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After finishing her breakfast, Jackie Tyler began her routine house work. Under normal circumstances, she would settle down on the sofa for Good Morning programmes and check her clientele list for the day. But there was a blue police box parked in the middle of the living room that blocked the view of the television from every seat. Of course, its presence also meant she had, had to cancel all her hair appointments, until she found an excuse that would not have had her sent to the loony bin.
He had apologised about the TARDIS landing, the way that all men do. He said something about meaning to park it on the greens next to the estate, but she ~his ship was apparently alive~ had been through a lot, and then he had gone off on one (typical, blame it on the woman). Rose had been brought back safely though, if a little upset by their recent adventure. It must have been big, given Rose usually glossed over the parts where Jackie knew - maternal instinct was better than any twenty three senses – they had been in grave danger.
Jackie began her round of the flat in the dining room. A full length fawn overcoat had been abandoned over the back of the chair closest to the kitchen. It smelt like Rose. Odd, the Doctor was usually careful not to make his presence felt in the flat, save for the mountain of empty tea cups that appeared outside the blue doors. She collected it without breaking stride to the kitchen, stuffed it in the washing machine and began collecting up crockery for the washing up. Wait, was that... finger marks in the jam?! It was a good job the Doctor had hidden away in that ship of his; he may have a pretty face now, but she was not above marking this one with her palm, either.
The familiar sound of an opening door and foot patter towards the bathroom quelled Jackie’s temper. She auto piloted into Rose’s bedroom to check for dirty laundry. All of time and space and Rose still hadn't changed her cleaning habits. Finding a pile between her bed and dresser she scooped it up into her arms, discovering more cups underneath, a pair. Reaching down and cursing her ageing hips, the remaining contents of one cup nearly spilled onto a long, cerise coloured box that had fallen behind the dresser. Jackie stopped, caught in memories that felt like a lifetime ago. She smiled and added it to the cradled pile of things to sort out.
“Rose, sweetheart,” she called out, walking passed the bathroom door to the kitchen. “Let me know when you want the peroxide for your roots, alright? Plenty spare, what with slow trade ‘n all that” A muffled agreement filtered though the sound of running water, along with a request for a large, toasted bacon sandwich. Jackie chuckled slightly. It was good Rose had found her appetite, although she was sure between the pair of them she would be eaten out of house and home.
~~~~~~~~~~
Two girls sat on a bright purple bedroom carpet littered with wrapping paper, birthday cards and gifts. Rose had been denied opening them until after school by her Mum, and denied again when Shareen insisted on being present, which had turned into a sleepover, what with teacher training the following day. Taking a sip from her very hot chocolate, Rose lifted off her haunches in search of space to put her cup. She decided on settling it atop her sticker strewn music centre, which played sounds of the millennium. Picking up her hair brush, Rose self consciously smoothed down her ever shrinking flannel pyjamas, before she rested again and began brushing her brown hair.
“Do you think Fragma will still be top of the charts?” Shareen asked, flicking through the latest issue of Just Seventeen. Spotting a column about new releases, her head snapped up, excited. “I can’t wait for Britney Spears to release her new single!” Rose mimed oops! I did it again into her brush, while Shareen shadowed the dancing style, causing a fit of girly giggles. “Costs a fortune, mind,” Shareen frowned, picking up a pink box containing an ornate glass rose.
“I can get Mickey to download it, if you want,” Rose suggested, blushing a little. “He’s good with computers,” she added quickly. Her eyes reaching the hair dyeing kit, “I’m so glad Mum’s finally gonna dye my hair,” she tried to change the subject.
Shareen looked at the delicate object in her hands, then at Rose’s composure. “Just remember,” she said with a wicked smile, “men are like roses - watch out for the pricks!” Another fit of giggles ensued, prompting Rose’s Mum to appear around the door frame to quieten her little girl, again. It was going to be a long night.
~~~~~~~~~~
The Doctor was lying on his back tinkering with the rotor of the TARDIS, sonic screwdriver caught between his teeth. The deeper hue told him all main systems were operational again. It would still take time for his energy to spread through her before she was fully restored. He felt a slight trembling that wasn't from his immediate surroundings, or in his stomach. Though now he thought about it, he was ravenous, bordering on ready to eat stewed boots. He wriggled out from under the console, replaced the access panel and bounced lightly on his feet, realigning his slight frame. His eyes were drawn to the monitor; the screwdriver dropped from his mouth into his open palm and his eyes bulged at the sight of Jackie Tyler, dressed in a sagging tracksuit, armed with a duster and can of polish, right outside his precious machine. The Doctor suddenly understood the quivering of the TARDIS and stroked soothingly along the rim of the control column. Being banged into by a vacuum was one thing, but this? The creature outside evidently did not grasp the current fragility of his ship against the workings of crude aerosols. There was only one thing for it.
The Doctor opened the door, just as Jackie was about to spray polish directly onto the glass. He took advantage of her shock at his pinstriped presence and plucked the can from her hand, tossed it behind him and shut the door. “Do. Not. Polish. The TARDIS,” he pressed forward, increasing the distance between her and his ship. Jackie huffed, contemplated stuffing the rag in that smart mouth of his to demonstrate exactly what she thought about his oh so beautiful TARDIS. A growl emanated from the Doctor’s stomach, and a grin matching its strength appeared on his face. An anecdote about the way to a man’s heart was through his stomach reared in her mind. The dusting cloth still seemed the more satisfying option.
Out of cleaning options, Jackie turned towards the kitchen. The Doctor idly followed her, rocking from side to side and shuffling his feet as he glanced around. Stuffing one hand into his trouser pocket, the fingers of the other flitted over the back of the chair where his much loved coat should have been. His gaze turned downwards in search but to no avail. He took in a contemplative breath; maybe Rose had taken it. She'd always taken comfort in his coats, and no-one had been allowed in the TARDIS, save for his guidance, whilst she'd been recovering. Too many random, conflicting energies and thoughts.
The smell of tannin and toast greeted him in the kitchen, and he was presented with a full cup and a plate on a cerise box. Judging by the strong grip holding the plate and box together, he assumed they were all for him. The stern look on Jackie’s face, which emulated his earlier one in defence of his ship, made him hesitate in receiving them, despite his hunger. “ ’Ere, happy un-birthday; you must have had one, the time you’ve been coming around 'ere.” The Doctor was a little surprised, and was about to launch into a soliloquy on the infrequency of life celebration events for beings that lived millennia, but reigned in his tongue. “I know you think Rose is brave and adventurous ‘n all that,” Jackie began again with her grating London accent. His hunger waned, “but underneath it all, she’s still my only girl, an’ she’s fragile.” Her face softened a little, as she implored, “You said you’d always bring her back to me safe; don’t break her.” The Doctor’s face was unreadable as he took her offerings. She had not expected any different, but a small nod would have been nice, showing it had registered as important. He lifted the plate to his face and began nibbling the toast. “Anyway, we’re out of milk, so I’m off down the shops,” Jackie said as she brushed past him and into the corridor. “Oh, and the washer should finish in five, ten minutes,” she called back. The Doctor brought the cup to his lips, puzzled as to why he should know that. “I couldn’t find any special washing instructions on that coat of yours, but I put it on a low heat, just in case, alright?” The front door slamming muffled the sound of tea hitting the cupboard as the Doctor spluttered in indignation.
~~~~~~~~~~
Back and forth the Doctor paced alongside the wall, the small space between the door and the fridge, never averting his gaze from the washing machine. His hair had suffered his fidgeting hands, causing it to fix in weird angles before he had jammed them into his trouser pockets. He had tried opening the door, as his coat had flailed helplessly before him. He had barely registered the delicate underwear that could only fit Rose, entwined within its turquoise satin lining, as it was pummelled by agitators. The sonic screwdriver had succeeded in removing the power, yet the machine had remained unyielding. Finally finding a foe he couldn't best, the Doctor had decided to let it run its course. Now it sat silently, mocking and taunting him to claim the settling contents, though its seal remained barred.
A blur of platinum played across his vision, stopping him abruptly in his tracks. He backed up a little to focus properly, and Rose’s face came into view. Eyes sparkling at the sight of him, skin lightly powdered, yet still unable to conceal the dark pools or faded tear tracks from his eyes. All framed by blonde hair that had died right to the roots. The Doctor felt sad at the new life having been cleaned out by peroxide. “Your hair!” Rose exclaimed, pointing at the wild, tawny tangents atop the Doctor’s head. Her other hand stifled a snorted laugh, and then hid a slight yawn. The Doctor watched Rose pass him to the kettle for a caffeine nudge, and brought one hand up to lightly scratch the back of his head. Content to observe, he hid a grin as she leaned down to the cupboard below, where the TARDIS kept the milk, and frowned at finding none.
A click punctuated the easy silence. Rose switched sides and opened the door to the washing machine, pulling the contents into the waiting basket, before rooting through the contents in search of her favourite travelling top. The Doctor stood smiling, briefly awestruck at Rose’s command of the technology, then bounded forward and extracted his valued possession. It was Rose’s turn to look up suddenly and see the Doctor holding his coat and shaking it with unrestrained relief. Playing his screwdriver over the material, he dried it without subjecting it to any more possible damage. Satisfied, he folded it over his left arm, and then reached out his right hand to her crouched form with an anticipating smile. His smile reached his eyes as she placed her hand in his, and added her own excited grin.
Rose yelped as he nearly pulled her over in his enthusiasm of lifting her up, her socks slipping on the vinyl floor. She kept his stride to the TARDIS doors, where she pulled back, creating a strain between them. He turned to give her a puzzled expression and held on tighter. The last long visit home had left them wondering if they would travel together, and their recent adventure had seen Rose running back to save the Jackie Tyler far removed. Humans and their need for goodbyes. “I need to get my bag,” she reassured, and he let her go, safe in the knowledge she would return. The Doctor placed his palm on the blue door and pressed lightly. As he walked up the ramp, he began transferring things from his trouser pockets to those of his jacket, throwing the can of polish out of the door along his way.
~~~~~~~~~~
The red and black adventure bag was already virtually packed, save for the retrieved top, as well as a noted lack of underwear. Shoes, they would be a good idea too. Rose slipped on some pre-laced trainers as she hopped to the kitchen to complete her packing and then on through the doors of the TARDIS. She was greeted with the Doctor now in full attire, turning dials on the far side of the console. He frowned slightly at the monitor.
“Is she alright?” Rose asked, placing her backpack on the rotor chair and coming to stand next to him. The Doctor continued his ministrations at the console, flicking switches, rolling globes and pressing buttons, but the crease never lifted from his brow. Rose felt a little awkward and went to hide her hands in her loose jean pockets, worrying her lower lip. Suddenly the Doctor regarded her, a grin playing at the corner of his mouth. Without breaking her gaze, he lifted one hand from her hips and gently placed it on the closest beam between console panels. The ambience in the room brightened instantly.
“She missed you,” the Doctor declared in his Scottish lilt, a winning smile briefly lighting his features, before returning his gaze to scan the monitor output. Rose had missed the TARDIS too; she rarely slept well without the background humming, lulling her to slumber. Seemingly sensing her thoughts, Rose felt a song vibrate gently through her fingertips. The Doctor softly smiled without looking up, a telepathy linking all three. “Can you hold down the transcendental signifier?” Rose looked down at the panel before her, overwhelmed at the array of controls, which were either unmarked or denoted by symbols still unknown to her. She bit her lip, partly in concentration, partly through nerves; she had only been entrusted with this a few times and did not want to disappoint him. Gingerly she reached forward to touch a button in the top left corner. His hand covered hers as he pressed into her from behind, his coat closing around her. She could feel his proud smile brush against her hair, and watched as his hand guided hers the small distance remaining. “Gentle, but firm. Remember?” His coat draped over her as the Doctor continued circling the rotor.
She remembered.
She remembered Mickey sheepishly asking her if he could hold the button instead, such a thirst for all things mechanical. She had asked the Doctor’s consent, and he gave it for another controller, the complaint lost in his enthusiastic voice reminiscing with Rose, but not momentarily from his eyes. Those eyes now paused, to look intently at her; their concern prompting her confession. “It’s just,” she faltered, “Mickey, we left…” The Doctor leant an understanding smile, his gaze holding her upright.
“As I recall it was Mr Mickey’s choice to stay behind,” he tendered. He was right, of course, but his eyes did not ridicule her, instead their depths provided warmth and strength. So, this was a traveller’s life; remembering times gone by, but living for the now. The Doctor’s life, Rose empathised. She straightened, took in a deep, life affirming breath, and let go of the button. “The old team!” he declared, with his arms outstretched. He thrust on the bicycle pump a few times, pulled the biggest lever, and with a manic, infectious grin, took the TARDIS, shuddering, into the Vortex.
~~~~~~~~~~
“So, where are we going?” Rose asked, sitting down on the jump seat and unclipping the straps on her backpack.
“Oh, I don’t know,” the Doctor said casually, strolling over to her, the attention to flight no longer necessary. He exhaled noisily, “somewhere with a huge crowd of happy people,” anything to get away from Jackie Tyler. He raked his fingers through his fringe. “How about an Elvis concert?” he sang. The contents of his jacket pockets jarred at his thigh as he bumped into the railing of the rotor platform. Rose rolled her eyes at the mention of concerts. He pulled out the long, thin cerise box. Maybe not Elvis, Jackie Tyler liked Elvis, if her ‘singing’ choices were anything to go by. He would succeed in taking Rose to a concert, eventually.
The Doctor wondered what on Earth her mother had been twittering on about, as he lifted the lid to reveal - A glass rose; simple in design, coming into full bloom. It was resting on a cushion of satin, with a faint layer of dust dulling the edges. The Doctor made no attempt at quelling his mirth, and let out a short, loud laugh in an absurd tone. “You may have noticed, but I don’t hoard things,” he announced to no-one in particular. “The wardrobe is bad enough, but that’s the TARDIS’ doing,” he continued, and the lights dimmed faintly. “What is it with women and clothing?” he teased, shrugging his shoulders.
Rose noticed the Doctor was babbling, but it was not the expected boasting about helping make Elvis famous. She tucked her hair behind her ears as she looked up, curious as to what had triggered his tangent. She found herself following his line of sight to a familiar vision, as he lifted it from its surrounds.
“You can’t have that!” Rose squeaked, jumping out of the chair, causing her bag to spill its uppermost contents. The Doctor looked up to see her headed straight for him, with a hint of desperation in her step. He broke into a mischievous grin; without ceasing to look at her, he grabbed the delicate stem and tossed the glass rose into the air.
Rose stumbled in reaching him and he steadied her at the waist. She watched open mouthed, as it twirled once before falling headfirst into the Doctor’s open hand. Rose smiled in good humour, breathing a sigh of relief. She poked him playfully in the ribs, her other hand open and expectant. The Doctor’s eyes twinkled in mock challenge, and he held the glass rose out to one side as he clutched the animated one on the other. Seeing he would not surrender, Rose tried to reach around him, failed. Biting her lip and wriggling out of his loose grasp, she hopped up and down as he used his superior height to raise the object above their heads. He shook his head, chuckling softly. She stilled, rested her palms against his chest and looked at him, pouting slightly. He had her whole and undivided attention; he mused what importance Rose invested in this relic of her past.
“Where do you want to go, Rose Tyler?” his voice was rich, deliberate. Rose gasped, as the dual coolness of the glass and the Doctor’s fingertips drew along her cheekbone. The turquoise hue of the TARDIS light shimmered in its prismatic components across the curvature of living canvas. Reflexively her eyelids fluttered closed; her head tilted to follow the twin stroke that brushed an errant strand of hair behind her ear. The resulting pleasurable shiver brought a flush of colour that peaked in her cheeks. He watched her intently from behind the usual passive set of his face, as her eyes opened. He saw them consider him, inquiring into the depths of his eyes with newfound understanding, the same childlike ardour. He would not influence her decision, his pulse uncompromising beneath her fingers as they sought direction. Even with their proximity, it was her touching him, his hand shadowing the contours of her face.
Rose regarded the Doctor with a quiet smile, which brought a shy one to his lips. She raised one hand from his chest and brought it up level with her face. She turned her head to look at his hand, its contents, and pulled them away from her. His smile weakened, though she did not see. Time seemed to deepen; even if his senses denied it. They did not deny the pull of cloth against his arm as it was lifted. He looked to his hand in revelation, as Rose pressed the glass into his yielding palm. His surprise was short lived as Rose’s unfurling, womanly smile told him her decision was never in doubt. Joy swelled in his hearts that bubbled through his lips and sparkled in his eyes. They stood leaning against each other in comfortable silence, their sensitive fingertips engaged, grinning like elopers.
It was not very often Rose found the Doctor at a loss for words. Today she got it twice in succession, as she snatched the rose from his palm, and with a wink, pushed him in the chest and bolted down the ramp. She staggered on her scattered clothes and turned around, with tongue in cheek she invited him to chase after her. He accepted, laughter resonating in his throat, and deftly leapt over the railing, his coat swooping behind him. She was headed deeper into the TARDIS, her path unruly and evasive through experience of life saving running. That, and she was nearly doubled over in hysterical laughter. The Doctor’s strides readily intercepted her, in true timing as she tripped over her own feet. Their momentum toppled them, his body and coat turning to envelop her against the grilled floor. The impact knocked the rose out of her hands. Mirth subdued, they both turned to watch it bounce once, twice. It balanced on a panel edge. Circumstance had pinned their limbs, left them unable to reach as it slipped and fell to the TARDIS’ underbelly, a place to which they had no access.
They both looked down through the floor, the TARDIS radiating golden tendrils in the glass as it sat, cocooned on the organic wiring. At least it was not broken. Rose turned to face the Doctor with good grace, her hair threading with the grills of the floor. She caught sight of his hair again, that juxtaposed her own. “Come on,” she said getting up, careful not to tread on the satin lining of his coat, “we can’t go to an Elvis concert looking like this.” He smiled warmly and took her hand as he stood up, their flesh meeting fully, as they walked towards the wardrobe.
Unknown to her charges, the TARDIS began to pull the rose closer to her heart.
~~~~~~~~~~
The vision of Rose abruptly disappeared, and he was left standing alone in the TARDIS. He had wanted to influence her, to touch her as he put into words how he felt, what she wanted to hear, but they were oceans and dead suns apart. Only a single tear that she would never see, shed from his cheek into the depths of the TARDIS, broke the silence as it splashed upon a glass surface.
***