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Author's Note: I loves nostalgia in a platonic Nine & Rose way, and gives her alien babizz.

Support Undergarments to the Rescue
by Tara LJC O'Shea

"So is this going to happen every time?"

Rose leaned against the dank wall, trying not to breathe through her nose. Oh sure, they always looked like they were bodged together by the BBC props department and would fall over if you breathed on them wrong. But solid stone walls and iron grates with big rusty padlocks that looked like they could keep out Frankenstein's Monster, the Wolf Man, and the Mummy did a right job of keeping one Rose Tyler—late of London, Earth, 2005, and one Doctor—late of abso-bloody-lutely nowhere in a Big Blue Box—solidly stuck. At least for 25 minutes, and no sign of a tea lady with bacon sandwiches to be found.

"Is what?" the Doctor asked, not even looking at her as he stared up at the tiny window two metres over his head which let in just enough moonlight to make the rats able to tell if it was your finger bone or your rib they were gnawing.

"We go someplace nice, and you offend the host, and we end up locked in a dungeon and they throw away the key?"

He scowled at her darkly. "How was I supposed to know the Sacred Handmaiden of Gaal was some crusty old bat who couldn't keep her hands to herself?"

"Shame on you, for leading an old granny on." Rose would have shaken a finger at him disapprovingly, but as her hands were currently handcuffed behind her—just as his were—she settled for trying to match his glare.

"I wasn't leading her on!"

"Just my luck, taking up with an intergalactic gigolo. If it's not grannies, it's trees. And don't tell me you weren't making eyes at that boy in the loincloth with the ostrich plumed fan."

"I was not making—you were too!"

Rose sighed. "Well, he did have a nice smile."

"And a good bum," the Doctor agreed, peering through the bars to see if a tea lady was approaching.

"You're so useless." Rose rolled her eyes, and slid down the dank wall to the mouldy pile of straw. "Can't you just reverse the wossname of the thingie? You know, with that battery operated spanner of yours?"

"That's polarity, neutron flow, sonic and screwdriver and no. I can't. They made me empty out my pockets."

"You don't have any bits and bobs squirreled away on you anyplace then?" He still had his leather jacket, though they'd taken their shoes, Rose's hair tie, bracelet and rings.

He followed her gaze and frowned. "These jeans are a bit too tight to fit a tool kit in, Ace."

"Ace?"

"I meant Rose. Though times like these, I wish you had some nitro 9 in that rucksack of yours, instead of an endless supply of mascara."

He was pacing now, counting the steps between the cell bar and the far wall.

"What's nitro 9?"

"Something that could get us out of these." He turned halfway and wiggled his fingers at her, handcuffs clanking. "And this." He jerked his chin vaguely in the direction of the entire cell block.

Down the hall, someone moaned, and Rose could just make out the words "Feet first... isn't that right, Arthur? Feet first, it's the only way..."

"You know, the last time I was in handcuffs, it was for Mickey's birthday, and they weren't super-strong alien handcuffs, just a pair he got down at one of those shops where you can't see in the windows—"

"Why couldn't they have thrown us in separate cells?" The Doctor slid down the opposite wall, and stretched his legs out in front of him, crossing his ankles.

"Hang on a second..." Rose wriggled, grimacing as she heard a shoulder joint make a poping sound that she was going to regret later, and pulled her legs through the circle of her hand-cuffed arms.

The Doctor blinked. "You're very... limber."

She flashed him a grin, and held the cuffs up to the square of moonlight. "Right, so... have we got anything we can pick these locks with?"

The Doctor leaned forward and peered at them, looking as if he needed spectacles. "If I just had a bit of wire..."

"Any old bit of wire?"

"Well, something longish, and flat would—hang on..."

"What?" Rose asked, but he was only staring at her.

"What?" she repeated as a slow grin spread across his features.

"What are you... Oh." She glanced down at her frilly top.

Specifically the cleavage practically overflowing from the frilly top.

"Well, the answer was staring me in the face."

If she'd had her hands free, he might have discovered that he wasn't too old for a good slap.

"Well, then you're gonna have to manage the clasp," Rose muttered, "I not that limber."

His jaw dropped. "But we hardly know each other."

"What? I'm not asking you to impregnate me with your alien babies. Just get the clasp undone on me bra."

He turned so that they were back-to-back, and Rose bent low over her knees so he could get his hands up the back of her shirt.

If they got out of this alive, she might kill him.

"Omg."

"Oi! No wandering fingers, you!"

"I think I'm insulted."

"I'm the one what just got felt up, and you're the one feeling insulted?"

The bra clasp finally gave way, and Rose reached into one sleeve, tugging her strap down with a hooked thumb and pulling until the frilly lace strap broke with a snap. Shimmying in a way resembling a student as an All Girls Catholic School getting undressed beneath her tee-shirt for gym class, she finally tugged the remains of the bra through the opposite sleeve, and began picking at the stitching holding the underwire in place.

"That was my nicest one, too—we get out of this alive, and you are taking me shopping. And none of that crap Marks & Spencer's stuff either—"

The Doctor's eyes were fixed somewhere in the region of her front area.

She reached over to smack him upside the head, then winced as the handcuffs caught him on the ear.

"Ow!" He jerked his head to the side, out of reach should she decide to hit him again.

She poked him in the shoulder. "Turn around."

"Wha—you know how to pick handcuffs?"

"You weren't at Mickey's last birthday," she said, tongue poking out the corner of her mouth as she jammed the wire into the lock and began twisting.

The Doctor's handcuffs hit the floor with a clang. As he rubbed his wrists, Rose held her bound hands in front of her. When her own cuffs finally hit the floor (nowhere near as quick as her has, she noted with glee. He really was far too reliant on that sonic bob) she kicked them into the corner and grabbing the remains of her bra, to tackle the padlock.

It put up much less fuss than the handcuffs had, and the iron door's hinges screamed as she shoved it open with her hip.

"Right. So... where to, now, Nitro 9?"

"Grandmother's house," he said decisively, hands deep in his pockets. "Just to pick up my personal effects."

Rose grinned. "My, what big teeth you have."