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Rose sighs and looks at the flight departure screen. Three bloody hours. All she wants to do is get the hell out of Paris and away from the wanker Adam who stood her up on what was supposed to be a romantic weekend after months of getting to know each other online. Blinking back tears, she pulls her mobile out of her pocket and sends a quick message to Mickey.
Rose: flight delayed, gonna be 3 hours late. flight gets into stansted at 1143. can you still get me? after this shit, don’t feel like dealing with blokes on the train
Mickey: sure thing, babe. martha’s got early shift tomorrow so she won’t be with
Rose: thanks
Mickey: np, just lmk if the time changes again
With another loud sigh, Rose slips her mobile into her purse and stands in the middle of the crowded corridor attempting to school her features into some sort of emotionless mask.
But jokes on her. She’s never been good at that. Wears her heart on her sleeve, her mum always says.
Wiping away the one irritating tear that refuses to obey her orders, Rose grabs the handle of her roller bag and heads to the loo. After taking care of business, she heads to the open common area with a variety of shops and cafes she’d walked past earlier on her way to her gate. It’ll be a good place to people watch and pass the time.
Rose settles into a long line of seats facing the main corridor and spends a few minutes walking frazzled travelers before pulling out her mobile. Out of more habit than anything else, she opens up the Bumble app and finds Adam’s profile. She stares at his picture for a brief moment before deleting him from both her interest history and messages and then toggles out of the app for a moment to delete his contact information.
Feeling unexpectedly refreshed, Rose returns to the Bumble app out of sheer boredom. She hadn’t brought anything to read, because she didn’t think she’d have any free time this weekend. Her mate Shareen in mind, she swipes left through a variety of blokes, looking for someone her friend can bring as a date to Mickey’s wedding in a few weeks.
Nope, nope, nope… Hmm, a bit fit but– ah– uni professor.
Rose snorts, imagining Shareen with a professor, then flicks the image away.
“Ouch, hard no for that one?” a voice asks from behind her, and Rose jumps, squeaking sharply as she drops her mobile in her lap. “Oh, sorry! Didn’t mean to startle you.”
Rose turns around and comes face to face with the bloke she’d just swiped past: James, or something like that. Jaw dropping open in surprise, she stares for a moment.
Oh, he’s even more sexy in real life.
The bloke tugs sheepishly on an ear and tilts his head to the side. “Hang on, why am I on your mobile?”
Eyes widening in surprise, Rose looks from the bloke to her mobile and back again. “Uh, I was on Bumble.”
The bloke looks nonplussed.
Rose sighs. “You know, the dating app? Sorta like Tinder?”
“Ah, nope. Still not tracking,” the bloke says, shaking his head. He walks around the cluster of seats and plops down next to her without asking.
Rose picks up her mobile and hopes the app is still on the next person so she can backtrack. When she’s allowed back to the bloke’s profile, she holds up her mobile and shows him.
“What am I doing on there?!” he exclaims, using a long, slender finger to scroll up to see his entire profile.
Rose swallows, momentarily distracted by his hands.
“I don’t know. Didn’t you sign up for the app?” she asks. “Is that you?”
“Of course it’s me. There’s only one me in the entire universe. I’m a bit impressive.”
“Right…” Rose finds herself torn between amused interest and an intense desire to bolt away as fast as she can. As she’s not getting ‘creepy dude’ vibes from the bloke, she decides to humor him and his casual arrogance for a while. “Well, Mr. Impressive, maybe a friend signed you up. Have any friends who might do that?”
Understanding dawns on his face and he returns his attention to study his profile. “‘Professor of Theoretical Physics and Astronomy.’ Hmm, okay, at least he got that right. ‘Likes Sunday tea and pleasing Mums.’” The bloke makes a scoffing nose. “Rubbish. Oh, and get a load of this. ‘Enjoys pears and cats and long periods of awkward silence.’ This is outrageous. Pears. Vile fruits, an abomination of nature.”
Despite herself, Rose giggles and steals her mobile back to look for herself. Underneath the descriptions are several more pictures of the bloke. In one, he’s wearing a fake Hawaiian lei and a cowboy hat, in another, an orange space suit, and in the final one, a blue t-shirt that says, “I’m the Doctor.”
“What’d pears ever do to you?” she asks as she swipes right to express interest in the bloke. She’s more than a little intrigued and doesn’t want to lose his profile in case he needs to examine it for more information.
“Genuine trauma,” he says. “Trust me, you don’t want to know.”
“I’m Rose. Rose Tyler,” she says suddenly, extending her hand and inwardly cringing that she let some random nutter know her last name.
“Nice to meet you, Rose, I’m the Doctor.” At her look of confusion, he clarifies. “Wellll, my name is actually James Noble, but everyone calls me the Doctor.”
“Are you, actually? A doctor?”
“I’m the Doctor. And yes, I am a doctor. Technically. I have PhDs in physics and astronomy.” He smiles brilliantly, as if this is the explanation for his impressiveness, and Rose is momentarily distracted by his smile.
Oh no.
“Well, nice to meet you, Doctor,” she says, drawing out the syllables in his name.
He preens slightly, puffing out his chest, and she rolls her eyes. Blokes. They’re all the same.
“And you, Rose Tyler,” he replies, wrapping his tongue around her name, and Rose blushes.
He grins at her, as though he knows exactly what he’s doing – damn, he is impressive – and grabs her phone out of her hand.
“Oi,” she gripes.
“Now, Rose, it’s time to return to the mystery of my dating profile. It has to be Jack. Jack Harkness is the only one who’d do something like this. He’s always meddling in my dating life… or lack thereof.” The Doctor sighs with the exasperated affection one has for a nosy friend who doesn’t quite know when to stop. “But he usually ends up with the ones he does find for me.”
Rose snorts. “Charming. What a mate.”
“Oh, he’s the best. Mind you, he’ll shag anyone who’s a legal adult and fully consenting, but other than that, I’ve never had a more loyal friend. Welllll, there’s Donna, but she’s my cousin, so I’m not sure if she counts.”
Rose smirks at the Doctor, amused by his constant stream of babble.
“So, Doctor, what brought you to Paris?” As soon as she asks the question, she cringes, realizing such questioning might lead the same to be asked of her.
The Doctor’s animated face falls, and he tugs on an ear once more. “Ah, well, I had a date, actually. Turns out, I was a mere pawn in her scheme to get back with her ex.” He shrugs and taps his fingers on his leg.
Rose gawks at the Doctor, unable to keep the shock off her face.
When he looks back at her, he hesitates for a moment. “Why? Why are you here?” he asks.
Considering his honesty, she decides to answer truthfully. “I had a date, too. He stood me up, bloody wanker.”
“Stood you up?” the Doctor asks, as though he can’t imagine such a thing possible.
Rose flushes in shame. “Thought I knew him, yeah, but…” She shrugs, even though the sting of being stood up still hurts. “Better off without ‘im.” Meeting the Doctor’s concerned gaze, she huffs out a humorless laugh. “Bloody France, yeah? Thought it was supposed to be romantic.”
The Doctor’s mouth twitches as though he’s attempting to fight a smile. “How about this, Rose Tyler? When we get back to London – I’m hoping you’re going to London – let’s make plans for a do-over of this weekend.”
Biting her lip, Rose searches his face for any sign that he’s having her on, and then, with a sly smile, she asks, “Are you asking me on a date?”
The Doctor’s face flushes adorably. “Er, wasn’t it obvious?”
Rose smirks, deciding to give him a pass. “Chips. I know a place. It’ll be our first date.”
“Chips! Brilliant.” The Doctor’s eyes widen in surprise, as if he just now registers her acceptance. “Really? And first date? As in, you think there will be more dates?”
It’s Rose’s turn to blush – again – as the cocky git smiles brilliantly in obvious delight.
Remembering her initial split second assessment of the Doctor, she now recognizes how much he’s exactly her type. Tall and lanky in a pinstriped suit that hugs him nicely around the arse, and the suit is paired with a ridiculous pair of ratty Converse. His brown hair is gorgeous, and she already longs to run her fingers through it.
But that’s getting a wee bit ahead of herself.
“How’d you know I’m from London?” she asks, desperate to move her mind away from her desire to devour the Doctor whole.
“I saw you near our gate earlier when they announced the delay.”
Rose nods. “Makes sense.”
A comfortable silence descends between them for a few minutes, and just as Rose is about to ask the Doctor if he wants to browse some shops with her, he leans into her space and whispers in her ear, causing goosebumps to rise on her arms.
“Rose,” he says, nodding toward an older woman wearing an outrageous fur coat and gaudy sunglasses, clacking away on the floor in sky-high Christian Louboutin pumps. “What do you think?”
Brows furrowed, she glances at the Doctor in confusion. “What?”
“A spy? Nahhhh. The sunglasses give her away. A pastry chef? No, look at her shoes. Not practical. Oh, I have got it.” The Doctor pauses for dramatic effect. “What if… she’s an alien? A… plasmavore. Taking on a human appearance while hiding on earth after murdering the child princess of Patrival Regency Nine.”
Rose blinks. “Right, she’s obviously an alien.”
The Doctor nods enthusiastically and points out another suspicious looking traveler to deconstruct. Within minutes, Rose is wiping away tears of laughter as they take their people-watching game to the next level.
It’s not how she expected to spend her three hour delay, but as Rose admires that way the Doctor’s eyes sparkle with glee and the way his laugh lines crease his face, she wouldn’t have it any other way.
Four days later, the Doctor sticks his hand in his pocket to pay for chips, and his blood runs cold in his veins.
“Uh, Rose?” He tugs sheepishly on an earlobe. “I forgot my wallet.”
Much to his dismay, it takes approximately 0.0343 seconds for Rose to roll her eyes and smirk at him.
“What sort of date are you? Come on then, tightwad. Chips are on me,” Rose says, grabbing his hand and pulling him to the counter.