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Tags: ten/rose tenth doctor post reunion crack!fic fic
Published : 2 months, 4 weeks ago (Thu, 04 Sep 2008 18:05:28 PDT)
Searched: crack!fic
http://avoria.livejournal.com/100807.html 4 links
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Date Published: September 5th, 2008 Title: An Unwanted Guest Authors: ![[info]](http://p-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif) hippiebanana132 and me. /> Rating: PG-13 (for panic and mild nekkid-ness XD) Characters: Ten/Rose, guest starring Stan Genre(s): Fluff, crack, post-reunion Word Count: 3,554 Summary: Were it not for the fact the Doctor was screaming bloody murder at the top of his voice, his careering out of the bathroom with towel only just covering his manly hairy Time lord bits and crashing headlong into Rose might have been somewhat amusing.Author's Note: Right, well, what to say? This was born after Rach and I had a conversation about how Ten (or Rose) might react if a certain someone appeared in their shower unannounced. We decided, eventually, both would be as terrified as the other. Therefore we bring you what happened! Written at about 1am between us, so... excuse the mild errors (if there are any. We did actually try and check ROFL).
An Unwanted Guest
Were it not for the fact the Doctor was screaming bloody murder at the top of his voice, his careering out of the bathroom with towel only just covering his manly hairy Time lord bits and crashing headlong into Rose might have been somewhat amusing.
As it was, she was knocked clean into the TARDIS corridor wall, earning herself a bruise on her elbow, as the Doctor straightened his towel and stared at her, wide-eyed and panting.
“What the bloody hell is wrong with you?” she chided, rubbing her elbow and staring briefly behind him into the bathroom, where the water in the cubicle was still running. “Anyone would think a Dalek was sharing your shower, way you yelled.”
The Doctor, still panting, shook his head. “Not Dalek,” he spluttered. “Worse.”
“Worse?” She folded her arms, staring at him incredulously. “What's worse than a Dalek in your shower? Actually, hang on – ” She frowned, staring past him again. “That's my shower! What're you doing in my shower?”
He had the decency to look guilty. “Well,” he garbled, fumbling with the towel slightly, “it's got all these nice things in it, shampoos and soaps and strange moisturising... things...and honestly, they smell so good on you, I thought – ”
“Just, stop,” Rose interrupted, holding a hand up. “I do not want to know.”
“But Rose.” She yelped slightly as the Doctor grabbed her by the arms, pinning her to the wall. There was fear, actual fear, in his eyes, and it made her feel just a little bit scared herself. “It has...” He bit off his sentence, looking down the corridor.
“Yes?” she prompted, not entirely comfortable given the fact he was dripping all over her.
He looked back, his hair tousled and wet, his eyes dark as saucers. “It has legs. And eyes, Rose, nothing should have that many eyes. I mean, I've seen eyes, and legs, and it's just...”
Fear flittered in her heart. “Alien?”
He shuddered violently, shaking his head, and a new idea came to Rose. She smirked.
“Doctor?” she asked coyly, and she could tell from his expression he didn't like the tone in her voice.
“Yes, Rose?” he answered, his voice rising in that way it did when he was nervous: like someone was squeezing parts of him that were not meant to be squeezed.
“Are you scared of a spider?”
He laughed, nervously. “What? Rubbish, don't be silly.”
She pushed him off her, grinning. “A teeny, tiny spider?” she reiterated, holding her fingers out to the length of half an inch. “Things that make webs and eat flies?”
The Doctor tapped his foot impatiently on the floor, the pink and fluffy towel rather unbecoming of his slightly vexed expression. “I am not frightened of a 'teeny tiny spider'. It's just, I was startled - is what I was, and I looked down and it was there, and my thoughts went from you to it much quicker than thoughts are supposed to go, and... then there was running.”
Rose snorted. “You face Daleks, Cybermen and even my mum on a daily basis and you’re scared of a spider?” She ran her fingers up his arm like a scuttling bug, and he jumped and slapped her off in alarm.
“Rose,” he whined. “It’s not funny.”
“Nice towel, by the way,” Rose grinned, nodding towards his legs.
He was momentarily distracted. “Thank – ” He narrowed his eyes suspiciously and attempted to look nonchalant and manly while wrapped in a small pink towel and jibbering about spiders. “Rose, listen to me. This is serious. Fate of the world stuff. I need you to get that thing out of there.”
This time, she laughed aloud. “Me?!”
“I need a shower!” he protested indignantly. “I can’t save civilisations smelling like the giant bubbling swamps of Antel Fifteen.”
“Doctor, we have like, eight bathrooms on this ship,” Rose reminded him as he tugged the towel up self-consciously. “We’ll shut the door and lock it in there, yeah? Just... use another one.”
The Doctor dropped his voice to a whisper. “But it might get in my underwear drawer while we’re sleeping.”
Knowing exactly how unlikely that scenario was (no creature in its right mind would decide to take up residence in the same drawer that housed the Doctor’s socks), Rose addressed the more important question at hand: “Why are you whisperin’?”
Slowly, furtively, the Doctor ducked his head slightly and peered around the corridor before turning back to Rose. “I don’t want to give it ideas.”
Shaking her head slightly in fond amusement, Rose took his hand and tugged him back towards the bathroom. “Come on, then. I’ll get rid of it, and you can even tell Jack that you were the big manly man and caught it yourself.”
The Doctor, when she turned to check for a reaction, looked doubtful. “Rose, when I say I saw a spider, I don’t think you quite understand how much spider is in the shower.”
“In my shower,” she reminded him, “and it’s probably only even in there ‘cause you dragged it in with all your swamp water and wrong landings.”
Going slightly pale with horror, the Doctor looked down at himself and swatted his arm once again. “You think it was on me before?!”
Rose ignored him. “Thought this was supposed to be the other way around,” she mumbled, forced to head into the bathroom alone when the Doctor stopped abruptly outside the door.
“I mean it, Rose,” he said belligerently from the doorway, the air of a small child. “I am not going back in there. Not until it's...”
“Scuttled off?” she suggested, then giggled when he glared at her. “Oh, come on,” she teased, pulling back the curtain of the shower. “How big can it – OH MY GOD, THAT THING IS HUGE.”
It was, she had to admit, the biggest spider she had seen in her entire life, and that came from someone who had lived on a council estate for most of her life with dodgy plumbing and even dodgier plumbers.
It had eight legs. Eight, very long, very hairy legs. She could actually see every one of its eyes, including her own reflection blinking back at her in the hexagonal domes on its head. To say it was huge was an understatement: it covered about a sixth of the shower's floor (give or take the possibility of an exaggeration), and that didn't include the one leg that was half way up the wall.
“Can you see it?” the Doctor's strangled voice came form behind her, and she turned with an expression of someone who really, truly, wanted to slap him.
She let go of the shower curtain and darted back to him, hoping to anyone who would listen that it hadn't followed her.
“I can't believe,” she muttered darkly, her hands on her hips, “that you were going to let me just deal with that myself.”
“I did say,” he tried to defend, but she groaned in frustration and pushed past him. She counted down the seconds it took for him to follow her, and it didn't take long.
“Rose?” he asked quietly form just behind her as she stalked down the corridor, checking the rooms as she went.
“Yes?”
“Um. What are you doing? The spider, it's still – it's still there.”
“Got a window anywhere?” She stopped walking, and he all but crashed into her once again.
She turned, looking at him expectantly, in no mood to be amused.
“I'm sorry?”
“Window.” She moved her hands accordingly. “Too big to wash down the drain, I'd be cleaning bits of spider out of my shower for months. So gotta chuck it out a window.”
“Oh.” He swallowed, looking very much like there was something he didn't want to tell her. “There's the front door,” he suggested unhelpfully.
“And?”
“And... that's about it.”
Rolling her eyes, Rose turned again, heading towards the kitchen. “Great.”
“That's not a good 'great', is it?”
“No,” she snapped. “Now, pick up one of those table mats.”
She went rummaging through the cupboards above the sink, where they kept the mugs. There was one, a very large one, which might just be big enough to slip over the beast while a table mat was nestled underneath. Then they could get it out of the TARDIS. Hopefully. If it didn't move in any way whatsoever. Admittedly, the plan had its flaws, but it was the best they had.
“Rose, we eat off these,” the Doctor complained, quite reasonably, but the look she gave him quietened him and he picked it up obediently.
“Yeah, an' you'll be carryin' that spider out of here with your bare hands if you're not careful. Here.” She handed over the mug she'd been looking for.
He looked appalled, probably on many accounts, but she didn't hang around to hear them. Unfortunately, he followed her anyway, trying to balance the mug, the place mat, and his bright pink towel, while still attempting to keep some form of dignity.
“First,” he started pointedly while Rose refused to look at him, “this is my mug. As in, mine. As in, the mug that I drink out of. With my mouth. And you're telling me you want to put a very large, possibly unfriendly, arachnid into it so that I can think about it every time I make a cup of tea.”
“Might shut you up,” she retorted, and from the corner of her eye she saw him make a face she only thought three-year-olds could make.
“And, second, even if I agreed with the use of my mug – which I don't, by the way, not at all, because that's disgusting – why am I holding it?”
They were outside the bathroom once again, and Rose shook her head laughingly. “You know, for someone who's s'posed to be a genius, you aren't half stupid.”
“For the sake of this plan – such as it is – I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that, Rose Tyler.”
She put one hand on her hip, snatched the mat off him, and tried not to smile. Considering he was clothed in nothing but pink fluff, the moral high ground act was not particularly effective. She reprimanded him with the table mat as she spoke. “Yeah? You got a better plan? ‘Cause I’d love to hear it.”
His only reaction was a slightly sulky pout.
“Wish I still used hairspray,” she muttered, edging warily into the room and peering over towards the shower, clearly ready to jump back at any moment.”We could’ve – you know.” She mimed spraying at the Doctor, laughing despite herself when he imitated a flailing spider.
“Nah, you don’t wanna do that,” the Doctor informed her cheerily as soon as she’d turned back towards the shower. “They run. And they twitch. And they do it all at a speed approximately 8.7 times faster than they would have done before you sprayed them.”
Eyes still on the spider – which was, fortunately or unfortunately, still in the bottom of the shower – Rose didn’t turn around. “I’m not even gonna ask how you know that.”
Perhaps in an attempt to regain the manly dignity he was sure he possessed before this incident, the Doctor made several jerky lunges towards the spider, mug in hand, which started out looking rather brave and ended invariably with a whimper and a shrinking motion. Three lunges later and he was actually further away from the spider than when he had begun.
“Don’t you keep... I dunno, alien bug spray or something?” Rose asked with a frown, edging closer, placemat outstretched. “Something we can kill it with.”
Eyes boggling, one foot in the hallway, the Doctor gaped at her. “Rose!” he remonstrated, as though she’d suggested handing over a new litter of puppies to Cruella de Vil. “You can’t kill it!”
She had always been well aware of the Doctor’s predisposition for playing the hero and the rescuer, but this was taking things a bit too far, especially when he’d dubbed the thing disgusting and possibly unfriendly only a minute ago. “Then what am I s’posed to do? Give him a hug and call him Clive?”
“Stan.”
Rose stared at him, face utterly blank, arm still outstretched and nearly all of her weight balanced on one leg – a position he would have found comical under any other circumstance.
“Stan,” he repeated. “It’s a good name for a spider.”
It took all of her self-restraint not to run out there and then and leave him and “Stan” to it.
She was another step towards the giant hairy monster in the shower when the Doctor’s voice made her jump.
“Rose,” he said loudly, tugging at the towel and staring down at the little wet footprints he was still leaving everywhere, “Do you think I should make a quick trip to the wardrobe before we deal with this?”
No chance, she thought, not bothering to correct his we. You’re not getting away that easy. Grinning wickedly, voice as innocent as possible, she turned around and replied, “No. What if Stan crawled up your trousers?”
She couldn't be sure, but something sounding suspiciously like a terrified squeak escaped from the back of the Doctor's throat. He cleared his throat, loudly, and his voice was suddenly about two tones lower than was natural for him. “Well, then.” He shrugged. “I guess we'd better... you know.” He nodded towards Stan. “Do the deed, as it were.”
Rose nodded, and was met with a purposeful sense of non-action from the Doctor.
“Well, go on, then,” she encouraged after half a minute, more or less, had gone by.
He pulled a face at her, and she had the horrible feeling he was going to wriggle out of something – and it probably wasn't going to be his towel. He glanced to the spider, then back to Rose.
“But the thing is,” he began, and Rose rolled her eyes. It didn't help. “If I go for it first, what if it lunges? I think, if you go first, it'll be safer all-round. That way, if it does... lunge, you can...” He made a batting movement with his hand and pulled a hopeful face.
“I can't believe you're scared of a sodding spider,” she growled through gritted teeth.
“Well, I don't see you jumping in there with it,” he protested. “And, please, hurry up. I have...” He lowered his voice conspiratorially. “...Goosebumps.”
“So?”
“They're not in places any goosebumps should be. Ever.”
Rose blinked blankly at him. “Sort the spider out,” she ordered slowly, mouthing every word, “or you'll be sleeping on your own tonight. And every other night this week.”
“Actually, there are no weeks, that's something I've been meaning to – ”
She groaned at him and pointed harshly towards Clive, or Stan, or whatever they were calling him. It.
“Okay, okay...”
They edges towards the spider in unison, creeping forward as though it were asleep and they didn't want to wake it.
“On the count of three,” the Doctor whispered, glancing to Rose, “we go in. Okay?”
She nodded.
“One...”
She gripped the tablemat, hard, trying to level her breathing. They stood poised over Stan, ready to strike.
“Two...”
Had her heart always beat this quickly?
“Three.”
Nothing happened. Rose looked up at the Doctor incredulously. “You didn't move!” she hissed.
“Well, neither did you. I thought it only fair game you go first, you've got the weapon. Even though violence isn't the answer. Probably.” He dropped his gaze. “Think we could knock it out?”
“You're so unbelievable,” she complained. “Before I met you, I was Rose Tyler, shopgirl. Now I'm Rose Tyler, time traveller extraordinaire, and I'm scared of a flippin' spider.”
“You?” He was incredulous. “What about me? I'm the Lord of Time! The, singular. Races... cower at my feet, I'm the destroyer of worlds! How do you think I feel?”
“I think...” She smirked, her eyes dropping. “You're losing your towel.”
“Wh– No I'm not!” He glanced down, happy to find his towel still fully in tact at the makeshift knot he had tied around the waist in amongst the various kerfuffles of finding a spider in his shower. He looked up again, his eyes narrowed. “You, Rose Tyler, are playing a very mean game.”
Her look immediately became one not of humour, but of fear. She pointed with the mat to his legs. “Doctor, you might want to – ”
He laughed haughtily. “Not a chance. Fool me once, shame on you; fool me twice, shame on me.”
“No, but Doctor, seriously.” She started waving the table mat exaggeratedly, her gaze focused on his leg. “You'll really – you wanna move, trust me.”
“ I think you'll find – what in the name of creation is that?moving up his leg. “Rose? Get – him – off. Now.”
“But you've got the – ”
He bundled the large mug into her arms, still refusing to look down. “I don't care what you do or how you do it just do it quick. As in, faster than you have ever done anything in your life.”
“But, I – ”
“Rose,” he whined. “Please. It's... climbing.”
She took a breath and, steadying herself, she dived down with the mug in one hand and the mat in the other. Stan, the spider, was surprisingly lethargic. She was able to quite easily coax him onto the mat and put the mug over him: he seemed all too happy about it.
Rose stood again, frowning. “Musta been on drugs, or somethin'.”
The Doctor released a breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding, and looked down to his spider-free – if slightly hairy – shin. Just how it should be.
“Right,” he said again, glancing down to the mat and mug clasped desperately between Rose's hands. He looked up, almost apologetically. “What now?”
Feeling more than a little sorry for him, Rose proceeded towards the front door of the TARDIS without complaint, mug and mat stretched out at arm’s length in front of her. The Doctor followed behind, letting out a violent shudder and scratching the leg the spider had crawled up as inconspicuously as possible, hoping she wouldn’t notice.
Once she reached the door, Rose turned around to ask the Doctor for help with opening it only to find him hopping along behind her, frantically batting at his leg. Spotting her, he paused with one leg in mid-air before hurriedly setting himself back on two feet and walking steadily towards the door as though nothing had happened.
“Rose,” he began slowly, fingers curled around the door handle, “we’re not really going to throw him into the – ”
Rose was glaring. He shut his mouth abruptly. “Right. Yes, of course we’re going to throw him into the vortex. Good plan. Brilliant, in fact. Molto bene. I’ll just... get out of your way.” And he pulled the door open, hiding safely behind it as soon as he did so (though whether from the spider or from his companion was anyone’s guess).
An angry Rose, he decided as she threw Stan – mug and mat and all – into the swirling and spinning time vortex, was a lot more frightening than giant spiders.
“Come on, you,” she scolded with affection, pulling the door from him and closing it with her hip. She took his hand, a cheeky twinkle in her eye. “Someone's got a shower to finish.”
The Doctor scratched self consciously at his leg, pouting. “But Rose... what if there's more? I don't think... no, I definitely couldn't survive another encounter like that. I'd sooner regenerate.”
“No shower?” She mocked his pout, leaning into him as her hands slid coaxingly to his waist.
“Oh, well...” He smiled slightly, leaning down for a kiss. “I suppose if you insist...”
She whipped away from him faster than he had ever seen her move, and he suddenly became aware of a distinct draught... everywhere. “RO-ose!” he bellowed as she darted back down the corridor, laughing. “Oh, I can't believe this – give me back my towel!”
And he ran, following her into the bathroom, laughing and reprimanding and shutting the door behind them, leaving all thoughts of spiders, mugs and tablemats swirling patiently in the vortex.
-I-
Stan, as it happens, ended up in Dorset, 1963. He's currently living out his years in a nice little cottage housing a sweet old couple, who bicker and fight and tease, but love each other very much. Stan is very happy: it's home from home, really. |
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