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It’s the elaborate amount of planning that really seals it for Rose, in terms of having to participate. Donna had started weeks ago — systematically hiding every calendar in the bus, stealing the Doctor’s watch, changing the tour schedule to say the day of the week instead of the date.
It’s, well, it’s intense.
And from what Rose can gather, it’s the same thing they do every year, if they’re touring on April Fools’ Day.
A couple years ago, the Doctor had turned Donna’s hair purple — proper purple — and Donna’s already been buying new beauty products in every city they visit for nearly a month now, as a precaution. He’d even gone on a chat show that night, wearing a purple wig, to taunt her.
But, this year, the Doctor doesn’t seem to notice the date, which is part of Donna’s plan. And when the morning of April 1 rolls around, Rose can only watch in admiration as all the pieces begin to fall like dominoes.
It starts on Jack’s broadcast, a quick announcement in the news round-up that rehearsals have already begun for the relaunch of the Doctor and Rose Tyler’s tour as a “dance spectacular.”
The Doctor doesn’t give any indication he even heard the broadcast, despite it playing noisily throughout the backstage area.
He doesn’t even question why they’ve loaded in so early, seemingly content to sprawl on a couch backstage, eating a variety of fruits from the breakfast clause of the tour rider.
The next step comes an hour later — a box of athletic wear arrives special delivery from Adidas and Donna announces them as a new tour sponsor.
The Doctor shrugs and grabs a track jacket before wandering back to the table for another banana.
Adam’s on next, bouncing on his toes in the hallway, before loudly proclaiming he’s off to practice the routine.
The Doctor tells him his shorts are too short.
Martha leads everyone through a mandatory meeting on proper stretching techniques and the Doctor solves a Rubik’s Cube.
Donna is growing frustrated and Rose isn’t sure what to do.
The roadies are even in on it – chattering on excitedly about the new direction the show is taking anytime the Doctor’s in earshot – everyone is playing their part to a T, and the Doctor just excuses himself with a bored wave and strolls off to his dressing room.
After he’s gone, Donna puts her hands on her hips and gives them all a stern glare, and it’s clear that any semblance of fun and games are gone; they are now officially Donna’s soldiers. “This isn’t a drill, people. I want him weeping by the end of tonight’s gig. Does everybody get that?”
“Yes ma’am,” Martha says with a smirk and a salute.
Rose goes to her own dressing room and digs into the bottom of her trunk, fishing out the sparkly number she’d brought along specially for this performance. It was the minidress she’d worn during her first gig with the Doctor at Wembley – a far cry from her current costumes, leather pants and Joan Jett and everything she’d grown into since they started performing together.
Slipping into the sequins feels like slipping back into her old life for a second. Her makeup is elaborate – a pink star painted around her left eye – her hair teased up to heights to make the Doctor’s usual coif swoon with envy.
Yeah, she can definitely do a bit of Britney, dressed like this.
They don’t usually see each other before the performance, and the Doctor enters stage right while she enters stage left, so it’s no surprise he isn’t there when she gets to the wings. Everyone’s done exactly as Donna ordered, and even in the dim backstage lights, with the front of house dark, it’s a sea of velour and sparkle, and it’s making Rose twitch – it’s going to send the Doctor into a full-on conniption.
The drumbeat starts, thump-THUMP-thumthump-thump-THUMP-thumthump, and the crowd roars (a relatively small venue tonight, but what they lack in numbers they make up in enthusiasm) and the lights pop on to reveal Adam at his drumset, tank top and tiny shorts and he’s selling it with his grin, even though his face is beet red.
Then the bassist and the keyboardist take the stage, and right after, Rose struts out in her acrylic platform heels and sees him across the stage.
It’s all she can do to keep her footing and not tumble sideways into the audience.
He’s wearing the same exact thing Rose is, save for his Chucks and a sign around his neck with Donna’s mobile number. Behind the curtain, she can hear Donna’s phone began to ring and then she’s meeting the Doctor center stage.
The Doctor, in his dress.
“What?” She mouths at him, and he’s grinning broadly over the wolf whistles and cat calls coming from the audience. He gestures back at Adam with his thumb and Adam looks ashamed, like he’s been caught playing both sides.
Rose gives Adam a disapproving look that comes out more like a laugh and then her attention is back on the Doctor, the sparkle of the dress, his legs and arms on display, and it’s a good thing he didn’t wear the heels or his legs would look even longer. He lifts off the sign with Donna’s mobile number and sets it aside just in time to pick up the opening number.
He spends the whole concert like he usually does, strutting around, leaning into Rose, flirting with the audience, but he’s doing it in a cocktail dress and trainers, and when the last song finally rolls around, she’s not surprised in the least that he’s somehow learned the routine.
The angles of his hips under the fabric, the edge of his boxer briefs on his leg every time he does a twist, it’s all working together, and by the end of the literal song-and-dance for the audience, she’s tugging him off stage and to the nearest dressing room.
It’s not every day she gets her hands up someone else’s skirt and he seems to be thinking the same thing about wearing one, rucking the fabric up around his hips, smiling gleefully before doing the same to the skirt of Rose’s dress. She starts at his Adam’s apple, nipping and licking, but the heels give her extra height and she’s at the perfect level to get at his lips without stretching even a bit.
His tongue sweeps into her mouth as his fingers climb higher up the backs of her thighs, and she’s cupping him through the thin fabric of his pants when a loud knocking sounds on the door, followed by the steady beat of Donna’s ringtone, “Oi! You two! Encores!”
They spring apart, each shimmying their hips to get the dresses to fall back down and Rose is never going to forget the surrealism of this moment.
He threads their fingers together on the walk back to the stage, and she leans in, “But why the dress? You could’ve gotten her with the sign and your suit.”
"This, Rose Tyler, is for you. Plotting against me with Donna?” He tuts and shakes his head. “Tomorrow when the blogs ask ‘Who wore it better?’ there’s going to be a winner,” he points at himself, “And a loser,” and he points at her.
And then he’s bounding on stage, whipping the audience into a frenzy, and Rose can just see in the back where he didn’t get the dress down enough, the curve of his arse under his boxer briefs on display and the audience is loving it.
She doesn’t tell him until they’re walking back off stage and he winks at her, “How did you think I was gonna win?”