FIC: The Perfect Holiday (3/5)
Tada!! Chapter 3! :) Enjoy!
Need to catch up?
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3: In Which Flowers Are Explained
Rose chewed on her lip and looked at the clock. The Doctor had been gone for a few hours now. Not that she minded spending all this time with her Mum, it’s just that she was acting strange. It had been little things at first that were alerting Rose to her mum’s agitated state. At first she’d been twitchy as soon as the Doctor left, then she’d gradually become more and more defensive each time Rose asked if anything was the matter.
She was sick of it.
“Mum, what is wrong with you?” she asked as her mother entered the living room, dropping her book - she’d found another copy of Much Ado About Nothing - on the couch forcefully. “You’ve been acting strange since the Doctor left.”
Jackie blanched and attempted to divert the conversation. “What do you think of this Rose?” she asked, holding up a knee-length pink dress. “Howard bought it for me a few weeks ago.”
Rose sighed loudly and shook her head. She was just about to start the serious interrogation when the doorbell rang.
“I’ll get it! It’s probably the Doctor here for you, but he wanted to do this right and proper,” Jackie said loudly, tossing the dress on the couch and rocketing toward the door.
This caught Rose’s attention. She narrowed her eyes at her mother’s retreating form, beginning to put two and two together from that comment. Between Jackie’s strange behaviour and her apparent knowledge of what the Doctor wanted for this evening, Rose realized what was going on.
She hopped up from the couch, following her mother, and was just about to accuse her of working with the Doctor when she heard his voice. Instantly, the accusation died on her lips as she saw him.
The Doctor stood just inside the doorway, wearing a black tuxedo, complete with a bowtie. His hair was still messy but not sticking up at every angle like normal. The suit jacket showed off his trim waist and broad shoulders; his hips looked especially slim in the black trousers.
Rose felt her mouth go dry at the sight of him.
“Hello,” he said in a low voice when he saw her.
It took her a moment to even form a coherent thought, much less a syllable; when she did, all she managed was a soft, “Hi.”
“These are for you.” He offered a bouquet that appeared out of virtually nowhere.
Slowly, she walked towards him, closing the distance between them, and took the flowers. The scent of honeysuckle drifted up to her from the clutch of flowers along with purple tulips and white lilies, forming a beautiful arrangement. Rose looked up at the Doctor with a smile, fighting against the burning sensation in her eyes as joyful tears threatened to form.
“They’re beautiful, Doctor,” she murmured to him, overwhelmed already by how lovely the evening was going when it had barely even started. “Thank you.”
The Doctor smiled at her - Rose thought she saw something more than just affection in his eyes for a moment - then he offered his hand once more. “This is also for you.” He held out a barrette with honeysuckle and a small lily on it.
Jackie was making soft little noises of appreciation as she watched off to one side. Rose glanced at her, feeling very much like the cherished love she’d never felt like before. She carefully handed off the bouquet to her mother before accepting the barrette from the Doctor. “Thank you,” she replied again, at a loss for anything more extravagant or verbose. “It’s lovely, Doctor, really.” A small, exuberant bubble of a laugh escaped her as she turned to the hall mirror, arranging the barrette in her hair. In the reflection, she saw the Doctor watching her intently. Rose took a moment before she turned around to look at him; there was a purple tulip in his coat. He smiled at her knowlingly.
“Are you ready?” he asked her, offering his empty hand this time.
“I’ll just put these in water,” Jackie said and scurried by, leaving them in the entryway. “Have a lovely time, you two!” She poked her head out from the kitchen. “And Doctor?” She fixed him with a look.
The Doctor gulped and returned Jackie’s look. “Yeah?”
“You take care of my Rose, you hear?” She shook one finger at him sternly then disappeared.
Outside, Rose smiled at the Doctor. She was already incredibly pleased with the evening and all she’d gotten so far was flowers. When she looked at the Doctor, he seemed rather edgy, twitching slightly as they descended the steps. He wouldn’t quite meet her eyes, choosing to look anywhere else than at her.
Rose squeezed his hand and smiled. “We walking, then?” she asked, urging him to look at her.
The Doctor nodded, glancing down at her briefly. She saw his eyes flicker to her mouth for a split second before he turned his gaze forward once more. “Yep,” he replied, popping the ‘p’ jauntily.
They’d gone a block or two in silence before Rose really began chewing on her lip. She took a deep breath then, having caught a whiff of the honeysuckle from her barrette, and let it out in a happy sigh. “So, what do these mean?” she asked suddenly.
Surprised, the Doctor looked at her with wide eyes. “What?”
Rose paused for a moment, absorbing his odd behaviour. He seemed very preoccupied; she wondered if it had anything to do with what day it was, or the current goings on. “The flowers,” she explained. “What do they mean?”
The Doctor seemed ultimately more at ease with this opportunity to talk. He immediately began babbling. “Ah! Well, the language of flowers, or floriology, is a very old tradition! Not nearly as old as I am, at least not on this planet, but still old! One of the earlier mentions is in Hamlet, actually, when Ophelia mentions ‘rosemary for remembrance’ and so on. How we know floriology now can be attributed to Ottoman Turkey in the 17th century when the court in Constantinople had an obsession with it!” He paused for breath here but began again with his manic explanation before Rose could get a word in edgewise. “It was extremely popular here in the Victorian age, from, oh say, 1820 to 1880? They wrote numerous books on it then! The United States also had an interest in it but for not as long.”
“Doctor.”
“We should really go visit the women who introduced it to their respective countries. Lovely women, really,” the Doctor was saying, oblivious.
“Doctor.” Rose raised her voice just slightly, hoping he’d stop his monologue.
He paused, looking down at her curiously. “Yes?” he asked, obviously nervous.
She gave him a soft smile. “What do these mean?” she asked, pointing at the ones in her hair.
“Ahh yes. Honeysuckle, or Lonicera. It means, well, ‘devoted affection’, or, ah, ‘bonds of love’. And the lily, or lilium, means ‘purity.’” He swallowed hard.
Rose smiled at him and gently caressed the flowers. “And the tulip?” she asked, leaning into his shoulder.
He stopped to take a deep breath before answering quietly. “It means ‘forever love’.”
The Doctor kept his eyes straight ahead as they walked. Rose was quiet save an obviously happy sigh; he wasn’t sure if she was processing the meanings of the flowers or if she had already processed them and was debating what to say. He’d already been nervous; her silence was not helping him one bit. It was only when he hazarded a glance down at her and saw her smiling up at him that he felt somewhat relieved.
When the TARDIS had chosen those flowers for him, his very first thought had been to call the whole thing off, lying to Rose that he was a completely unromantic creature and was incapable of giving her the perfect Valentine’s Day. As he’d thought about it a little more, he realized that the meanings of the flowers was accurate. If he was completely honest with himself, he’d never felt the same way about any of his other companions; Sarah Jane would always have a special place in his heart, but there was just something about Rose that Sarah Jane had never touched. Whatever he felt for Rose, he knew he would feel for quite a long time, probably the forever Rose had promised him, the forever that the tulip spoke of.
Yet despite all of this, the relationship he had with Rose was so innocent and pure. Of course they held hands as often as possible and there had been that life saving kiss right before his regeneration, as well as the Cassandra Kiss. They also had their cuddly moments, especially recently in this new body, but it was always so chaste. Not that he didn’t want more, of course; even though he was a Time Lord, he was still male. Rose was beautiful and kind and brilliant. But she was also human, and therefore mortal. Her lifespan was painfully obvious for him; in what would feel like a blink of an eye, decades would pass and she would be too old and frail for their adventures. She would wither and die, and he’d be forced to live on, without her.
As he glanced down at a still smiling Rose, he had to ask himself: what would be worse? Living with regret after she was gone from his life, having never expressed his feelings? Or living with an eternal heartbreak for having lost love?
Need to catch up?
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3: In Which Flowers Are Explained
Rose chewed on her lip and looked at the clock. The Doctor had been gone for a few hours now. Not that she minded spending all this time with her Mum, it’s just that she was acting strange. It had been little things at first that were alerting Rose to her mum’s agitated state. At first she’d been twitchy as soon as the Doctor left, then she’d gradually become more and more defensive each time Rose asked if anything was the matter.
She was sick of it.
“Mum, what is wrong with you?” she asked as her mother entered the living room, dropping her book - she’d found another copy of Much Ado About Nothing - on the couch forcefully. “You’ve been acting strange since the Doctor left.”
Jackie blanched and attempted to divert the conversation. “What do you think of this Rose?” she asked, holding up a knee-length pink dress. “Howard bought it for me a few weeks ago.”
Rose sighed loudly and shook her head. She was just about to start the serious interrogation when the doorbell rang.
“I’ll get it! It’s probably the Doctor here for you, but he wanted to do this right and proper,” Jackie said loudly, tossing the dress on the couch and rocketing toward the door.
This caught Rose’s attention. She narrowed her eyes at her mother’s retreating form, beginning to put two and two together from that comment. Between Jackie’s strange behaviour and her apparent knowledge of what the Doctor wanted for this evening, Rose realized what was going on.
She hopped up from the couch, following her mother, and was just about to accuse her of working with the Doctor when she heard his voice. Instantly, the accusation died on her lips as she saw him.
The Doctor stood just inside the doorway, wearing a black tuxedo, complete with a bowtie. His hair was still messy but not sticking up at every angle like normal. The suit jacket showed off his trim waist and broad shoulders; his hips looked especially slim in the black trousers.
Rose felt her mouth go dry at the sight of him.
“Hello,” he said in a low voice when he saw her.
It took her a moment to even form a coherent thought, much less a syllable; when she did, all she managed was a soft, “Hi.”
“These are for you.” He offered a bouquet that appeared out of virtually nowhere.
Slowly, she walked towards him, closing the distance between them, and took the flowers. The scent of honeysuckle drifted up to her from the clutch of flowers along with purple tulips and white lilies, forming a beautiful arrangement. Rose looked up at the Doctor with a smile, fighting against the burning sensation in her eyes as joyful tears threatened to form.
“They’re beautiful, Doctor,” she murmured to him, overwhelmed already by how lovely the evening was going when it had barely even started. “Thank you.”
The Doctor smiled at her - Rose thought she saw something more than just affection in his eyes for a moment - then he offered his hand once more. “This is also for you.” He held out a barrette with honeysuckle and a small lily on it.
Jackie was making soft little noises of appreciation as she watched off to one side. Rose glanced at her, feeling very much like the cherished love she’d never felt like before. She carefully handed off the bouquet to her mother before accepting the barrette from the Doctor. “Thank you,” she replied again, at a loss for anything more extravagant or verbose. “It’s lovely, Doctor, really.” A small, exuberant bubble of a laugh escaped her as she turned to the hall mirror, arranging the barrette in her hair. In the reflection, she saw the Doctor watching her intently. Rose took a moment before she turned around to look at him; there was a purple tulip in his coat. He smiled at her knowlingly.
“Are you ready?” he asked her, offering his empty hand this time.
“I’ll just put these in water,” Jackie said and scurried by, leaving them in the entryway. “Have a lovely time, you two!” She poked her head out from the kitchen. “And Doctor?” She fixed him with a look.
The Doctor gulped and returned Jackie’s look. “Yeah?”
“You take care of my Rose, you hear?” She shook one finger at him sternly then disappeared.
Outside, Rose smiled at the Doctor. She was already incredibly pleased with the evening and all she’d gotten so far was flowers. When she looked at the Doctor, he seemed rather edgy, twitching slightly as they descended the steps. He wouldn’t quite meet her eyes, choosing to look anywhere else than at her.
Rose squeezed his hand and smiled. “We walking, then?” she asked, urging him to look at her.
The Doctor nodded, glancing down at her briefly. She saw his eyes flicker to her mouth for a split second before he turned his gaze forward once more. “Yep,” he replied, popping the ‘p’ jauntily.
They’d gone a block or two in silence before Rose really began chewing on her lip. She took a deep breath then, having caught a whiff of the honeysuckle from her barrette, and let it out in a happy sigh. “So, what do these mean?” she asked suddenly.
Surprised, the Doctor looked at her with wide eyes. “What?”
Rose paused for a moment, absorbing his odd behaviour. He seemed very preoccupied; she wondered if it had anything to do with what day it was, or the current goings on. “The flowers,” she explained. “What do they mean?”
The Doctor seemed ultimately more at ease with this opportunity to talk. He immediately began babbling. “Ah! Well, the language of flowers, or floriology, is a very old tradition! Not nearly as old as I am, at least not on this planet, but still old! One of the earlier mentions is in Hamlet, actually, when Ophelia mentions ‘rosemary for remembrance’ and so on. How we know floriology now can be attributed to Ottoman Turkey in the 17th century when the court in Constantinople had an obsession with it!” He paused for breath here but began again with his manic explanation before Rose could get a word in edgewise. “It was extremely popular here in the Victorian age, from, oh say, 1820 to 1880? They wrote numerous books on it then! The United States also had an interest in it but for not as long.”
“Doctor.”
“We should really go visit the women who introduced it to their respective countries. Lovely women, really,” the Doctor was saying, oblivious.
“Doctor.” Rose raised her voice just slightly, hoping he’d stop his monologue.
He paused, looking down at her curiously. “Yes?” he asked, obviously nervous.
She gave him a soft smile. “What do these mean?” she asked, pointing at the ones in her hair.
“Ahh yes. Honeysuckle, or Lonicera. It means, well, ‘devoted affection’, or, ah, ‘bonds of love’. And the lily, or lilium, means ‘purity.’” He swallowed hard.
Rose smiled at him and gently caressed the flowers. “And the tulip?” she asked, leaning into his shoulder.
He stopped to take a deep breath before answering quietly. “It means ‘forever love’.”
The Doctor kept his eyes straight ahead as they walked. Rose was quiet save an obviously happy sigh; he wasn’t sure if she was processing the meanings of the flowers or if she had already processed them and was debating what to say. He’d already been nervous; her silence was not helping him one bit. It was only when he hazarded a glance down at her and saw her smiling up at him that he felt somewhat relieved.
When the TARDIS had chosen those flowers for him, his very first thought had been to call the whole thing off, lying to Rose that he was a completely unromantic creature and was incapable of giving her the perfect Valentine’s Day. As he’d thought about it a little more, he realized that the meanings of the flowers was accurate. If he was completely honest with himself, he’d never felt the same way about any of his other companions; Sarah Jane would always have a special place in his heart, but there was just something about Rose that Sarah Jane had never touched. Whatever he felt for Rose, he knew he would feel for quite a long time, probably the forever Rose had promised him, the forever that the tulip spoke of.
Yet despite all of this, the relationship he had with Rose was so innocent and pure. Of course they held hands as often as possible and there had been that life saving kiss right before his regeneration, as well as the Cassandra Kiss. They also had their cuddly moments, especially recently in this new body, but it was always so chaste. Not that he didn’t want more, of course; even though he was a Time Lord, he was still male. Rose was beautiful and kind and brilliant. But she was also human, and therefore mortal. Her lifespan was painfully obvious for him; in what would feel like a blink of an eye, decades would pass and she would be too old and frail for their adventures. She would wither and die, and he’d be forced to live on, without her.
As he glanced down at a still smiling Rose, he had to ask himself: what would be worse? Living with regret after she was gone from his life, having never expressed his feelings? Or living with an eternal heartbreak for having lost love?