fic; Doctor Who: still like to go for a train ride ('cause i've got a thing about trains).
title: still like to go for a train ride ('cause i've got a thing about trains).
fandom: Doctor Who.
pairing: 10.5/Rose.
rating: R?
words: 3,857.
notes: Written for Challenge 94 at then_theres_us, using the picture prompt below the cut. It's basically a fluffy excuse to have the Doctor and Rose make out on a train, I guess. Title from the Johnny Cash song.
It is absolutely nothing to do with the time vortex that Rose can see this particular bit of her future.
It is everything to do with how well she knows the Doctor.
And it's that knowledge (something the Doctor calls her "spidey senses" and she calls "a routine") that tells her this one thing:
They will not be making it to their vacation.
&&.
"Doctor," she's gesturing in front of his face with her hand, trying to get between him and the words he's spelling with the letters of his cereal.
He'd spelled out 'Judoon' and 'Sontaran' in the same bowl last week and had been so engrossed that she'd been able to tell him she was pregnant with Mickey's baby and he'd just said to let him know where they'd registered. It was only when she detailed how sperm in the parallel world allows fertilization through clothing and backward in time and that he's probably knocked up 10 different women since he's been here, that it had clicked. But only because he was worried about child support.
This time he doesn't appear to be having such great luck, as he looks up at Rose without even lining up the letters for 'Clom' that are all floating within an inch of each other.
('Clom' is what the Doctor would call a gimme. Probably in every other bowl, even. The holy grail of cereal words -- Raxacoricofallapatorius -- has eluded him thus far, which is just as well, because Rose has promised him a shag on the Manchester United pitch if he pulls it off.
It's this promise that had finally convinced the Doctor to get a mobile -- the camera on it could be used for documentation if it happens when Rose is out, something the Doctor was initially frantic enough about to only eat cereal when Rose was home.)
"I checked my e-mail this morning," Rose says as she leans over to fish out a 'P' from his breakfast and pop it in her mouth. It's pretty soggy already, which means he's been at it for too long. It's not unusual for the Doctor to take a bowl of what's become lukewarm mush for his first meal of the day.
"Hey! I was going to use that for 'Adipose!' And you know you weren't supposed to check your e-mail. You're on vacation, Rose Tyler. As of about, oh, 16 hours ago -- I won't bore you with the specifics, but I know that you know that I know them. And that's what matters."
The Doctor's look is already practically gleeful, and Rose wishes she could just let this go. He'd be happy on vacation, thrilled, even, but this case is going to put him over the moon.
"Yeah, yeah, I know, but I'd had Geoffrey book our travel, so the itinerary was in my Torchwood e-mail and, listen, do you want to hear this or not? I get enough about how I'm working too much from everyone else."
He makes an elaborate sweeping gesture with his arm, giving her the floor, "Do go on."
"Ta. There's been a series of power surges just outside Dublin."
"Rose, I can't have us rushing in every time something strange happens in Ireland. That's as frequent as, well, as something strange happening in Ireland, I suppose."
She is not going to be sidetracked by the Doctor's increasingly frequent commentaries about weird old Ireland. That's the last time Torchwood doesn't vet a colleague the Doctor is supposed to share an office with, even temporarily.
"Yeah, yeah, I understand, crazy things afoot in Ireland. But, Doctor, these surges are like nothing we've ever seen before. They appear to be affected by the weather."
"Lightning strikes, Rose. Honestly, it's almost like you're looking for a reason not to take this vacation," he paused, but not long enough for Rose to jump in.
"Is this about me in swimming trunks? Because I told you, I haven't waxed my chest since that one time and it's all grown back. Lulu told me you would like it! She's an aesthetician, that's her job to know! Not my fault you don't appreciate a thoughtful gesture when someone makes one. You lay your head right there! Wouldn't you rather it smooth? If your wonderful breasts were covered in hair, I daresay I wouldn't like them quite so much."
Rose raised an eyebrow the little amount she was able to. Not that she'd been practicing in the mirror or anything.
"All right, I would still adore your breasts. Can we leave for vacation now? I've packed and everything."
"Sure, we can leave, and good job you getting that packing done. Let me just say this last thing and then you can decide."
The Doctor picked up his cereal bowl and tipped it to his mouth, finishing it in one gulp, before pulling back to wipe his mouth with his hand.
"Shoot."
"These power surges, they're happening on what might, by some people, perhaps be called a locomotive-type vehicle."
"A train, Rose? A train! A train caper! This is brilliant!"
&&.
It was on the 31st day back from Norway that the Doctor had declared under no circumstances would he be working for Torchwood.
And it was on the 51st day that Rose received a case he huffed and rolled his eyes about so much, proclaiming it "obvious" and "amateur" that Rose had told him to stuff it unless he wanted to help.
This is how the Doctor became a Torchwood "consultant," only on an as-needed basic, which is basically, "only when the Doctor feels like it."
(The day Pete sat him down and made him fill out tax paperwork and insurance waivers, he swore up and down he was done. But he was back four days later, sheepish and pen in hand, dying to help Rose with a ship that had crashed outside Leeds.)
Still, the Doctor refuses to adhere to at least 75 percent of the Torchwood Guidebook for Field Agents, which is why they're always assuming such elaborate undercover disguises.
He's rifling through the wardrobe, chucking things over his shoulder as he goes, while Rose tries to stay out of the flight path.
"Let me just find one last thing," and with a grunt he yanks out a pair of boots. "My wellies!"
Rose sits on the edge of the bed and watches him shove everything he's unearthed into a pile. If that's how he'd packed for vacation, it was just as well they weren't going.
"Who are we this time, Doctor?" These get-ups weren't initially Rose's favorite, but she'd come to learn that without time and space and the TARDIS to roll the dice, the Doctor was at a bit of loss when it came to the more random aspects of his life. Plus, it made him really, really happy.
"We are -- pause for effect --"
"You know it negates the effect when you say --"
"Pause over. We are bird watchers!" He pulled a pair of binoculars from the pile with a flourish. "I'm Doctor Samuel Gladstone, that's doctor of ornithology, and you are my ever-so-eager graduate student, Michelle Hasselboch. Wow, that is awfully fun to say! Hasselboch." He appeared to be letting the word slide around like a mouthful of juice.
Rose squinted at the binoculars and then at the Doctor, ready for their usual negotiations.
"Done, except I'm Doctor Samantha Gladstone and you're my eager grad student Michael."
"But, Rose! You look so much younger, no one is going to believe that!"
"I'm a girl genius," she stopped, daring him to contradict her. "And besides, think of all the introducing yourself you'll get to do. You'll get to say your last name at least five times."
"Make it ten and we're done."
"Ten it is."
&&.
It was a quicker-than-usual zeppelin flight to get out to Dublin, where they'd board the train with all the power surges, seemingly on their way to a bird-watching expedition.
Rose isn't exactly sure on how a doctor of ornithology dresses, so she'd just outfitted herself for the field -- olive green trousers, a belt, and a long-sleeved t-shirt. She'd picked a striped shirt, worn oxfords instead of field boots, and thrown a black cardigan over the whole thing. Those concessions would have to be professorial enough, because she wasn't changing and she certainly wasn't wearing tweed.
The Doctor, on the other hand, is parading around the train station in his black wellies, a pair of trousers that are khaki-colored, but fit and look like jeans, and a black sweater over a plaid button-down. It's very Scottish highlands, but the way he runs to stomp in every puddle sort of negates any effect that isn't "small child."
By the time the train arrives and they're tucked up in their car, the Doctor has used up seven of his ten introductions, doing them like James Bond every time, so he gets to say the last name twice. A loophole Rose should have known to close.
The journey isn't meant to be very long and they won't need sleeping quarters, so they're sharing the car with six other people, seating in four rows of two down either side.
The train is mostly a regional thing with -- hopefully, at least -- the same people riding semi-frequently.
The plan, as it is just about half the time with them, is to gather enough information for the Doctor to figure out the problem.
(The other half of the time, when matters shape up to be slightly more terrestrial, Rose handles the figuring out.)
Then they're off to deal with it, together.
The Doctor starts with the row just across the aisle, introducing himself and Rose and trying for conversation.
The couple in the seats across from them end up being avid birdwatchers themselves and it's only be the skin of the Doctor's maddeningly perfect teeth that they bluff their way through it.
Rose gives the Doctor a very teacher-y congratulations on remembering all those different species, taking special time to mention that it'll be taken into account come time for grades.
The Doctor harrumphs and moves on to the seats in front of them just as the train begins to move.
Rose steals away to find snacks and it's only been about ten minutes when she comes back to the Doctor holding court with the entire car, laying it on awfully thick about a rare type of bird where the newly hatched babies become confused and try to take ownership of the nest from the mothers.
Rose opens her bottle of water and pours some of it right down the opening of his boot.
Just as the Doctor finishes ringing his sock out and stuffing his foot back into the shoe, the lights on the train flicker, burning bright enough to pop a few of the bulbs.
"That's not normal, is it? Michael?" Rose speaks loud enough that anyone around them could hear.
A man diagonal from the Doctor takes the bait.
"Aye, on this train it is. Something to do with the engine power, I'd say. Or that's what they've told us the last six times."
They stay just long enough for the man to explain that a conductor often comes on to make an announcement before they're off to find him.
&&.
The him turns out to be a her. A pretty woman with her hair pulled back in a low ponytail who shouts at them to back away until she finally realizes they're not giving up, and she opens the window to speak to them.
She tells them the lead mechanic on this train has looked at it and can't figure out. She casually mentions that he might even be in danger of getting sacked, but it's the strange look in her eyes that makes the Doctor nudge Rose.
&&.
They're halfway to their destination, two more power surges under their belts, when they wind up in the dining car, which really is only light snacks on a journey this short.
The Doctor has wrangled them two seats near the bar and they're recounting their efforts, seeing little need to disguise the conversation with the car being so noisy and only the bartender nearby.
It turns out to be a bit of dumb luck then, that bartender overhears them talking about the upcoming unemployment of the mechanic and jumps right in.
"Finally gonna cut Timothy loose? Is that what Kelly said?" The bloke, whose name tag reads 'George,' is practically vibrating with joy.
"Not a fan of good old Timmy then, eh?" The Doctor casts a quick side glance to Rose, who shrugs in return. Could be just gossip (which has its place, she's not too proud to say) or could be a lead.
"No, he's a right bastard and he doesn't deserve her. For a while I thought he'd skip town on his own, but he's still hanging on like -- like what's a sort of bug that really hangs on?"
"Leech?" Rose offers.
"Yeah, like a leech," he sneers.
George's face is now a mixture of sadness and anger -- a look Rose knows well -- as he wanders off to make drinks for a group of businessmen down the bar.
"Awfully chatty, wouldn't you say?" Rose is trying to be nonchalant, but she can tell from the rhythm the Doctor is tapping out anxiously with his foot that he's got a hunch.
"Oh, you know bartenders, part of their job, listening and talking. Makes people more likely to buy their wares."
A smile unfolds on the Doctor's face as Rose picks out and eats a peanut from the dish of nuts on the bar.
"Of course, in this case, it might just be a guilty conscience. Or a pleased one, as it were."
The Doctor reaches into the dish for a cashew and picks out a few extra peanuts for Rose, dropping them on the bar in front of her.
"You think he did something?"
"I do."
"Well, let's go then!"
"I don't know, Rose. An engine room? Certainly not a place passengers are normally allowed."
"Good thing we're not normal then, eh?"
The Doctor grabs a handful of nuts and they're back on the move.
&&.
The Doctor is waving his sonic about the engine room, the hum of it not even audible over the noise. He's using a setting whose function is, "really best described with a series of clicks from the Zunumian language, Rose, so it's easier if you just trust me on this or we could be here a while" to detect energy.
He's pulling open a door he really probably shouldn't be opening before Rose can stop him. He pulls the cuff of his jumper down over his hand to reach inside and grab something and Rose almost screams before she remembers last week and his excitement over replicating an 81st century fabric treatment that renders garments virtually indestructible.
It's a happy coincidence because Rose is sure that even without the treatment, the Doctor would've been sticking his hand in there.
He pulls back and opens his palm to reveal a small glowing object that looks exactly like, well, like a glow stick.
"Doctor, what is that? Why hasn't it melted?"
"This, Professor Rose, is a little party trick from the planet Rave 22. There it gives off just enough energy to glow during the nights of their celebrations. Here, it responds to the absence of sunlight -- something sporadic, but plentiful on these gloomy days. And the energy conversion is, well, you saw what it did to the lights."
"So how did it get here? I mean, obviously George, right? But where would he have gotten it?"
"Either our new friend George is party planet tourist or, more likely, someone brought it to Burning Man and it made its way here. He probably noticed the way it affected the lights in his flat and then, 'Let's get Tim-Tim-Timmy sacked.'"
"That's quite a gamble, could've killed everyone."
"Could've done. Didn't though. Now let's go confront him."
&&.
It's an awkward and messy scene. George and Timothy clustered up front by the window where Kelly sits, lots of tears and yelling.
It turns out though, that it's not George or Timothy for her, it's Milo, the station agent back in Dublin.
Everyone is so embarrassed by the time the whole thing's over that they offer the Doctor and Rose a ride back, free of charge. They even get the whole last car to themselves, after the Doctor asks after it.
&&.
"The caboose, Rose!" The Doctor says, throwing his arms open wide as they enter the car.
Rose turns around, trying to get a look at her bum, "What?"
"That's what it's called in America, the last car. Well, sort of, only mainly on freight trains and it serves an entirely different purpose, but well, fun to say and didn't you ever wonder where that expression came from?"
"No, not really," Rose shrugs and stretches out into a seat. "Think we can still make our flight out for vacation?"
The Doctor squints, before giving up and checking his watch, "Might do. What do you say we kick it off right now?"
He practically saunters to the seat Rose is occupying, and pulls a knee up to rest near her hip on the bench before leaning down and tweaking her nose.
Ever so romantic, this Doctor.
Rose gives him a tweak back, right on his hip, "What did you have in mind?"
"Well," he draws the word out a few extra syllables. "Something else I've always wanted to do on a train, in addition to solving a caper."
"Yeah?"
"Did you ever see the movie 'Risky Business,' Rose?"
"I have, and would you believe they've got him in boxer shorts in this universe? Just slides right in wearing plaid pants, hardly the same effect, let me tell you."
The Doctor shifts his knee so he's half-straddling Rose, one leg still on the ground.
"Not quite the scene I had in mind."
"What? What other scene is there -- oh. Oh. Here? Really?" She's trying to protest, but her hand has already come up to scratch at his thigh.
"Anywhere else would be off a train, wouldn't it? It'd defeat the purpose." He drops his hips to hers and rocks upward. The angle's not the best, but Rose gets the point.
"Fine, but if we get caught, you're making the statement to the press this time. They're only going to believe that we contaminated our clothes with dangerous chemicals so many times."
"Don't you worry, Rose Tyler, I've got it all figured out. Alien mind control."
Rose moves her hand to grasp him through his trousers, "I'd say it's not the alien's mind that's in control here."
"That was reaching, but I'll allow it -- if you switch me with me," and the Doctor's sliding in to the seat next to her, before tugging her over to straddle him.
When she finally settles in his lap, the Doctor leans in to nip at her neck, running his tongue over the spot before pulling back.
Rose rocks into him and tilts her head back, encouraging him to do it again.
He moves a hand to the area instead, curling his fingers around and into the hair at the back of her neck and using it to bring her mouth down to his.
The way his tongue slides confidently into her mouth, so little preamble or pause, never fails to create a flush in Rose that she feels all the way down to her fingertips.
She makes a noise in the back of her throat and imagines watching it flow from her mouth and into his. The way he curls his tongue just then makes it like he's bringing it in, swallowing it down. She wants one to keep for her own, so she knits her fingers into his hair and gives a little tug. He lets out a small groan, pulling back from her mouth and arching up into her.
He nuzzles his face into her chest, pausing for a moment to feel her heartbeat against his cheek, before trying to pull down the collar of her shirt low enough to get to a breast.
"Gonna have to be from the bottom, I don't fancy you turning this boatneck into a yacht." It's one of her favorite things in the world, trying to keep coherent as long as she can, little jokes and asides, while the Doctor, usually so ready with a whole dictionary, turns to nonsense.
"Not a boat, a train," and he rucks her shirt up from the bottom, tucking it safely under her armpits before pulling down on her bra enough to release her breasts.
He rubs his nose in the cleft between them, before turning his head side to side to kiss at each one.
"Something to be said for a motorboat though," he mumbles into her chest and Rose can feel the slide of his smile against her skin.
Rose braces her hands on the edge of the chair behind the Doctor's head and anchors herself down into his lap, circling her hips to create some friction.
"Maybe let's hurry this up, yeah? Take your time later, on vacation."
The Doctor's hands move from where they'd been bracketing her hips down to her belt. He undoes it, and follows with the button and zip of her trousers.
Rose snakes a hand between them and does the same to his trousers, watching him struggle to keep his eyes open and not buck into her hands. She gives him a single squeeze before squirming back and off his lap to stand.
Toeing her shoes off, she shimmies her trousers and pants to the floor, only slightly aware of the Doctor raising his hips enough to shuck his clothing to his knees.
When she crawls back onto him, she's still wearing her socks, but if the way the Doctor is pawing at her, trying to line everything up, is any indication, she could literally be wearing a sheet with strategically cut holes and he'd be fine.
She reaches down to help guide him into her as he crushes her mouth back to his, biting at her lip before slipping his tongue into her mouth once more.
It's going to have to be short, fast strokes with the lack of space for her legs, but the pressure she's creating for herself by leaning into him means it isn't going to be a problem.
He's muttering into her ear, yeah and fuck and oh god and come, and she gives herself just enough room to scrape her nails down his chest before rocking into him a final time and going stiff above him. He grabs her by the bum, pulling her tight and roughly against him, a string of vowels on his lips as he comes.
&&.
Two weeks later they're over at the Tyler mansion and Jackie's struggling to get Tony to eat his peas.
"Oh, look, it's a train, here comes the train, choo-choo -- Rose, honey, why are you laughing?"
&&.
fandom: Doctor Who.
pairing: 10.5/Rose.
rating: R?
words: 3,857.
notes: Written for Challenge 94 at then_theres_us, using the picture prompt below the cut. It's basically a fluffy excuse to have the Doctor and Rose make out on a train, I guess. Title from the Johnny Cash song.
It is absolutely nothing to do with the time vortex that Rose can see this particular bit of her future.
It is everything to do with how well she knows the Doctor.
And it's that knowledge (something the Doctor calls her "spidey senses" and she calls "a routine") that tells her this one thing:
They will not be making it to their vacation.
&&.
"Doctor," she's gesturing in front of his face with her hand, trying to get between him and the words he's spelling with the letters of his cereal.
He'd spelled out 'Judoon' and 'Sontaran' in the same bowl last week and had been so engrossed that she'd been able to tell him she was pregnant with Mickey's baby and he'd just said to let him know where they'd registered. It was only when she detailed how sperm in the parallel world allows fertilization through clothing and backward in time and that he's probably knocked up 10 different women since he's been here, that it had clicked. But only because he was worried about child support.
This time he doesn't appear to be having such great luck, as he looks up at Rose without even lining up the letters for 'Clom' that are all floating within an inch of each other.
('Clom' is what the Doctor would call a gimme. Probably in every other bowl, even. The holy grail of cereal words -- Raxacoricofallapatorius -- has eluded him thus far, which is just as well, because Rose has promised him a shag on the Manchester United pitch if he pulls it off.
It's this promise that had finally convinced the Doctor to get a mobile -- the camera on it could be used for documentation if it happens when Rose is out, something the Doctor was initially frantic enough about to only eat cereal when Rose was home.)
"I checked my e-mail this morning," Rose says as she leans over to fish out a 'P' from his breakfast and pop it in her mouth. It's pretty soggy already, which means he's been at it for too long. It's not unusual for the Doctor to take a bowl of what's become lukewarm mush for his first meal of the day.
"Hey! I was going to use that for 'Adipose!' And you know you weren't supposed to check your e-mail. You're on vacation, Rose Tyler. As of about, oh, 16 hours ago -- I won't bore you with the specifics, but I know that you know that I know them. And that's what matters."
The Doctor's look is already practically gleeful, and Rose wishes she could just let this go. He'd be happy on vacation, thrilled, even, but this case is going to put him over the moon.
"Yeah, yeah, I know, but I'd had Geoffrey book our travel, so the itinerary was in my Torchwood e-mail and, listen, do you want to hear this or not? I get enough about how I'm working too much from everyone else."
He makes an elaborate sweeping gesture with his arm, giving her the floor, "Do go on."
"Ta. There's been a series of power surges just outside Dublin."
"Rose, I can't have us rushing in every time something strange happens in Ireland. That's as frequent as, well, as something strange happening in Ireland, I suppose."
She is not going to be sidetracked by the Doctor's increasingly frequent commentaries about weird old Ireland. That's the last time Torchwood doesn't vet a colleague the Doctor is supposed to share an office with, even temporarily.
"Yeah, yeah, I understand, crazy things afoot in Ireland. But, Doctor, these surges are like nothing we've ever seen before. They appear to be affected by the weather."
"Lightning strikes, Rose. Honestly, it's almost like you're looking for a reason not to take this vacation," he paused, but not long enough for Rose to jump in.
"Is this about me in swimming trunks? Because I told you, I haven't waxed my chest since that one time and it's all grown back. Lulu told me you would like it! She's an aesthetician, that's her job to know! Not my fault you don't appreciate a thoughtful gesture when someone makes one. You lay your head right there! Wouldn't you rather it smooth? If your wonderful breasts were covered in hair, I daresay I wouldn't like them quite so much."
Rose raised an eyebrow the little amount she was able to. Not that she'd been practicing in the mirror or anything.
"All right, I would still adore your breasts. Can we leave for vacation now? I've packed and everything."
"Sure, we can leave, and good job you getting that packing done. Let me just say this last thing and then you can decide."
The Doctor picked up his cereal bowl and tipped it to his mouth, finishing it in one gulp, before pulling back to wipe his mouth with his hand.
"Shoot."
"These power surges, they're happening on what might, by some people, perhaps be called a locomotive-type vehicle."
"A train, Rose? A train! A train caper! This is brilliant!"
&&.
It was on the 31st day back from Norway that the Doctor had declared under no circumstances would he be working for Torchwood.
And it was on the 51st day that Rose received a case he huffed and rolled his eyes about so much, proclaiming it "obvious" and "amateur" that Rose had told him to stuff it unless he wanted to help.
This is how the Doctor became a Torchwood "consultant," only on an as-needed basic, which is basically, "only when the Doctor feels like it."
(The day Pete sat him down and made him fill out tax paperwork and insurance waivers, he swore up and down he was done. But he was back four days later, sheepish and pen in hand, dying to help Rose with a ship that had crashed outside Leeds.)
Still, the Doctor refuses to adhere to at least 75 percent of the Torchwood Guidebook for Field Agents, which is why they're always assuming such elaborate undercover disguises.
He's rifling through the wardrobe, chucking things over his shoulder as he goes, while Rose tries to stay out of the flight path.
"Let me just find one last thing," and with a grunt he yanks out a pair of boots. "My wellies!"
Rose sits on the edge of the bed and watches him shove everything he's unearthed into a pile. If that's how he'd packed for vacation, it was just as well they weren't going.
"Who are we this time, Doctor?" These get-ups weren't initially Rose's favorite, but she'd come to learn that without time and space and the TARDIS to roll the dice, the Doctor was at a bit of loss when it came to the more random aspects of his life. Plus, it made him really, really happy.
"We are -- pause for effect --"
"You know it negates the effect when you say --"
"Pause over. We are bird watchers!" He pulled a pair of binoculars from the pile with a flourish. "I'm Doctor Samuel Gladstone, that's doctor of ornithology, and you are my ever-so-eager graduate student, Michelle Hasselboch. Wow, that is awfully fun to say! Hasselboch." He appeared to be letting the word slide around like a mouthful of juice.
Rose squinted at the binoculars and then at the Doctor, ready for their usual negotiations.
"Done, except I'm Doctor Samantha Gladstone and you're my eager grad student Michael."
"But, Rose! You look so much younger, no one is going to believe that!"
"I'm a girl genius," she stopped, daring him to contradict her. "And besides, think of all the introducing yourself you'll get to do. You'll get to say your last name at least five times."
"Make it ten and we're done."
"Ten it is."
&&.
It was a quicker-than-usual zeppelin flight to get out to Dublin, where they'd board the train with all the power surges, seemingly on their way to a bird-watching expedition.
Rose isn't exactly sure on how a doctor of ornithology dresses, so she'd just outfitted herself for the field -- olive green trousers, a belt, and a long-sleeved t-shirt. She'd picked a striped shirt, worn oxfords instead of field boots, and thrown a black cardigan over the whole thing. Those concessions would have to be professorial enough, because she wasn't changing and she certainly wasn't wearing tweed.
The Doctor, on the other hand, is parading around the train station in his black wellies, a pair of trousers that are khaki-colored, but fit and look like jeans, and a black sweater over a plaid button-down. It's very Scottish highlands, but the way he runs to stomp in every puddle sort of negates any effect that isn't "small child."
By the time the train arrives and they're tucked up in their car, the Doctor has used up seven of his ten introductions, doing them like James Bond every time, so he gets to say the last name twice. A loophole Rose should have known to close.
The journey isn't meant to be very long and they won't need sleeping quarters, so they're sharing the car with six other people, seating in four rows of two down either side.
The train is mostly a regional thing with -- hopefully, at least -- the same people riding semi-frequently.
The plan, as it is just about half the time with them, is to gather enough information for the Doctor to figure out the problem.
(The other half of the time, when matters shape up to be slightly more terrestrial, Rose handles the figuring out.)
Then they're off to deal with it, together.
The Doctor starts with the row just across the aisle, introducing himself and Rose and trying for conversation.
The couple in the seats across from them end up being avid birdwatchers themselves and it's only be the skin of the Doctor's maddeningly perfect teeth that they bluff their way through it.
Rose gives the Doctor a very teacher-y congratulations on remembering all those different species, taking special time to mention that it'll be taken into account come time for grades.
The Doctor harrumphs and moves on to the seats in front of them just as the train begins to move.
Rose steals away to find snacks and it's only been about ten minutes when she comes back to the Doctor holding court with the entire car, laying it on awfully thick about a rare type of bird where the newly hatched babies become confused and try to take ownership of the nest from the mothers.
Rose opens her bottle of water and pours some of it right down the opening of his boot.
Just as the Doctor finishes ringing his sock out and stuffing his foot back into the shoe, the lights on the train flicker, burning bright enough to pop a few of the bulbs.
"That's not normal, is it? Michael?" Rose speaks loud enough that anyone around them could hear.
A man diagonal from the Doctor takes the bait.
"Aye, on this train it is. Something to do with the engine power, I'd say. Or that's what they've told us the last six times."
They stay just long enough for the man to explain that a conductor often comes on to make an announcement before they're off to find him.
&&.
The him turns out to be a her. A pretty woman with her hair pulled back in a low ponytail who shouts at them to back away until she finally realizes they're not giving up, and she opens the window to speak to them.
She tells them the lead mechanic on this train has looked at it and can't figure out. She casually mentions that he might even be in danger of getting sacked, but it's the strange look in her eyes that makes the Doctor nudge Rose.
&&.
They're halfway to their destination, two more power surges under their belts, when they wind up in the dining car, which really is only light snacks on a journey this short.
The Doctor has wrangled them two seats near the bar and they're recounting their efforts, seeing little need to disguise the conversation with the car being so noisy and only the bartender nearby.
It turns out to be a bit of dumb luck then, that bartender overhears them talking about the upcoming unemployment of the mechanic and jumps right in.
"Finally gonna cut Timothy loose? Is that what Kelly said?" The bloke, whose name tag reads 'George,' is practically vibrating with joy.
"Not a fan of good old Timmy then, eh?" The Doctor casts a quick side glance to Rose, who shrugs in return. Could be just gossip (which has its place, she's not too proud to say) or could be a lead.
"No, he's a right bastard and he doesn't deserve her. For a while I thought he'd skip town on his own, but he's still hanging on like -- like what's a sort of bug that really hangs on?"
"Leech?" Rose offers.
"Yeah, like a leech," he sneers.
George's face is now a mixture of sadness and anger -- a look Rose knows well -- as he wanders off to make drinks for a group of businessmen down the bar.
"Awfully chatty, wouldn't you say?" Rose is trying to be nonchalant, but she can tell from the rhythm the Doctor is tapping out anxiously with his foot that he's got a hunch.
"Oh, you know bartenders, part of their job, listening and talking. Makes people more likely to buy their wares."
A smile unfolds on the Doctor's face as Rose picks out and eats a peanut from the dish of nuts on the bar.
"Of course, in this case, it might just be a guilty conscience. Or a pleased one, as it were."
The Doctor reaches into the dish for a cashew and picks out a few extra peanuts for Rose, dropping them on the bar in front of her.
"You think he did something?"
"I do."
"Well, let's go then!"
"I don't know, Rose. An engine room? Certainly not a place passengers are normally allowed."
"Good thing we're not normal then, eh?"
The Doctor grabs a handful of nuts and they're back on the move.
&&.
The Doctor is waving his sonic about the engine room, the hum of it not even audible over the noise. He's using a setting whose function is, "really best described with a series of clicks from the Zunumian language, Rose, so it's easier if you just trust me on this or we could be here a while" to detect energy.
He's pulling open a door he really probably shouldn't be opening before Rose can stop him. He pulls the cuff of his jumper down over his hand to reach inside and grab something and Rose almost screams before she remembers last week and his excitement over replicating an 81st century fabric treatment that renders garments virtually indestructible.
It's a happy coincidence because Rose is sure that even without the treatment, the Doctor would've been sticking his hand in there.
He pulls back and opens his palm to reveal a small glowing object that looks exactly like, well, like a glow stick.
"Doctor, what is that? Why hasn't it melted?"
"This, Professor Rose, is a little party trick from the planet Rave 22. There it gives off just enough energy to glow during the nights of their celebrations. Here, it responds to the absence of sunlight -- something sporadic, but plentiful on these gloomy days. And the energy conversion is, well, you saw what it did to the lights."
"So how did it get here? I mean, obviously George, right? But where would he have gotten it?"
"Either our new friend George is party planet tourist or, more likely, someone brought it to Burning Man and it made its way here. He probably noticed the way it affected the lights in his flat and then, 'Let's get Tim-Tim-Timmy sacked.'"
"That's quite a gamble, could've killed everyone."
"Could've done. Didn't though. Now let's go confront him."
&&.
It's an awkward and messy scene. George and Timothy clustered up front by the window where Kelly sits, lots of tears and yelling.
It turns out though, that it's not George or Timothy for her, it's Milo, the station agent back in Dublin.
Everyone is so embarrassed by the time the whole thing's over that they offer the Doctor and Rose a ride back, free of charge. They even get the whole last car to themselves, after the Doctor asks after it.
&&.
"The caboose, Rose!" The Doctor says, throwing his arms open wide as they enter the car.
Rose turns around, trying to get a look at her bum, "What?"
"That's what it's called in America, the last car. Well, sort of, only mainly on freight trains and it serves an entirely different purpose, but well, fun to say and didn't you ever wonder where that expression came from?"
"No, not really," Rose shrugs and stretches out into a seat. "Think we can still make our flight out for vacation?"
The Doctor squints, before giving up and checking his watch, "Might do. What do you say we kick it off right now?"
He practically saunters to the seat Rose is occupying, and pulls a knee up to rest near her hip on the bench before leaning down and tweaking her nose.
Ever so romantic, this Doctor.
Rose gives him a tweak back, right on his hip, "What did you have in mind?"
"Well," he draws the word out a few extra syllables. "Something else I've always wanted to do on a train, in addition to solving a caper."
"Yeah?"
"Did you ever see the movie 'Risky Business,' Rose?"
"I have, and would you believe they've got him in boxer shorts in this universe? Just slides right in wearing plaid pants, hardly the same effect, let me tell you."
The Doctor shifts his knee so he's half-straddling Rose, one leg still on the ground.
"Not quite the scene I had in mind."
"What? What other scene is there -- oh. Oh. Here? Really?" She's trying to protest, but her hand has already come up to scratch at his thigh.
"Anywhere else would be off a train, wouldn't it? It'd defeat the purpose." He drops his hips to hers and rocks upward. The angle's not the best, but Rose gets the point.
"Fine, but if we get caught, you're making the statement to the press this time. They're only going to believe that we contaminated our clothes with dangerous chemicals so many times."
"Don't you worry, Rose Tyler, I've got it all figured out. Alien mind control."
Rose moves her hand to grasp him through his trousers, "I'd say it's not the alien's mind that's in control here."
"That was reaching, but I'll allow it -- if you switch me with me," and the Doctor's sliding in to the seat next to her, before tugging her over to straddle him.
When she finally settles in his lap, the Doctor leans in to nip at her neck, running his tongue over the spot before pulling back.
Rose rocks into him and tilts her head back, encouraging him to do it again.
He moves a hand to the area instead, curling his fingers around and into the hair at the back of her neck and using it to bring her mouth down to his.
The way his tongue slides confidently into her mouth, so little preamble or pause, never fails to create a flush in Rose that she feels all the way down to her fingertips.
She makes a noise in the back of her throat and imagines watching it flow from her mouth and into his. The way he curls his tongue just then makes it like he's bringing it in, swallowing it down. She wants one to keep for her own, so she knits her fingers into his hair and gives a little tug. He lets out a small groan, pulling back from her mouth and arching up into her.
He nuzzles his face into her chest, pausing for a moment to feel her heartbeat against his cheek, before trying to pull down the collar of her shirt low enough to get to a breast.
"Gonna have to be from the bottom, I don't fancy you turning this boatneck into a yacht." It's one of her favorite things in the world, trying to keep coherent as long as she can, little jokes and asides, while the Doctor, usually so ready with a whole dictionary, turns to nonsense.
"Not a boat, a train," and he rucks her shirt up from the bottom, tucking it safely under her armpits before pulling down on her bra enough to release her breasts.
He rubs his nose in the cleft between them, before turning his head side to side to kiss at each one.
"Something to be said for a motorboat though," he mumbles into her chest and Rose can feel the slide of his smile against her skin.
Rose braces her hands on the edge of the chair behind the Doctor's head and anchors herself down into his lap, circling her hips to create some friction.
"Maybe let's hurry this up, yeah? Take your time later, on vacation."
The Doctor's hands move from where they'd been bracketing her hips down to her belt. He undoes it, and follows with the button and zip of her trousers.
Rose snakes a hand between them and does the same to his trousers, watching him struggle to keep his eyes open and not buck into her hands. She gives him a single squeeze before squirming back and off his lap to stand.
Toeing her shoes off, she shimmies her trousers and pants to the floor, only slightly aware of the Doctor raising his hips enough to shuck his clothing to his knees.
When she crawls back onto him, she's still wearing her socks, but if the way the Doctor is pawing at her, trying to line everything up, is any indication, she could literally be wearing a sheet with strategically cut holes and he'd be fine.
She reaches down to help guide him into her as he crushes her mouth back to his, biting at her lip before slipping his tongue into her mouth once more.
It's going to have to be short, fast strokes with the lack of space for her legs, but the pressure she's creating for herself by leaning into him means it isn't going to be a problem.
He's muttering into her ear, yeah and fuck and oh god and come, and she gives herself just enough room to scrape her nails down his chest before rocking into him a final time and going stiff above him. He grabs her by the bum, pulling her tight and roughly against him, a string of vowels on his lips as he comes.
&&.
Two weeks later they're over at the Tyler mansion and Jackie's struggling to get Tony to eat his peas.
"Oh, look, it's a train, here comes the train, choo-choo -- Rose, honey, why are you laughing?"
&&.