Title- Up that creek
Show/Ship- Doctor Who. Ten/Rose
Rating- YT, T, PG13
Disclaimer- I'll offer a reward for the capture of Brendan Block-- everyone loves a bad guy
Summary- Someone, somewhere was having a really good laugh at her.
A.N- Muito Gracias to my Beta Brooke.
Right, Rose thought as ‘John’ bounded around the control room with his new trainers, his mini trench coat fluttering behind him like wings, so that’s the Doctor.
That mini-person over there acting like a newly escaped mental patient on a sugar high—
“Don’t touch that.”
— is the Doctor. That child is the last Time Lord, protector of the universe.
“—don’t do that, it gives the TARDIS indigestion.”
Saviour of worlds.
“Hey, Rose, what does this do?”
“Can we have ice cream, Rose? Rose?”
Someone, somewhere, was having a really good laugh at her expense.
She leaned forward and tucked her head between her knees, ignoring the banging as Jo—the Doctor found his rubber hammer.
“How the hell did this happen?” she moaned, pushing away the tension headache that was making its presence felt with each bang of the hammer. “Think Rose!”
“You know what helps me think?” the Doctor chirped gleefully as he swiped his nose on the back of his sleeve. “Cup of tea!”
“Yeah,” Rose mocked raising her head to give the Doctor a baleful stare. “Like I’m letting you loose with liquids near the—”
Like special herb-y water made from moon plants which prevented aging.
Herb-y plants that the Doctor has insisted they drink despite not knowing what it would do to his psychology.
Rose glared at the Doctor. “Oh, yeah, perfectly safe!”
The Doctor froze like a rabbit caught in headlights, holding his hands behind him like a chastened school-boy. “What’d I do?”
Rose surged to her feet with an air of determination. “Come on, we’re going to go find out how to reverse this.”
She grabbed her coat from the rail, checked to make sure her TARDIS key was in the pocket and, out of habit, held her hand out for the Doctor.
Tiny fingers slid into her palm and she looked down at adorably wide brown eyes.
“We going somewhere, Rose?” he asked trustingly.
Rose swallowed the lump in her throat and tugged him towards the door.
The streets clearly displayed evidence of the celebration that had lasted until the early hours and it seemed that a good time was had by all last night. The market stalls were empty of their wares but sported streamers and discarded bottles. Drunken party-goers lay haphazardly in the road, their chests rhythmically moving up and down in quiet slumber. Those who were lucky enough to still possess clothes were dishevelled and in disarray whilst those who had really enjoyed the party had to make do with strategically draped cloths to preserve their modesty.
Still, Rose was quick to clasp a hand over the boy’s eyes when she noted one or two of the more exuberant revellers showing more skin than was decent. The boy may not have been really a ‘child’ but she didn’t feel equipped to give an inquisitive 900 year old Time Lord ‘the talk’.
The air of quiet that engulfed the city as people slept off the night before in gentle contentment was in deep contrast to the mindset of one Rose Tyler. The further they went into the city, the more irate she became. Soon the words of her discontent came bubbling out, and as they stepped over sleeping people, she mumbled about Time Lords with oral fixations, men in robes that could pass as dresses, and the general deterioration of moral standards in the universe.
Finally they reached the fountain and Rose planted her hands on her hips, glancing around hoping to find some salvation.
“Ooh, pretty water!” the Doctor enthused, leaning close.
Rose grabbed the scruff of his neck, yanking him back.
“Oh, no you don’t!” she exclaimed. “This is bad enough; I’m not changing a Time Lord nappy—understand?”
He pouted. “But I’m ever so thirsty, Rose.”
Those eyes had always been her undoing and they just increased in potency with his youth.
She knelt down in front of him. “Okay, Doctor, listen up. When we sort this out I will not only take you for Ice cream, but I will buy you the biggest banana split in the universe and I’ll let you eat it all yourself. BUT,” she poked him. “You are not, I repeat, NOT to drink that water. Okay?”
“Promise me,” Rose demanded and his little face fell.
“I promise, Rose.”
“Good!” Rose sighed. “Now we have to find that guy from yesterday or even the High Priestess lady. What was his name? Mike? Mi’ca!”
She glanced around and knelt by a sleeping couple draped in a diaphanous green silk. She poked the man.
“Oi! Wake up.”
The man rolled over and snorted, falling back to sleep.
Rose poked him again, harder. “Oi!”
He grunted and opened one eye. “Clean around me, sweeper.”
Rose glared. “I’m not a sweeper, I’m a weary bloody traveller and I need to find Mi’ca. Where is he?”
“At home, probably.” The man rolled over.
“And where is that?” Rose paused. “If you don’t answer, I’m going to start singing and, trust me, you aren’t sober enough for a chorus of ‘zig-a-zig-ah’.”
“All right,” he moaned and gestured over his shoulder. “Three streets over, it’s called the Fruitage of the Word. White house with … with …” a mighty yawn cracked his jaw “water-jugs over the door.” His words got quieter and quieter as he drifted back to sleep.
Rose rolled her eyes. “Worse than Mickey.”
Rose felt a sudden pang as she thought of Mickey. Her dear, dear friend who, no matter how immature he actually was, had never regressed to a seven year old.
A seven year old who was very quiet all of a sudden.
The Doctor plus quiet was always bad.
Something was wrong.
She spun around to find the Doctor hanging upside down over the fountain, trying to look inside the stone figurine’s mouth.
“Doctor!” she yelled and he jumped, losing his grip.
Rose darted forward and caught him before he could hit the water.
Damn, he was heavy!
He giggled up at her. “Close one!”
“I thought I told you not to go near the water!” she all but yelled.
“No,” he retorted sensibly. “You said no drinking. I wasn’t going to drink it; I wanted to see where the water went.”
Rose closed her mouth with the annoyed and harassed face of parents everywhere who had been proven wrong.
“Well … no going near the water, okay?”
“Okay,” he replied cheerfully and jumped down, grabbing her hand again. “Where to now?”
Rose shook her head. If she needed further proof that this was the Doctor, his mercurial mood changes cinched it.
Well, that and his ability to find trouble just about anywhere.
“This way, three streets over, we’re looking for a place called the Fruitage of the Word, a white house with water-jugs over the door.”
“Wouldn’t you get wet with water-jugs over the door?” he asked, frowning.
“I don’t think they’re full.”
“Then what’s the point?” The Doctor sighed. “Is a water-jug still a water-jug if there’s no water in it?”
Rose blinked. “I—I do—I don’t know. I guess so. I mean it’s called that because water goes in it. It’s a name for its purpose.”
“Oh,” the Doctor considered that. “So what if you put something not water in it, does it become something different? Like a tea-jug?”
“No, because it’s purpose was still to have water in it originally,” Rose concluded proudly, glad of her reasoning. “Just because someone misuses it doesn’t mean it’s different.”
The Doctor beamed up at her. “Okay. Good answer.”
Rose felt ridiculously pleased at having been praised by a seven year old.
When they eventually found the right house Rose marched straight forward and pounded on the wooden door. At least she assumed it was wood, even though she hadn’t seen any purple trees here.
She impatiently tapped her foot as she waited for someone to answer the door. The Doctor went to the side of the house to examine what was probably a toad. Idly, Rose hoped that little Doctor didn’t have the same oral fixation the older version had.
She banged on the door again, this time with her fist.
Moments later there was a stumbling sound and the open swung open to reveal Mi’ca wrapping a shawl over his shoulders, blinking at the sun in the universal language of severe hangovers that wished for perpetual darkness. Rose would have sympathized—if she wasn’t so angry.
As it was Rose was more than willing to give him perpetual darkness if he didn’t fix the Doctor.
“Traveller? You are the partner of the Doctor.”
“Yeah.” Rose slammed her hands on her waist, trying to look menacing.
“What is the conundrum that has you here at this hour?” He rubbed his eyes.
“Doctor?” Rose called and he sauntered over.
“Rose, did you see that toad? He had five eyes!”
Mi’ca looked down. “Is this your offspring?”
“No,” Rose snapped. “This is the Doctor.”
Mi’ca said nothing so Rose ploughed ahead.
“Odd thing, yesterday he was about 6 foot 1 and in his thirties, yeah? This morning woke up and ooh look, not out of junior school!” Rose poked Mi’ca in the chest. “This is your fault, you and that water of yours.”
“Impossible,” Mi’ca denied, staring at the small boy, “we have partaken of the water for many centuries and nothing of this sort has occurred.”
“Did you bother to check see if your water was compatible with aliens before you offered it up?”
“Species have oft visited Fervia and taken of the waters. No harm has befallen them,” he calmly replied.
“No harm?” Rose’s voice rose in pitch. “No harm? Look at him! He’s three feet tall!”
Mi’ca bit his lip. “Are you sure this is the Doctor?”
“Yes.” Rose responded flatly. “Unless you’ve got him hiding in there with you and swapped him for something in a smaller size?”
Mi’ca knelt down and peered closer at the Doctor, intrigue written all over his face.
The Doctor stared back, just as curious about the man as Mi’ca was about him. Mi’ca poked him and he giggled, poking back.
Rose rolled her eyes.
“Yeah, very. Change him back!”
Mi’ca shook his head. “How?”
“I dunno! Reverse your mojo thing, antidote for the water, whatever.”
Mi’ca looked up at her. “There is no antidote for the moon-water.”
Rose stilled. “What?”
“There has never been a need for such.”
“There is now!” Rose was fast losing any semblance of patience. “Look, something happened when he drank that water, okay. It must have something to do with time or the plant or the meteorite or something. The thing is he’s needed full size, okay? I need the Doctor back. So you’re going to have to help me. How long before your juice things wears off normally?”
Mi’ca looked at her with something akin to pity.
“We drink the waters once a cycle to add to the effect and stop when we wish to age normally and quit the mortal coil. There is no ...” he sighed. “It doesn’t wear off. Ever.”