Part One ~ Part Two ~ Part Three

“You were brilliant, Rose Tyler. Are you all right?” the Doctor asked, resting his cheek on the crown of her head.

“Yeah,” she said into his chest. “Is he gonna be okay?”

The Doctor sighed, rubbing her back soothingly. “Probably. If the surgical team at the hospital is in proper form tonight.”

“That was a kick.” It was a stupid thing to say, but Rose had no idea how else to cope with what had just happened. Make light, hold onto the Doctor. Otherwise, she might burst into a thousand pieces and scatter into the night air, leaving nothing on this sidewalk but her pink shoes. “You really are a doctor, huh?”

He laughed, the sound vibrating through his chest. “You didn’t believe me? Even after I gave you my word? We made a promise to each other, Rose. I take that very seriously.”

She pulled away just far enough to tilt her face toward his. “What kind of proper doctor can’t afford chips? Do you steal things for the rush? You seem old for a proper hooligan, more Cary Grant than Marlon Brando.”

He reached up to brush her bangs away from her forehead, letting his hand linger on her cheek. “I’ve been on the road for a while. Moving around here and there. Not a lot of steady work.”

“How long has it been, this trip of yours?”

“Six years.”

“A long time,” she murmured. Then, with a start, something completely irrelevant burst out of her: “Your overcoat – I left it on the ground!” Her mind was wild and scattered, full of screeching tires and a man dying. She’d seen the Doctor take off running from the parking lot and she had bolted right after him, just dropped his coat and hurtled toward the crisis like it was second nature. The blood hadn’t seemed so gruesome at the time – she’d been worried for Sam and his hysterical wife, and watching in wonder as the Doctor saved a life in the space of a few heartbeats.

“Right-o.” He shifted to stand beside her, one arm still draped over her shoulders. Her arm went around his waist, atop his jacket, and they walked together back to the deserted lot. The coat was where she’d left it, the Doctor’s blue Indian motorbike waiting undisturbed.

“There she is, the beauty,” he said happily, picking up the coat and it off with a few quick strokes. He glanced at his watch. “It’s just past midnight. What’s your curfew, doll?”

Hands clasped behind her back, she laughed. “My morning shift at the shop starts at eight.”

“Hmm, Rose Tyler the shop girl.”

“I worked in a shop in London, too. Thought I wanted more out of my life.”

He reached out to touch her face again, long fingers brushing her cheek. “Shop girl doesn’t suit you. There’s nothing wrong with wanting more.” His hand ghosted toward her hair, as though he might caress the nape of her neck and pull her closer, but he didn’t. “Is Hollywood the ‘more’ you thought it’d be?”

She couldn’t help it; her eyes fluttered at his touch, almost falling closed, and she tipped her head to the side just enough to lean into his warm palm. “It’s days at the shop and nights fightin’ off studio lackeys who’ll say anything to get me where they want me,” she whispered. “It’s nothing like I thought it would be. I don’t even know if I want to be in the movies anymore.” The honesty was bitter on her tongue, but she didn’t regret saying it. Eyes still closed, she asked, “And you, Doctor? All your traveling … is it what you hoped it would be?”

“Most days, there’s hardly a difference between traveling and running. I’ve been running a long time.” She finally opened her eyes. He was gazing at her as though transfixed. Tremors shook her from head to toe. “Rose. Why are you crying?”

She reached up to her other cheek and found moisture there. Shakily, she laughed. “I don’t know. I think – no, I’m certain – I need a drink.”

“You’re in in a bit of shock. It’s natural. Seeing blood is enough to put most people off. Or make them faint. Let’s try to avoid that though, eh?” He stepped in front of her, draping the overcoat around her shoulders. Staring up into his face, she slipped her arms into the sleeves, hugging the fabric over her chest. “First, keep the body temperature from dropping.” With a brisk nod, he went to the leather saddlebags on the back of his motorcycle and fished around inside before pulling out a silver flask and waggling it at her. “Your wish is my command: an inebriant to steady the nerves. It’s a fallacy, you know. Alcohol doesn’t really steady anything, not in terms of body chemistry, anyway.”

“A bit to drink and a proper sit, that’d do me.” Rose pulled the Baby Ruth she’d bought at the drive-in out of her blue jacket pocket. “Looks like we’ve got all the party supplies we need,” she said. “My place, then?”

He blinked, as though she’d well and truly surprised him. His answer was half question, half acceptance: “Yeah.”

“It’s not too far,” she said with a shrug, starting to feel self-conscious. “Four of us share a two-room flat, and it’s a bit crowded. But still nicer than an empty parking lot at midnight, I reckon.”

With a nod, he slipped the flask back into his saddlebag and straddled the motorcycle. Looking at her over his shoulder, he said, “Going my way?”

“Nah,” she replied, climbing on behind him, arms slipping around his waist. “I think you’re going mine.”

Part Five