ficlet: doctor who, "when midnight comes around"
What the fuck is happening with me? Nothing for two and a half years, then two ficlets in one day.
when midnight comes around
Would you believe I’ve never been to a New Year’s party?
Doctor Who, Rose/10.5. PG, 781 words. Coda for "The End of Time," spoilers for "Journey's End." Title from the Velvet Underground. Unbetaed. I don't own anything except the mistakes. Cross-posted to time_and_chips and dwfiction. Feedback is greatly appreciated.
--
New Year’s Eve, 2011, Pete throws this ridiculous affair. It can hardly be called an office party, though most of the guests are Torchwood. Black tie, sure to be champagne and caviar everywhere-it’s all Mum’s talked about for weeks (besides the baby, of course, and nevermind that “the baby” is nearly two).
Rose showers, and pulls on a dressing-gown over bra, panties and hose; sits down at the vanity and pulls her hair into an artfully messy updo; layers on moisturizer (she can hardly pick up the tube without laughing), foundation and blush, lipstick and eye-shadow and mascara. She stands and slips on her heels, pulls her wine-coloured ball gown from the closet, steps into it.
“Oi, Doctor!” she calls, probably louder than is strictly necessary, but she’s holding the dress up with her arm twisted round her back and it’s bloody awkward. “Come zip me up, yeah?”
She feels his left hand on her shoulder, the other on her lower back, picking up the zipper. His body heat all along her back, leaning closer than is strictly necessary. “Hello,” he says in her ear, cheeky. “All right, then?”
The full skirt rustles as she turns around. “So how do I look, then?” It’s amazing, how she can’t help being just that slightest bit nervous around him, after all this time and every moment packed.
“Oh, Rose,” his voice is low. “You are absolutely beautiful.”
“You don’t look so bad, yourself,” she says, and it’s an understatement, a classic black tuxedo, well-cut, working wonders, and he’s wearing the specs.
“Thanks. I was thinking something a bit slinkier, but I’m glad I let Mum talk me into this one.” The face the Doctor pulls lets Rose know exactly how often she expresses that sentiment, and exactly what he thinks of Jackie’s advice.
Then he crowds into her space, kissing her, and that will never get old. He tries moving closer and her skirts whisper in protest. “Feel a bit like Madame de Pompadour,” she says without thinking, hears her own voice and is seized by a fit of violent giggles, sinking to the queen-sized bed. And she hasn’t even had any champagne yet, they haven’t been to the party, but how else does she reconcile-all of it? Having these mad adventures with the Doctor, and then trying so hard not to think about them, and now-she has him, without the adventures, and not quite the same as he was. But still-she has him, and the life she’s built. In a lot of ways it’s more equal now.
The giggles subside and she sits up, carefully wiping tears from the corners of her eyes. The Doctor’s laughing with her a bit, sits down on the bed next to her. “All right?”
“Yeah. ‘S just… well, you know.”
“I do know.” He nods sagely, then jumps up, “And I believe… we have a party to get to. Would you believe I’ve never been to a New Year’s party?”
She stands, takes his arm and pats it. “Well, don’t worry. ‘S a lot like any other party, except everyone kisses at midnight.”
“Well, I did know that part, actually. Allons-y!”
The party’s a smash. Champagne and cocktails everywhere, lively conversation, her mother running around mad the way she likes best. When Rose and the Doctor get home, it’s just gone half-one and she’s a bit drunk. She leans one hand to the doorframe to take off her shoes as soon as they’re inside. “’S not really fair, is it, seeing as how I went straight from 2006 to-“ He’s across the hall with his overcoat still on, just looking at her, fondly. “I’ve seen that look before. I saw you-New Year’s, 2004, it had just gone 2005 and I was walking back up to our flat and there you were. You said it was going to be a good year for me. I thought you were just drunk, you know. You looked…”
She moves towards him. His face has gone guarded, the way it does when she talks about things like
these, serious things, past things. He shakes his head. “It wasn’t me. It hadn’t happened yet, I hadn’t done it yet, before… I missed you, you know. I thought about it, God, all the time but it was too much of a risk, you know. And then I just decided I couldn’t think about it anymore and one day, there you were, with a giant gun.” At the word gun, he pulls a face.
“Poor Doctor.” Rose doesn’t mean the man standing in front of her. “Anyway, bed?”
He pulls her into his side, kisses her temple. “Allons-y.”
--
when midnight comes around
Would you believe I’ve never been to a New Year’s party?
Doctor Who, Rose/10.5. PG, 781 words. Coda for "The End of Time," spoilers for "Journey's End." Title from the Velvet Underground. Unbetaed. I don't own anything except the mistakes. Cross-posted to time_and_chips and dwfiction. Feedback is greatly appreciated.
--
New Year’s Eve, 2011, Pete throws this ridiculous affair. It can hardly be called an office party, though most of the guests are Torchwood. Black tie, sure to be champagne and caviar everywhere-it’s all Mum’s talked about for weeks (besides the baby, of course, and nevermind that “the baby” is nearly two).
Rose showers, and pulls on a dressing-gown over bra, panties and hose; sits down at the vanity and pulls her hair into an artfully messy updo; layers on moisturizer (she can hardly pick up the tube without laughing), foundation and blush, lipstick and eye-shadow and mascara. She stands and slips on her heels, pulls her wine-coloured ball gown from the closet, steps into it.
“Oi, Doctor!” she calls, probably louder than is strictly necessary, but she’s holding the dress up with her arm twisted round her back and it’s bloody awkward. “Come zip me up, yeah?”
She feels his left hand on her shoulder, the other on her lower back, picking up the zipper. His body heat all along her back, leaning closer than is strictly necessary. “Hello,” he says in her ear, cheeky. “All right, then?”
The full skirt rustles as she turns around. “So how do I look, then?” It’s amazing, how she can’t help being just that slightest bit nervous around him, after all this time and every moment packed.
“Oh, Rose,” his voice is low. “You are absolutely beautiful.”
“You don’t look so bad, yourself,” she says, and it’s an understatement, a classic black tuxedo, well-cut, working wonders, and he’s wearing the specs.
“Thanks. I was thinking something a bit slinkier, but I’m glad I let Mum talk me into this one.” The face the Doctor pulls lets Rose know exactly how often she expresses that sentiment, and exactly what he thinks of Jackie’s advice.
Then he crowds into her space, kissing her, and that will never get old. He tries moving closer and her skirts whisper in protest. “Feel a bit like Madame de Pompadour,” she says without thinking, hears her own voice and is seized by a fit of violent giggles, sinking to the queen-sized bed. And she hasn’t even had any champagne yet, they haven’t been to the party, but how else does she reconcile-all of it? Having these mad adventures with the Doctor, and then trying so hard not to think about them, and now-she has him, without the adventures, and not quite the same as he was. But still-she has him, and the life she’s built. In a lot of ways it’s more equal now.
The giggles subside and she sits up, carefully wiping tears from the corners of her eyes. The Doctor’s laughing with her a bit, sits down on the bed next to her. “All right?”
“Yeah. ‘S just… well, you know.”
“I do know.” He nods sagely, then jumps up, “And I believe… we have a party to get to. Would you believe I’ve never been to a New Year’s party?”
She stands, takes his arm and pats it. “Well, don’t worry. ‘S a lot like any other party, except everyone kisses at midnight.”
“Well, I did know that part, actually. Allons-y!”
The party’s a smash. Champagne and cocktails everywhere, lively conversation, her mother running around mad the way she likes best. When Rose and the Doctor get home, it’s just gone half-one and she’s a bit drunk. She leans one hand to the doorframe to take off her shoes as soon as they’re inside. “’S not really fair, is it, seeing as how I went straight from 2006 to-“ He’s across the hall with his overcoat still on, just looking at her, fondly. “I’ve seen that look before. I saw you-New Year’s, 2004, it had just gone 2005 and I was walking back up to our flat and there you were. You said it was going to be a good year for me. I thought you were just drunk, you know. You looked…”
She moves towards him. His face has gone guarded, the way it does when she talks about things like
these, serious things, past things. He shakes his head. “It wasn’t me. It hadn’t happened yet, I hadn’t done it yet, before… I missed you, you know. I thought about it, God, all the time but it was too much of a risk, you know. And then I just decided I couldn’t think about it anymore and one day, there you were, with a giant gun.” At the word gun, he pulls a face.
“Poor Doctor.” Rose doesn’t mean the man standing in front of her. “Anyway, bed?”
He pulls her into his side, kisses her temple. “Allons-y.”
--