Don't Blink - 6/?
Title: Don't Blink - 6/?
Authors: rosewarren and ladychi
Characters: Rose, Ten
Summary: AU. What if Rose had stayed through Doomsday and was the one to end up in 1969 with the Doctor?
Rating: PG
~ One~ Two~ Three~ Four~ Five~
The alien cab drivers have come to an amicable agreement with their employer. Three weeks’ holiday each year, national holidays at extra pay, and a health plan. The health plan had been Rose’s idea.
“They can’t go around traveling and having fun without health insurance!” she’d protested. “What if they get sick or something?”
This had clearly never occurred to the aliens before. By the end of that conversation, major medical was included in their new contracts.
“Are you satisfied now?” the Doctor asked Rose once all the drivers and their employer had gone back to work.
“Yeah,” she said, grinning. “I am. They shouldn’t be taken advantage of. It’s not fair.”
He shook his head. “Rose Tyler. Defender of the poor, the downtrodden-”
“The aliens!” she finished up. “That includes you, you know. So you can always count on me!”
“Oh, I will,” the Doctor said, taking hold of her hand. “You’re my sure thing.”
She nodded firmly. “Forever. Even if forever turns out to be 1969.”
The pang he felt in his chest surprised him. “Rose, we won’t be stuck here for long, I promise. We’ll get the TARDIS back.”
Rose nodded. “I know we will.” But her eyes dropped from his face after she said that.
“Rose,” the Doctor began, needing to make sure she wasn’t injured or very upset with him, but he was interrupted by Harvey.
“I’ve been asked to thank you,” Harvey said. “From all of us.” He waved his arm, around, even though he was the only one left standing there with them.
“Oh, you’re welcome,” the Doctor said cheerfully. “Always happy to help.”
“Can I give you that lift now?” Harvey asked. “To Woolworth’s?”
“Well, now, that would be love-” The Doctor glanced at Rose and swiftly changed his mind. He calculated the amount of time they’d been up and running and realized that she had to be dead on her feet. “Maybe another time, Harvey. Time for us to be getting to bed.”
Harvey dropped them off at their newly-rented flat.
“No hard feelings, eh, Doctor?”
The Doctor’s attention was mostly on Rose, who was leaning against him, more than half asleep, her hand tucked in his.
“No hard feelings,” the Doctor responded shortly, worrying about concussion. Perhaps they should go to a hospital instead, even though that would mean filling out forms and providing information they didn’t really have.
At that moment Rose stirred, sitting up and meeting the Doctor’s gaze with a small smile.
“Here.” Harvey dug around in the glove compartment and withdrew a small red box. “Medical kit. Least I can do.”
“Thanks. But the least you can do is not threaten to invade any more planets. Keep to yourselves,” the Doctor advised. “There are some organizations here in Londontown that don’t quite care for aliens.” He opened the door, got out, and reached in again for Rose.
“Goodbye, Harvey,” Rose said, smiling down at him. “Enjoy your holidays.”
“Thanks, Rose. Either of you ever need a ride in London, come to us, yeah?”
“We will,” Rose promised him. The Doctor tucked the medical kit under his arm, put his other arm around Rose, and ushered her into the building.
Their block of flats was reasonably clean and respectable. While certainly not luxurious, they were a far cry from the Powell Estate where Rose had grown up.
“Here we go, come on.” The Doctor opened the door for Rose.
“I’m not an invalid, you know,” she said humorously.
“Of course not,” he agreed, not allowing her to push the door open herself. “Here we go.”
She rolled her eyes at his protectiveness but stepped into the lobby. It was dark outside but the lobby was well-lit, providing plenty of light to see and proving plenty of deterrent for any potential housebreakers.
On the left side of the hallway, a door with a black number 1 on it opened a crack. Rose waved at the crack.
“Evening, Mrs. MacMurray!”
Mrs. MacMurray was the manager of the flats. She’d lived there for thirteen years and kept a strict eye on things. However society in general was going, she maintained a firm hand on the respectability of the place. She’d been suspicious of the two of them, young and attractive, looking for a place to stay together, until some carefully chosen words by Rose led her to believe that they were, possibly, a legally married couple.
This necessary subterfuge had gone over the Doctor’s head. He was so used to walking around societies in different times, places and on different planets, doing just as he pleased, that cultural expectations sometimes slipped by him. Rose, growing up with her grandmother Prentiss, knew how ladies of a certain age expected things to be.
The Doctor, following Rose’s wave, smiled as well. “Mrs. MacMurray! Lovely to see you! Having a good day?”
The door closed, the sound of a lock being engaged coming from the other side.
“Goodnight!” Rose called, stifling a giggle.
“She seems nice,” the Doctor said genially.
Rose murmured an agreement. She didn’t think he realized they were supposed to be, possibly were, a married couple. No reason to spoil things for him now. Later it might be fun to watch him blush and squirm.
Their flat was on the third floor. Rose took the stairs on her own, hand brushing on the railing. The Doctor hovered just behind and beside her, a hand at her back.
“I’m fine,” Rose said. “You don’t have to treat me like I’m fragile.”
“I’m not!” the Doctor disagreed. “1969, Rose! I’m treating you like a gentleman would. And possibly preventing you from falling down the stairs, which is a side-effect of me, you know. Acting like a gentleman.”
Rose managed the energy to laugh, but didn’t say anything more.
They walked down the hallway, which was also lit up but slightly darker than the lobby. In front of number 27, the Doctor produced a key and unlocked the door. He switched on the lights and held the door open for Rose. She walked in and he locked the door behind them. He was conscious of a need for security now that the safety of the TARDIS was gone.
The flat was furnished, one of a just a few that came with furnishings and accessories necessary for living. The furniture seemed clean enough, and there were even some bits and pieces on the shelves and tables.
Rose had gone into the kitchen by the time the Doctor removed his coat and hung it on a peg. He followed her, bent on getting his way now.
“Come on,” he said. “Sit down and let me look at your head.”
“It’s fine.” Rose sat at the table and watched the Doctor fill a bowl of water, find a dishcloth, and unpack a few things from the medical kit.
“I’m sure you’re fine. I’ll just feel better if I make sure.”
Rose was too tired to put up much of a fuss. She sat, eyes closed, and waited.
“Go an’ make sure,” she said. “If it’ll make you feel better.”
The Doctor paused, wet cloth in hand. Rose had been hurt. She could have been seriously injured today, even - his mind veered off away from that possibility. It would happen one day, but not now. Not today.
He brushed aside Rose's hair until he found the cut. It wasn’t deep and was no longer bleeding. He gently washed the dried blood away, frowning in concentration.
Rose made a small sound and he stopped at once.
“Am I hurting you?”
“No. Feels good.”
“You’re in luck. No stitches. Already closing.”
The Doctor moved forward and knelt in front of her. Holding up the sonic screwdriver, he gently turned her face towards him with a light touch on her cheek.
“Look into the light,” he instructed, and Rose, humoring him, did so. He quickly checked her pupils. “No concussion.”
“I’m fine,” she told him. “Really.” She smiled at him, trying to reassure him, but he only stood up.
“Let me heal the cut,” he said. “I can sonic-”
Rose stopped him by standing up. “I’m okay, Doctor. Gonna get some sleep now, I think.”
“Okay,” he said instantly, feeling guilty for keeping her up. “You’re tired.”
“Yeah. You know us humans.”
He nodded slightly.
“Goodnight,” Rose said. She started to leave and paused. The Doctor held his breath as she started to speak, but then she stopped. Whatever she was going to say, he knew she had changed her mind. “Think I’ll take a shower first,” she said instead. “And then go to bed.” She touched her head. “Thanks for the first aid.”
“Oh, you’re welcome,” he said easily. He held his smile until she disappeared and he heard a door open farther down the hallway.
Alone now, he set the cloth in the sink and walked into the small sitting room. The furnished flat had a small sofa and two chairs. There was a small end table with a lamp, and a rickety-looking table that held a small television set. Pale blue curtains hung at the windows. Pushing them aside, he saw the street below them. Not a terrific view, but not an awful one, either. He let the drapes fall.
This was his reality, his existence, for now. These four walls and bare floor with an occasional rag rug. This place and time.
He was trapped here. The TARDIS wasn’t just broken, wasn’t just missing. It was gone. Wrong time, wrong place, lost to him.
For a moment, just a brief moment, panic swelled. Then he mastered it. He would get the TARDIS back. They'd faced harder situations than this. They would not be staying in 1969.
Rose knew it was foolish to refuse the Doctor’s offer to close her wound. She didn’t even know why she’d done it. Still, standing in the tiny bath, looking at her reflection in the small mirror, she didn’t care. Something about the intensity in his eyes, the gentleness in his hands, and the closeness of the situation had given her pause. With a sigh, she turned her attention to the here and now.
There were towels under the sink, and a bottle of shampoo and a cake of soap by the bathtub. Although she searched the sink and the medicine cabinet, she found no toothbrushes. She supposed they were fortunate to have clean towels and soap.
Stripping off her grey sweats, she folded them and set them down on the toilet. She stepped out of her bra and underpants, filled the sink with water, and scrubbed them both with the bar of soap. She hung them on the towel rack to dry, eyed her socks, and scrubbed them, too
She cleaned the bathtub with a washcloth and the soap, and then filled it with hot water. She forced herself not to think about anything while the water ran. The water was much too hot when she stepped in, but she sat down anyway.
The bath felt wonderful, like she was washing the day away. Her head hurt, when her fingers brushed the wound, but the warm water soothed it.
When she was done washing she rinsed off and drained the tub, and then some impulse made her fill the tub again with more hot water and just lie back.
The walls of the bath were a pale blue, darker and brighter once, but now faded and slightly cracking near the ceiling. There was no window, but someone had hung two framed prints of birds and flowers on the wall.
Her life with the Doctor had always been one of adventure and danger to life and limb and running. She’d loved it. She still did. But at the back of her mind there’d been the knowledge, sure and secure, that he could bring her home whenever she’d wanted.
Now home was gone and Jackie was gone, and Rose felt like she’d been running non-stop ever since she’d said goodbye to her mother. And then the TARDIS had been drawn to that house with the angels, and they'd landed here in 1969.
And then they’d landed in the midst of an alien rebellion.
Was it any wonder she was exhausted and out of sorts?
She didn’t even notice the tears at first. They slid down her face and fell into the cooling bath water.
“Mum,” Rose whispered. Now, of all times and places, she was homesick. She wanted her mother more than anything else in the world, and even if they got the TARDIS back, she’d never see Jackie again.
The tears slipped silently into the water, one after another.
“All right, Sally Sparrow. Sally Sparrow, Sally Sparrow,” the Doctor chanted to himself.
Rose was still in the bath. He’d assumed she would come out quickly and tell him goodnight again before she went to bed. While he waited for that, he’d turned on a lamp and sat down in an easy chair that creaked alarmingly at his weight. He’d dug around in the pockets of his coat until he found the envelope.
Emptying out the contents, he looked them over. The note to him from Sally Sparrow, whoever she was. A letter, some notes scrawled on a page, some black and white photographs.
These he picked up and looked over. A man and woman from what looked like the early-twenties, standing together. The same woman, some years older, sitting with three small children.
On the bottom of the pile were several sheets of paper with random-sounding statements on them. The Doctor ran his eye down a page.
People don’t understand time. It’s not what you think.
Complicated.
Very complicated.
Really, what was going on with this Sally Sparrow? The Doctor settled in to read some more, but he heard the bathroom door open and he jumped up, standing at attention.
Rose came into the room, stopping right at the entranceway.
“Hello,” the Doctor said. “Feeling better?”
“Yes, thanks.” Rose smiled at him. “I’m just sayin’ goodnight.”
He nodded, his head going up and down as though on its own accord. “All right, then. Goodnight.”
Rose smiled once more and turned and walked back down the hall. he heard a door open and close, and he realized he was standing there with his mouth open.
She had come in to say goodnight to him hundreds of times while they’d been traveling together. Nothing new there, to be sure.
But this was the first time Rose had said goodnight while wrapped up only in a thin towel. The sight had struck him positively speechless.
That, the Doctor thought faintly, sitting back down and crushing the pile of papers, was definitely a first.
Seven
Authors: rosewarren and ladychi
Characters: Rose, Ten
Summary: AU. What if Rose had stayed through Doomsday and was the one to end up in 1969 with the Doctor?
Rating: PG
~ One~ Two~ Three~ Four~ Five~
The alien cab drivers have come to an amicable agreement with their employer. Three weeks’ holiday each year, national holidays at extra pay, and a health plan. The health plan had been Rose’s idea.
“They can’t go around traveling and having fun without health insurance!” she’d protested. “What if they get sick or something?”
This had clearly never occurred to the aliens before. By the end of that conversation, major medical was included in their new contracts.
“Are you satisfied now?” the Doctor asked Rose once all the drivers and their employer had gone back to work.
“Yeah,” she said, grinning. “I am. They shouldn’t be taken advantage of. It’s not fair.”
He shook his head. “Rose Tyler. Defender of the poor, the downtrodden-”
“The aliens!” she finished up. “That includes you, you know. So you can always count on me!”
“Oh, I will,” the Doctor said, taking hold of her hand. “You’re my sure thing.”
She nodded firmly. “Forever. Even if forever turns out to be 1969.”
The pang he felt in his chest surprised him. “Rose, we won’t be stuck here for long, I promise. We’ll get the TARDIS back.”
Rose nodded. “I know we will.” But her eyes dropped from his face after she said that.
“Rose,” the Doctor began, needing to make sure she wasn’t injured or very upset with him, but he was interrupted by Harvey.
“I’ve been asked to thank you,” Harvey said. “From all of us.” He waved his arm, around, even though he was the only one left standing there with them.
“Oh, you’re welcome,” the Doctor said cheerfully. “Always happy to help.”
“Can I give you that lift now?” Harvey asked. “To Woolworth’s?”
“Well, now, that would be love-” The Doctor glanced at Rose and swiftly changed his mind. He calculated the amount of time they’d been up and running and realized that she had to be dead on her feet. “Maybe another time, Harvey. Time for us to be getting to bed.”
Harvey dropped them off at their newly-rented flat.
“No hard feelings, eh, Doctor?”
The Doctor’s attention was mostly on Rose, who was leaning against him, more than half asleep, her hand tucked in his.
“No hard feelings,” the Doctor responded shortly, worrying about concussion. Perhaps they should go to a hospital instead, even though that would mean filling out forms and providing information they didn’t really have.
At that moment Rose stirred, sitting up and meeting the Doctor’s gaze with a small smile.
“Here.” Harvey dug around in the glove compartment and withdrew a small red box. “Medical kit. Least I can do.”
“Thanks. But the least you can do is not threaten to invade any more planets. Keep to yourselves,” the Doctor advised. “There are some organizations here in Londontown that don’t quite care for aliens.” He opened the door, got out, and reached in again for Rose.
“Goodbye, Harvey,” Rose said, smiling down at him. “Enjoy your holidays.”
“Thanks, Rose. Either of you ever need a ride in London, come to us, yeah?”
“We will,” Rose promised him. The Doctor tucked the medical kit under his arm, put his other arm around Rose, and ushered her into the building.
Their block of flats was reasonably clean and respectable. While certainly not luxurious, they were a far cry from the Powell Estate where Rose had grown up.
“Here we go, come on.” The Doctor opened the door for Rose.
“I’m not an invalid, you know,” she said humorously.
“Of course not,” he agreed, not allowing her to push the door open herself. “Here we go.”
She rolled her eyes at his protectiveness but stepped into the lobby. It was dark outside but the lobby was well-lit, providing plenty of light to see and proving plenty of deterrent for any potential housebreakers.
On the left side of the hallway, a door with a black number 1 on it opened a crack. Rose waved at the crack.
“Evening, Mrs. MacMurray!”
Mrs. MacMurray was the manager of the flats. She’d lived there for thirteen years and kept a strict eye on things. However society in general was going, she maintained a firm hand on the respectability of the place. She’d been suspicious of the two of them, young and attractive, looking for a place to stay together, until some carefully chosen words by Rose led her to believe that they were, possibly, a legally married couple.
This necessary subterfuge had gone over the Doctor’s head. He was so used to walking around societies in different times, places and on different planets, doing just as he pleased, that cultural expectations sometimes slipped by him. Rose, growing up with her grandmother Prentiss, knew how ladies of a certain age expected things to be.
The Doctor, following Rose’s wave, smiled as well. “Mrs. MacMurray! Lovely to see you! Having a good day?”
The door closed, the sound of a lock being engaged coming from the other side.
“Goodnight!” Rose called, stifling a giggle.
“She seems nice,” the Doctor said genially.
Rose murmured an agreement. She didn’t think he realized they were supposed to be, possibly were, a married couple. No reason to spoil things for him now. Later it might be fun to watch him blush and squirm.
Their flat was on the third floor. Rose took the stairs on her own, hand brushing on the railing. The Doctor hovered just behind and beside her, a hand at her back.
“I’m fine,” Rose said. “You don’t have to treat me like I’m fragile.”
“I’m not!” the Doctor disagreed. “1969, Rose! I’m treating you like a gentleman would. And possibly preventing you from falling down the stairs, which is a side-effect of me, you know. Acting like a gentleman.”
Rose managed the energy to laugh, but didn’t say anything more.
They walked down the hallway, which was also lit up but slightly darker than the lobby. In front of number 27, the Doctor produced a key and unlocked the door. He switched on the lights and held the door open for Rose. She walked in and he locked the door behind them. He was conscious of a need for security now that the safety of the TARDIS was gone.
The flat was furnished, one of a just a few that came with furnishings and accessories necessary for living. The furniture seemed clean enough, and there were even some bits and pieces on the shelves and tables.
Rose had gone into the kitchen by the time the Doctor removed his coat and hung it on a peg. He followed her, bent on getting his way now.
“Come on,” he said. “Sit down and let me look at your head.”
“It’s fine.” Rose sat at the table and watched the Doctor fill a bowl of water, find a dishcloth, and unpack a few things from the medical kit.
“I’m sure you’re fine. I’ll just feel better if I make sure.”
Rose was too tired to put up much of a fuss. She sat, eyes closed, and waited.
“Go an’ make sure,” she said. “If it’ll make you feel better.”
The Doctor paused, wet cloth in hand. Rose had been hurt. She could have been seriously injured today, even - his mind veered off away from that possibility. It would happen one day, but not now. Not today.
He brushed aside Rose's hair until he found the cut. It wasn’t deep and was no longer bleeding. He gently washed the dried blood away, frowning in concentration.
Rose made a small sound and he stopped at once.
“Am I hurting you?”
“No. Feels good.”
“You’re in luck. No stitches. Already closing.”
The Doctor moved forward and knelt in front of her. Holding up the sonic screwdriver, he gently turned her face towards him with a light touch on her cheek.
“Look into the light,” he instructed, and Rose, humoring him, did so. He quickly checked her pupils. “No concussion.”
“I’m fine,” she told him. “Really.” She smiled at him, trying to reassure him, but he only stood up.
“Let me heal the cut,” he said. “I can sonic-”
Rose stopped him by standing up. “I’m okay, Doctor. Gonna get some sleep now, I think.”
“Okay,” he said instantly, feeling guilty for keeping her up. “You’re tired.”
“Yeah. You know us humans.”
He nodded slightly.
“Goodnight,” Rose said. She started to leave and paused. The Doctor held his breath as she started to speak, but then she stopped. Whatever she was going to say, he knew she had changed her mind. “Think I’ll take a shower first,” she said instead. “And then go to bed.” She touched her head. “Thanks for the first aid.”
“Oh, you’re welcome,” he said easily. He held his smile until she disappeared and he heard a door open farther down the hallway.
Alone now, he set the cloth in the sink and walked into the small sitting room. The furnished flat had a small sofa and two chairs. There was a small end table with a lamp, and a rickety-looking table that held a small television set. Pale blue curtains hung at the windows. Pushing them aside, he saw the street below them. Not a terrific view, but not an awful one, either. He let the drapes fall.
This was his reality, his existence, for now. These four walls and bare floor with an occasional rag rug. This place and time.
He was trapped here. The TARDIS wasn’t just broken, wasn’t just missing. It was gone. Wrong time, wrong place, lost to him.
For a moment, just a brief moment, panic swelled. Then he mastered it. He would get the TARDIS back. They'd faced harder situations than this. They would not be staying in 1969.
Rose knew it was foolish to refuse the Doctor’s offer to close her wound. She didn’t even know why she’d done it. Still, standing in the tiny bath, looking at her reflection in the small mirror, she didn’t care. Something about the intensity in his eyes, the gentleness in his hands, and the closeness of the situation had given her pause. With a sigh, she turned her attention to the here and now.
There were towels under the sink, and a bottle of shampoo and a cake of soap by the bathtub. Although she searched the sink and the medicine cabinet, she found no toothbrushes. She supposed they were fortunate to have clean towels and soap.
Stripping off her grey sweats, she folded them and set them down on the toilet. She stepped out of her bra and underpants, filled the sink with water, and scrubbed them both with the bar of soap. She hung them on the towel rack to dry, eyed her socks, and scrubbed them, too
She cleaned the bathtub with a washcloth and the soap, and then filled it with hot water. She forced herself not to think about anything while the water ran. The water was much too hot when she stepped in, but she sat down anyway.
The bath felt wonderful, like she was washing the day away. Her head hurt, when her fingers brushed the wound, but the warm water soothed it.
When she was done washing she rinsed off and drained the tub, and then some impulse made her fill the tub again with more hot water and just lie back.
The walls of the bath were a pale blue, darker and brighter once, but now faded and slightly cracking near the ceiling. There was no window, but someone had hung two framed prints of birds and flowers on the wall.
Her life with the Doctor had always been one of adventure and danger to life and limb and running. She’d loved it. She still did. But at the back of her mind there’d been the knowledge, sure and secure, that he could bring her home whenever she’d wanted.
Now home was gone and Jackie was gone, and Rose felt like she’d been running non-stop ever since she’d said goodbye to her mother. And then the TARDIS had been drawn to that house with the angels, and they'd landed here in 1969.
And then they’d landed in the midst of an alien rebellion.
Was it any wonder she was exhausted and out of sorts?
She didn’t even notice the tears at first. They slid down her face and fell into the cooling bath water.
“Mum,” Rose whispered. Now, of all times and places, she was homesick. She wanted her mother more than anything else in the world, and even if they got the TARDIS back, she’d never see Jackie again.
The tears slipped silently into the water, one after another.
“All right, Sally Sparrow. Sally Sparrow, Sally Sparrow,” the Doctor chanted to himself.
Rose was still in the bath. He’d assumed she would come out quickly and tell him goodnight again before she went to bed. While he waited for that, he’d turned on a lamp and sat down in an easy chair that creaked alarmingly at his weight. He’d dug around in the pockets of his coat until he found the envelope.
Emptying out the contents, he looked them over. The note to him from Sally Sparrow, whoever she was. A letter, some notes scrawled on a page, some black and white photographs.
These he picked up and looked over. A man and woman from what looked like the early-twenties, standing together. The same woman, some years older, sitting with three small children.
On the bottom of the pile were several sheets of paper with random-sounding statements on them. The Doctor ran his eye down a page.
People don’t understand time. It’s not what you think.
Complicated.
Very complicated.
Really, what was going on with this Sally Sparrow? The Doctor settled in to read some more, but he heard the bathroom door open and he jumped up, standing at attention.
Rose came into the room, stopping right at the entranceway.
“Hello,” the Doctor said. “Feeling better?”
“Yes, thanks.” Rose smiled at him. “I’m just sayin’ goodnight.”
He nodded, his head going up and down as though on its own accord. “All right, then. Goodnight.”
Rose smiled once more and turned and walked back down the hall. he heard a door open and close, and he realized he was standing there with his mouth open.
She had come in to say goodnight to him hundreds of times while they’d been traveling together. Nothing new there, to be sure.
But this was the first time Rose had said goodnight while wrapped up only in a thin towel. The sight had struck him positively speechless.
That, the Doctor thought faintly, sitting back down and crushing the pile of papers, was definitely a first.
Seven