Tea, Chips, and the Endless Sky

"Who are we going to save today, Doctor?" She's a flurry of yellow hair and pink limbs, bounding toward his spot in the console room. He chuckles lightly at how she's become a central part of his life on the TARDIS, now willing she always is for their next adventure although she knows he attracts danger. He hopes his plan won't upset her.

"Weelll, actually, we're somewhere pretty special. Not too fast paced but I figured a change would be nice for a day."

"Oh, really?" Her eyebrows raise in curiosity and now she's skipped round to the other side of him, her eyes wide and wondering as she looks up at him. "And what d'you mean by that?"

"No planets to save, no aliens...well, except for me...Just me and you, a bit of a day off. What do you say?" He holds out his hand and wiggles his fingers, Rose giggling at his cheeky gesture before taking his hand in hers. The Doctor makes a beeline for the kitchen, towing Rose along, and she shakes her head at him.

"Door's that way, Doctor."

"Not if you want tea it's not."

"Alright," she smiles and beats him to the kettle, switching it on with a teasing grin. "But let me do it...you were always rubbish at making tea."

Having acquired tea and some chips neither had realized were in the kitchen, the Doctor led Rose back to the console room. She rambled as thy took their short walk, pestering him as he tried not to smile.

"...Or New Earth, that's it. It has to be new earth. No, wait, Raxacoricophallapatorious!"

"You just like to say that word."

"Maybe."

"Anyway, all I have to do is open this door and you'll know." Rose rolls her eyes playfully, growing frustrated with the guessing game.

"Then do it already!"

The sky is an endless pink, it's shades dipping between black-red and starry white. It's expanse is lain before them so that there is no clear end or beginning, just endless sky and twinkling diamond stars, and the TARDIS floating right in the middle of it all. She gasps and moves to look at him, but he's already sat, legs dangling over continual space, and taken a sip of the tea she's made.

As soon as she's sitting she takes his free hand in hers, stealing a chip from their shared container. For a while they're quiet, listening to the soft music that's been cleverly put on by the TARDIS. Eventually she's gasping again, this time fully able to look at him with wide and shining eyes.

"The shape..."

"What about it?" He grins as if it's nothing, as if the brilliant cosmic rose in front of them was not planned.

"You're turning into a sap!"

"Well, I think it's beautiful." He's not talking about the galaxy anymore, eyes set on hers, and they both know it. She sucks her head and grins softly, leaning her head on his shoulder, his arm finding its way around her waist to pull her closer.
(...)

They sit until their tea's run cold and their stomachs cannot bear anymore chips, laughing and telling stories with no real purpose other than prolonging their time.

Finally, after a dissatisfying sip of cold tea, the Doctor rises and sighs.

"It's too cold to be good anymore." The Doctor swirls the last of the brown liquid around in his mug and looks down at it in distaste. She's frowning, not ready to draw their time to a close. She takes his mug and moves away from him, making her way back to the kitchen.

"I could put on more, if you'd like…" she calls over her shoulder, and turns just in time to miss his wide, untamed grin. Maybe their night doesn't have to end just yet.

"I'll be in the library, then." She watches him leave while shaking her head; the man really couldn't be without his library for long.

He smells the tea before he sees her; elbow deep in a book shelf, sorting through piles of old books to find something they'll both enjoy. Rose moves to the fireplace, stacking wood the way she knows he likes (because really, the man even has a certain way of making a fire). Soon the hearth is filled with crackling flames, and the Doctor sits on the large red armchair closest to it and watches as she gives the roaring conflagration one last poke. She turns and grabs their tea, placing it on the side table before squeezing herself next to him on the chair.

With little room Rose curls her knees and leans into him, subconsciously letting out a content sigh. The Doctor grins, switching his grip on the book he's holding to snake his arms around her, balancing the novel on her thighs.

At first she's taken aback by the contact. It's not as though it's unusual; there's rarely a time where he isn't holding her hand, or with his arm around or near her. It isn't unwelcome either, she notes as she lets her back meld into his chest. It's just…different. Different, and then intimate as well, the type of intimacy the Doctor has mentioned time and time again that he just 'doesn't do.'

"I've picked out a good book." He has to clear his throat at first, loosen the constriction it felt upon contact with his pink and yellow human. The Doctor's voice draws her out of her own reverie and she looks to see its cover, smiling and nodding her head.

"The Great Gatsby…"

"What, is it alright?" His sudden fret over her opinion has her giggling and he frowns at this, under the assumption that he's being made fun of.

"It's fine, it's great." They chuckle at her unintentional pun and he cracks the book open, clearing his throat once more. She's already scanned the first line when he begins to read aloud, and she can feel the echo of his voice where her back is pressed against him, the way it seems to reverberate throughout her. She pauses in her reading, craning her neck to give him an amused look. Upon realizing this, his face flushes, and he moves to hold his place in the book before glancing back at her.

"What?"

"Nothing, nothing I was just…didn't know we were reading aloud." His face turns down, the Doctor appearing more hurt than available to engage in her banter. She's quick to reply, hoping to wipe the frown from his visage.

"I don't mind, though. Keep going."

He continues to read upon her request and Rose decides that she doesn't mind listening to the text through his voice instead of her own. There's something different he adds to the text she's read before, something that would make her want to read it an endless amount of times, with their two mugs of tea on the table and the fire roaring in the hearth. This feeling is well, that is, until he stops.

"Voice is sore, your turn."

"Me?"

"Yeah you, not another of the brilliant blondes I keep around here."

"Oi!" She laughs, her face heating at his implied compliment. She picks up where he's left off, and after a page or so she gets into the reading. He can tell by the way each character earns a distinct voice within her own, the way she inflects as though she herself is the narrator. He listens intently, running a spare hand through her hair in subconscious comfort.

They switch off between reading and listening with little communication, the Doctor simply knowing when Rose needs a break, and she when he'll like a part especially more than the others. He begins to follow suit and use his own voices for the characters (mostly to make Rose laugh, he'll admit), but unlike Rose his are silly and more often filled with cheekiness and sarcasm. He intentionally makes his voice crack while reading Myrtle's dialogue, which causes her to laugh so hard the first time that he must pause in his reading. She buries her head in his chest to muffle her laughter, and he's blessed with the warm scent of her vanilla shampoo. She's trying to hide her laughter, but he can still feel her slight shaking against his chest. The Doctor simply looks down at her, smiling fondly.

He reads aloud even after her breathing has evened, enjoying the simplicity of the moment. Rose has fallen asleep to the Doctor's voice, in the end having listened to its inflection and calming tone more than the words he's formed. She's almost holding him now, her arm wrapped sleepily around his waist.

He does not more, doesn't even dare shutting out the light. He does not want to risk waking her, ruining the moment or losing the feeling of her in his arms; a bundle of warm vanilla, tangled limbs, and soft hair. As he himself begins to drift to sleep, he realizes that maybe he has gone a bit sappy. Only for his precious Rose, though…

(…)

The Doctor sits with his legs dangling out of the TARDIS doors, staring blankly ahead at the beauty of the pink expanse in front of him. He does not let himself feel anything at first, counting stars and throwing them into meaningless mathematical measurements to offset his mind.

It's only when he takes a sip of the tea he's made that he can no longer contain the thoughts that run rampant in his mind. A hint of white, of ceramic, joins the pink of the sky; he's thrown the teacup, watching with saddened, horrid anger as the mug floats away from him.

"Could never even make a good cup of tea…" He murmurs although he knows that nobody will respond. The Ponds have gone. Donna, Martha…his Rose has gone as well, just as they all must in the end.

He had known he couldn't keep her, had realized she'd have to leave at some point. Knowledge, however, did not help to quell the burning, blistering pain he felt at the sound of her name or the sight of her namesake.

The Doctor stood, throwing the other half of chips into the Rose shaped stars-for her, he liked to think-and took one last lingering look before closing the doors to his ship. He couldn't lament long, and never as long as he wished. The universe needed him, always needed him, and he had to assist…the curse of the broken Timelord.