Tales from the TARDIS • Doctor Who

SEVEN

ONESHOT SEVEN
❝The Difference Between Infatuation & Love❞

[Ten x Rose]

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"He even has a swimming pool!" Mickey let out a yelp of amusement as he raced into the room. It wasn't any old swimming pool that he had laid his eyes on, it was a proper hundred meters lined with water fountains, spa's, diving boards, with a sky view of the stars. "I think the last time I swam was when we went to the crummy indoor heated pool last year. Boy, that is nothing compared to this!"

"Come on Mickey," Rose grabbed his shoulder to stop him from bouncing out of her reach, "We still have the observatory, games room and half the bloody ship to go, well at least half of what I know we have."

"But the pool!" Mickey persisted, "Oh Rose, who cares about the tour? I want to swim!"

Rose had to force a smile not to pop up on her face, getting rid of Mickey was definitely high on her to-do list and she was laughing if she let this opportunity go astray. She pretended to be exasperated at him, "Go swim then, do you remember your way back?"

"Yes boss," Mickey grinned and in a flash he raced towards the glistening pool, pulling his shirt off in time to dive into the pristine and hardly touched water.

Rolling her eyes, Rose left him to his own devices and went off in a TARDIS exploration of her own. She passed doors that lead to unknown places and those more familiar to her. The observatory, library, garden, and her own bedroom all swept past her until she halted in front of a rusty golden door half open, golden light pooled out into the corridor from inside. In the heat of exploration, Rose pushed past the door to find her nose overpowered by the scent of various paints. She was most definitely in an art room, paint splattered the floor and canvases were piled around her. Some were finished and some yet to be completed yet all were magnificent. In the golden light of the room she could see a familiar figure standing in front of a canvas, his usual brown suit discarded in favour of a plain white t-shirt and denim jeans. Not wanting to disturb him, Rose walked up to him quietly until she came to stand beside him so she could observe his current work in progress.

"Is that-" Rose began.

"Yes," the Doctor cut her off short, his hand delicately stroking the watercolour paint onto the canvas.

Rose didn't reply straight away, she watched as the Doctor paid full attention to his painting, brown eyes squinted and lips slightly parted in full concentration. Even though he looked as if he had barely started his art, Rose could already see its beauty and resemblance to the latest person in the long line that the Doctor had met and lost. He was painting Madame de Pompadour, the French woman that in a matter of hours they had watched her whole life pass. "She loved you," Rose commented as she watched the Doctor work, no hint of jealously or snide caught her tone, she only said it as a simple passing remark.

Though the Doctor didn't take it fleetingly. He paused in his painting, brush lifting off canvas and eyes growing cold. "Yeah," was all he managed to say.

Rose flinched as he said the single word, "Did you?"

The Doctor turned his head to face her, eyes cold as he asked, "What is it to you?"

The words were delivered with an icy finish that made Rose want to step back out of the Doctor's reach though determination kept her standing in her place. "It was just a question, you are obviously upset and I just wanted to see if I could help."

"Well you can't so don't," the Doctor turned back to the painting, continuing to gently stroke colour onto canvas.

"Doctor," Rose reached out to touch his arm. Her own hazel eyes were filled with worry, "Talk to me, please."