Chapter Text
Part I
She doesn’t remember being more nervous about anything in her entire life, all twenty-three years of it. Rose Tyler knows she must convince him that she is the one he needs. He only takes the best, after all.
She draws in a breath and raps on the ancient wood door of his office. She has worn her favorite (and she claims lucky) silvery-blue cashmere twinset and matching chocolate brown-colored pencil skirt with silvery blue pinstripes. In no way could she afford such luxurious clothing new, but she stumbled upon the items, still bearing the original tags, at a charity shop and treated herself in a rare show of spontaneity.
She carefully manages her dwindling savings account, and knows how to squeeze every pence out of a pound, having spent her teens in a very modest neighborhood in south London and paying her own way through university working as a shop girl.
Hope rises that her days selling clothing to wealthy girls who couldn’t give a toss for physics and black holes and space travel are at an end. She shifts her weight between her white plimsoll-clad feet as she waits.
Dr. Smith’s voice beckons her in, followed with a somewhat firm admonition. “You’re late Miss Tyler.”
“Sorry, Professor Smith. My bicycle blew a tyre and I had to walk it the last mile.”
A smile grows on his face, and she relaxes a bit. “It’s all right Tyler, although I can’t imagine how you ride a bicycle in that skirt.” He eyes her skirt with a half smile and quirked eyebrow.
“With difficulty, but I am very talented and have a few tricks up my sleeve.” She smiles, and there is a hint of her tongue poking through the side of her mouth. Dr. Smith is momentarily distracted by this, but quickly regains his professional distance, clearing his voice.
“Was starting to think you decided not to interview for the position after all.”
She picks at her fingernails, and he sighs at bit inwardly at the nervous ritual he has witnessed her perform countless times while she sat in the front row of his lecture hall. This girl has no reason to be nervous, he thinks. She’s brilliant and different from any woman, let alone physics student, he has ever known.
“Have a seat Miss Tyler, take a deep breath. Now, tell me,” he leans forward in his chair, “why do you want to be my research assistant?”
She recites the perfectly adequate answer she has practiced a hundred times in front of the mirror, and he grins cheekily.
“That was a good answer if you were writing for the curriculum catalogue. Now tell me why you need to be my research assistant.”
She puffs out her pink cheeks, blows a funny sound through her lips, and slaps her thighs in determination.
“I need… I need…” she closes her eyes before she continues, “I need space and stars and to get off of this ruddy rock, or at least make it possible for others who come after me to go into space, and I know you are the key to that. I need you to help me escape gravity, Dr. Smith. I don’t belong here.”
He blinks hard, and his heart swells. The interview has been a sham of course, as there is no one else he would ever consider for the position, but he has properly advertised as per the rules and regulations, and has even interviewed several others. He offers her the position on the spot. She is to report tomorrow morning at seven sharp.
He stands to shake her hand, but she hugs him instead. It is thoroughly platonic, although it is not a very appropriate thing to do. His heart deflates just a little because it is so very friendly.
He offers to help her fix her flat, and she happily accepts. She waves “bye” as she rides off into the glowing sunlight of a golden October afternoon.