It's Just Alcohol and Traditions
It's a little bit funny, how it all comes out in the open.
Him and her are never ones to pass up a festive tradition, whether said festive tradition is of Earth origin or Raxacoricofallapatorian or other.
And this particular festive tradition is one that entitles any and every drunken work colleague, drunken mum, or drunken, let's say, companion, to a kiss. On the lips. With a fellow drunkard. Or with a completely-sober-because-Time-Lords-don't-get-drunk-Rose-Tyler alien best mate. Whichever.
The evening starts out innocent and normal enough. Weeelll, as innocent and normal as one of his and her Christmas Eves can be. It all begins a day before, really, he supposes; when dear Rose Tyler suggests a wonderful idea (that's a sarcastic wonderful, in case you are not quite sure.) Namely, that they celebrate Christmas with her mother. On the Powell Estate. London. England. Earth. The one place in space and time that has a probability of 87% that it shall get invaded before the turkey's carved. So there's problemo uno. The second, significantly more terrifying aspect of Christmas at Jackie Tyler's domain, is, quite obviously, the fact that Jackie Tyler is involved.
True, true; Christmas last year was quite nice, in the end. You know, after the whole regeneration-killer-Christmas-tree-Sycorax-losing-a-hand-growing-back-a-hand-deposing-the-prime-minister thing. They made quite a nice little gathering, if he does think so himself. Even Mickey. It was nice. Domestic, but nice.
He quite likes the domestic side of things where Rose is concerned. Before her it was usually a big no-no. Even with her, before he changed, it was sort of reluctantly put up with (although, not half-so reluctant as he made out...)
Now, he just loves the way her smile lights up her face when he treats her to hot chocolate in front of the Eiffel Tower...
(weelll, hovering above it, TARDIS doors open as they sat side by side with their legs hanging over the edge, sipping from their mugs and bumping shoulders playfully until she almost fell out and he had to grab her around the waist quickly. And if his arms had stayed that way, wrapped around her, once she was safely not-falling-out, then that was just because he didn't want her to feel cold; the Paris winds were causing a draught. Honestly! Anyway, the whole affair was quite a remarkable sight; the stars and fireworks surrounding the famous landmark, lights of all sorts of colours playing over her face as she beamed. She loved it. Thought it was very impressive. So did he.)
...or holidays on the best beaches of the galaxy, all purple water and the softest sand ever (sand-that-isn't-really-sand-but-don't-tell-Rose-it's-actually-made-from-crab-like-creatures'-regurgitated-crumbs; what she doesn't know doesn't hurt her, or in this case, repulse her. And bless, she thought it was so lovely. Let's not ruin the illusion, eh?) and oh my, Rose Tyler's little white bikini that definitely needs to see some more sun. (Perhaps he'll take her to the Caribbean next.)
...or, ice-skating across the Third Millennium Lake of Moscow in the thirtieth century. Or shopping in New York. Or shopping in New New York. Or Indian take-away in front of the T.V whilst watching all the EastEnders Christmas episodes between 1994 and 2015 in one big marathon session in the TARDIS library (and if, god forbid, any of his mortal enemies discover that little bit of trivia about him, he shall swiftly deny any enthusiastic involvement in the big question and debate of: who killed Archie Mitchell?)
Anyway, and look, he's gotten distracted again, the gist of it is, is that the Doctor and Rose quite often do things that could be termed domestic, especially around Christmastime. And he doesn't mind a bit. In fact, he thoroughly enjoys it. In between all the running and causing mischief, of course.
And so, because he is quite simply incapable of denying Rose Tyler and her fluttering eyelashes and gorgeous pouty lips anything (and he quite likes Jackie's tea-making skills, so he doesn't really mind anyway, as fearful as he is of either a) a slap, or b) a snog, from the woman) he agrees with Rose's plan and sets the co-ordinates for Jackie's flat.
They get a bit distracted then, before he can even take them out of the vortex, when Rose challenges him to a game of Monopoly, which then (after the Doctor goes bankrupt and loses spectacularly) turns into a rematch in the form of Trivial Pursuit – Galactic Version -(which Rose fusses over the unfair advantage that he has in the Galactic Version aspect of the game, and yet still ends up winning)...
...which thus turns into a re-rematch in the form of Twister (which is so very, very, extremely distracting and tense and awkward – but nevertheless, distracting and tense and awkward in the very gorgeous sense, you know? – that, when pressed into a rather precarious position underneath Rose Tyler, he questions to himself, why did I think this was a good game to play?
To which he then realises, as she shifts a little and gives him a very nice view down her top, is a very stupid question to ask, because this is definitely, possibly, completely his new favourite game within the whole wide universe, all time, ever, to infinity and beyond. And blimey, he reckons he ought to get a medal for resisting the urge to simply flip her over and declare them both winners before proceeding to snog her senseless.
Alas, how the game really ends is Rose losing her balance, falling on top of him – which, really, isn't that bad, if he's honest – sending them both crashing to the colourfully spotted mat. What's bad about it is that she shifts off of him exceedingly quickly, a light blush on her cheeks, and looks at her watch and says, ooh look, we've been playing for hours now, and he thinks, haven't we just; some might say years, even and she disappoints him further by announcing it's time they stop, and go visit Mum.)
So that's the end of their impromptu games contest, and he lets her throw back the dematerialisation lever and off they go.
Now. You'd be forgiven for thinking that that, there, in the TARDIS, with all the games and alarmingly close positions of certain body parts pressed against certain other body parts in that intense game of Twister, is where the problems begin.
But you'd be wrong, actually. Because, you see – weelll, all that? That's just normal and innocent (well, as normal and innocent as the two of them can be) for them. They do things like that all the time. Weeelll, not all the time. Occasionally. The whole flirty-close-proximity thing isn't new with them, though. They have little to no concept of personal space, after all.
But moments like that – they're always just brushed under the carpet (proverbial carpet, of course, for who has carpets? Yuck, no thank-you! He's not going that domestic) and forgotten about (weelll, not forgotten about, for he is a Time Lord, and thus he can remember everything he wants or needs to for as long as he wants or needs to.) And things are always relatively normal and innocent afterwards. Except for those looks he sends her when he knows she isn't looking, of course. But anyway, there is no reason to believe that this particular incident will have any different effect on either of them than the other five-hundred-and-seven moments they've had over the years she's been travelling with him.
And it doesn't, not really.
It's the two bottles of wine that Rose shares with her mum that have a bit more of an effect on her inhibitions.
They know the lines, you see. The boundaries, so to speak. They're just friends; friends who happen to travel around together holding hands and unnecessarily hugging a lot, but still. Friends. Great friends – best friends. But still. Nothing more.
(And if he almost kisses her on a daily basis, then that's just him being silly, and not at all representative of either of their feelings for the other.)
Therefore, neither of them ever speak of what is so bloody obvious, in Jackie herself's point of view, nor do either of them take the plunge and attempt to show the other what they really, actually want from the slightly odd, slightly (a lot) intense, mostly fantastic relationship between them.
But Rose – yeah, she knows the boundaries, but she's confident and cheeky when she's sober. And so you can imagine what a significant intake of alcohol will do to her self-control.
And so it comes to pass, that the night before Christmas Eve, Rose and the Doctor arrive in the living-room of her mum's flat. Jackie greets her daughter with open arms, and there's a big, sloppy kiss is for the Doctor (he knew this place would be dangerous) and seeing as it's eleven o'clock at night, though, love – I was just going to bed! they barely get a conversation out of her (unusual, that – she usually has a lot to say to them as soon as they arrive for a visit. And by a lot, we are talking rapid sentences of meaningless, gossipy drivel spilling out onto each other all at once at a speed to rival the Doctor's working-it-all-out speeches. Seriously. Who knew one could have so much to say about the woman at number eighty-two and that new reality show and Katie's latest husband? Blimey, how inanely not-interesting mother-in-laws can be -
Oh. Er. Not that she's his mother-in-law. Don't know where that came from. Ahem.)
So anyway, long and short of it is, Jackie bids goodnight quite soon after their arrival, and Rose and the Doctor flop down on the sofa and channel-flick, not really paying attention to what's on the telly and mostly just laughing together over shared memories.
And if he accidently sneaks his arm around her shoulders and tugs her closer, then that's still perfectly normal behaviour between two friends, so there.
And if she retaliates by snuggling into his side and slightly nuzzling his chest as she falls asleep, then that – well, that's completely innocent and not at all intended.
And really, it's honestly not his fault that he kisses her hair before he drifts off into his dreams himself. It's like, he doesn't know...some sort of reflex or something.
Still – falling asleep cuddled together on her mum's sofa? That's actually happened a few times before, so in no way is that a catalyst for something life-changing.
No, it's Christmas Eve and that wine that does it.
He's sure it is. It must be. It's all her and her drunkenness' fault.
Weeelll, and perhaps that dress she wears.
A/N: Tune in for part two soon :D Please review! Oh, and Happy Christmas everyone x