Chapter Text
John Smith considered himself an intellectual, but made a habit of never putting thought into old sayings and too much negativity, though the two seemed to go hand in hand.
Ergo, if you predict rain every day, you’ll be right eventually.
However, this had to be one of those karma-based situations, a jinx, he was sure, and it just wasn’t fair. Getting nicked for disliking things was one this, but he thought that this was just pushing it too far.
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Three walls are covered by bookcases.
Each bookcase has its shelves, nearly to the ceiling. Most of the bookshelves are stuffed to the brim with science, maths, history, and everything in between. Other shelves have two layers of paperback science fiction, and it still isn't enough. Books are literally everywhere, from the coffee table to the side of the cushioned armchair to small towers under the windows.
The skyscrapers outside are a match for the book-towers. This is the most center room of the apartment recently occupied by John Smith.
Well, not really.
John Smith sits at a small desk adjacent to the largest window in the most center room, his hands folded casually behind his head. He runs his hands through his (very brown) hair- in a habit that he’s had since he can remember- leaving it far from immaculate.
It's autumn now, or nearly, because central park is already turning those absurd and vibrant colors he loves. The sun still rises high in the sky to highlight the flaming trees.
He expects winter to come early.
This apartment has been his for nearly a week and it's beginning to feel like home, partially from the clutter of books that trail behind him and mostly because of the relative quiet that he gets from this high-rise space. There's only one other apartment on this floor, and he wants to meet the neighbor, but today doesn't feel like the day to do just that. Neither does tomorrow, really. He’s seen her in the hallway, this neighbor. She’s young and pretty and he can't help pining after her just a bit because she seems amiable and just bursting with enigma.
He really does like New York, but the sheer mass of people in such a small area is mind-boggling. Hailing from the upmost bits of Scotland, New York is… a change. A Big Change, all capitalized for emphasis.
He thinks of calling his new novel this.
He reconsiders instantly and instead decides to eat something. Moments later, and he's annoyed to find that his banana supply is empty.
Bugger.
After shrugging on his coat, he's out the door and getting on the lift. He's an impatient man, after all, so he's about to press the 'close door' button when he hears a woman calling for him to hold the lift.
His mind is sort of a jumble with the influx of new information. In jogs a young woman with a pretty face and shoulder-length blonde hair with the brown roots showing. It's his nearly-new neighbor. She's a good deal shorter than him, about a head's height or so, and she looks up to him smiling like he's just made her day brighter by existing and he can't stop himself from smiling right back at her. "Thanks mate!" She's cheerful and he tells her it's no problem, because now he's glad he didn't press the button.
Four flights down, the lift is too quiet and he wants to know more about her.
"Where're you are off to then?"
"Oh just down to the grocers- odds and ends and all that. What about yourself?"
"I'm off to there myself, on a banana run."
"Banana run? Just bananas?" He became a bit indignant then, "And just what's wrong with bananas?"
"Nothing, bananas are good," she said with a suppressed smile, "you've just got to eat more than that. C'mon, you'll come shopping with me."
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He gets lost in that grocery, loses track of where his feet take him and suddenly he's facing the butcher with her.
Lost in her.
Her name's Rose Tyler, he finds out. She's quiet about most things when he asks, reluctant to give away information and he can't help nattering on endlessly. They talk about the history of the fruit and where her food comes from.
"Really, Rose, you should think twice about buying that stuff. It's not environmentally conscious, or half as appealing as edible ball bearings."
She stiffens when he stops talking and he starts backtracking instantly. "I mean, other confectionary goods are just as appealing, but really, the carbon footprint you're leaving weighs out the benefits of taste. For instance, there's some organic cane sugar over here, and you'll be much better off with this, rather than that stuff you're grabbing."
He pauses for a moment. "Am I being rude again?" She looks up out of the corner of her eye and her lips pressed together holding back a smile.
"Yeah."
"Oh." Peals of laughter burst then and he's self-conscious about what he said.
"What? What?" Her laughter continues and she squeaks out, "Your face!"
He thinks that he likes his face, may be a bit pretty, but nothing laugh-worthy in his mind. He harrumphs and pretends to be fed up with her, and not at all wanting to kiss that laughter away. Despite that fact that her voice was lovely.
He doesn't like her laughter as much directed at him.
That's a lie.
It’s later that afternoon that they’re walking back together. He’s carrying her bags for her because he can, thank-you-very-much and who said chivalry’s dead? He knows she’s at least a bit cold from the way she tugs the light jacket around her, tighter, and her cheeks are rosy from the cool breeze.
He’s more than covered with his the layers of clothes he tends to wear, the tee-shirt, the button down and two piece suit. He’s left his jacket in his apartment and he can’t help but regret it because he’d have given it to her for now.
Not for his benefit. Nope.
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Of course they were running.
Run for your life this, run back, run away, an awful lot of running to do. But it didn't feel like running now. She just felt lost.
Grant it, at the moment, she wasn’t physically running at all.
She tried relaxing into the couch that she hadn’t gotten used to for over a year, a comfortable and soft piece of furniture. Smooth like the rest of the room- supposed to be like the TARDIS.
No comforting hum.
The TARDIS had helped them (her and Jack) to get the apartments, something Rose was thankful for, because really now, it was pretty luxurious. Whenever they hid, it was in dark, cramped places to *hide*, but this was much different.
She saw his message that he left her, the list of twenty-three rules to follow, while he was less himself than usual.
She wanted to blame him- wanted to blame him so much for this- but that was just it, wasn’t it? It wasn’t his fault, and she’d never want to leave him for the world.
“What’s on your mind, Rosie?”
She left behind her thoughts to respond to Jack. She peered up at him in a way that she hoped would be answer enough. Everything was crashing in one way or another- crashing here, crashing into the Doctor in the hall, crashing into acceptance- and she was simply tired.
“Everything. I’m tired, Jack. It’s only been a week and I can barely do this. I see why he’s so afraid of domestics- Jack, I’m afraid of domestics. I want to get back out there, already. A week!” Her voice rose with each word that passed her lips and she had nearly shouted the last one. Jack was already sitting next to her by the time she finished her weary explanation. A comforting arm (though not the Doctor’s) wrapped around her shoulders, and she sank into his embrace.
“Rose, it’s alright.” The captain let out a deep sigh as he looked down at her. He’d try to be the man she needed, but there was no way he could ever fill his place. The only man that could had a slight memory problem at the moment.
“I’m sorry Jack, it’s just- sometimes... I don’t know... I feel like I couldn’t ever go back to a normal life after this. Like I’ve become too much like him. And-” her breath caught as she tried to pull away half-heartedly,”well, maybe I am. I wouldn’t change it for the world, Jack. Never, ever.
She looked up at him with a watery smile, her expression far from waning.
“It’s okay Rose. Maybe we should get out, explore this town. I haven’t been here in ages, myself. What d’ya say then? Up for an adventure?” He tried his best to imitate the Doctor’s accent on the last bit, fishing to elicit a real smile.
Yeah, she thought, just maybe.
“Alright,” she’s hesitant but agreeable, ”but I’m gonna make a cuppa first. Want one?”
They sit and drink tea and she thinks that roaming about the city may be just what the Doctor ordered.
Central Park really is beautiful, she thinks. It’s filled to the brim with children and worried parents, but she really is enjoying the colors she’s seeing. Winding paths twisting to mould to the terrain and obstacles. It reminds her of all of those strange places they visit, and it’s not a mournful thought now. Jack’s sitting with her on the banged up park bench, and she knows, oh, she knows how he’s trying not to act worried or bothered by any of the events of recent. She really does appreciates his efforts. She leans against him then, wanting for the comfort again, and maybe for the both of them. Jack really is a good friend, but there’s the empty bit she feels that he needs to be here.
She wants to share this with him, the Time-Lord-or-not. Maybe they’ll take a walk soon, or rather, convince him to come out with her and face the world.
Central Park is good enough to face for now. She just hopes they get to before winter comes.
That night, she goes to bed, and for now, the dreaming will have to be enough.
___________________________In Another Apartment...____________________________
John Smith’s hands were numb. Dead fingers rested comatose on the smooth backlit keyboard of his computer.
Maybe it'll come to him.
New un-creaking wooden floorboards beneath his feet, he gets up and goes over to his new favorite window. It's still as beautiful as the days prior had been, and the rain that's coming down in bucketfuls makes the colors seem to stand out even more so. This is why he loves traveling- the new places, new colors, new experiences- for all the things he feels.
He wants to experience it, properly live it.
Or at least, that’s what he explains to Rose when he sees her in the hallway- carrying his shoes in one hand and running his fingers through his soaked hair with the other, way in the wee hours of the morning- why he was barefoot in the rain. It was a kind of spur of the moment thing, he reasons.
She smiles at him, and it's more than just a smile, because there's a sweet side to it, like the sparkle in her eye and walking into a nostalgia shop to relive the best. It makes him feel unusually revered. It’s a quelling to his typical thought pattern and he just wants to go and live that with her, he thinks.
“Fancy a walk in the rain?”
As soon as the question tumbles out of his mouth, she’s taking off her shoes and socks. She’s grinning at him like mad, her acquiescence making his heart beat madly. His hand takes it’s own accord and wiggles fingers in her direction and he really does want her hand to hold.
The door man is beginning to get used to John Smiths’ oddities, but when he sees the duo run outside, hand-in-hand and grinning, he begins to wonder the differences between eccentric and psychotic.
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The rain’s slowing down and it’s cooler now, autumn suddenly in full effect, when they’re wandering through central park. There are a few people not unlike themselves who were either caught in the rain or walking in it, mostly stragglers, who keep giving them odd looks.
“Now, I can’t even fathom why a nice girl like you is bothering to keep up with me. Don’t you know, Rose Tyler? I’m mad as a hatter.” It’s half truths, and he wants to play the cards close to his chest, but he’s already enamoured with her and things just keep spilling out whether he wants them to or not. They’re still barefooted and holding hands and he’s on top of the world. It’s not like with old flames, or it doesn’t feel like it, and he’s reveling in the feeling.
“No reason to put yourself down. You’re...” she paused briefly, tapping her chin with her finger pointedly, playfully, “unconventional.” She settled on the word. It did fit it him, human or not. “I like that about you.” She stated carefully, while it was true, ‘like’ wasn’t nearly adequate.
Even while some things had changed about him, most everything was left the same.