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“All of time and space, and you pick 21st-Century Amsterdam,” the Doctor griped as Rose practically skipped into the console room, adorned in a flowery sundress that made the Doctor’s breath catch as the skirt flared out behind her.
She had begged and pleaded for this trip all of last week, and the Doctor had been rather proud of himself at how long he’d resisted (approximately forty-seven seconds) before caving in. Of course, they’d crash landed somewhere else the next day and got caught up trying to stop an assassination attempt on that planet’s royals, and last night had been their first night back on the TARDIS. Rose had looked like she’d wanted to beg to go right away anyways, but she’d been dead on her feet and the Doctor had guided her, chuckling, straight to the warm comfort of her bed.
When she woke up unusually cheerful this morning, the Doctor knew he had no choice. He’d always been rather helpless to resist her (hence forty-seven seconds being his current record time), and there was no way in Hades that he’d say no to anything that had the power to put such a radiant smile on her face even before her first cup of tea.
“Oi, 21st-Century Earth has still got some good stops, you know,” Rose said brightly. “I’ve wanted to see Amsterdam ever since I was a little girl and Shareen’s cousin bragged for a full week about her vacation there.”
“Well, not to brag, but I think we can do better than Shareen’s cousin. Remember--impressive, me,” the Doctor began to gloat, but Rose shook her head vehemently before he could finish.
“Nothing fancy or complicated,” she warned, and he looked affronted by her insistence. “With our luck, you’ll land us in the middle of some bloody revolution and get us imprisoned. Let's just have a relaxing trip to Amsterdam, my time.”
“I resent that,” he said, wagging a finger and mock-glaring at her even as he set the coordinates she requested. “What happened to ‘don’t argue with the designated driver’?”
“The designated driver arrived a year late,” Rose said dryly, and he rolled his eyes.
“Hours, months, they’re the same thing once you’re old enough,” he retorted flippantly, and Rose laughed as the TARDIS began her wheezing, groaning landing sequence.
When the ship shuddered to a stop, the Doctor threw open the doors grandly (and he most certainly did not sigh in relief when his initial quick peek confirmed he’d gotten the landing right) and gestured to Rose to lead the way.
“After you, Rose Tyler,” he said, the size of his grin practically splitting his face in two.
She beamed, skipping over to him and kissing his cheek and hopefully not hearing the way his pounding hearts stuttered at the contact.
“Thank you,” she said giddily, snatching up his hand, and he let her lead him out of the TARDIS and onto the cobblestone street.
Privately, the Doctor didn’t see what was so entrancing about Amsterdam. Want to see some canals? No place better than Venice, the planet, in the year 20074-b. Want to see cobblestone streets and charming townhouses? Well, they could’ve easily gone back into London’s past for that. But Rose’s very being was emanating elation and contentment with every step they took, and he thought then that maybe the setting wasn’t what mattered.
It was by all accounts the most domestic day of this incarnation’s life so far, and the Doctor was floored by how much he didn’t hate it. He and Rose had breakfast and tea at a little shop advertising the “world’s best banana bread” (which it might’ve been, depending on how one defined “world,” but either way: the Doctor found out that he loved a little shop) and walked along the canals. A street vendor teasingly heckled the Doctor into buying flowers for “his lovely lady,” which had him flushing an interesting shade of crimson while Rose laughed so hard that she nearly cried, but the humiliation was rather worth it to see the soft expression on her face when he’d presented them to her with an exaggerated flourish.
They were still strolling now (once they’d rounded the corner, the Doctor had slid the bouquet into his bigger-on-the-inside pockets so that she could take his hand again) when Rose tugged him to a stop, looking hopefully in the direction of an appallingly touristy shop. The Doctor groaned internally when he saw the cheesy t-shirts and racks of postcards, turning a pleading look on Rose in return.
“C’mon, I could get something for mum in there,” Rose said excitedly. “Just a postcard or two, or maybe a snow globe.”
“Rose, we travel through all of time and space,” he reminded her incredulously. “We met Dickens in your first week on board. Last week we were on a space station three galaxies away. Just yesterday you were a guest of honor at a royal banquet on a planet that won’t even exist for another three thousand years because you saved the life of the reigning monarchs. And you want to get your mum a postcard from Amsterdam?”
“Sorry, should I have picked up a postcard in between the dancing?” she asked sarcastically, rolling her eyes. “Besides, mum would probably rather have trinkets from Earth. Gives her something to show all the neighbors that are asking after me, anyway.”
“Fine,” the Doctor huffed, unable to argue with that. He supposed it was reasonable to want an excuse for being away from home for so long, and it was technically, just a tiny bit… his fault.
“Look,” Rose said, clearly trying to bite back a smile, “there’s a shop just up the way that looks like it’s full of stuff for you to tinker with, yeah?” She nodded towards a storefront up the street that did indeed seem to have a host of complex, mechanical trinkets on display. “How about you go explore for a bit and I’ll take a look ‘round the shops, and we meet up by….” Her gaze wandered away again to scan their surroundings for a good spot, and the Doctor took the moment to appreciate the pinkness that graced her cheeks and the tip of her nose and the way that tiny wisps of hair were escaping her braids to frame her face. “That cocoa stand over there,” Rose finished after a long moment, turning back to meet his eyes.
The Doctor flashed her an agreeable smile, hoping that his emotions weren’t so obviously plastered over his face the way he suspected they were.
“Thirty minutes?” he suggested, and she nodded happily at his acceptance of her plan. “Stay out of trouble. Don’t know why I bother saying it, you attract danger like a magnet,” he grumbled, and she giggled but didn’t argue. “You’ve got money? Can’t go having you rob a shop just to get Jackie Tyler a postcard of a canal.”
“Yep, the TARDIS had this on my nightstand when I woke up this morning,” Rose said, gesturing to the cross-strap purse that he’d barely noticed earlier. “S’ got a stack of Euros in the wallet, definitely enough for a souvenir or two.”
“Blimey, she really likes you,” the Doctor commented in surprise. He’d heard of his ship helping out companions with outfits from time to time, but providing them with spending money?
“Oi, don’t act so surprised,” Rose said, squeezing his hand before letting go and backing off towards the shop. “See you in a bit!”
The Doctor sighed and shook his head as Rose disappeared into the shop. He was getting soft in his old age, clearly, since he couldn’t remember the last time a companion had such a strong influence over him and his life. Or the last time his eyes had practically been glued to their face whenever they were within fifty feet of him, but that was neither here nor there.
He turned towards the shop she’d pointed out and began walking, wondering how exactly he was meant to pass thirty minutes with no trouble and, more concerningly, no Rose, when he heard a muffled sound coming from the alleyway up ahead. Quickening his pace just a bit, he wondered if perhaps he was about to get lucky and find something to occupy his mind after all.
The Doctor got a bit more than he bargained for, in that regard.
The sight of a man roughly snogging Rose, his Rose, against the brick wall made his blood boil, and he nearly roared with fury before his brain caught up with him. Some gut instinct held him back for long enough for the gears to start turning again, and even as he took another step closer his hearts sunk with two sickening realizations.
Firstly, that this wasn’t his Rose. His Rose, if he could even apply the possessive pronoun to her, was three shops down the way looking for the perfect souvenir to bring home to her mum on her next visit. His Rose was wearing a beautiful sundress and sandals, her hair braided meticulously down both shoulders. His Rose had blushed when he’d bought her flowers earlier and was meeting up with him in thirty minutes to have cocoa.
This Rose… this Rose was wearing jeans and a t-shirt with her slightly-curly hair falling loosely to her shoulders, and she was snogging the life out of a man that certainly wasn’t him without a care in the world, without even realizing that she was breaking two hearts that he’d never told her were hers.
The second realization was more of a belated sub-point to the first one, which was that she was kissing this man back. Heck, she might’ve even been kissing this man first, since he had no way of knowing which party initiated it; regardless, for all that he wanted to rip this cursed pretty boy off of his Rose (she had to be his, he didn’t know how to cope with her not being his), he couldn’t deny her any happiness. Couldn’t deny her the romance and love and human relationships that he knew deep down he would never be able to give her, even if he wished that it could be him with every fiber of his being.
He glared resentfully one last time at the lucky bastard who seemed to hold the heart of the most precious woman he’d ever met and hoped fervently that he was worthy of the privilege that he probably didn’t even realize he had. (He wasn’t worthy. There was no man in the universe worthy.) He was pretty, which wasn’t a shocker, but somehow did hurt because all the Doctor could see was the sharp contrast between this man, the type of man Rose wanted, and himself. This man was slender and lean with a riot of brown hair, dressed in a quirky pinstriped suit and, to the Doctor’s disgust, a pair of off-white trainers that screamed “unconventional and nerdy” in a manner that made the Doctor scoff. He was the bloody king of “nerdy,” thank you very much, and he could probably convince Merriam and Webster to print his picture next to the definition of “unconventional” if he visited them and regaled them with a few of the more eccentric stories of his life.
Rassilon, the envy was coursing through him like a wildfire, and the Doctor felt like he was burning up.
He couldn’t have said what happened next; all he knew was that his feet carried him away from that alleyway, somehow, but the sight never really left his mind. His mind played the kiss back for him over and over on a constant loop, and it was all he could do not to march back into that alleyway, drag that man over to the canal, and dump him rather unceremoniously into the water below.
He didn’t bloody deserve her.
Neither do you, that same voice inside of him whispered, but he ignored it in the shadow of his burning rage.
“Doctor?”
The Doctor jerked upright, ripping himself from his thoughts, and Rose’s concerned face blinked into existence before him.
“Rose,” he said roughly, swallowing hard and memorizing her sweet, youthful face, wondering with a sharp pain how long he had before she left him.
“Doctor, you alright?” she asked worriedly. “We were supposed to meet fifteen minutes ago, at that stand a couple blocks back.”
“Sorry,” he said gruffly, before clearing his throat and fighting to adopt a more casual tone so that she’d stop asking questions and just leave him be. “Must’ve lost track of time, me.”
“A Time Lord losing track of time?” Rose joked, and he forced a smile in return so as not to worry her even further. “Your people should’ve found themselves a different name.”
“Sure, but it wouldn’t have been nearly as pompous, and then they wouldn’t have been nearly as pleased with themselves,” he quipped tightly, allowing Rose to gently tug him up from the bench (When had he sat down? How had he even gotten here?) and lead him back down the street. “Really, Rose, I am sorry. I’ll buy you a hot cocoa to make it up to you.”
“Was counting on it,” she teased, twining their fingers together and leaning into his arm as they walked. “Bit chilly out, could use the warmth.”
“Hang on,” the Doctor frowned, letting go of their hands to tug his leather jacket from his shoulders before helping Rose into his coat. “There, that should do it. Can’t have you catching a cold with your silly human immune system.”
“Thanks,” she said, blushing prettily, and the Doctor tried to memorize the sight of her. Something primal in him roared with victory at seeing her in his clothes, wanted to parade her around the city and yell mineminemine until that pretty boy he’d seen got the message. It was embarrassing, really, how affected he was by her, especially now knowing that nothing would ever come of it.
“Anytime,” he said, setting off again and shoving his hands deep into his pockets before she could reach for him this time. He ached to lace his fingers through hers, to feel her pulse pounding against his, but he’d just seen how pointless it was to let himself fall. Best not. Best protect his hearts as much as he could, and hope to hell that he didn’t shatter when the time came to say goodbye.
Of course, that implied that he was in complete control of their situation and their closeness, and he really should’ve known better than to underestimate Rose Tyler in any capacity. Undeterred by his stiff manner, she simply looped her arm around his elbow, effectively making his hearts beat at double time, and leaned back into him once more.
“You can’t fool me, you know,” she told him conversationally, and a wry smile grew on his face before he could stop it. Oh, how he knew. “Something’s bothering you. I can see it.”
“Just a bit lost in my big ole’ head, me,” the Doctor answered evasively, and he was both relieved and disappointed when she nodded in acceptance.
“You don’t have to tell me,” she said gently. “I just… if you did want to talk about it, I’m here. Better with two, you know.”
“So I’ve been told,” he smiled, surprised to feel that it was genuine despite his sour mood.
“Must’ve been a smart woman. You should buy her a drink.”
“Oh, I plan to,” he assured her. “Heard there’s hot cocoa on sale.”
“God, you’re still a cheap date, then,” she laughed, and he closed his eyes at the lovely sound, swallowing hard at the word “date” and feeling not dissimilar to a silly human boy trying to take his crush out for a quick bite.
Yeah, if only.
He’d never been more terrified after a regeneration.
He could never, ever regret it. Not when giving up his life meant saving Rose. But he’d been an absolute idiot, not warning her about the process, and his panic had caused him to bungle the only opportunity he’d had to explain things to her just before the change.
Rassilon, he was so stupid, and she’d asked him to change back and he couldn’t, and she’d looked so terrified of him, looked at him like a stranger, an enemy, and part of him wished he would’ve just stayed dead for once. Another part of him was back in Amsterdam, hearts breaking as he watched Rose kiss a stranger, and he wondered if this was the thing that drove her to leave.
It was the most painful kind of irony, wondering if he lost her by saving her.
Of course, he wasn’t about to give up without a fight--no, Rose was all he had aside from the TARDIS, and (as Harkness had said), she was worth fighting for. Timelines be damned.
She’d given him reason to hope, at least, and that tiny little spark had kept him going all day. She’d woken him early by asking him to help and slipping the sonic into his hands, and even if her actions were out of sheer desperation he prayed to every deity he didn’t believe in (and then to her, who he did believe in, eternally) that it meant that she still saw something of his old self in him. Still trusted him to save her, still believed he would be the Doctor.
And she’d blushed when he’d asked if he was sexy. Hopefully that counted for something, though Rassilon knew she hadn’t liked him for his looks before.
He still couldn’t believe quite how spectacularly he’d messed this up.
Still, though, she’d called him “the Doctor” and helped him into his robe (an action that, upon reflection, he’d rather liked--perhaps he ought to consider that when he dipped off to the wardrobe room later, he could grab a nice coat… assuming Rose even wanted to stay with him, that is--hell, he was getting quite ahead of himself--) and expected him to show up for Christmas Eve dinner, so really… well, he wasn’t about to lose hope. Not yet.
He tried not to drag his feet too much as he trudged back to the TARDIS, acutely aware that Rose was up in Jackie’s apartment already and not following him and that was okay because he was joining her later, and she hadn’t given any indication that she was leaving him--not yet.
Because that’s what it would be: her leaving him. The other way around was simply impossible.
The TARDIS hummed in greeting when he entered, and he swallowed hard and patted one of the coral struts as he made his way to the wardrobe room to pick out an outfit.
“Right, guess I better see what we’re working with,” he muttered nervously to himself, hoping beyond hope that he was someone that Rose would like, inside and out, and feeling utterly sick at the thought that he might not be.
A single glance in the mirror stopped him in his tracks.
Stopped both of his hearts, in fact, because he knew that face. He’d only seen it in his mind’s eye every single day since he’d seen it snogging one Rose Tyler against a wall in Amsterdam on what otherwise would’ve been one of the best days of his life. And blimey, maybe it was now. And would be twice over.
Holy fucking shit.
Well. At least he knew to go find himself a dashing pinstriped suit and those brilliant chucks; his old last had been silly and overly critical. The combination looked good, and clearly Rose liked it.
And maybe, just maybe, he’d add a coat.