Ficlet: Home is where the doors are. (CRACKY. Rose/Doctor, Hamlet jokes.)
Wednesday, July 30th, 2008 06:52 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
orange_crushedHome is where the doors are. CRACK ALERT. This is a silly, slightly naughty post-Journey's End ficlet that is actually based on a Hamlet pic. You'll see why/how under the cut. This is very much for ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
principia_coh and larissa_j. Because they are crazy in an awesome way and share my feelings on David Tennant: he makes being wrapped in newspapers and smelling like Wild Turkey seem sexy.
Spoilers for the season four finale, obviously.
"That's it." Rose stalks towards him and rips the ridiculously sweaty knit hat off of his head while he protests. "I'm going to take you home and get the gardener to turn the hose on you. Eight days of pet shampoo. A de-lousing." She sniffs the air. "Have you been sleeping by the docks ?"
"I don't need doors," he says, throwing an empty bottle over his shoulder. "Never needed them." He glances back at the nicely rounded vessel and reconsiders- a little ship could go inside that, if he could find one. Does this universe do the ship-in-a-bottle thing ? Who knows. Maybe he could start it. "Now, thirty feet of twine and a couple of circuit boosters, I could use." He reaches for the bottle and Rose puts one perfectly-shined boot on top of it.
"You need a shower."
"I need a vortex manipulator," he complains, "but you don't see me complaining."
"Of course not." Her lips curve upwards and he smiles, mirroring it- it's practically impossible not to. "You know, this Torchwood has a budget for stuff like that. You could just ask."
"Ask ?" He stares at her. "What, like, at a meeting ?"
"Yeah."
"No thanks," he snorts, and rifles through a bag of sweatshirts he found behind the grocer's. "Hey, Bugs Bunny !" He holds it up for her to see. "What's up, doc ?"
"That's it." Rose stalks towards him and rips the ridiculously sweaty knit hat off of his head while he protests. "I'm going to take you home and get the gardener to turn the hose on you. Eight days of pet shampoo. A de-lousing." She sniffs the air. "Have you been sleeping by the docks ?"
"That's where all the fish are," he tells her, without elaborating. She tilts her head and looks at him, really looks, in that patient and tender manner that never fails to make him feel as if she's winning a contest he didn't know he'd entered. Oh, well. It's a familiar sensation. "This isn't- Rose, I love living with you," he says in a rush, "it's just that house- with those doors- and those walls." He shudders. "Everything's insulated. You might as well pack me in foam and ship me." He holds up a broken toaster. "Plus, there's so much good stuff out here. This one's barely even burnt."
"I'm not going to live on the street and get worms with you," she sighs. "You smell like chip wrappers."
"Good nose, well done," he beams. He opens his coat and greasy papers spill out; he holds up each foot in turn so she can see the newspapers crumpled inside his boots. "They're warm and light. I think my body temperature's different now. You humans, I don't know how you cope."
"We live in houses," says Rose.
"Ah." He throws a baby doll over his shoulder and it makes a wah-wah noise with little enthusiasm. "That's sensible."
"I didn't want to do this," Rose says, with her arms across her chest, "but I'm afraid I've only got one more thing to say to you." She unbuttons her coat and he pauses in the middle of his fussing to look over, trying to be sly and cool and not at all transfixed. She's recently begun allowing him access to new areas in thrilling ways; ways that make it feel as if his nine hundred years of life experience were spent playing Connect Four. He thinks he ought to pay attention. "If you don't come home," she tells him gravely, "you will never see me naked again."
"Not even- from a distance ?" he asks, pained.
"No."
He pauses for a second to scratch the back of his neck, where a mild sunburn is starting to color over his bug bites. He thinks about a cupboard full of jam, and the many uses of jam, and of the very nice sofa that still has all of its springs.
And he thinks about Rose Tyler naked.
"I've just had the best idea," he tells her. "I think that when I get home, I'll put some shelves up."
Rose smiles.
principia_coh and larissa_j. Because they are crazy in an awesome way and share my feelings on David Tennant: he makes being wrapped in newspapers and smelling like Wild Turkey seem sexy.Spoilers for the season four finale, obviously.
"That's it." Rose stalks towards him and rips the ridiculously sweaty knit hat off of his head while he protests. "I'm going to take you home and get the gardener to turn the hose on you. Eight days of pet shampoo. A de-lousing." She sniffs the air. "Have you been sleeping by the docks ?"
"I don't need doors," he says, throwing an empty bottle over his shoulder. "Never needed them." He glances back at the nicely rounded vessel and reconsiders- a little ship could go inside that, if he could find one. Does this universe do the ship-in-a-bottle thing ? Who knows. Maybe he could start it. "Now, thirty feet of twine and a couple of circuit boosters, I could use." He reaches for the bottle and Rose puts one perfectly-shined boot on top of it.
"You need a shower."
"I need a vortex manipulator," he complains, "but you don't see me complaining."
"Of course not." Her lips curve upwards and he smiles, mirroring it- it's practically impossible not to. "You know, this Torchwood has a budget for stuff like that. You could just ask."
"Ask ?" He stares at her. "What, like, at a meeting ?"
"Yeah."
"No thanks," he snorts, and rifles through a bag of sweatshirts he found behind the grocer's. "Hey, Bugs Bunny !" He holds it up for her to see. "What's up, doc ?"
"That's it." Rose stalks towards him and rips the ridiculously sweaty knit hat off of his head while he protests. "I'm going to take you home and get the gardener to turn the hose on you. Eight days of pet shampoo. A de-lousing." She sniffs the air. "Have you been sleeping by the docks ?"
"That's where all the fish are," he tells her, without elaborating. She tilts her head and looks at him, really looks, in that patient and tender manner that never fails to make him feel as if she's winning a contest he didn't know he'd entered. Oh, well. It's a familiar sensation. "This isn't- Rose, I love living with you," he says in a rush, "it's just that house- with those doors- and those walls." He shudders. "Everything's insulated. You might as well pack me in foam and ship me." He holds up a broken toaster. "Plus, there's so much good stuff out here. This one's barely even burnt."
"I'm not going to live on the street and get worms with you," she sighs. "You smell like chip wrappers."
"Good nose, well done," he beams. He opens his coat and greasy papers spill out; he holds up each foot in turn so she can see the newspapers crumpled inside his boots. "They're warm and light. I think my body temperature's different now. You humans, I don't know how you cope."
"We live in houses," says Rose.
"Ah." He throws a baby doll over his shoulder and it makes a wah-wah noise with little enthusiasm. "That's sensible."
"I didn't want to do this," Rose says, with her arms across her chest, "but I'm afraid I've only got one more thing to say to you." She unbuttons her coat and he pauses in the middle of his fussing to look over, trying to be sly and cool and not at all transfixed. She's recently begun allowing him access to new areas in thrilling ways; ways that make it feel as if his nine hundred years of life experience were spent playing Connect Four. He thinks he ought to pay attention. "If you don't come home," she tells him gravely, "you will never see me naked again."
"Not even- from a distance ?" he asks, pained.
"No."
He pauses for a second to scratch the back of his neck, where a mild sunburn is starting to color over his bug bites. He thinks about a cupboard full of jam, and the many uses of jam, and of the very nice sofa that still has all of its springs.
And he thinks about Rose Tyler naked.
"I've just had the best idea," he tells her. "I think that when I get home, I'll put some shelves up."
Rose smiles.
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Date: Thursday, July 31st, 2008 04:42 am (UTC)I will now probably spend the upcoming school year hoping to find a homeless Tennant wandering Ann Arbor. I mean, statistically speaking, the sheer amount of bums living there means that there has to be at least one, right? RIGHT? ( ... I think I'm beginning to understand why I had such a difficult time passing my stats class last year.)
Anyway, ILU: YOU ARE A PERPETUAL WELL OF HILARITY AND WONDER.
LONG GAME IS LONG
Date: Thursday, July 31st, 2008 01:19 pm (UTC)And I would suggest traveling before dark if you're going to try and find Ten among his hobo brethren. LOL. I'm not sure you'll find what you're looking for but you keep on believin' my darling. (AND IF YOU FIND HIM PLS PICK ME UP IN YOUR HOBO TARDIS, OMG YAY.)
ILU2, so much.