sure the Doctor doesn’t deserve, either).
Rose is home sometime before Jackie wakes up in the morning, but long after she’s gone to sleep.
Jackie spends the next day arraying her parlor like a general aligning his ships at sea. There are pictures of Pete holding infant Rose on the table beside the sofa, and awards Rose has won for her solo performances arranged carefully on the display case. The china is Waterford, the tea is Earl Grey, the biscuits and sandwiches are handmade by a chef. Jackie’s in her nicest tracksuit, the blue fuzzy one.
Because she remembers with painful clarity how these things have gone before, how terrible it was with Jimmy Stone — Rose vanishing for six months, coming home an emotional and physical wreck, Jackie having to put the pieces together afterward. And Mickey, who was a decent bloke but never quite ambitious enough for Rose — Rose making the decision that she had to end it, and seeing how wrecked they both were, Jackie there, picking up the pieces for both of them.
Jackie doesn’t intend to see anything break again, because every time she picks up the pieces for Rose, she leaves shards of herself all over the floor in their place, and she doesn’t know how much more of that she can handle.
“Well,” Rose says, standing in the doorway as Jackie surveys her battlefield.
“This is going to be fun!” Jackie says, turning around and smiling at her, penciled eyebrows arching upward. “Don’t you think? Finally meeting him, legend that he is. I imagine he comes in on a cloud, doesn’t touch the ground like us normal folk. Is that about right?”
As if on cue, the doorbell rings. Rose is off like a shot, before Jackie can even move, calling out over her shoulder, “I’ll get it!”
Jackie steps into the foyer and sees him in person for the first time, and it’s a great deal more underwhelming than she’d imagined it would be. Skinny as a beanpole, with a wild thatch of hair on his head, all freckles and gangly limbs. He’s older than Rose, that for certain, but not as old as she’d thought, and it’s maddening because she can’t put a finger on how old he actually is.
Rose is clutching his hand as though she’s the only thing tethering him here, as though he’s a skittish horse about to bolt. “Mum, this is the Doctor. Doctor, this is my mum, Jackie Tyler.”
The Doctor extracts his hand from Rose’s and extends it to Jackie. “Nice to meet you, Jackie.”
“Likewise, I’m sure,” she replies, because he didn’t call her Ms. Tyler, and she doesn’t much feel like calling him by any kind of title, whether he’s actually earned a doctorate or not. “Nice of you to finally deign to meet me. Would’ve been nice, y’know, before you swindled Rose into making a new album with you and announced it to the press. Would’ve been kosher, to meet her manager, at least. You keep your manager with you on the road most of the time, I understand?”
“Donna’s amazing, Mum,” Rose interjects as she pulls the Doctor into the parlor. “You’re going to love her.”
“She’s negotiating your contracts for you now, is she, dear? Because I haven’t seen a single piece of paper regarding this collaboration you’ve been roped into.”
“Oh! Look at that!” The words burst out of the Doctor as he makes a beeline for the display case and the trophies, plucking up one that’s a large metal thing — looks almost like a big pile of of loops. “Did you know the Pan-European Music Council asked me to design this one? Can’t imagine why.” He turns around, grinning at both women. “I’m not really known for my artistic talents. I’d drawn some sort of thing with a man holding a gramophone or something, I don’t even remember — then I accidentally submitted them the wrong paper. I gave them one I’d doodled big scribbles all over, so they made the trophy a scribble! Isn’t that something!”
Rose is grinning back at him, her tongue caught between her teeth, and Jackie might as well not be in the room, with the way their eyes are locked. The Doctor is all bright, open enthusiasm, and Rose … well, Rose has never been good at hiding her emotions. She’s staring at the Doctor as though he hangs the stars. Jackie knows that look; she used to give it to Pete Tyler. And whatever the Doctor might feel for Rose, Rose is head-over-heels in love with the Doctor.
“Rose won that for her solo performance in Budapest.” Jackie steps forward and takes the trophy from the Doctor’s hands, putting it back on the shelf. She picks up another one. “And she won this for her first album, which outsold your last album, if I remember correctly. Isn’t that right, Rose?”
Rose’s face has gone pink, and she clears her throat. “I thought we were having tea.”
“Plenty of time to look over all these trinkets later, I suppose,” Jackie sighs. She turns around and picks up a little bell, shaking it. A maid appears from the kitchen a second later, bearing a tray. They all sit down — Rose and the Doctor on the couch, Jackie on the chair across from them.
After a few minutes of silence, filled only by the clinking of china, Jackie leans forward. “So, Doctor. We could make this long and complicated, or we could just get straight to the point. And I don’t know how much Rose has told you about me, but I’m not a fan of long and complicated.” She sets her teacup in the saucer, ignoring the way Rose’s eyes have gone wide and she’s mouthing the words Mum and No.
“I don’t know what your intentions are when it comes to my daughter, but I know exactly how this business works. I’ve spent the last five years protecting Rose from producers and label managers who admired more than just her voice, keeping them out of her dressing room and everyplace else. I’ve been telling those pervy old wankers to sod off since she was fifteen. And now here you are, in my parlor and holding my daughter’s hand, brazen as you please.” The Doctor made to snatch his hand away from Rose’s, but Rose grips his fingers harder, doesn’t let him go. Jackie waves at the both of them. “So out with it, Doctor. What’s your game? What’s this all about?”
“Mum!”
The Doctor’s mouth is hanging open and he looks like he’s been slapped. “Jackie, I don’t know what kind of things you’ve heard about me, but —”
“Picks up young women and sometimes young men, takes them on the road for a while, ditches them when he’s bored and ready to move on. That’s the Doctor, in a nutshell,” Jackie retorts.
“No,” the Doctor says, firm and sure. “No, that’s not what happens. They leave when they’re ready, when it’s time.”
“And when’s Rose’s time going to be then, hmm?” Jackie leans forward, hands resting on her knees, all alert attention. “Have you got that penciled in sometime after she helps your next album go platinum?”
“Hold on a minute, do I really look like a pervy old wanker?” the Doctor blurts out, forehead wrinkling and his gaze darting between Rose and Jackie. He rubs at the back of his head with his free hand. “Really?”
“No!” Rose says.
“The very image,” Jackie says at the same time, sitting back and crossing her arms. Rose’s back is up straight, mortification and anger warring on her face, and Jackie knows that no matter which wins out, she and her daughter are going to have an epic row about all this later.
“I’m different -- we’re different -- this is different!” The words burst out of Rose like a leak from a dam.
“He told you that, did he? ‘Course he did. It’s what you needed to hear.”
“But how old?” the Doctor interjects, leaning forward with his eyebrows arched, his expression strangely earnest.
“He’s not even taking me seriously,” Jackie says to Rose, frowning. “You expect he’s taking you seriously?”
“How pervy?” the Doctor mutters so quietly it’s nearly inaudible. He sniffs and shakes his head before turning his eyes on Jackie, focused with an intensity that makes her stomach quiver just a bit — she’s got every last bit of his attention. “Right. You’re worried about Rose. You’re her mum. It’s your job. But she isn’t a little girl anymore, she’s grown. She’s standing quite well on her own two feet, in case you’d missed the videos of the last few months’ worth of our tour.”
Rose rests her hand on the Doctor’s arm and he turns to look at her. “No, it’s okay,” Rose says to him, before locking eyes with Jackie. “Mum, I know you’re scared. But you can’t control everything, not anymore.” Her fingers tighten on the Doctor’s forearm. “I’ve made my choice. And that’s all there is to it. You can give us the third degree, but you aren’t frightening either of us away from the other.”
Jackie stares back at Rose, at the features of a woman staring at her, at the echo of the child’s face still lingering in the back of her own mind, and it’s growing fainter by the second, that echo. And Jackie realizes that when she’s scrabbling for control, all she’s holding onto is air.
“Then promise me one thing, Doctor,” Jackie says, turning to him again, eyes boring into his. “You promise me one thing. Promise me you’ll keep her safe.”
The Doctor doesn’t flinch, doesn’t drop his gaze. He nods. “I promise. I’ll keep her safe.”
Jackie nods in return. “Fine.” She leans back and grabs the bell to ring for the maid. “I suppose it’s time for cake, then.”
[THE DOCTOR]
The assumption that he's avoiding Jackie Tyler is insulting, childish, and completely accurate.
To be fair, it's not specifically Jackie Tyler he's avoiding, it's all mums, managers, and, most importantly, mum-managers.
There's a reason mums aren't allowed on the road -- mums are invested and nosy and mothering. Add in a professional obligation to be all those things and it's a nightmare tailored right for him.
So, if he, perhaps, locked himself in the small loo on the bus every other time Jackie called when they were on the road, and if he perhaps just sends Wilf around to pick Rose up when they get off of it, well, it's a bit of a survival tactic for him, isn't it?
No sense running straight toward nightmares, like some sort of masochistic Don Quixote. No, he'll steer clear, keep all raised voices and slaps for someone else, ta.
Of course, he wouldn't have earned his maverick, devil-may-care reputation if he didn't force a few exceptions to rules now and again. But those exceptions are reserved for silly rules, like the posted speed limit and whether an open flame is safe backstage.
The mum rule is hardly silly, it's warranted and unyielding and a way of life, really. A guiding principle that's always served him well.
Obviously Rose Tyler couldn't care less.
"I need you to come for tea tomorrow," Rose tells him.
"Of course! Love tea, tea's brilliant!" He shuffles the phone between his hands, trying to find a way to prop it to his ear and free his fingers to open the jar of jam he's found. And then use those fingers to eat the jar of jam.
"No, Doctor," she says. "Real tea. Not like when we tell Donna we're having tea before sound check and we shag on a sofa instead."
The lid to the jam gives way and goes skittering across the floor of the kitchen.
"Well, can't say I'm not disappointed," he says. "But I do enjoy a proper cup of tea, too. What time should I be there? Shall I grab some biscuits?"
There's a muffled noise on the other end and he wonders briefly if Rose is struggling with some jam, too. It sounded more like a dull thud against a door, but he's not going to judge anyone's jam jar opening techniques, not when his own ended with the lid half under the fridge.
"No biscuits necessary," Rose says. "My mum's got those covered."
The hairs on the back of his neck raise, like a dog feeling threatened, but he forces himself to relax. Maybe if he just plays dead, she'll roll over on this. Maybe his dog jokes could convince her, even.
"Oh, that's nice of her! Did some shopping for you on her way out of town then?"
He's swirling two fingers in the jam, stirring through it in a circle. Maybe he'll get a jam whirlpool going and then if this conversation turns out the way it sounds like it might, he'll have a place to drown himself. Worse places to take your last breaths than a jam whirlpool.
"She's in town," Rose says slowly. "And she'll be staying in town."
There's absolutely no hope for the jam whirlpool, barely any momentum, and so he sinks the tips of his fingers to the bottom instead, crooking the digits to scratch at the glass. It's a familiar movement, especially with Rose's voice in his ear, but it's when he remembers they're talking about Jackie Tyler that he recoils in horror.
He yanks his fingers free, dropping the jar in the sink, and he can just order a pizza instead. Rose can come over, they'll have pizza, jam fingers, and never speak of her mum again.
"Nice of her to clear out for us to have tea then," he says and wipes his hand on a napkin. "So, speaking of pizza, I'm going to order one, do you want to come over? I'll send Wilf to get you. Pepperoni? Or will tonight be the night Rose Tyler finally gives in to the siren song of pineapple?"
Rose sighs, "Doctor, I'm serious."
"Fine, I promise to take seriously your feeling that fruit on pizza is unnatural," he says, but even his distraction is proving distracting because now he's going to be stuck having tea with Jackie tomorrow and no pineapple on his pizza tonight.
"You can top it with bloody rocks for all I care, because if you don't stop and listen to me, you'll be eating it alone." Rose's tone is the one that says he's treading dangerously close to the line. So, obviously he's going to run right past it.
"That's ridiculous," he says. "Pizza doesn't have the structural integrity necessary for rock toppings. Might be able to put them on a taco, if you'd like. We could do tacos instead."
"Doctor."
Rose's voice suddenly sounds closer and he knows she's moved the phone in front of her face, glaring at it as if it's him and tipping the mouthpiece right to her lips, like she does when she's angry at whoever's on the other end.
They've both got the kind of phones that would enable a video call, but this doesn't seem like the time to bring that up. He's got loads of happier, more naked Rose memories associated with that function and there's no use letting Jackie Tyler ruin that for him, too.
He relents.
"Sure, yes, brilliant. Tea with your mum tomorrow, smashing," he says. "I'm looking forward to it. Will she have the authorities right there with her? Or shall I call them on my way over?"
Rose lets out a small laugh and even with tomorrow already looming, he smiles in spite of himself.
"No authorities will be needed," Rose says.
"Right, right. Steal her daughter away and Jackie Tyler seems like the type to go right for the gun herself. Bit of a vigilante, your mum?"
He bends down to pick up the lid to the jam and finds a small red gumball lying next to it. He sets it aside because it seems like the perfect size to accidentally choke on later. Nothing serious, of course, but maybe Rose will be so shook up that she'll spend tomorrow coddling him, instead of sending him to his death.
"You haven't even met my mum yet! She could be the type that wouldn't hurt a fly," Rose says.
"Is she?"
"No, hates flies, ruthless with them."
"Wizard," he says and thinks briefly of Donna and whether it would be considered rude to bring her along uninvited. Probably, but at the very least, she wouldn't let anyone murder him. Probably.
"Send Wilf around," Rose says. "And go ahead and get the pineapple."
Somehow it feels like a hollow victory.
The next morning he wakes to a feeling of dread and an abundance of blankets. Rose usually steals them in the night and while it's probably for the best that she hadn't stayed over, it still makes him feel even more out of sorts.
Tea with someone's mum, is this who he is now?
His phone vibrates on the table next to the bed and a text from Rose fills the screen.
Is it going to make it better or worse if I tell you I'd consider not wearing knickers to tea?
He grins and settles further back into the bed, letting one hand wander to scratch low on his stomach while the other thumbs out a reply on his mobile.
Better.
His fingers are just under the waistband of his boxer briefs when the reality of the situation hits him -- sitting next to Rose like that while her mum grills him about, what, his intentions? He yanks his hands away from his pants and clutches at his phone, unable to type fast enough.
WORSE. WORSE!
He pushes himself up and out of bed, making his way into the en suite. He tries to get something going in the shower with the image of a knicker-less Rose far, far away from her mother, but it's no use.
By the time he's standing on their doorstep hours later, he's basically resigned himself to his fate. At the very least, she's going to slap him. He's not sure for what, exactly, he just knows how this sort of thing usually goes -- a mum, on the defensive, accusing him of making off with their son or daughter, and firing off baseless accusations about the nature of their relationship.
Of course, in Rose's case, it's not entirely baseless, which probably means he's in for it even more. After the fourth on-stage picture was published where you could clearly see a hickey on Rose's neck, he stopped reading the trade magazines and started keeping his mouth lower.
Mum-managers though? Trade magazines photos of their daughters with hickeys? That's practically the job description.
He rubs at his shoulder, right in the spot he noticed this morning, the one where Rose had left her own mark last night, and as he rings the doorbell, he considers the possibility that Jackie Tyler will somehow be able to see it. Or sense it. Or smell it. Who knows what kind of powers she wields? Beyond the ability to make her voice so shrill that he can hear it through the phone on the other end of the bus.
The door opens and there she is in the flesh. The idea that she's wearing a track suit, when he's clearly the one that should be running trips him up and he stumbles to recover as Rose introduces them, clutching at his hand.
He pulls away gently, trying not to spook anyone, and makes a point to reach to shake Jackie's hand and tell her how nice it is to meet her.
Well, that bit's over now, it's probably time for him to go, especially in light of the fact that her, "Likewise, I'm sure," seems utterly insincere. And how the next several sentences out of her mouth are a thinly veiled attack on his relationship with Rose, his character, and the way he conducts business.
“Nice of you to finally deign to meet me," Jackie says. "Would’ve been nice, y’know, before you swindled Rose into making a new album with you and announced it to the press. Would’ve been kosher, to meet her manager, at least. You keep your manager with you on the road most of the time, I understand?”
He's considering just backing straight out the door when Rose leaps in, sticking up for Donna. As if Donna is the one in need of defending here.
“Donna’s amazing, Mum. You’re going to love her," Rose says.
Jackie barely blinks. "She’s negotiating your contracts for you now, is she, dear? Because I haven’t seen a single piece of paper regarding this collaboration you’ve been roped into.”
Oh, well, yes, probably should've mentioned that to Rose's manager, regardless of parental status, he really does see that now. But no use crying over spilled milk, especially if it's not a deep enough spill to drown himself in.
He remembers his jam fondly before changing the subject entirely.
Rose has got one of the trophies he designed and Jackie's displayed it proudly. Maybe if he brings that up, that he's more than just a musician and the bloke sleeping with her daughter, but also an artist, then Jackie can begin to reevaluate him. Or he can just talk to her into confusion.
It's going swimmingly right up until the moment he grins at Rose. She grins back, with tongue, and he's lost, the way he always is when she looks at him like that. Or like anything, really. This brilliant, beautiful woman who actually got him home to meet Mum.
It occurs to him, not for the first time, that he never stood a chance.
Jackie's already started in, something about record sales, and he loses the plot a bit, if he's honest, and then he's being ushered toward the couch and a maid is bringing tea.
It's good stuff and he's sipping at it because he's enjoying it, decidedly not because he's at a loss for anything to say and feels a little like he's been weighed, measured and found wanting.
He's just about to ask after who made the tea and is trying to decide if that's an insult to Jackie or a compliment to the staff, when Jackie leans forward.
“So, Doctor. We could make this long and complicated, or we could just get straight to the point. And I don’t know how much Rose has told you about me, but I’m not a fan of long and complicated," Jackie says, moving her teacup away and it's all the Doctor can do to keep himself from thinking that's one less line of defense between them.
She lights into him then, questioning his intentions -- why is it always his intentions? Hardly ever end up where you intend to in life. He certainly didn't intend to fall in love with Rose Tyler. And he certainly didn't intend to ever meet her mother, the one currently tossing insults at him, impugning his integrity and, hang on, did she just call him a pervy old wanker?
"And now here you are," Jackie says. "In my parlor and holding my daughter’s hand, brazen as you please.”
He tries to drop Rose’s hand, and quickly, but Rose won't let him, tightening her fingers around his. The blood pooling in the tips starts to tingle, and he focuses on that momentarily, before trying to further parse through Jackie's ranting.
He stumbles through an explanation, but Jackie isn't having it, accusing him of kicking out his other opening acts, his friends. He can't stand for that, and he says as much, feeling ready to go toe-to-toe with Jackie Tyler for the first time all afternoon.
Wait, is that what a pervy old wanker would do? Is he playing right into her hands? Does he actually look like a pervy old wanker?
It's too much and he blurts out the thought, grateful for Rose's reassurance, which is quickly followed by Jackie insulting him again.
Rose is saying something back, in defense of him not being a perky old wanker, he assumes, and he lets them go around for a bit.
Clearly the first thing a pervy old wanker would definitely do is deny that he's a pervy old wanker, so it's better to let Rose fight this particular battle.
She's doing a bang up job of it from where he's sitting, so it's only fair that when Jackie starts insulting Rose, that he stick up for her.
He tries, but it ends up being unnecessary, Rose manages effortlessly on her own, and she closes with a solid, clear point on their relationship.
"You can give us the third degree," Rose says. "But you aren’t frightening either of us away from the other."
If they ever decide to start up a tour debate team, he's nominating Rose Tyler for captain.
Despite Rose's dazzling display, it's him that Jackie turns to.
“Then promise me one thing, Doctor,” she says and her eye contact is so intense, so focused, that if they ever decide to start up a tour staring team, he's bringing in Jackie Tyler as a ringer. “You promise me one thing. Promise me you’ll keep her safe.”
All this for that? Keeping Rose safe is as important to him as music, as important as bananas and guitars and his home and his heart. If this is what Jackie wants from him, they could've done this months ago, because it's always been about keeping Rose safe.
"I promise," he says. "I'll keep her safe."
Jackie seems satisfied with his answer and calls for the cake. It tastes a bit like pears and he's not convinced it isn't deliberate.
He eats it anyway.