Fanfic: Pan Am Blue (alt!Ten/alt!Rose, PG)
Title: Pan Am Blue
Fandom: Doctor Who/Pan Am crossover
Pairing: alt!Ten/alt!Rose
Rating: PG
Wordcount: 1212
Author's notes: Written for the 2011 Doctor/Rose Holiday Fixaton at doctor_rose_fix, prompt by mylittlepwny.
Had some trouble with characterization, but the prompt was too inspiring to let go!
Rose's heart feels like it's about to leap out of her chest as she watches the enormous airplane glistening in the morning sun through the equally enormous window of the New York International Airport. She can hardly believe it's finally here. Her first trip into the unknown.
Well, not the unknown, she knows exactly where she's going. But still.
She smoothes down her skirt to eliminate any errant wrinkles, briefly checks whether her hat is still in its proper place and sets her blue stewardess bag in the crook of her elbow. It still smells of new leather.
The first person she meets on the plane catches her off-guard; a dashing, blue-eyed man who looks like he's jumped straight out of a movie screen, square jaw and all.
"I always said this uniform looks best on blondes," he says, and Rose takes note of the three golden bars on his uniform epaulettes which indicate he's the co-pilot. "But you just set a new standard!" Before she can reply, she feels a soft touch on her shoulder.
"Oh, leave the girl alone, Jack," she turns to face a beautiful, smiling negro girl. (Rose is instantly impressed by how progressive Pan Am is.) "It's her first day, you'll have plenty more opportunities."
The co-pilot silently concedes defeat by politely raising his hat and winking at Rose, and the girl drags her away by the hand.
"Wow," Rose breathes.
"If you think he's good looking, just wait until you meet our Captain," the girl laughs. "I'm Martha, Martha Jones. You're Rose, right? C'mon, let's introduce you to the rest of the girls."
Everything is a whirlwind of new faces and new smells and new voices, and Rose has never been surer that she was born for this.
"Rose Tyler!" she hears someone cheerfully call her name as she's crouching to place her belongings into the luggage compartment reserved for stewardesses. The man's strong English accent amusingly makes it sound more like Tylah. She'd never heard someone call her that way. As Rose looks up towards the uniformed man standing over her, she remembers Martha's words and silently agrees. The Captain is good looking. Rock-star sideburns, lanky; but wears it well.
"I'm the Doctor," the man offers a hand to help her up, and she takes it.
"That's your name?" she grins, her tongue caught between her teeth for a moment. "You sign your checks 'the Doctor'?"
"Yes!" he exclaims cheerfully and rocks back on his heels, his hands planted firmly in his pockets. "Well, no," he pauses. "Well, it's a long story. But the fact is, everyone calls me the Doctor."
"Nice to meet you, then, Doctor," says Rose. "Are you from the UK? Going home must be exciting for you."
"Yep! I can show you around London, if you like."
"Wouldn't you rather visit your family? I bet you don't get to see them very often."
"Nah," the Doctor dismisses her idea with a jerk of his chin. "They're all gone."
"Oh," Rose mentally kicks herself for bringing up what sounds like a painful subject. "I'm sorry."
But the Doctor is already grinning. "Nah, don't worry about it! I'm good at finding company."
Before Rose knows it, she's strapped into her seat and the airplane is violently shaking. Martha reassures her that it's a perfectly normal liftoff and that the Captain knows what he's doing despite his playful attitude. It only takes Rose minutes to adjust.
Rose splits up with her colleagues in the hotel lounge where she'd agreed to meet up with the Doctor. He appears mercifully quickly; she can hardly stand the desire for adventure burning inside of her.
"So old chap, d'ya reckon we should get a pint of ale before or after our tour?"
"Don't," the Doctor grimaces half-jokingly. "Just... don't."
"I say!" replies Rose as both of them dissolve into laughter. The Doctor offers her his elbow and she hooks her arm around it. It feels like the most natural thing in the world.
Luckily the weather is pleasant, and Rose basks in her new surroundings, her heart soaring like she never even left the plane. For a moment, she wonders whether the Doctor finds her enthusiasm for things he takes for granted strange, but he reassures her that he loves seeing people experience London for the first time.
"Why is that phone box blue?" she asks, briefly pointing towards is with her gloved hand.
"That's not a phone box," the Doctor chuckles. "It's a police box. Here, I'll show you."
As they come closer, Rose notices it is bigger then a phone booth after all.
"There's a phone right here," the Doctor explains. "So you can call the police if there's an emergency. And the inside functions as a miniature police station. You can stuff a criminal in here until backup arrives."
"Wow, it must be cramped on the inside."
"Probably, yeah. You know, you're perfectly camouflaged when you stand next to it," the Doctor jokes, and Rose realizes the shade of her bright blue uniform almost exactly matches the bright blue of the box itself.
"Hold on a second, I've got an idea," she says and starts rummaging through her stewardess bag, thinking how lucky it is that she hadn't changed.
"That bag of yours is bottomless, isn't it?" the Doctor asks as Rose finally manages to dig out what she was looking for. "Is that a Polaroid?"
"Yeah," Rose grins at him, carefully clutching the treasure in her hands. "My mom made me get one so I can show her all the places I've been to. It takes photos in color, too!"
"Brilliant!" as if that was humanly possible, the Doctor's smile turns even brighter.
Rose asks a passerby to take a photograph of them with the police box, and, being used to tourists, the man happily obliges. She is a little surprised when the Doctor puts his arm around her shoulders, but as the chemicals develop and the colorful image springs to life before their eyes, she has to admit it does make for a great photo.
Rose's two inch heels are sensible, but not so sensible that she wouldn't be grateful for the comfortable pub the Doctor takes her to after it gets dark. They take the corner booth, and they talk and drink until Rose almost wants to tell him she feels like she's known him for years, even though he's just a handsome, mysterious stranger. During the course of the evening they find themselves gravitating towards each other, as if drawn together by a magnetic force, until their hips are touching.
"We can't," the Doctor murmurs so quietly Rose wouldn't even be able to hear if he wasn't so intimately close, but despite his words, he makes no attempt to move.
Maybe she trusts him because she already put her life in his hands when she flew with him this morning (it seems like such a long time ago). There's nothing left for her to lose.
"I'm the pilot and you're my subordinate, it would be wrong." His dark eyes are on her lips. "We shouldn't--"
He can't finish the sentence because she's kissing him.
Rose is beautiful in her tailored blue outfit, but she looks even better out of it.
Fandom: Doctor Who/Pan Am crossover
Pairing: alt!Ten/alt!Rose
Rating: PG
Wordcount: 1212
Author's notes: Written for the 2011 Doctor/Rose Holiday Fixaton at doctor_rose_fix, prompt by mylittlepwny.
Had some trouble with characterization, but the prompt was too inspiring to let go!
Rose's heart feels like it's about to leap out of her chest as she watches the enormous airplane glistening in the morning sun through the equally enormous window of the New York International Airport. She can hardly believe it's finally here. Her first trip into the unknown.
Well, not the unknown, she knows exactly where she's going. But still.
She smoothes down her skirt to eliminate any errant wrinkles, briefly checks whether her hat is still in its proper place and sets her blue stewardess bag in the crook of her elbow. It still smells of new leather.
The first person she meets on the plane catches her off-guard; a dashing, blue-eyed man who looks like he's jumped straight out of a movie screen, square jaw and all.
"I always said this uniform looks best on blondes," he says, and Rose takes note of the three golden bars on his uniform epaulettes which indicate he's the co-pilot. "But you just set a new standard!" Before she can reply, she feels a soft touch on her shoulder.
"Oh, leave the girl alone, Jack," she turns to face a beautiful, smiling negro girl. (Rose is instantly impressed by how progressive Pan Am is.) "It's her first day, you'll have plenty more opportunities."
The co-pilot silently concedes defeat by politely raising his hat and winking at Rose, and the girl drags her away by the hand.
"Wow," Rose breathes.
"If you think he's good looking, just wait until you meet our Captain," the girl laughs. "I'm Martha, Martha Jones. You're Rose, right? C'mon, let's introduce you to the rest of the girls."
Everything is a whirlwind of new faces and new smells and new voices, and Rose has never been surer that she was born for this.
"Rose Tyler!" she hears someone cheerfully call her name as she's crouching to place her belongings into the luggage compartment reserved for stewardesses. The man's strong English accent amusingly makes it sound more like Tylah. She'd never heard someone call her that way. As Rose looks up towards the uniformed man standing over her, she remembers Martha's words and silently agrees. The Captain is good looking. Rock-star sideburns, lanky; but wears it well.
"I'm the Doctor," the man offers a hand to help her up, and she takes it.
"That's your name?" she grins, her tongue caught between her teeth for a moment. "You sign your checks 'the Doctor'?"
"Yes!" he exclaims cheerfully and rocks back on his heels, his hands planted firmly in his pockets. "Well, no," he pauses. "Well, it's a long story. But the fact is, everyone calls me the Doctor."
"Nice to meet you, then, Doctor," says Rose. "Are you from the UK? Going home must be exciting for you."
"Yep! I can show you around London, if you like."
"Wouldn't you rather visit your family? I bet you don't get to see them very often."
"Nah," the Doctor dismisses her idea with a jerk of his chin. "They're all gone."
"Oh," Rose mentally kicks herself for bringing up what sounds like a painful subject. "I'm sorry."
But the Doctor is already grinning. "Nah, don't worry about it! I'm good at finding company."
Before Rose knows it, she's strapped into her seat and the airplane is violently shaking. Martha reassures her that it's a perfectly normal liftoff and that the Captain knows what he's doing despite his playful attitude. It only takes Rose minutes to adjust.
Rose splits up with her colleagues in the hotel lounge where she'd agreed to meet up with the Doctor. He appears mercifully quickly; she can hardly stand the desire for adventure burning inside of her.
"So old chap, d'ya reckon we should get a pint of ale before or after our tour?"
"Don't," the Doctor grimaces half-jokingly. "Just... don't."
"I say!" replies Rose as both of them dissolve into laughter. The Doctor offers her his elbow and she hooks her arm around it. It feels like the most natural thing in the world.
Luckily the weather is pleasant, and Rose basks in her new surroundings, her heart soaring like she never even left the plane. For a moment, she wonders whether the Doctor finds her enthusiasm for things he takes for granted strange, but he reassures her that he loves seeing people experience London for the first time.
"Why is that phone box blue?" she asks, briefly pointing towards is with her gloved hand.
"That's not a phone box," the Doctor chuckles. "It's a police box. Here, I'll show you."
As they come closer, Rose notices it is bigger then a phone booth after all.
"There's a phone right here," the Doctor explains. "So you can call the police if there's an emergency. And the inside functions as a miniature police station. You can stuff a criminal in here until backup arrives."
"Wow, it must be cramped on the inside."
"Probably, yeah. You know, you're perfectly camouflaged when you stand next to it," the Doctor jokes, and Rose realizes the shade of her bright blue uniform almost exactly matches the bright blue of the box itself.
"Hold on a second, I've got an idea," she says and starts rummaging through her stewardess bag, thinking how lucky it is that she hadn't changed.
"That bag of yours is bottomless, isn't it?" the Doctor asks as Rose finally manages to dig out what she was looking for. "Is that a Polaroid?"
"Yeah," Rose grins at him, carefully clutching the treasure in her hands. "My mom made me get one so I can show her all the places I've been to. It takes photos in color, too!"
"Brilliant!" as if that was humanly possible, the Doctor's smile turns even brighter.
Rose asks a passerby to take a photograph of them with the police box, and, being used to tourists, the man happily obliges. She is a little surprised when the Doctor puts his arm around her shoulders, but as the chemicals develop and the colorful image springs to life before their eyes, she has to admit it does make for a great photo.
Rose's two inch heels are sensible, but not so sensible that she wouldn't be grateful for the comfortable pub the Doctor takes her to after it gets dark. They take the corner booth, and they talk and drink until Rose almost wants to tell him she feels like she's known him for years, even though he's just a handsome, mysterious stranger. During the course of the evening they find themselves gravitating towards each other, as if drawn together by a magnetic force, until their hips are touching.
"We can't," the Doctor murmurs so quietly Rose wouldn't even be able to hear if he wasn't so intimately close, but despite his words, he makes no attempt to move.
Maybe she trusts him because she already put her life in his hands when she flew with him this morning (it seems like such a long time ago). There's nothing left for her to lose.
"I'm the pilot and you're my subordinate, it would be wrong." His dark eyes are on her lips. "We shouldn't--"
He can't finish the sentence because she's kissing him.
Rose is beautiful in her tailored blue outfit, but she looks even better out of it.