Epilogue: Bloody Vikings
Like so many things, these days, Rose supposed she had to thank Jack for this one. He'd not done anything, really, she would be the first to admit that, but he'd very cleverly made one suggestion to the Doctor, and everything had sort of... fantastic-ed from there.
She was standing next to a table in a fifty-fifth century nightclub, wearing a sleeveless, painted on black dress that looked like velvet and caressed her skin like magic. It sparkled with her every movement, capturing sparse shades of light, making Rose feel like she was wearing a bit of the night sky.
Her excuse for coming here had been simple: they had the technology to fix her hair. (It was amazing what you could get the Doctor to do when you offered the alternative of having Jackie Tyler fix a sword blade haircut.) She was wearing it long and loose, now, every curl and tendril immaculately tinted, styled, and force-pinned into place.
She and the Doctor were joining Jack and his date - the former American Lieutenant called Taylor - for dinner, and the Time Lord hadn't left Rose's side since she emerged from the TARDIS in this dress. Right now, he had just invited her to the dance floor.
Rose's heart was thundering in her chest and she was having a terrible time controlling her excitement as those vibrant blue eyes raked over her. There was something in his expression tonight, Rose was sure of it. The Doctor had asked her to dance, but maybe, just maybe...
There was a blinding flash of light somewhere near the door of the club. Confused and a little alarmed, Rose turned toward it, just as the Doctor put an arm around her waist to draw her protectively close.
A group of perhaps fifty men, in strange, gaudily colored outfits, were suddenly, inexplicably, in the door way, looking for all the world like a landed net full of purple fish. "Looks like an American football team," observed Jack, coming up beside them.
"What's American football?" asked the young American with him. Obviously, Taylor pre-dated it.
The Doctor looked at Rose, and Rose looked at him. He looked as affronted and put out as she felt, for which Rose was quite grateful. "S'pose we'd better fix this," he apologized, offering her his hand instead of his arm.
Rose took it and kicked off her shoes. "S'pose so," she agreed.
They took in the purple and gold, astounded strangers and, in unison, added, "Bloody Vikings."