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He eventually decided to just tell her.
Honestly, he could’ve gone on for ages deliberating between the pros and the cons and everything in between, every single consequence that could possibly come out of him confessing his feelings to one Rose Tyler. His mind must’ve worked through a few million unique scenarios over the last year and a half, and he’d finally gotten tired of it.
The penny dropped when she lost her face and then they both lost the TARDIS and then each other, when he thought he might’ve lost her: it didn’t matter how much it would hurt when he lost her, to adventure or sickness or old age or whatever it might be. He could lose her today as just her best mate or in seventy years as her bondmate and husband, and in either scenario he would be beyond devastated, crippled by excruciating pain. Given the options, he’d always, always pick the second one.
That left him, however, with an even bigger problem: how to get from point A to point B. Or rather, how to actually tell Rose Tyler that he was in love with her.
Because one couldn’t just walk right up to someone and say that, surely? No, the Doctor was certain there must be some sort of build-up, some sort of preface to the big event. It wasn’t every day one got to attempt to redefine their entire relationship with the love of their life (or in his case, lives) and ask her to be their happily-ever-after, so to speak. He knew that it must be special, but how on Earth (literally) did that work?
He kicked his feet up onto the coffee table in frustration. Jackie had dragged Rose out to the shops with her and he’d adamantly refused to go (last time, he’d nearly been arrested for trying to fix a broken register and he was not about to be pursued again for simply trying to help any more ungrateful people, thank you very much). Which would’ve been fine except for it left him alone with his thoughts, and that was the most dangerous kind of loneliness of all.
The sole of his shoe brushed against one of Jackie’s (or heck, maybe Rose’s) old discarded magazines, and he swiped it up out of bored frustration and shook it open to a page. The title of the article he first saw nearly had him toppling off the couch.
“The 5 Love Languages: How to Communicate with Your Boyfriend”
“Rubbish title,” he sniffed, now desperately curious as to which Tyler this magazine belonged to.
The Doctor quickly skimmed through the content of the article, committing the most important bits to memory as he tried to process the strange yet perfectly sensible theory on relationships—he’d never known there were so many types, that there were different “languages” that he should’ve been looking out for this whole time, and not for the first time he marveled at the complexity and creativity of human beings. Just in case, he tore out the pages of the magazine and stuffed them into his pockets--he was fairly sure neither woman would notice, and this way he would be able to refer back to them if need be.
Well, perhaps telling Rose wouldn’t be nearly as difficult as he’d thought. He’d just have to try each one to find out what “spoke to her.”
Piece of cake.
One: Quality Time Together
The goal, of course, was to not have to try all five options. If the Doctor could get this correct on the first go, he’d be saving himself a lot of time, effort, and (most importantly) stress. Ever since he’d decided that he wanted to actually do something about all of the feelings that were slowly driving him mad, he’d been in a constant bundle of nerves. The sooner he could make a move on Rose, the better.
After a careful review of his options, the Doctor had decided that “Quality Time Together” was the most likely candidate for Rose’s love language. Considering that their friendship had blossomed on the day when she had run away with him to live on his ship and that she’d spent each and every day after with him (with him!), he felt confident that this was the one.
Of course, the very evidence that he’d used to support his conclusion was also the biggest obstacle in his plan: he and Rose were effectively together all the time. They lived together, ate together, ran together, spent time in prison together… heck, occasionally they’d slept together-- only slept, when they’d fallen asleep on the couch in the library, or when they’d had to share a bed once or twice on adventures... though just the very thought of those innocent nights was still enchanting enough to bring a bit of heat to the Doctor’s cheeks.
No, he needed a new and romantic way for them to spend some time together, so the word that he focused on was “quality.” They spent a lot of time saving worlds together, or leading revolutions, or breaking each other out of prison, but none of that time was really something that he’d consider romantic (well, okay, he considered all of it to be quite romantic, but he had to think of Rose here). They even spent a fair bit of time just doing average, day-to-day exploring--they’d climbed to the peaks of towering mountains, swam in oceans of every color, picnicked in meadows of the lushest wildlife.
But that word quality, that implied status, distinction, renown, and it occurred to the Doctor that he’d never taken Rose Tyler to a leisure planet before, and he’d immediately begun to draw up the plans for their current trip and told her to pack a vacation bag. Rose had given him a strange look at that request--they’d never really left the TARDIS with the intent to stay somewhere for an extended period of time, except for the trips in which he’d taken her to visit Jackie. But even those had only lasted for a weekend at most, and she’d never needed to pack a bag.
He’d been nearly giddy with excitement when she met him in the console room, dressed in a beautiful, simple sundress that took his breath away. The TARDIS had provided her with a small luggage case to match his, and he tried not to get too ahead of himself when he saw her drop her things next to his.
“Next stop,” he announced grandly, wiggling his eyebrows at Rose and smiling broadly at her answering giggle. “Limnos 4!”
“What’s on Limnos 4?” she’d asked as they’d both clutched at the console while the TARDIS landed, eyeing his bag of luggage suspiciously. “Fancy resorts?” she added hopefully, and he’d relished in the twinkle in her eye.
“Better than that,” he promised her. “Limnos 4, sometimes just called Lymnos, is a 23rd-century leisure planet. The entire planet is dedicated to treating visitors to top-notch entertainment and relaxation facilities. When you think of your resorts in your time, you think of plain old beaches and squash courts and a nice ice cream stand, but on Lymnos… think non-gravity swimming pools, sleep-reading stations, a robot Coliseum.” With each word, Rose’s grin widened just a fraction, and he adored how quickly she’d bounded over to hug him excitedly when the TARDIS settled to a stop.
“Blimey, what’s the occasion?” Rose asked as she released him, and he’d simply hummed nonchalantly and grabbed both of their bags.
“Just thought it’d be a fun thing for us to do together,” he said casually. “Realized we haven’t been on a leisure planet before.”
“Well, I’d say it’s never too late to start,” Rose joked, and they’d eagerly set off together to enjoy their first planned vacation.
Exactly one week later, it was safe to say that nothing about their vacation had gone as planned. The first three days had been splendid--they’d hit the anti-grav pool first, which had been one of the best ideas he’d had in, likely, years. He’d gotten to see Rose in a truly spectacular bikini that had ratcheted his blood pressure up several notches the moment she’d dropped her towel, and they’d participated in a group class on synchronized swimming after Rose had gotten the hang of the anti-gravity aspects.
The next day had been the spa, where the Doctor endured several aliens ruthlessly working knots out of his back and others working on doing some strange thing to his hands and feet that he’d done his best to ignore, in all honesty--being a touch telepath meant that massages could only be so relaxing since a corner of his mind was constantly working on shielding his mind. But it was all worth it for the wonderful pleasure of seeing Rose Tyler absolutely beside herself with glee as she’d gotten the latest (literally) holographic nail designs and, in her own words, “the best full-body massage the universe had to offer.” He’d idly mused that he’d need to take her to other spas before she could make that claim, but another hard push to his shoulder had him groaning and losing his train of thought as he locked his shields down once more.
The third day had been the arcade, and he and Rose had very quickly established their dominance as the number one laser tag duo in resort history. He’d also gotten to introduce her to portal air-hockey, several spacecraft pilot simulations, and telepathic obstacle course claw machines, and she’d held his hand for the entire day.
The robot Coliseum was where it’d all gone wrong. They’d bought snacks and settled themselves into their seats only to discover five minutes in that the entire place was the base for a cyborg-trafficking operation spanning the entire galaxy, and thus the running had begun.
They’d made it all the way until day six before the traditional prison part of the adventure had caught up with them, which was technically better than he’d expected, but the Doctor was still crushed by the failure of his plan. He’d been utterly certain that this would work, but he’d failed to account for just how jeopardy-friendly the pair of them were. He should've known that an entire week of quality time could never be more than wishful thinking.
When they’d finally escaped and the Shadow Proclamation had been properly notified, Rose had clung to the Doctor’s arm and let loose a bright, happy laugh.
“Having fun there?” the Doctor asked in amusement, though in truth the sound had immediately cheered him and pushed away his rather dejected thoughts.
“Sorry, s’ just… we just saved the world on our vacation,” she cackled, and he joined her in laughing this time. “Thank you, Doctor,” she said after catching her breath. “Best vacation ever.”
“Seriously?” he asked, alarmed. “You remember that you spent a day in prison, right?”
“Well, yeah, but I was in prison with you,” she said simply as though her words weren’t stopping both of his hearts right in his chest. “Like I said, I had a great time.”
Even though they’d all but arrived at the TARDIS, the Doctor reached down to clasp her hand tightly, squeezing once in appreciation.
“Me too.”
Two: Gifts or Tokens of Affection
After the last fiasco, the Doctor figured something more simple was a smarter bet. His (admittedly lacking) knowledge of human women did include an assumption that they liked to receive gifts from romantic suitors, though, of course, it seemed like a silly, obvious thing to him--who wouldn’t enjoy receiving a gift from a suitor? Well, provided one was interested of course, but he was rather hoping that she was… well, interested. Interested. That was the goal.
And so was “obvious,” actually, so perhaps a method like this, more straightforward and direct than his last pick, was the way to go.
He couldn’t go too classic, of course--he dreaded to come across as cheesy, and he wanted to stand out. That alone immediately ruled out the easy “flowers, chocolates, jewelry” trio that seemed to be the go-to safety net for most human men. But that was okay--he wanted something that was quintessentially them, the Doctor and Rose Tyler, and he very much doubted that he would find something like that on Earth, anyway.
Of course, he couldn’t just drag Rose along to every known mall, market, and bazaar in the universe, either, or she would immediately know something was up. So he’d tried to play it cool, which went fine because he was cool (except for that time he’d accidentally landed at a marketplace during a century where nudity was the norm, and when they’d stepped outside the TARDIS he’d flushed so red that Rose hadn’t stopped laughing for the better part of an hour… but that was beside the point, really), and everything was fine except for that it took him about three weeks longer than he’d wanted to procure a nice gift.
Ironically, it did end up being jewelry, but it was non-traditional enough for him to bend his rules, and he’d made some adjustments in an attempt to really buckle down on making this a special, well-thought-out token of his affection. He’d even wrapped it rather nicely, and was proud that figuring out how to cut and tape wrapping paper had only taken him four attempts in total.
He decided to save it for a good day, and therefore ended up carrying around in his bigger-on-the-inside pockets for about another week before the opportunity presented itself. They’d just saved a young girl from a house fire while strolling aimlessly through a small town, and the family and villagers had thrown together a small party to thank them. His instinct, as always, had been to turn them down, but Rose’s face had lit up at the invitation and he’d instantly agreed to everything offered to them.
There had been music by the local band, simple games with a few of the children (including the one they’d saved), absolutely delicious food, and lively group dancing. Rose had taken to the entire thing like a fly to honey, and she’d glowed under the light of a thousand lanterns as she’d spun from one dance partner to the next, her laughter echoing loud into the night.
She’d only stopped when it became clear that even one more dance would knock her right off her feet, and the Doctor had instantly gotten up to help her to an empty table at the edge of the gathering.
“Hang on,” he told her, and then darted off to grab her a large cup of water.
“Oh, you’re my hero,” she teased, gratefully taking it and swallowing a large gulp, wiping some of the sweat from her forehead. He plopped onto the bench beside her, leaning back against the table and watching her catch her breath.
“I think you’ll find that you’re the hero today,” he said proudly, biting back the soppy urge to tell her that she was a hero every day. “You’re the one that heard that little girl’s cries for help.”
“And you’re the one that got the door open in time for us to get her, so you’re givin’ me too much of the credit,” she pointed out. The Doctor simply shook his head and smiled, knowing it was pointless to argue.
“I got you something, back on Hyspero,” he told her, wincing at the awkward non sequitur before plowing on. “I’ve been meaning to give it to you, but never quite found the right moment,” he admitted, glancing up nervously before looking back at her to gauge her expression.
Rose simply looked curious and perhaps a little stunned at the abrupt shift in subject, so he went ahead and pulled the neatly-wrapped package from his pocket.
“Here,” he said softly, offering her the gift, and she took it gently and ran her hands along the paper.
“What’s the occasion?” she asked, and he was instantly called back to his last attempt at this, when he’d announced that they were about to take their very first vacation together.
“Nothing,” he said evasively, smiling reassuringly at her raised eyebrow. “Just… just open it. I saw it and thought of you, and you’ll see why.”
She did as he asked, and laughed when she pulled the steel-blue necklace out of the gift box. The chain had two pendants attached to the bottom--a wolf and a rose.
So he’d lied a bit--he’d landed and commissioned it while she was sleeping, and then went back with her and landed a month later to pick it up. But Rose definitely didn’t need to know that.
“I thought you could add your key to it, between the charms,” he explained nervously when she didn’t say anything, simply rubbing her fingers over the charms in awe. “The chain’s nearly unbreakable--heat couldn’t melt that thing, and a chainsaw couldn’t get through it. Maybe a laser, never tried. Also, Hyspero is a planet where magic is common, so there are some protective spells on it--you’ll be well-protected from telepathic assault with this, and in a tight spot you could--”
“Doctor,” Rose breathed out, instantly cutting off his babble. “Thank you.” At last she made eye contact with him, and the tears in her eyes stole the air from his lungs.
“Of course,” he said thickly, and she threw herself into his arms. He closed his eyes and buried his face in her hair for a long moment, beyond pleased with her reaction. “Here, let’s put it on you.”
Shakily, he’d taken the necklace from her and helped her slide her TARDIS key into place before clasping it around her neck. She’d turned to face him again then, adjusting it around her neckline and seemingly trying to fight down her blush.
“How’s it look?” she asked tentatively, biting her lip and avoiding eye contact.
She jumped when he took her hand again, and desperate not to scare her off, he’d turned a bit so they were back to sitting side-by-side.
“Beautiful,” he told her softly, stroking his thumb over hers. “You look beautiful.”
Three: Acts of Service
He was sure he’d gotten it right with the last one, which is why it drove him absolutely insane when he’d had to pull the magazine pages out of his pockets to consult once more after another two weeks of absolutely nothing.
They hadn’t spoken of the necklace again, though she wore it proudly every day and it always did something funny to his hearts to see a token of his affection resting boldly on her chest. He’d waited and waited for some indication that she’d gotten his message--perhaps some more intense flirting, or more lingering hugs, or even a confrontation (for better or for worse). But instead, it was just like any other gift he’d given her--she’d thanked him, albeit more emotionally this last time, and then they’d moved on.
Come to think of it, perhaps it was the fact that he did get her gifts… well, not regularly, but not infrequently, either, that threw the last attempt off. If the act itself wasn’t unique and special, it was less likely to stand out to her as a romantic gesture. And so he found himself trying again.
He didn’t choose the next option so much as it chose him: a little over a fortnight after the village dance in their honor, Rose yawned as they read in the library and presented him with the perfect opportunity for his next attempt.
“You know, it’s been awhile since we ate a home-cooked meal. From Earth, I mean,” she said casually, and the Doctor knew her well enough to understand that this was a request to go and visit Jackie.
However, he’d immediately thought of the magazine article and was one hundred percent sure that cooking for one’s romantic interest was actually one of the specific examples listed under the “Acts of Service” subsection, and he’d get no better chance to try it out.
“Rose Tyler, your wish is my command! I can make us dinner,” he announced excitedly, hopping to his feet and trying not to laugh at the alarmed look on Rose’s face.
“Doctor, I mean this in the least offensive way possible, but can you even cook?” Rose asked skeptically. He noticed that she didn’t push about going to see her mother, which meant (to his relief) that he could likely avoid seeing Jackie Tyler for at least another few days.
“‘Course I can! Nine hundred years old, Rose Tyler, I’ve had cooking lessons several times over,” he bragged. “My fourth self won a cooking contest against a restaurant owner in Prague.” He elected not to tell her exactly what species that restaurant owner was, and what he’d fed the man to win the contest.
“Well, alright then,” Rose said, smiling at him over her book. “Blimey, if you’re that good, you should cook more often. Need any help?”
“No, no, you rest,” he insisted, backing away towards the door. “I’ve got it covered. I’ll come fetch you when it’s ready.”
Two hours and thirty seven minutes later (thanks to some state-of-the-art alien technology and a lot of brilliant 49th Century cookbooks; it would’ve taken much, much longer if he’d stayed true to Rose’s time period)... he was still absolutely not ready. He scowled irritably at the collection of failed attempts lined up along the counter: a rather crispy lasagna, a positively smoking roasted chicken, and an incredibly over-dressed salad--indeed it looked more like the dressing was the base of a soup, and the lettuce pieces were just one of the ingredients floating around inside it.
He groaned in frustration, knowing Rose would be looking for him soon. Not only would he have nothing to show for his efforts but an incredible waste of food and a lot of dirty dishes, but Rose would catch him in an outright lie. He wasn’t good at cooking, not even a little bit. (Although, to be fair, he hadn’t lied about the contest, and he simply had never tried cooking in this current body.)
He couldn’t understand just how he was so bad at cooking; it was just science, wasn’t it? And the Doctor was good at science! He was perfectly capable of carrying out proper experiments and following instructions and making sure nothing exploded--
Come to think of it, perhaps he should not have expected to be a good cook.
The TARDIS chimed to get his attention, and he pulled himself out of his thoughts for long enough to see a cookbook that had appeared on one of the few empty spots of counter left. He eagerly rushed over to find a speedy 32nd-century recipe for shepherd’s pie and chips.
“Oh, bless you, Old Girl,” the Doctor sighed, and got to work.
Thirty minutes later, he’d had the TARDIS pull an old dining room out of the archives and tidied the place up. He’d had to admit that candles felt like a little much for shepherd’s pie and a night in, but he had allowed himself to place a vase of flowers at the table alongside their meal. He had a goal to achieve, after all.
“Hey Doctor, we almost ready to eat?” Rose asked, poking her head through the door.
The Doctor jumped at her unexpected appearance, but smiled and beckoned for her to come inside. “Rose Tyler, just in time,” he said excitedly. “Come on, I just set the food down.”
The night was wonderful. The food was heavenly. The company was exquisite. And the Doctor was still frustratingly, undeniably single by the end of it.
When Rose finally left the room after a couple hours of wonderfully engaging conversation, a bit more food than either of them had really needed, and several offers to help clean up that the Doctor had vehemently refused (he could think of little else as humiliating as Rose seeing his atrocious first attempts at dinner), the Doctor had let his head fall to the table with a long groan.
At least he’d have plenty of time to scheme while he did the dishes.
Four: Physical Touch
He was running out of options, but an optimist would surely say it just meant one of the remaining love languages would be the correct one.
Quite frankly, the remaining two both terrified him, but eventually he picked “Physical Touch” and tried not to think too hard about all of the possibilities that fell under that umbrella. After all, physical touch was something that he and Rose engaged in frequently--they held hands constantly, hugged all the time, exchanged pats on shoulders, leaned on each other…. In fact, he was a little worried that anything he did would have trouble standing out.
He did, of course, know of one way he could really draw her attention, but it didn’t feel right to spring a kiss on her when he wasn’t sure if she’d accept it. The entire point of this endeavor was to find out if she’d be receptive to his advances--or even encourage her to make some of her own, if he were really lucky--and he didn’t want to ruin everything he’d worked for by jumping the gun and rushing into something they weren’t ready for.
So he’d had to come up with a new type of touching, something that was harmless and innocent in nature but also uncommon enough to stand out in her mind. When the idea finally occurred to him, he’d felt like the biggest idiot in the universe.
“Rose Tyler! Tonight, we’re going to the Yule Ball,” the Doctor informed his companion as he swept into the console room, overjoyed at his own brilliance. “So go pick a dress! Do all your… hair and face… stuff, whatever it is--”
“Hang on, like in Harry Potter?” Rose asked.
“No, not like in Harry Potter, don’t be ridiculous. More like on the planet Noel, where it snows all year long,” he said with a broad grin, and she mirrored his smile. “Now, run along, go pick out a dress! I know you want to.”
“Yeah, could you blame me? The Wardrobe Room is amazing,” Rose called on her way out, and the Doctor sighed happily when he noted a skip in her step. He was bound to get it right at some point, right?
He debated, for a bit, donning the Tuxedo of Doom. On the one hand, he knew he looked rather dashing in it, and the occasion certainly did call for a bit more of a formal look than his usual getup. On the other hand, it was the Tuxedo of Doom, and the very last thing he wanted was to run into trouble tonight.
Ultimately, his ship ended up saving him once again. As he deliberated between his two options, a charcoal grey suit with silky black lapels appeared on the jump seat, along with a dark dress shirt and black tie. He shook his head fondly at his meddling ship, stroking the console softly in thanks before gathering up the garments and heading off to change.
Unsurprisingly, he’d still beaten Rose back out to the console room, and after landing them and double-checking his accuracy, he’d settled down on the jump seat to wait. Ordinarily he would’ve been knocking at her door, begging her to hurry lest they lose precious time (she always pointed out, rather rudely in his opinion, that he had a time machine and they were far more likely to lose precious time to his bad driving than to her getting dressed properly), but he forced himself to be patient this time and let her take her time. The entire night was for her, after all, and he wanted her to be nothing but happy during every last moment.
He looked up to the sound of heels clicking in the hallway, and his jaw practically hit the floor when Rose walked in.
The gown she’d chosen was made entirely of a shimmering silver fabric that fell all the way to the floor, but pinched in at the waist where stunning appliques shaped into silver leaves twisted around the bodice of the dress. The deep v-neck revealed a tantalizing view of her chest and collarbones, though a sheer fabric dotted with rhinestones connected the bulk of the dress to a matching silver collar that circled her neck. His eyes trailed up to her face next, lingering over her perfectly done make-up to the loose curls that framed her face while the rest of her hair was pinned up.
“Oh my god, you actually dressed up!” Rose exclaimed, and he jumped, having completely forgotten that the TARDIS had given him a change of clothes for this--clothes that seemed to be a suspiciously good color match for the dress Rose had chosen.
“Yes, well, it seemed to be a good idea, given the occasion,” he sniffed, and it was only when he inhaled deeply that he realized he’d scarcely been breathing as he’d drunk in the full effect of Rose Tyler dressed for a ball. “And might I say you look particularly lovely tonight?” he added with a smile, shoving his hands into his pockets as she blushed and gave a joking twirl at his words. He swallowed hard when he saw that the back of the dress was done up with corset lacing all the way down, trying to stop his imagination from picturing just what it would be like to--
“The TARDIS found it for me. It was too beautiful to resist,” she sighed, oblivious to the way his mind was positively screaming so are you! back at her. “I feel like a princess.”
“Well then, Princess Rose,” he grinned, offering her his arm. “Would you care to accompany me to the ball tonight?”
“I’d love to,” she replied, mimicking a disgustingly posh accent, and the pair of them exited the TARDIS giggling like children.
It was quite difficult, but with a lot of effort and no small amount of rudeness and broken customs, the Doctor managed to effectively monopolize Rose’s dance card for the evening. When Rose had raised an eyebrow at his unusually possessive behavior, he’d shrugged and scratched at his neck, opting to fib a bit again in order to save himself some embarrassment.
“Dancing is a precursor to courtship here,” he told her, pulling her in closer and whirling them across the floor. If he were clever, perhaps he could get two birds with one stone here. “I’d hate to get you trapped into an alien courtship ritual because you danced with some alien bloke all night.”
“My hero,” she said with an affectionate eye roll, reminding him of the night he’d given her her favorite necklace. It wasn’t on her tonight, though he could hardly blame her--beautiful as it was, it hardly matched any of the ballroom attire that the TARDIS had been collecting over the years.
“It’s my pleasure,” he replied with a wink.
And it was: Rose would be in his arms for the entire rest of the evening. He was rather clever for thinking of this one, really--dancing allowed him a combination of several of their usual touches, so everything was nice and familiar while simultaneously new and exciting. One pair of their hands was clasped tight, fingers laced together (the Doctor hadn’t had the heart to tell Rose that their grip wasn’t exactly proper; instead, he’d simply smiled and allowed himself to enjoy the feeling), while their other pair of arms were wrapped around each other in a manner reminiscent of a tender hug.
During the slower songs, he even allowed himself to get a bit more daring. He’d pull her closer so that their bodies were flush, or lean his forehead down to rest gently against hers as they rocked to the rhythm of the alien ballads. He had so much adrenaline building up due to their hearts-stopping proximity that he felt breathlessly supercharged by the end of the night, filled with boundless electricity and excitement and enthusiasm that he was itching to let loose.
They walked around the gardens at the end of the night when the ball was beginning to wind down, him to burn off some of his excess energy and her to catch some cool, fresh air.
“Did you have a nice night?” he asked tentatively, trying not to sound like he’s fishing but also desperate for some sort of validation or confirmation that he’d finally succeeded.
“It was perfect,” she smiled, squeezing his hand, and he tried to memorize the way her cheeks glowed with joy and contentment. “Really, Doctor, it might be the best night of my life. ‘S like a fairy tale.”
“Good,” he said, swallowing when his voice came out a little rough. “You deserve fairytale nights, Rose. I--”
He was cut off by a loud boom followed by desperate screams.
“Well, what’s a fairy tale without the adventure?” Rose asked wryly, and he wasn’t sure whether to laugh or moan.
“You know, I kind of thought we’d covered that part before,” he muttered as they started to jog back towards the ballroom. “About a hundred times over.”
“Oh, hush, you love bein’ people’s knight in shining armor,” Rose scoffed. The Doctor rolled his eyes and slid his hand into hers as they rounded the corner and then picked up the pace, grinning as she shrieked with laughter as he pulled her along.
“Depends on who the damsel is!”
Five: Words of Affirmation
He’d been hoping--rather desperately, actually--that it wouldn’t come to this.
There were few things more frightening to him than the phrase “Words of Affirmation” staring back at him from the magazine page. This was his only option left, and he wasn’t sure how confident he felt about it in any capacity. All of his prior attempts had gone reasonably well, with varying levels of tangible success and an unknown, immeasurable amount of hidden success (the TARDIS, fickle traitor that she was, wasn’t revealing anything if she did know how Rose felt).
But despite how successful he thought he’d been, he still hadn’t managed to progress his relationship with Rose to the next level. There were days he ached to just screw his courage and kiss her, but he was determined to do this right.
He had one last shot before he was back to the drawing board, and he didn’t even know where to begin. He’d attempted to go for the grander gestures with some of the other love languages--quality time, physical touch--but those had also felt very classically them, very Doctor-and-Rose, and he’d been comfortable going to a leisure planet with Rose, or twirling her around all night at a ball.
He could quite confidently say that a grand, romantic declaration was the epitome of discomforting in his mind, though he was admittedly not sure how Rose would feel. The closest he’d ever come, really, was I could save the world, but lose you and he wasn’t sure if he could’ve said it without the threat of their impending doom hanging over them like a storm cloud.
No, grand gestures were out of the picture now. He wanted to date Rose, or court her, or whatever the correct term was, but he didn’t want to lose any of the joys he saw as theirs along the way. A plan began to hatch in his mind with that epiphany, and he hoped with all his hearts that it would go as he was envisioning for once.
Once again, he’d waited a few days until after they’d wrapped up what he’d dubbed as a “good” adventure: he and Rose had landed on a crashing spaceship in the Bel system and managed to get the systems running just as they’d entered the atmosphere of the most populated planet. With the help of the crew, they’d gotten the ship back on course and revealed the saboteur to the captain. It was another day when everybody lived, and he and Rose were in high spirits when they re-entered the TARDIS that night.
“Wanna have tea in the library tonight?” the Doctor suggested casually.
“Yeah, sounds great,” Rose agreed, bouncing on her toes a bit. “Got a bit too much adrenaline to go to sleep just now, anyway. I’m gonna change first, meet you there in ten?”
“Yep,” he said, popping the “p” and ambling towards the kitchen to go put the kettle on. He idly drummed his fingers along the counter after preparing their mugs, wondering how best to segue into his long-anticipated confession. Everything he came up with felt too forced, or too awkward, or too long-winded, and he sighed in frustration.
The kettle boiled before he could come up with anything concrete, and the Doctor was forced to accept that he’d have to simply wing it, as he did most days. In all fairness, it did often work out in his favor, so what was the worst that could happen?
Right, perhaps that was not the road he wanted his thoughts to head down.
He carefully carried the mugs to the library, where he found Rose already snuggled up on the couch under a rather fluffy pink blanket that had appeared on the TARDIS not long after she’d come aboard. There was a fire already going and biscuits on the coffee table, and the Doctor narrowed his eyes at the ceiling as he made his way over to join her.
Sometimes it hit him all over again just how much the TARDIS absolutely adored Rose. Not that he could really blame her; he was rather guilty of it himself.
“One cuppa, as promised,” he grinned, handing hers over before sinking into the couch beside her.
“Ugh, you’re the best,” Rose sighed, gratefully accepting her mug and immediately blowing lightly at the hot liquid and taking a sip.
“Well, I do try,” he quipped. “Given that your mum’s tea saved the world on my first day in this body, it’d be rather remiss of me if I couldn’t make a good cuppa.”
“Maybe, but until you’ve saved the world with one, my mum’s still got one up on ya,” Rose teased.
“Oi,” he whined. “I’ve saved the world plenty, thank you very much. I just save the tea for the after-party.”
“Mhmm,” she giggled. “Well, you’ll hardly catch me complaining. ‘S a good way to end the day.”
“Indeed,” he smiled. “Today was a good one, wasn’t it?”
“Yeah,” she yawned, kicking her feet up onto the couch and, to the Doctor’s delight, snuggling a bit into his shoulder as she continued to drink. “Everybody lived,” she mimicked his ninth self’s northern accent, and he fought the urge to kiss her forehead.
“Everybody lived,” he concurred, leaning over to rest his cheek against her hair instead. “You were spectacular, you know,” he told her quietly, wishing he could see her face and reaction but unwilling to un-meld himself from her side. He felt her arm snake itself around his and he could’ve sworn he felt her smile against his shoulder, and that was rather enough for him.
“Didn’t do much,” she disagreed softly. “You’re the one who fixed the engine.”
“And I couldn’t have, if you hadn’t figured out who sabotaged it,” he reminded her. “Knowing which species was responsible was key there, and that was all you. I couldn’t do it without you,” he said, inhaling shakily and wondering if it was time. “I couldn’t do any of this without you.”
“You did for nine hundred years,” she said, but he felt her gently take his hand under her blanket in response and smiled when she gave it a light squeeze. “But… I do know what you mean. Couldn’t imagine going back to my old life either,” she admitted, yawning again quietly and pressing further into his side.
The Doctor’s hearts clenched at the very thought: of Rose Tyler, down on Earth, working in a shop and dating Mickey Smith and thinking that a night out at the pub would be the height of excitement. And him, alone, pinballing around through time and space, angry and hurting with no hand to hold, no Rose to heal him.
That was no timeline or universe that he wanted to live in, and he was eternally grateful that he didn’t have to.
“No, me neither,” the Doctor said quietly after pulling himself from that darker train of thought. “It’s like… it’s like you were made for this life, Rose. This life of time-travel and adventure… this life with me,” he confessed, and when she was silent he bravely pressed on. “Sometimes I even think that…” he swallowed hard. “That it’s like you were made for me, in general. And yeah, I know how… how ridiculous and cheesy that sounds. Like that human concept of soulmates, although there are certain telepathic races--but that’s beside the point. It’s just… it’s silly, but we fit. Your hand fits in mine, and your life fits with mine, and sometimes I can’t help but think… I can’t help but think that I want this forever,” he said softly. “You and me, forever. Or, failing that, for as long as I can have it. Because I know what I said to you, that day with Sarah Jane, but… I told you that you can spend the rest of your life with me, but that I couldn’t spend mine with you. And I was so hung up on how tragic the second half is that I didn’t think about how miraculous the first half is, and I’m sorry for implying that it’s not enough. Your forever, my forever… no forever could ever be enough, but there’s still nothing that I can imagine that would be better than spending it with you. If… if you wanted.”
He exhaled heavily after that, mentally congratulating himself for not trailing down half a dozen tangents or accidentally insulting her, as he was unfortunately prone to doing. But the silence stretched on and his nervousness skyrocketed, wondering what she must be thinking right now.
“Rose?” he asked anxiously, hearts dropping when she remained quiet at his side. He forced his emotions to settle, and it was as if the entire room sharpened in clarity at that moment--the slow, even breaths coming from beside him, the heavy weight of her head against his.
“She’s been asleep since before I even started, hasn’t she?” he asked miserably, and groaned softly when he felt the TARDIS hum in commiseration. “Bloody hell. I can’t seem to get this right, can I?” he sighed in defeat, though his spirits remained high as he carefully put his full mug of tea onto the coffee table, stood up and glanced down at Rose. She looked utterly precious, curled up under her favorite blanket, the empty mug of tea held loosely in her hands, and he finally allowed himself to bend down and press a soft kiss to her forehead.
“One of these days,” he murmured, “I’ll get it right. I swear it.”
He delicately adjusted her into a more comfortable position on the couch, moving the mug to the table and lowering her across the whole sofa before tucking the blanket around her. He chuckled as she mumbled in her sleep, and flushed the tiniest bit with hope and pleasure when one of the words he caught was his name.
“Rose Tyler,” he said softly in response, brushing her hair back a bit and rubbing his thumb over the spot he’d just kissed. “My Rose.”
He stood up to make his way out of the library then, but then paused and looked back at the still-burning fireplace.
“You know,” he said softly--to himself or maybe the TARDIS, he wasn’t precisely sure, “think maybe it’s time to try it my own way, now.”
And with that, he pulled the magazine article from his pocket and tossed it gently into the flames before walking out of the room with a small smile still on his face.
and one….
Rose sighed, wondering if the Doctor would ever build up the confidence to make a move.
She wasn’t completely oblivious, and she knew the Doctor held some feelings for her, however undefined. He’d practically blurted them out on that day with Sarah Jane, and although he’d taken a few steps backward immediately after that, over the last few months he’d been… well, a bit more open again.
But every time she’d thought they were on the brink of something beautiful, he’d simply let their relationship peter back into its easy, steady default level of platonic closeness. It drove her mad, plain and simple--there were several moments when she’d just wanted to yank him down by that truly magnificent head of hair and snog the life out of him until he got the message. But there was still that niggling little portion of her brain that wondered if he would even want that with her, that pointed out that perhaps he was intentionally not making any move, and she’d simply had to carry on like everything was fine and like she wouldn’t be screaming into her pillow later at night out of sheer frustration.
He’d said something though, at the Yule Ball he’d taken her to, that really got her mind going.
“I’d hate to get you trapped into an alien courtship ritual because you danced with some alien bloke all night.”
She had danced with an alien bloke all night, and she’d have given up a limb at that point if it meant she could get trapped into an alien courtship ritual with him. She wondered idly if his people even had courtship rituals; from the way he’d described the Time Lords, she wouldn’t be surprised if “don’t engage in courtship rituals” was the defined social norm on his planet.
If only there were a way for her to tell him, though, without simply having to walk up and say it to him. Because how horribly embarrassing would that be, if she confessed and he either didn’t return her affections, or if he didn’t want to follow up on them even if he did? No, she wouldn’t dare risk it, not something so direct, but she was getting to the point where she might risk trying something more subtle, or something that would allow for a more graceful rejection and less awkward of an aftermath.
“Don’t suppose you could help me out, Old Girl?” she snorted, patting the wall beside her bed fondly. “Find a way to help me get a message across to our favorite daft Time Lord?”
To Rose’s surprise, a book immediately appeared on her nightstand. She instantly recognized the looping circular language of the Doctor’s people on the cover, but as she picked it up it shimmered momentarily and translated to English.
“So you can translate it, huh? You just usually don't?” Rose asked, and the TARDIS gave a soft hum of affirmation. “Thanks, girl.”
Her eyes widened when she saw the title:
Essential Gallifreyan Etiquette: The 5 Best Ways to Court a Time Lord
Well, perhaps this would be easier than she thought. She’d just have to try out a few of the methods until one of them clicked with him, and then she’d have her answer.
Piece of cake.