wishiknewwho: (TCI love)
[personal profile] wishiknewwho
Title: A Girl Like You's Just Irresistible 
Author: wishiknewwho
Rating: PG
Characters: Ten / Rose
Dislcaimer: I don't own Doctor Who and it's probably just as well that I don't because it'd be nothing but hugs and hair ruffling for the foreseeable future. Title taken from the song "Whistle for the Choir" by The Fratellis.
Spoilers: None at all. 
Summary: Rose Tyler is amazing.  He has this thought often.  It's a good thought. 
Author Notes: Two more from me today.  I apparently find the challenges at [livejournal.com profile] then_theres_us to be inspiring.

Beta'ed at the last minute (again!) by [livejournal.com profile] salimali.  She is epic.



Rose Tyler is amazing. He has this thought often. It’s a good thought.


He’s strapped to a chair, his hands tied firmly behind his back, his legs secured to the metal legs with what looks like ribbons. He tells himself that even though the bindings look like something that would hold up a little girl’s hair, they are likely very strong, alien ribbons, and his masculinity is not in question.
His captors circle him, questioning him on how to get into his ship. This is a common occurrence; the plot is the same, the only things that change are the aliens and the planets. Well, the aliens aren’t all that different, really. The type who want access to his ship tend to be power-hungry, maniacal, and orange-ish. The first two make sense, but he can’t explain the orange.
Anyway, they’ve got through the asking nicely stage and moved on to the threatening, and he knows that after that is actual torture. He certainly hopes that these gentlemen are the type for empty threats. 
Rose isn’t with him, for once. Any other trip, she’d be strapped to the chair next to him, but not this time. This time, they’d split up, her in one direction and him the other. It wasn’t a fight exactly, more like a disagreement on how they should spend their afternoon.  He thought it would be useful to look at parts, she’d wanted to look at jewellery. He’d made a casual remark about her not caring about the TARDIS, not believing the words for a minute, but wanting her to come with him. Only she’d taken it seriously, and had gone off in a huff. He’d decided to give her a half hour to cool off. He could find the things he needed, then find her, apologise, and spend the rest of the afternoon shopping with her.
He’d been taken moments after she left, a bag pulled over his head and his hands gripped tightly, preventing him from getting to his sonic screwdriver. He’d tried to shout for her, but his words were muffled by the thick material of the bag. He’d been overpowered easily, too easily for his liking, but there were several of them and one of him, and besides, they’d caught him unawares.
He hopes that Rose has gone back to the TARDIS. Any second now he’s going to figure a way out of these ribbons and then he’ll leg it back to the ship. He’ll tell her that he got caught up bartering for some part or other, and then decided he didn’t need it after all. She’ll never have to know about this little capture.
He jerks his arms this way and that, struggling to loosen the knots, to get his hand to his sonic, anything. It’s useless though. If he pulls any harder, he’s going to turn the chair over.
He starts to think of a new plan, his brain going over the perfect words he can say to trick these aliens. He makes a few of his own threats, reminding them of what he is known as to others, but it does no good. They actually laugh.
He is starting to get the tiniest bit worried when he sees a flash of blonde behind one of the machines in the warehouse where they are keeping him. Seconds later, Rose’s head pops up, and she puts a finger to her lips, eyes sparkling with mischief. He does as she asks and keeps quiet, doesn’t even let his surprise at seeing her register on his face.
She disappears again, and he hopes that she isn’t going to do anything foolish. Who is he kidding? Of course she’s going to do something foolish. She’s jeopardy-friendly, meaning she attracts trouble like a magnet.
He purposefully shifts his eyes back to his captors. One of them is holding something that looks like a cross between a hammer and a cricket bat and he tries not to shudder at the thought of it coming into contact with his body. 
Then there’s smoke everywhere, bright pink smoke blanketing the room in a thick fog and the men scramble around, cursing in shock, barking out orders. He feels warm hands against his, fingers that he would know anywhere even if they weren’t laced with his, tugging at the ribbons.
“The sonic’s in my pocket,” he says, turning his head as far as it will go, and the hands move to his trousers. The sonic slides free. “Setting 38.” He mentally thanks himself for teaching her how to change settings the week before.
His hands spring free, and then she’s at his feet. She spares a moment to glance up at him and give him a cheeky grin. “Funny, yeah?” she says. “For once it’s me saving you and not the other way around.”
“Yeah, hilarious,” he says, but his sarcasm is tempered with good humour as he rubs his hands together, trying to get the blood flowing back to his fingers. “How’d you do it?”
“Smoke bomb,” she says casually. “I needed a distraction, and that’s what the TARDIS gave me.”
He nods. Not the most elegant of rescues, but it got the job done, and he has to admit that she has style. The sonic cuts through the ribbon and he jumps from the chair, catching her hand in his as they sprint from the warehouse.
He doesn’t look at her until they are a good few streets away from danger, until he can see a blue box on the horizon. When he does glance her way, he sees that her smile is as wide as it always is. She loves this as much as he does. There is nothing more and nothing less than the dusty road beneath their feet, their hearts racing in their chests, and their hands clasped in one another’s. It is perfect and she is amazing.



They land in New Orleans, 1957, the third week of February. Even though it’s winter and it should be cold, they are struck by warmth and humidity the moment they step outside the TARDIS. They heat licks at their skin and he tells her it’s Mardi Gras, a time for celebration, so she goes back inside to change. He waits for her, trying not to tap his foot in his impatience.
She emerges minutes later in a black dress that swirls and twirls around her calves as she walks and a black pair of trainers that match his. 
She smiles shyly when she notices him looking at her shoes. “I thought you’d like it,” she says. Her hair is twisted up, hastily done as if she knew he didn’t want to wait, and the gesture along with the shoes warms his heart.
“I do. They’re perfect,” he says, tapping the pristine white cap of her trainer with his dirtier one. “Let’s go to a parade.”
Hours later they are wandering on the outskirts of New Orleans. The sun has lowered in the sky, hanging on but just barely behind the trees. He has layers of beads around his neck and his pockets are stuffed with doubloons and moon pies, a marshmallow treat that he cannot believe he’s gone 900 years without. He’d been delighted by the chocolate and the vanilla, but when he’d caught a banana one, he thought he might die of joy. New Orleans will become a frequent stop for them.
Rose is tired. Her hair is drooping and her skin glimmers with a fine dusting of sweat. But she is wearing beads around her neck and her smile tells him that she’s had a good day.
He’s wondering if it’s too soon for another moon pie when they come to a railroad track. Rose grins and steps onto the rail, walking it like a balance beam. He decides to go with the moon pie and pulls a vanilla one from his pocket. He’s rationing the banana.
He unwraps it and Rose steadies herself with a hand on his arm.
“Throw me something, mister,” she says softly, her voice hoarse from all the shouting she’s done, from the many times she’s screamed the popular phrase.
He stares at her, confused, and she cocks her head at the treat in his hand. Realising, he offers it to her, holding it up to her mouth where she can take a bite. The rail makes her a good inch taller than him. Her teeth sink through the icing and cake and marshmallow and his breath catches in his throat.
She murmurs her appreciation for the sweet flavour on her tongue and then turns and starts walking. She lets go of him for a few minutes and stretches her arms out as she balances, her body tipping from one side to the other with every step. He cannot stop staring at her, mesmerised by the pattern of her movements.
She stops abruptly, grabs his tie, and pulls him toward her for a kiss, the beads around their necks clicking together. She’s never kissed him before, and it takes him a moment to get his bearings, a moment more to adjust to kissing someone taller. She tastes like vanilla and heat and green and purple and gold and his last thought as her tongue collides with his is that she tastes amazing.



He is under the console, checking the stabilisers, when he hears the dull thud of Rose’s bare feet on the grating above him. He frowns. She went to bed a little over two hours ago and he hadn’t expected to see her for another six hours at least.
“Doctor?” She says his name softly and immediately he can tell that something is wrong.
He pops up through the open grate and offers her a smile. “Hello.”
“Hi.” Her lips curve upwards as she tries to smile back, but it’s not a real smile, not even the one she manages when she is tired or in a bad mood. Her eyes are dark, haunted.
He pushes himself up and climbs out from under the console. “Are you all right?” he asks, concerned.
“Yeah. Just couldn’t sleep.” Her eyes drift down to his grease-smudged fingers.
He’s seen her when she can’t sleep and this is not it. If she couldn’t sleep, she’d be in the kitchen making a cup of tea or bouncing around the console, begging him to take her someplace that will make her tired. But now she looks afraid, terrified.
“Rose.” He takes her hand in his.
“I just had a bad dream. I don’t want to talk about it.” She gives his hand a reassuring squeeze and attempts another one of those half-hearted smiles.
“Are you sure?” he asks. He doesn’t want her to think he doesn’t care.
She nods. “Can I stay in here for a while?”
“Of course.” He impulsively pulls her toward him, presses his lips to her forehead in a soft, lingering kiss. “You never have to ask that.”
She moves to sit on the captain’s chair and he goes back to his work. He knows that he should make her talk about her nightmare, but he lets it go, deciding to take her mind off it and make her laugh instead.
They talk about where they are going to go next, the history of the planet they’ve just left, and then their conversation drifts toward favourites. He knows her favourite food (chips) and her favourite colour (pink), but there are so many other things he doesn’t know. He asks about her favourite band, her favourite film, her favourite Spice Girl before asking, “Who’s your favourite superhero?”
She taps her finger thoughtfully against her lips. “Well,” she says after a moment’s pause, “I liked the Spiderman films. But I used to really love Batman as a kid. So I guess Batman.”
“What about me?” he asks before he realises what he’s saying.
“What about you?” she asks, letting her legs drop from where she’d gathered them beneath her on the captain’s chair. “Who’s your favourite superhero?”
He shakes his head. “No, I mean why aren’t I your favourite?”
“Superhero?” she asks, confused. He nods. “Because you are not a superhero, Doctor.” She says the words slowly, as if he is very, very slow.
“But I am,” he says. “I save people. Whole planets, even.”
She smiles, and it’s a real smile, if a little too indulgent for his liking. “But what’s your superpower?”
“I can fly through all of time and space.” He gestures at the ship around them.
She swings her legs back and forth, her bare foot coming into contact with his leg. “Okay,” she agrees. “But what about you? Is there anything you can do on your own, without help from the TARDIS or your sonic screwdriver?”
He frowns, his face scrunching up in thought. “I can hold my breath for a really long time.”
She laughs, and even thought it’s at his expense, he’s glad to see she’s no longer thinking about her nightmare.
“And I can regenerate,” he adds, wishing he’d thought of that first. “Besides, Batman doesn’t have powers of his own. He is an ordinary man with lots of fancy gadgets.”
“And you’re no ordinary man,” she says, giggling and trying to move away as he grabs her foot. “You’re an alien.”
“Exactly,” he says. He runs his index finger from her heel to her toes and she shrieks in laughter. “I’m like Superman.” 
“Superman?” she asks sceptically, finally wrenching her foot away from him. “Faster than a speeding bullet? Strong enough to bend steel?” She eyes his thin arms.
He crosses his arms and raises his chin. “Yes.”
She holds his gaze for a moment, eyes twinkling. “All right. You can be Superman, but first you have to catch me.” She leaps from the captain’s chair and sprints toward the corridors. He chases her all the way back to her bedroom.



The next morning, she brings him a cup of tea. He’s under the console again and he pops up to see her wearing a big smile and holding a mug with the Superman logo on it.
Yes, he thinks for the thousandth time as he takes a sip of tea made just how he likes it, Rose Tyler is amazing.

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