Work Text:
Tarantella
“‘Lo?” Rose muttered, biting back the urge to curse at whoever was calling this early.
“Happy birthday, Rose!” chanted a posse of voices on the other end.
“What…?” Rose pulled her mobile away for a second to check the date, and ‘ooh-ed’ when she saw they were right— relative to Earth time, it was February twenty-second. She was twenty-one.
“Lost track, didn’t you?” came Mickey’s cheery voice. “Shareen, you owe me ten quid,” he added, followed by what sounded like Shareen’s irritated muttering.
“What’s himself got planned for your birthday, then?” Jackie squawked in the background.
“That Doctor bloke?” Shareen chimed in, sounding excited. “The really fit one with the hair that you showed me a photo of?”
“Yes, Shareen,” Rose said, rolling her eyes. “Doubt he’s got anything planned. Doubt he even knows, actually.”
She left unsaid that her previous birthday with the Doctor — the leather, Northern one — was spent in the stockade of a matriarchal society. The Doctor had been arrested on the spot because he hadn’t been wearing a leash, which would have been hilarious, except they arrested her as well for ‘letting her male become feral’, and they spent the morning having alien tomatoes thrown at their heads.
“Well you should tell him, then!” Jackie said shrilly. “He’s got to know you’ve got a birthday sometime! What’s it been, like, four years with him?”
Rose bit back the correction she wanted to make, since relative to her it was actually only three years. “Yeah.”
“When are you gonna get back from wherever you are?” Shareen asked.
“Dunno,” Rose said vaguely. “I’ll let you know.”
“Rose?” came the Doctor’s voice outside her door.
“One sec,” she called back, balancing her mobile between her shoulder and her ear so she could throw on her jumper. She opened the door without looking at him so the Doctor could enter and said, “Sorry, guys, I’ve got to go.”
An outbreak of whining ensued, followed by Jackie’s loud ‘shush’ and a, “Okay, bye sweetheart. Love you.”
Rose smiled when a chant of ‘love you Rose’s sounded in the background, and as she offhandedly pulled her duvet of the floor she added, “Love you too, thanks guys.” It was only after she’d clicked her mobile shut and turned around to address the Doctor that she saw he was dressed in a pristine black tuxedo (though still clad in his Chucks) beaming at her like he was more than proud of himself. “Um, did you hit your head?”
The Doctor frowned and rubbed the back of his neck. “Er, what?”
“You’re wearin’ a tux.”
“So I noticed,” he replied, excited grin returning. “You’ll need to peruse the wardrobe room— the TARDIS’ll show you what’s appropriate.”
“For what?” Rose asked, tossing her mobile on the bed, using more effort than usual to avoid looking at his bum.
“We’re going to a ball, Rose Tyler!” he said energetically, doing a silly sort of two-step as though to emphasise his point. “An honest-to-goodness, Victorian England party!”
“Not that I’m complaining,” Rose said, grinning excitedly as she followed him into the corridor, “but why?”
The Doctor looked at her like she’d dribbled on her shirt. “For your birthday!”
“Oh,” she said, blinking. “Didn’t think you remembered. Or knew, for that matter,” Rose added on an undertone.
“Don’t be silly, I remember everything,” he sniffed, looking affronted for a brief moment. “Go on, don’t want to be late. Well, actually it’s considered fashionable to be fifteen minutes to an hour late. Isn’t that ridiculous?”
“Completely,” Rose said, tongue in teeth. “Back in a bit, gonna get ready!”
When the Doctor beamed again and turned to head back to the console room, Rose allowed herself one last look at his bum before hopping off to the wardrobe room. The TARDIS had brought a rack of women's Victorian gowns to the front most row, including some shoes, accessories and her makeup. Thanking the TARDIS offhand, Rose rummaged through the rack of dresses, picking out a pinned burgundy gown with ruffled black underskirts and a bow on the bodice.
Rose glanced at the selection of corsets and said to the ceiling, “Do I have to wear that?”
The TARDIS hummed affirmatively at her, and she tried not to feel too excited when she reached for the one that best matched her dress. Thankfully the corset was one that laced in the front, so she had no problem doing it up before pulling on her dress. The skirts were voluminous, but Rose figured it was probably normal for that time period, so she didn’t question the TARDIS; instead simply donning a pair of shoes that would be comfortable to dance in — while still allowing her the ability to run should the need arrive — and, remembering all the hairdressing tips her hairdresser of a mother had squawked to her once upon a time, expertly twisted her previously messy hair into an elegant bun at the base of her neck with a jewelled maroon ribbon the TARDIS gave her. After grudgingly forsaking her eyeliner and mascara, but allowing herself a dash of lippy, Rose briefly popped into the loo to brush her teeth and check her reflection before heading out for the console room.
The Doctor’s bum in the air was the first sight that greeted her; he had his face stuck beneath the console, in some kind of chest, and he was rummaging around in it whilst simultaneously grumbling under his breath. “Stupid thing, where is it?”
“Where’s what?” Rose asked, trying to look anywhere but his arse.
“The invitation,” the Doctor said, tossing what looked like a rotten purple apple behind him, forcing Rose to duck to avoid being hit in the face. “In my sixth body, I was invited to a ball hosted by a duke… saved his son from a vampire, you know… but I can’t find the invitation!”
“Did you check your pockets?” Rose suggested.
She’d been joking, but he straightened up, looking sheepish. “Oh yeah.” At Rose’s giggle, he slammed the chest shut and pushed it back under the console. “And now, Rose Tyler, we head off to the…” he trailed off for a moment, once he properly straightened up and got a good look at her, “the… er, the…”
“The ball?” Rose said, frowning.
“Er, no. I mean, yes! The ball. Right-o, Rose Tyler,” the Doctor all but spluttered, now tugging at his ear and looking anywhere but at her. “So… er…”
Wordlessly, face red as her dress, he held out his arm for her to take. She accepted with another tongue-in-teeth grin, which seemed to relax him, since he grinned back and flung open the TARDIS doors dramatically. It was already nightfall, in what felt like a crisp English summer, and the TARDIS was parked out of sight in the cover of the trees, overlooking a grand, brightly lit estate. Rose could see people striding with their backs pin-straight and heads held high, either emerging from horse-drawn carriages or strolling from the shadows.
“Now, Rose Tyler, proper ballroom etiquette!” he started to say.
“I already know all of the rules,” Rose reminded him, scowling. “Remember Rina IV?”
They both grimaced at the memory— the TARDIS had landed them on the monarchical planet, which had taken its values directly from Earth’s Victorian times, where Rose had been mistaken for an earl’s long-lost daughter. She’d been kidnapped, brought back to his palace and, upon first observation was dubbed ‘feral’ (having mostly to do with the fact that she swore like a sailor and demanded they bring her back to the Doctor) because she had supposedly been ‘in the wild for too long’ and had forgotten her manners. So Rose had been held for a full seven days at the palace undergoing rigorous etiquette training, whilst the Doctor had been all but panicking, desperately trying to find his companion. There had been tears from the both of them when they’d reunited and, when they’d returned to the TARDIS, had slept in the same bed.
“I remember,” he said quietly, Adam’s apple bobbing when he swallowed hard.
She gave his arm a squeeze to try and cheer him up. “So, vampires, huh?”
“Oh, yes, vampires exist,” the Doctor said, springing back at once. “Well, used to anyway. They were extremely dangerous, so the Time Lords hunted them to extinction.” As they approached the estate’s entrance, the Doctor stuck his free hand into his pocket and pulled out an envelope. “That’s odd,” he said, frowning at it.
“Why?” Rose asked.
“The seal’s already been broken,” he said curiously, before shrugging. “Maybe I peeked.”
Rose rolled her eyes and patted his arm fondly, before plastering an overly polite smile onto her face when the Doctor showed the man at the entrance the invitation. The man looked it over once and bowed his head at them, signalling them to enter. Rose suppressed an ‘ooh’ at the sight of the ballroom— the majority of the floor was taken up by men and women dancing strategically, with a corner in which was seated an orchestra, and everything seemed to sparkle and shine.
“Fancy,” Rose said, when the Doctor looked to her for praise.
“Good fancy or bad fancy?”
“Just fancy,” she said, with a coy smile in his direction.
He grinned at her before sinking into a deep bow and outstretching his hand. “May I have this dance, Dame Rose?”
Rose returned his brilliant smile and accepted his hand. “You may, Sir Doctor.”
The absolute beam on his face was one she’d probably have burned into her mind forever, as he led her into the throng of people by her hand, looking for all the world in that moment like the emperor of the universe just because he was going to dance with her. He’d been acting like that ever since she’d had her face stolen by the Wire, as though she were suddenly the centre point of his world, which was making some of the hopes and fantasies that had previously been squashed by Reinette and Sarah Jane resurface. Shaking those thoughts from her mind, Rose focused on the way he lovingly gripped her hand and her waist as he led them into a sort of simplistic but elegant waltz.
“Thought the universe ends when the Doctor dances,” Rose said, in a quiet voice so others wouldn’t hear, since it was ‘impolite’ for ladies to speak too much whilst dancing.
“It implodes, you said,” the Doctor corrected her, wagging his eyebrows. “There’s a difference.”
“Didn’t think you were listening,” Rose said cheekily. “Too busy ‘resonating concrete’.”
“I always listen,” he insisted.
“I can think of ten times when you didn’t.”
“No fibbing, Rose Tyler!”
“I’m not. In fact, bet you ten quid I can list off fifteen times when you didn’t listen.”
“You’re on.”
“Your loss,” she grinned. “Okay, so first there was that time with leather you when I told you not to touch the scones I made for breakfast, and then I found half of them gone. Then there was that time I told you I was going out with Mickey and Jack for a bit, and when I came home you were hysterical and demandin’ to know where I’d gone. Then…”
Sufficed to say, by the end of the dance, the Doctor was grudgingly handing over ten quid.
The two of them danced twice more, the rest of the crowd fading away into the background, nothing existing but the two of them and their quiet laughter. Everything was looking to be perfect, until the Doctor paused mid-sentence, suddenly perking his head up as though he’d heard something, a frown evident on his face.
“What is it?” Rose asked.
“I dunno. Feels like…” He trailed off, cocking his head again, before releasing her hand and waist to yank out his sonic and take a couple of whirring scans. “Be right back, gonna check something.”
He half-sprinted through the crowd, holding his sonic like a Geiger counter. Rose stood in the middle of the floor, watching his ridiculous hair disappear out of view, before sighing irritably. She should have known this wouldn’t last.
“Pardon me, Madame, will you give me the pleasure of dancing with you?” said a lilting male voice behind her, making her turn.
The man who’d propositioned her was handsome as hell in a Victorian-era way, with chestnut curls that fell below his ears and an outfit just as extravagant as the rest, although perhaps a lot less silly. His eyes were blue-grey and his smile was kind. Since his opening phrase was a standard one, and since he’d only allowed her to be by herself for a mere minute, Rose reckoned he was one of the men who made sure every woman had a chance to dance and that no one was left out. Remembering the manners that had been drilled into her, Rose smiled prettily and said, “Yes, sir,” before accepting his hand and allowing him to lead her into the throng again.
The first thing she found odd about this bloke was the fact that, less than two seconds after they began a slow waltz, he said, “What is your name, Madame?”
Rose suppressed a look of confusion— men in this era didn’t engage women in conversation during dances. “Rose. Rose Tyler.”
“It’s wonderful to make your acquaintance, Rose Tyler,” he said gallantly, the gentle smile never once leaving his face. He was seriously playing into the ‘prince charming’ fantasies she used to have as a teenager, before she met the Doctor— then her fantasies turned to creative things one could do with leather jackets and silk ties. “Forgive me if this sounds rude, but who was the man you were with earlier?”
“My escort,” she said, cringing at how her lower class accent sounded in comparison to his eloquent, smooth tone. “He’s a good friend of mine, actually.”
“He seems smitten with you,” the man said bluntly, before saying hastily, “I apologise, that was rude.”
And oh, look, he’s not ginger, Rose thought fondly, before chuckling. “S’fine. I dunno what he is with me. We sort of… dance around each other, yeah?”
“Dance around?”
“Like a tarantella.” She realised she sounded a bit bitter and brought her smile back. “He’s just doting on me, is all. Got into a bit of trouble last week, and he’s been pretty attentive since then.”
“I see.” They danced for a bit in a comfortable silence, until it was broken when the dance changed into something like a figure eight. “The Reel,” he said, in an almost hushed tone.
“A Scottish dance,” Rose remembered aloud. “I was taught about it on Rina IV.”
Just as she realised her mistake and prepared to lie to cover it up, the man tensed up like a statue, smile dropping off and mouth open in a shocked gape, all manners forgotten. “Are you not from this time period?!”
She stared at him, expression mirroring his. They had stopped dancing at some point and were simply standing like idiots in the throng of twirling people. “Are you?!”
They gaped at each other for another moment or so, before both of them burst into silent laughter, holding onto each other for leverage and ignoring the glares of affront from several people. “Leave it to me to ask the one woman who’s not from this age to dance,” he said fondly, as they returned to their eight-shaped dance.
“Same here, mate,” Rose grinned.
“Which time period exactly?”
“Twenty-first century, ‘round 2008 now,” she said.
“How did you get here? Are you a Time Agent?”
Rose chuckled at the mention, remembering a certain ‘Time Agent’ and his bevy of innuendos. “No. Actually, my friend took me here. We travel together, us.”
He paused again, although this time his expression wasn’t one of shock, but one of contemplation. “Is he perchance the Doctor?”
Rose gaped. “Er, yeah, how’d you know?”
“Because I’m the Doctor,” the man grinned, and it was her turn to pause.
“What… really? As in the Doctor with the TARDIS?”
“Indeed,” he beamed.
Rose resisted the urge to slap her forehead, instead settling for shaking her head in disbelief and laughing. “Unbelievable.”
“I can assure you, I am very much myself,” the Doctor said cheerfully, which pretty much confirmed it since only the Doctor would say something like that as though it made perfect sense.
“Right,” Rose giggled, rolling her eyes. “I’m actually here with you, right now. The friend I was dancing with earlier was you.”
“Really?!” he said, sounding curious and embarrassed at the same time.
She nodded. “S’a bit odd that you took me to a dance, though.”
He frowned. “Why is that?”
“Because, and I quote, the universe implodes when the Doctor dances,” Rose said, tongue caught between her teeth. “Even resonated concrete to avoid dancing with me.”
The Doctor’s frown deepened. “Resonate concrete? My dear girl, one can’t ‘resonate concrete’, not even with the most advanced of equipment. What?!” he added on a whiny tone, when she started to laugh silently.
“I’ll remember that,” Rose grinned, ignoring his look of inquiry.
“Why did future me swan off?” he said instead of pressing the matter. “I daresay I seem to forget my manners with age, leaving you alone.”
“I’m assuming he sensed you or something,” Rose shrugged, giving his shoulder a fond pat. “Went to go scan things.”
“Actually, I was certain I’d sensed another telepathic presence when I arrived, in fact, although I’d assumed at first that it was you.”
“S’that why you asked me to dance?”
“Well…” With a coy grin and a swift movement so that he dipped her back gracefully for the briefest moment, making her gasp, he said suavely, “That… and you were a beautiful woman all by yourself.”
Flushing furiously, Rose ducked her head and mumbled, “Rescued me, did you?”
“I expect I did,” the Doctor hummed happily.
“My hero,” she smirked, before eyeing his cravat. “Is this a costume, or your regular clothes?”
He scowled petulantly. “It is not a costume!”
Rose suppressed the fit of giggles that bubbled up when she pictured her Northern Doctor in this outfit. “I can’t see the old you wearing this. The first version of you that I met, I mean,” Rose elaborated at his look of confusion. “The one I was with earlier is my second Doctor.”
“I regenerated?” When she nodded, he added, looking extremely vulnerable for a moment, “And… you didn’t leave?”
“Well, I admit that I was pretty freaked out when you regenerated, since you didn’t tell me about it,” she emphasised with a glare, at which he looked sheepish. “But I’m not gonna leave just ‘cos of that.”
He looked sombre for a moment, before gazing down at her with an expression her pinstriped Doctor sent her often, like she had just done something monumentally clever or turned into a goddess before his eyes or something. “Why are you so special, Rose Tyler?”
She blushed crimson and ducked her head. “‘M not really.”
“Oh, but you are,” he said affectionately. “So unaffected by regeneration, which is usually a concept most people can’t grasp. And…” He trailed off, until Rose raised an inquisitive eyebrow at him. “Do you know what timelines are, Rose?” When she shook her head, he explained, “Timelines are the endless number of possibilities that surround any person— their possible futures, if you will. Time Lords by nature are able to see a person’s timeliness, rather like a sixth sense. Well, actually a thirteenth, but that’s neither here nor there.”
She rolled her eyes at him. “So, what about timelines?”
“I can barely see yours,” he admitted, looking both confused and frustrated over the prospect. “Only a glimpse here and there in your future, specifically in this half hour. Then it disappears.”
Rose backed up a step. “What, does that mean… I’m gonna die in half an hour?!”
“Er, what? No, no!” he said hastily. “I’d be able to see that. Hold on,” the Doctor said, when the majority of people dancing around them were starting to look highly annoyed. Taking her hand as though it were as natural as breathing, the Doctor led her out of the ballroom and onto the balcony overlooking the back gardens, in which sat an elegant flowing fountain. “I can assure you, you are not going to die,” he said with reassurance. “Well, someday, but not anytime soon.”
She relaxed a bit and watched the moonlight dance on the water spewing from the fountain. “So then, why can you only see a half hour into my future?”
When he didn’t answer her at first, Rose turned around to see him blushing silver in the moonlight. “There are… only a few possibilities, but that is unimportant.” Hesitating, he said, “If… if you’d be willing, I’d like to look into your mind. To see if there are any explanations.”
Rose nodded at once and said, “Yeah, all right.”
Both her Northern Doctor and her pinstriped Doctor had done it, after adventures that involved dangerous telepathy or anything that could damage her mind, like Cassandra. This Victorian Doctor seemed confused at her offhand acceptance, but nonetheless stepped forward and raised his hands. “If you wish to conceal anything from me, imagine a door.”
She nodded in understanding, and the Doctor raised his fingers to her temples. Rose felt his usual polite inquiry, almost like a knock on the outside of her mind, asking to come in. “Who is it?” she said in a singsong voice, making him chuckle.
“It’s the pizza bloke,” the Doctor joked, and they shared a laugh before the Doctor pressed forward into her mind. Rose hummed at the familiar, pleasurable sensation of the Doctor’s presence spilling around her mind, as though embracing it in a gentle, loving hug. Over their weak link she felt the Doctor’s astonishment. “You don’t have any doors closed.”
I trust you, she let ring clearly in her mind.
It was a repeat of the first time her Northern Doctor looked into her mind, post-adventure, which included a telepathic worm that fed off people’s nightmares. He’d acted as skittish as a rabbit, stammering out the request to look into her head like it was something awful, and he’d blushed crimson when she’d accepted without question. Upon uttering the same ‘closed door’ suggestion, the Doctor had peeked into her mind only to rip his hands away in shock when he saw no closed doors.
“Why didn’t you—?!” he’d spluttered.
“I trust you,” she interrupted with a shrug. The smile that broke over his previously sombre face could have been classified as ‘loving’.
This cravat wearing Doctor seemed just as shocked, and just like before his shock bled away into untempered affection. As she’d expected he would, he avoided anything that would compromise timelines, searching discreetly through her mind and staying clear of her memories. She felt shock flare up on his side of the link again, and she sent an inquisition in his direction.
You love me, echoed his voice in her mind, sounding completely awestruck.
Rose felt her cheeks heat up, but she sent him a determined, Yeah, I do.
When he all but closed off and started to pull away, Rose panicked and instinctively surged her own mind forward in search of his. He gasped loudly and stumbled backward onto the wall, hands now gripping her head tightly so that she was leaning on him. “You’re in my head!” he breathed aloud. Rose tried to ignore the slowly growing thrum of pleasure that was coming from their now mutual link and gaped at the vastness of his mind— he wasn’t kidding all those times he spoke of his ‘big Time Lord brain’. Suddenly feeling tinier than an ant, she started to pull her mind away, but he cried out, “No!” and pulled her back in.
She didn’t even have time to moan at the feeling of encompassing and being encompassed, before the Doctor rushed forward physically, pressing their mouths together, swallowing her moan. In the haze of bliss Rose opened her mouth at once, lips soft, compliant and eager, hands travelling up to tangle in his hair. He made a desperate noise in the back of his throat and released one of her temples, pulling her hair out of its bun and tilting her head back further.
The Doctor froze against her mouth, pulling away slightly both physically and mentally. “The other me is coming.”
“Huh?” Rose managed to say through her daze.
The Doctor chuckled at her, but his amusement faded the moment he pulled himself from her mind completely, forcing her to do the same. She blinked as her physical surroundings returned to her, suddenly shivering in the cool night air. “I have to leave.” Before she could protest he dove down and gave her one more quick but thorough snog, before unlacing his fingers from her hair and using his other hand to rummage around in his pocket. Taking her right hand, he placed something in her palm and curled her fingers around it before whispering a, “Goodbye, Rose Tyler,” and stepping back into the estate.
Rose blinked a few times to try and clear her head, blushing furiously before opening her hand again— sitting in her palm was a sticky orange jelly baby. She frowned confusedly at it and stared where the Doctor had disappeared, just as her other Doctor called out, “Rose! There you are!”
She jumped and turned to him, trying not to look too guilty at the prospect of having just snogged a past version of him. “What?”
“You disappeared and I was worried,” he pouted, and she ignored the fluttery feeling his words brought on. “Anyway, there’s another me here!” the Doctor said brightly, beaming. “That was… well, that’s what I felt earlier. Wasn’t sure if it was just another telepath, but I sonicked the premises and picked up another TARDIS! See, look, it’s—” The Doctor pulled out his sonic, the tip of which was flashing blue, until the flashing spontaneously stopped. He frowned at it. “Oh. I guess I left. What’ve you got there?” he added suddenly, spotting the jelly baby in her hand. Rose blushed crimson as he stared at it with confusion, before his whole face lit up in shock and remembrance and he started to splutter. “Rose— you… we… and I… you were in my head!” the Doctor managed at last, almost like an accusation.
“You were in mine too,” she said a bit defensively, suddenly finding the jelly baby very interesting.
“Oh Rose,” he breathed out. Stepping forward, he pulled her into a gentle but frantic hug, pressing his forehead against hers. “Can I do it again?”
She breathed out a sigh of relief — he wasn’t upset — and nodded eagerly. He let out something that sounded like a desperate whine, placed his fingers at her temples, like he had five minutes and several hundred years ago, and surged into her mind. Rose gripped his shoulders and reciprocated at once, spilling herself into his vast Time Lord mind so that every empty nook and cranny was filled with her presence, soaking his mind with her claim and hers with his, and they both let out concurrent groans, the Doctor’s the loudest. He emulated his past self and crushed his mouth against hers, backing her up against the wall so he could grind his hips against hers.
Rose, he moaned in her head, when she bit down lightly on his lower lip. “TARDIS. Now,” he demanded aloud, and she could see his eyes were nearly black as he pulled away reluctantly from her mind, took her hand and led her away from the estate.
“It’s rude to leave before the party’s over,” Rose pointed out breathlessly, although she didn’t really mean it.
“That’s me, rude and not ginger,” he said, as he tugged her in the direction of the TARDIS. “And I’m even more not ginger right now, Rose Tyler, because no matter what anyone says—” he squeezed her bum with his other hand, making her squeak, “— I’m getting you to the TARDIS and tearing that dress off of you.”
She flushed with delight (and something else) and, grasping his hand tightly, the two of them took off running towards the TARDIS.