To Have and to Hold 6/9
Story: To Have and to Hold
Author: WMR
Characters: Nine, Ten, Rose, a little of Jack, Jackie, Mickey
Rated: PG
Spoilers: All the way to TCI, and some dialogue from School Reunion.
Summary: Since you have no parents to act on your behalf, I need to ask you: will you accept his hand in marriage?
This story is written in response to
purplerhino's challenge: Write one (pick one) or even all of the episodes for at least season two with the Doctor and Rose married. Many thanks to my wonderful, nitpicky and inspirational BRs, the fabulous
dark_aegis,
ponygirl72 and
nnwest.
Chapter 1: Lewd Conduct
Chapter 2: War Widow
Chapter 3: Staking a Claim
Chapter 4: Cold Comfort
Chapter 5: Letting Go
Chapter 6: Married Life
Getting a temporary job. It made perfect sense. Really, it did.
She did need the money. If she was going to be here for a few weeks, it was essential. Her bank account was dangerously near the red, for one thing. And, for another, though her mum hadn’t said anything yet, it’d only be a matter of time before the comments about how much more she was having to spend what with extra mouths to feed, and how long was Rose going to be around for, anyway, and was she expected to feed the Doctor too?
But that was fair enough. She’d always contributed to household spending, right from when she’d had her first Saturday job. Wasn’t as if her mum earned a fortune. Money was always tight.
Sometimes - like just now - she wondered whether the Doctor actually had a clue about the realities of life, especially for families like hers. That normal people did have to work for a living, and some more so than others. It wasn’t that he was insensitive, really, though it might’ve seemed that way. He just didn’t know, because it was so beyond his experience.
But bringing up their marriage like that... No, that wasn’t fair. It was bloody not fair.
So she was very happy to be offered a job within five minutes of showing her face in Henriks’ personnel department. And, when they asked if she could start immediately, she was happier still. Full-time for between three and four weeks, and as much overtime as they could give her. Great. Perfect, in fact.
***
Nice one, Doctor. Open your mouth a little wider next time - you might get both feet in.
God, sometimes he really missed Jack. Well, a lot more than sometimes. But that was something he couldn’t change. Time he focused on things he could.
Like maybe not putting his foot in it next time he spoke to Rose?
She was right. He couldn’t have it both ways. Couldn’t tell her with one breath that they weren’t really married, that he’d never seen it as real, and with the next claim her as his wife. Even if he’d intended it as a joke. Joking wasn’t fair, not about this. Not when she had hoped it was real.
It was only some time later when, despite being immersed in repairing the damage he’d done to the TARDIS’s velocity controls, it dawned on him that he hadn’t been able to stop wondering whether Rose had got the job and if she was looking forward to resuming a normal life, that it occurred to him that he hadn’t entirely intended the comment as a joke.
Well, damnit anyway. And what the heck did that mean?
***
She’d forgotten what it was like. It’d only been a little over six months from her perspective, even if more than eighteen months for everyone else, since she’d worked in Henrik’s before, but she’d forgotten what it was like to be on her feet all day. To be at the beck and call of customers who didn’t know the first thing about good manners - or who assumed that they didn’t apply when it came to shop assistants in the sales.
She got shouted at, walked into, blamed for things that were another customer’s fault - or no-one’s fault at all, such as there being no more size sixteens in the winter coats, or that the size twelve didn’t fit a woman who clearly hadn’t been a size twelve in years.
Her mum had said working in Henrik’s had given her airs. Well, if she thought that was bad, her mum should see what travelling with the Doctor had done. There was no way she could stick working here for more than a few weeks. It wasn’t just the sales customers. The whole routine - being on her feet all day, folding and refolding clothes that’d been left in a mess, picking up after people in the changing rooms, being treated as if she was less than nothing just because she was a shop assistant...
She was better than that.
And that sounded pretty arrogant, didn’t it? She wasn’t saying there was anything wrong with being a shop assistant. She’d been one for three years, after all. But she wanted more than that now. The Doctor had shown her how much more there was to life. How much more she was capable of.
There really was no going back.
And that meant she had to do some serious thinking, some time soon. Because, one day, she was going to leave the Doctor. And she had to have a plan in place for what she was going to do once she did.
***
He’d run out of engine oil. Could be worse. He could’ve run out of some component or equipment that simply wasn’t available on twenty-first century Earth. Oil; not a problem. Just had to find the nearest Halfords, or a petrol station would probably do.
Pulling his coat on as he walked, he left the TARDIS. As soon as he shut the door behind him, he saw Mickey coming out of the flats. And Mickey’d seen him. He paused, raising a hand in greeting.
“Oi! You!”
Mickey’s shout in return made him sigh. What was it with Rose’s extended family? Ever since Christmas they all seemed to be bad-tempered.
“I want a word with you!” Mickey yelled, running over.
“What’ve I done now?” Nothing, he was sure, but he was equally sure that Mickey would have some error or omission or perceived fault in mind.
He didn’t see it coming. One second, he was watching Mickey running in his direction; the next, he was staggering to keep his balance, one hand clamped to his jaw where Mickey’s fist had just connected.
“Blimey! What the hell was that for?” he demanded as soon as he managed to stand upright without difficulty again. “Ow! That hurt!”
“Good. It was s’posed to.” Mickey’s tone was flat and angry.
A splash of red on the back of his hand caught his eye. Damnit. His lip was bleeding. Fumbling for a handkerchief, he exclaimed, exasperated, “What d’you think I did to deserve that?”
It occurred to him, as he dabbed at his split lip, that his previous self would’ve laid into Mickey in return. Would have him flat on his back on the ground by now.
“And all I was doing was going out to get some engine oil! Minding my own business. Not doing anybody any harm at all. I mean, if this was Sontar, I’d understand it. But, blimey, it’s just the Powell Estates!”
“You think you’re so witty, don’t you?” Mickey, fists clenching and unclenching, was glaring at him still. “So clever an’ intelligent. Not like us poor sods. An’ you don’t know what you did?”
He rocked on his heels. “You might as well tell me. Can’t go anywhere like this, can I?”
Mickey ignored his interjection. “I mean, first you swan off with my girlfriend. Then you come back ‘ere an’ you’re married to ‘er an’ neither of you even had the decency to tell me.”
Well, he’d known that Mickey knew about the wedding thing. But just how many people had she told? Did the whole of the estate know?
“But, okay, she tells me it’s none of my business an’ we weren’t going out any more anyway so I have to accept that. An’ I would. ‘Cept you’re treatin’ ‘er like shit!”
“What?” He stared at Mickey. “What makes you think that?”
“I was just up at the flat. Jackie told me Rose stayed there last night an’ you were in there.” He jerked a thumb towards the TARDIS. “An’ now I hear Rose’s gone off an’ got herself a job. You’re only s’posed to be here for a few weeks. You that hard up that she felt she had to? Or is that it then? You take her off, go have these adventures, an' then you're just gonna swan off an' leave her again?”
Mickey was blaming him for Rose’s decision that she wanted a temporary job?
Though he couldn’t be sure. Was it his fault? Or had she been telling the truth? Maybe it really was something she wanted to do. She did hate being idle - six months or so travelling with her had shown him that. And, although he had plenty to keep him occupied for the next couple of weeks or so, she didn’t.
“Mickey.” He raked a hand through his hair. “I already told Jackie the marriage thing is between me and Rose. I’m not going to defend myself to you on that. But I am not leaving Rose. When I leave here, she’s coming with me - as long as she still wants to.”
“An’ she knows that, does she?” Mickey was still belligerent.
“Ask her, if you don’t believe me.” He dabbed at his lip again. It was still bleeding.
“So why’s she gone back to work at Henrik’s, then?”
He sighed. “Wish I knew. Tell me, Mickey, do you understand women? Cause I used to think I did. You’re human. Maybe it’s easier for you? Maybe there’s something I’m missing, being alien?”
And suddenly Mickey’s expression changed, and he burst out laughing. “Aw, mate, you’ve got a lot to learn if you think it’s ever gonna be possible for a bloke to understand women!” He shrugged. “I’ve known Rose for three years, right? An’ that’s not includin’ the year she went missing. An’ I still don’t understand her half the time. Never would’ve guessed she’d go off with some old geezer in a police box just cause he came up with some cheesy chat-up line.”
Did I mention it also travels in time?
“It wasn’t that cheesy,” he objected. “Actually, I thought it was quite clever. Brilliant, even.” He was tempted to object to the ‘old’, but acknowledged that he probably had very little right to.
“You better go an’ put something on that.” Mickey nodded towards his cut lip. “What’d you say you wanted, anyway? Engine oil, was it?”
“Yeah.” Clearly, the hostility was at an end. Maybe this was some sort of human male bonding ritual he didn’t quite understand? Physical violence, followed by trading of insults, then miraculously becoming best mates?
Mickey Smith, his best mate? He didn’t think so. Even if the bloke wasn’t as bad as his previous self had thought.
“Right. Give me ten minutes an’ I’ll be back with some. How much d’you need?”
He frowned. “You don’t need to do that. I was going to Halfords.”
Mickey grinned. “I’m a mechanic, mate. I work with the stuff all day. Got a couple of cans back at my flat. So, couple of litres do you?”
He nodded. “Should be plenty. I just need to oil some of the mechanism.”
Mickey was as good as his word. Ten minutes later, he’d repaired most of the damage to his lip and was flat on his back under the console grille when a loud knock came at the door. “It’s open!” he yelled.
He heard the sound of footsteps approaching, and then a pair of grubby once-white trainers came into view. “Hah! Does Rose know she went from one grease-monkey to another?”
He slid out and stared up at Mickey, raising one eyebrow. “I object to the designation of monkey.”
“Object all you like, mate. Me objectin’ never stopped you calling me Ricky the Idiot, did it?”
“What, you want me to apologise for that?” Was he going to spend the whole of this life making up for the sins of his previous ones? Though there were so many he could never possibly atone for...
“Nah.” Mickey was grinning now. “Reckon I’ve got my revenge. Man, you really don’t understand women, do you? At last - something the brilliant Doctor’s as bad at as us ordinary blokes!” He crouched down. “Where d’you want this oil, then?”
Since Mickey didn’t seem to be in any hurry to rush off, and he was a mechanic, after all, he decided to put him to work. In minutes, the two of them were working together to give the TARDIS what she needed.
“So,” he said after a bit, wanting information but not wanting to reveal how badly he wanted it, “Rose’s already got the job, has she? When I saw her, she was just going in to apply.”
“Yeah. Jackie said they wanted ‘er to start straight away. She’s workin’ late tonight an’ tomorrow. Extra-long shift tomorrow, she said - it’s Thursday.” He rolled his eyes. “Late-night shopping. It’ll be murder.”
Late-night shopping, in the sales. Yes, he could only imagine it would be. Rose would be exhausted.
All right, it was nothing she wasn’t used to. This used to be her job, after all. Six or seven days a week of it, eight or more hours a day, before he’d grabbed her from under the crashing arm of an Auton. But still, she was going to wear herself out, and it just wasn’t necessary.
And it wasn’t just that. If Rose was going to be working all day and well into the evening, when was she going to have time to do what she was supposed to be doing while they were here - getting to know him as he now was?
***
The end of her second day, and she was even more weary than she’d been yesterday.
She’d thought that she was fitter than she’d ever been. All that running for her life, climbing into inaccessible spaces, all the other athletic things she inevitably ended up doing as a consequence of travelling with the Doctor. Yet one twelve-hour shift spent on her feet, with just two half-hour breaks, and she was completely knackered.
Just as well she wasn’t due in until noon tomorrow.
Still, at least it was keeping her busy. For all sorts of reasons, that was a very good thing.
Much as she loved her mum, and nice as it was to be able to spend some time with her, she really couldn’t take hours on end of conversation Mum-style. And especially not all the questions about the Doctor, and their relationship, and what was happening with this so-called marriage, and when was she going to come to her senses and leave him. Stay home where it was safe.
And, too, there was the Doctor. Okay, it was looking like they’d come to some sort of understanding about the marriage thing - she’d made it clear that she was okay with saying it wasn’t real. But then he was the one who’d brought it up again yesterday. Joke or not, it wasn’t fair of him to say things like that. Especially when he’d changed and she was still trying to get used to the new him and she found him far too appealing in some respects.
So the job, exhausting as it was, was some valuable breathing space.
The bus finally got to her stop, and she dragged herself up and to the door. And, as she stepped down to the ground, her hand was taken.
She swung around to face whoever’d done it, intending to give the bloke - it was definitely a man’s hand - a piece of her mind. And then saw the Doctor smiling down at her.
Surprised - and more pleased to see him than she wanted to acknowledge - she said, “What you doin’ here?”
“Came to meet you, of course.” He raised an eyebrow. “Isn’t that what husbands are supposed to do when they haven’t seen their wives for a couple of days?” She glared at him. “Yes. Right. Right. Right, of course. Mustn’t joke about it. Sorry.” His fingers tightened around hers. “But I have missed you. Thought you’d come and see me last night when you got home.”
She shrugged, trying not to let him see how much what he’d just said pleased her. He’d missed her. “Was too tired.” Which was the absolute truth. “All I wanted was to collapse into bed, an’ anyway I had to be up early today, too.”
He started walking, tugging her along with him. God, her feet hurt. “I told you yesterday. You don’t have to do any of this. Maybe I could’ve been a little more tactful with it, but I meant it.” She glanced up at him, and saw him watching her, concern in the still-unfamiliar brown eyes. “You’re my companion, Rose. My best friend.”
He was going to offer her money again. She winced. All right, she knew enough about him by now to know that he could easily afford it, but that wasn’t the point. It just wasn’t the way she wanted things to be between them.
But, instead, he said, “I’d just like to be able to spend some time with you. And I can’t if you’re off selling posh frocks and underwear all day long and half the night.”
That was true. “It’ll be easier in a couple of days. We’re only open for six hours on Sunday, an’ they don’t need me Monday and Tuesday.”
He nodded. “Okay.”
They were walking into the Powell Estates now, but the pace he was setting was too much for her aching feet. She found herself lagging behind. He stopped and turned to her. “What’s wrong?”
She shrugged. “Feet hurt.”
He glanced down at her shoes. Not as comfortable as the trainers she usually wore when they were out and about, but she couldn’t wear those for work. Without a word, he went to her side and wrapped his arm around her shoulders. “Lean on me,” he instructed her as he began walking again, more slowly this time.
She did. And it felt good to be close to him again. He felt so familiar next to her, even if it was a new him. Just as she’d felt when he’d taken her hand mere minutes after his regeneration, she knew it was still him. Still the Doctor.
He was taking her to the TARDIS, she realised. And she was torn. She so wanted to spend some time with him, but she was exhausted. But he seemed to understand that. “Phone your mum,” he told her as the door slammed shut behind them. “Tell her you’re staying here tonight.”
“I am?”
His arm was suddenly gone from around her shoulders, and she felt its loss. “You are. Might as well, really. I mean, you’ve got a perfectly comfortable bedroom here, no stairs to climb, an’ I’ll even throw in a cup of tea in the morning. Now, too. How can you resist?”
“I can’t.” And it was the absolute truth.
“Good.” God, she loved that new grin.
“Come on.” He had her hand again, and he was towing her further into the TARDIS. “In here.” He opened a familiar door and ushered her into the room beyond. “Back in a tick with that cuppa, all right?”
The last time she’d been in this room - a welcoming, very comfortable sitting room, with a deep, squashy sofa and a couple of huge armchairs - she’d been with the old him and Jack, relaxing after a tiring day and watching a movie. It’d been nice, the three of them, sharing beer and peanuts and swapping commentary on the film.
God, Jack. How much she missed him.
He was dead. Yet, in all her crying for the Doctor, she’d barely had time to spare him a thought over the last couple of days. They’d just left him behind on the satellite. They shouldn’t have done that. They should’ve brought him with them and found somewhere to bury him.
Well, it wasn’t too late. As soon as the Doctor was ready to leave she’d insist on it.
He’d told her to call her mum. She threw off her coat, fished for her phone and made the call. She’d only just hung up when the door opened again. The Doctor, carrying an enormous tray, came in.
“What are you...” Shaking her head, she stared at him.
“Well, come on, shoes off! You said your feet were hurting, right? Well, you won’t do them any good keeping them stuffed in those tight shoes. Get a move on, then!”
He was right. Her feet were still throbbing, and it was a relief to get the shoes off. He’d brought a basin, she realised, surprised, and it felt so good to soak her feet in the warm water as she sipped the tea he’d made her.
And then he surprised her even more. He dried off her feet one by one, then came to sit next to her on the sofa, bringing her legs up onto his lap. And then he started to massage her feet, his fingers kneading all the aching joints and muscles until she felt like purring.
“Never knew you could do this, Doctor!” she managed to say at last.
He looked up from his contemplation of her feet, and gave her a cheeky grin. “You never asked.”
“Well, you never offered before, either!”
“Maybe I should have.” His tone was light, but there was something in the way he was looking at her that actually made her heart skip a beat.
Nervously, she licked her lips. Conversation. Normal conversation. That’d be a good idea.
“So, other than me bein’ busier than you expected, what’s the problem with me working?” She really did want to know. His reaction yesterday had been surprising.
“Nothing! Really, nothing,” he added as she gave him a sceptical look. And then his mouth turned down at the corners. “I just couldn’t help wondering if it was your way of saying you don’t want to come with me when I leave.”
She almost spilt her tea in her shock. “No! No way! Told you, I want to come.” And then she grinned. “You’re stuck with me, Doctor. Told you that, months ago. You’ll have to throw me out if you want rid of me.”
But that wasn’t true, of course. She’d already decided that. Because of what he’d told her. One day she’d leave him, while she could still walk away and before he had to watch her age and fade right before his eyes.
There was warmth in his smile and his eyes. “Good.”
“Yeah.” She still couldn’t do anything but smile back at him when he looked at her like that. His thumbs kneaded the balls of her left foot again. “Oh, that’s so good! Keep doing that. Please!”
Amusement was dancing in his eyes as he looked at her. And the reason was obvious. She’d sounded as if he was doing so much more to her than just rubbing her feet. She could feel herself blush. “Okay, just dig me a hole and let me crawl into it.”
“Why?” He actually winked at her. “What’s a bit of pleasure between friends?”
Now he was really trying to embarrass her. “Doctor!”
He leaned forward, resting a hand on her hip, and dropped a kiss on her nose, then pulled back, grinning. “Something wrong, Rose?”
Her breath caught. Having him this close was doing all kinds of things to her senses. Dangerous. Very dangerous, given what he’d told her about why he avoided entanglements. But, god, Mickey had never made her feel like this!
If she didn’t know better, she’d think he was flirting with her. But much, much more obviously than the subtle flirting games they used to play with each other. The ones they’d both known would never go anywhere.
A few days ago, if he’d done this, she’d have kissed him - new Doctor or no new Doctor. She’d kissed him before, and in this body, too. But that was then. Since then, he’d told her why he avoided getting too close to people.
She didn’t want him to be hurt - and she didn’t want to get hurt herself.
If she did anything, he’d reject her. She knew that. Even if he was the one flirting with her, making all the moves now. Sometimes, she had to wonder if he had the faintest idea about relationships, or the effect he had on her - in either body. Sure, he’d insisted that he’d danced, and he’d flirted with both her and Jack, but there were so many times he’d just seemed totally clueless.
So she leaned back against the corner of the sofa, in the process increasing the distance between them, and changed the subject, asking what he’d been doing the last couple of days. He began to massage her other foot as he answered, and she just let his typically-technical explanation of the repair-work he’d done to the TARDIS wash over her.
And, when he asked her how it’d been going back to work in the shop after being away for so long, she kept him amused with anecdotes about difficult customers, a new staff member who thought tact was telling a customer her bum looked big in every pair of trousers she tried on, and the manager who kept trying to help out on the cash desk and buggering up the till each time.
But all the time a question was burning in the back of her mind and, when conversation eventually slowed to a trickle and his fingers were still working magic, now around her heels and instep, she had to ask.
“You know what you were saying, about... about watching people you care for die?”
His smile disappeared, and a shadow passed over his face. But he nodded. “Go on.”
“Well, I just wondered... well... has it happened often? I mean, have there been many?”
***
tbc