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After a hasty conversation followed by a dismissive bleep, Rose shoves her mobile phone back to her pocket.
”Looks like my Mum’s mad at me.”
”There’s a time when she’s not mad at someone?” The Doctor doesn’t even lift his head. He’s busy recalibrating the internal pressure indicators so the alarms would stop going bonkers at every other takeoff. It’s not like the ear-splitting howling helps when they’re past the safety limit either way.
”You’re only judging because you’re on the permanent blacklist,” Rose says with a grin.
”Along with?”
”The neighbour’s manic mastiff, diet bars, and one unlucky weatherman.”
”Good company, then.”
”This time it’s birthdays, though. Mine apparently just went past.”
”Oh, really? Congratulations!” The Doctor pauses his tinkering. ”Or wait, is it? Are you still in the age gap where birthdays are a good thing?”
”Watch it! How old do you think I am, fifty?”
”Don’t tell me you remember the time window of age sensitivity issues for every species of ape that has lived or will ever live in this universe.”
”Age sensitivity issues? A bit rich coming from the 900-years-old.”
She gets only a vexed buzz from the sonic screwdriver for a reply.
“Getting sensitive already, grandpa?” Rose jests.
”Why would Jackie be mad about your birthday?”
”Changing the subject, I see,” Rose chuckles. “Oh, she’d just thought I’d come over. Wanted to throw a party. She got me a present and everything. And from the sound of it, more confetti than anyone over the age of ten should even think about.”
”If it was that important,” the Doctor says slowly, unsure of how seriously he should take her, “you should’ve given me the date. I could’ve dropped you off.”
”It’s not that, it’s—I didn’t think it was possible to, y’know, miss a date, living in a time machine.”
The Doctor’s frowning face pops up from the hole in the floor grid. ”Is that a challenge to my piloting skills?”
”Again with your bigger-from-the-inside ego,” Rose laughs. “No, I was honestly just wondering how this all works.” She pats the TARDIS console, clearing away the frown from the Doctor’s brow.
”It’s your mobile’s fault, actually,” he starts, and quickly shifts to what Rose calls his explaining voice. “You see, there’s always a connection between a time traveler and their linear timeline of origin. Think of it as nature’s intrinsic rejection of the twin paradox. Usually it can be bypassed with a good enough time ship,” he gives a proud tap to the machinery he’s been working on, ”but the jiggery pokery in your phone brings the two timelines closer together, enforcing their relation. Each time you call your mom you’re effectively fixing the order of events for good, like putting down an anchor. And of course the amount of chronological displacement is relative to—”
”Okay, okay, Mister Attorney-at-Laws-of-Time, you can stop already,” Rose says, corner of her mouth twitching. ”Mum’s just going nuts over small stuff, like she always is. ‘It’s a time machine, don’t you think you could get me a schedule?’ I’m gonna tell her that it’s a bit more complicated.”
”Not complicated, just not uncomplicated enough for Jackie’s little head.”
“Want me to explain it with that exact quote?”
“Meh, she’d know it came from me.” The Doctor climbs up from under the console and looks at his work, satisfied. Rose sees a jumble of cables as chaotic as when he’d started, if not more. “Anyway, just in case you’re still mulling over that party of yours,” the Doctor says, “I can confirm that there isn’t enough confetti in the world to compete with yesterday’s supernova. Your world, at least. Not sure about Altais IV.”
Rose laughs. ”Yeah, birthdays are just birthdays. Although it feels weird to think that I missed mine because I was sightseeing on a space station. I’ve always celebrated my birthday with Mum before.”
”What’s the big deal? Your home planet went a full circle around its star and you weren’t standing on it for the whole run?” The Doctor stops to consider. ”To be fair, putting it like that it does sound like a perfectly valid reason for celebration. For a first-timer.”
”How about we go to your Altais for that, then?”
”Altais IV. Altais is the star,” the Doctor corrects and closes the open floor grid with a loud clang. ”Why not? The Great Coronation Carnivals of the late Gemman dynasty. Maybe the second-last emperor—the last has some serious qualms with me. You’d better watch your step, though. Their definition of confetti might feel a bit exotic to outworlders...”