glory_jean (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
glory_jean) wrote2008-12-15 01:53 pm
glory_jean) wrote2008-12-15 01:53 pm
Entry tags:
Candy Canes
Title: Candy Canes
Character/Pairing: Ten/Rose
Setting: S2
Rating: All ages
Summary: Rose awakes to mysterious trails of candy.
Disclaimer: Based on characters owned and created by BBC, used without permission.
Author's Notes: Thanks to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
bananasandroses for beta reading and for the prompt: candy canes.
Rose awoke with a start, sitting up quickly in bed. As she moved, something slid down her chest, fell, and clattered against the floor below. Rose was baffled for a moment, wondering what had woken her. When the last traces of sleep left her, she reached down towards where she'd seen the object fall. After a moment of fishing around, she retrieved a slightly-the-worse-for-wear candy cane. She frowned at it. How had a candy cane ended up in her bed? She considered the possibility of sentient candy briefly before discarding the idea. No. There was a much more likely explanation; a pinstriped, easily-bored-and-up-to-mischief, Doctor-shaped explanation.
Cautiously, she set the candy down on her beside table and slipped out of bed. Creeping slowly to her door, which was slightly ajar, she peeked around it. Lying on the floor, perfectly centred between the doorframes, was another candy cane. Rose opened the door and glanced down the hallway. Empty and still. Except... a trail of candy canes neatly aligned in the same slightly diagonal orientation lay in the exact centre of the grated floor.
Rose hesitated, looking at the breadcrumb-like trail, unsure if she felt more like Alice about to descend into the rabbit hole or a lost child about to meet a witch in a gingerbread house. She picked up the nearest sweet and looked at it closely. A tag with the words “Eat me” failed to present itself. Not sure whether to be relieved or disappointed, Rose grabbed her dressing-gown and set off.
She skirted the line of candies, tempted to gather them up, but the surrealism of all this inspired her “run for your life” impulses. A handy guidepost to her room might be useful. As she rounded the first corridor, she saw it. In place of one the sweets, neatly centred in the corridor length- and width-wise, was a small wrapped parcel. She approached the parcel with care, looking around her as she leaned in and scooped it up. Wrapped in a festive green wrapping paper decorated with a pattern of candy canes, it concealed something soft. She carefully turned it over and almost dropped it when she saw the little card taped to it.
“Open me,” it said.
Wondering where the Cheshire cat was, she tore open the paper. Inside was a scarf. It was an exquisitely-made, crocheted lace worked in impossibly soft and silky fibres. In spite of its insubstantial feel, her hands warmed as she handled it. She slipped it around her neck gratefully, feeling its soft warmth against her skin. In her curiosity, she had failed to notice the chill of the corridor. She glanced down at the paper in her hands and, with a shrug, balled it up and dropped it back on the floor.
Continuing on, she followed the candy canes around a corner and encountered another parcel, centred as precisely as before and wrapped, as the first, in the candy cane paper. She opened this package with less trepidation than the first, steadfastly ignoring the little card with its “open me.” This one contained a hat that matched the scarf. She slipped it on to her head and felt the chill dissipate further.
She walked on and, in the next corridor, a small wrapped box sat in the centre. She lifted it up eagerly but was perplexed by the tag that dangled from it. Written on it in a neat, old-fashioned script was her name and the words “do not open until Christmas.” She frowned at the little box. Christmas? How was she to know when that was? It wasn't as if calendars held any real meaning for her here.
She looked back to the candy cane trail and moved on, the box clutched tightly in her hand. Around the next corner, she spotted a change. The trail of candy turned sharply, and ended at a closed door.
She paused a few paces away and considered the unassuming door. It looked ordinary – neither tiny nor enormous (then again, she hadn't eaten or drunk any of her random finds). It simply was – and it mocked her with its mundaneness. She hovered for a minute more before she got a hold of herself. Was she not Rose Tyler? Had she not faced down Daleks, werewolves, and innumerable other nasty things? Was she now going to be defeated by a door? A single, mysterious, door? Here in her own home, safe even from the invading hordes of Genghis Khan?
She moved forward quickly and flung open the door. Inside was a cosy sitting room, like many on the TARDIS. Her shoulders sank in relief and, perhaps, just a twinge of disappointment.
“Oh, hello!” called a voice to her right.
She turned, and saw the room angled a bit and she noticed something she'd missed initially. A grouping of over-sized chairs and a small sofa clustered in front of a roaring fire set in a large, stone fireplace. The Doctor was in the far corner of the room, apparently making the final changes to the decorations on an enormous Christmas tree.
“Well, you certainly took your time,” the Doctor admonished light-heartedly; “I thought you'd never wake up.” He turned and grinned at her. “Oh and hang on, before I forget – merry Christmas!”
Rose looked at him, nonplussed. “But, Doctor, it's not Christmas.”
His smile didn't diminish. “'Course it's Christmas,” he said lightly, tapping her on the nose. “Here, I am Lord of Time,” he raised his arms and span dramatically, “if I say it's Christmas, it's Christmas.”
He sounded so much like his former self that she had to respond in kind. “You think you're so impressive.”
He moved close to her and took her hand. Looking deep in her eyes he whispered, “I am so impressive.” When he waggled his eyebrows at her, there was nothing comical about it.
Suddenly, he was much too close and she found breathing rather difficult. Then he was leaning in and before she knew what had happened he placed a quick, soft kiss on her lips. He pulled back and she stared at him wide-eyed.
“Mistletoe,” he squeaked, pointing upwards.
She barely had time to glance before he was yanking her hand forwards.
“But never mind that,” he crowed, “you have presents to open.”
“Presents?” she replied, confused.
He indicated the little box she still held.
Oh, right.
“If it's not Christmas, you can't open it,” the Doctor said with mock seriousness, reaching toward the box.
She waved him off.
“No, no that's fine. Merry Christmas, Doctor!”
She threw her arms around him in a sudden hug, then seated herself in one of the chairs and began stripping the paper from the little box. Inside was a small, lidded box, of the sort that jewellery comes in. She held her breath as she opened the box. Resting on a satin-like interior was a tiny, perfect, marble-like pendent suspended from a silver chain. The links were of a design she had never seen before, but it was the pendant that captured most of her attention. It was a tiny, perfect, Earth. Oceans, continents and clouds gleamed at her and the tiny jewel seemed to have depth as if she was looking at real planet. Indeed, as she moved it in the light the cloud formations themselves seemed to shift.
She looked up at him, speechless. “Thank you,” she managed.
He shrugged, seeming at once pleased and embarrassed.
“Well,” he drawled, rubbing his neck, “I know what it's like to be far from home. Thought you might like a little reminder of yours.”
She looked at him, touched, then scooted over and made room for him beside her.
“Thank you,” she murmured, as he seated himself, “but I am home.”
He blinked at her for a moment, staring, and then he slid an arm around her and brought her head against his chest, tucking it under his chin.
“Merry Christmas, Rose” he murmured into her hair.
“Merry Christmas, Doctor.”
Character/Pairing: Ten/Rose
Setting: S2
Rating: All ages
Summary: Rose awakes to mysterious trails of candy.
Disclaimer: Based on characters owned and created by BBC, used without permission.
Author's Notes: Thanks to
bananasandroses for beta reading and for the prompt: candy canes.Rose awoke with a start, sitting up quickly in bed. As she moved, something slid down her chest, fell, and clattered against the floor below. Rose was baffled for a moment, wondering what had woken her. When the last traces of sleep left her, she reached down towards where she'd seen the object fall. After a moment of fishing around, she retrieved a slightly-the-worse-for-wear candy cane. She frowned at it. How had a candy cane ended up in her bed? She considered the possibility of sentient candy briefly before discarding the idea. No. There was a much more likely explanation; a pinstriped, easily-bored-and-up-to-mischief, Doctor-shaped explanation.
Cautiously, she set the candy down on her beside table and slipped out of bed. Creeping slowly to her door, which was slightly ajar, she peeked around it. Lying on the floor, perfectly centred between the doorframes, was another candy cane. Rose opened the door and glanced down the hallway. Empty and still. Except... a trail of candy canes neatly aligned in the same slightly diagonal orientation lay in the exact centre of the grated floor.
Rose hesitated, looking at the breadcrumb-like trail, unsure if she felt more like Alice about to descend into the rabbit hole or a lost child about to meet a witch in a gingerbread house. She picked up the nearest sweet and looked at it closely. A tag with the words “Eat me” failed to present itself. Not sure whether to be relieved or disappointed, Rose grabbed her dressing-gown and set off.
She skirted the line of candies, tempted to gather them up, but the surrealism of all this inspired her “run for your life” impulses. A handy guidepost to her room might be useful. As she rounded the first corridor, she saw it. In place of one the sweets, neatly centred in the corridor length- and width-wise, was a small wrapped parcel. She approached the parcel with care, looking around her as she leaned in and scooped it up. Wrapped in a festive green wrapping paper decorated with a pattern of candy canes, it concealed something soft. She carefully turned it over and almost dropped it when she saw the little card taped to it.
“Open me,” it said.
Wondering where the Cheshire cat was, she tore open the paper. Inside was a scarf. It was an exquisitely-made, crocheted lace worked in impossibly soft and silky fibres. In spite of its insubstantial feel, her hands warmed as she handled it. She slipped it around her neck gratefully, feeling its soft warmth against her skin. In her curiosity, she had failed to notice the chill of the corridor. She glanced down at the paper in her hands and, with a shrug, balled it up and dropped it back on the floor.
Continuing on, she followed the candy canes around a corner and encountered another parcel, centred as precisely as before and wrapped, as the first, in the candy cane paper. She opened this package with less trepidation than the first, steadfastly ignoring the little card with its “open me.” This one contained a hat that matched the scarf. She slipped it on to her head and felt the chill dissipate further.
She walked on and, in the next corridor, a small wrapped box sat in the centre. She lifted it up eagerly but was perplexed by the tag that dangled from it. Written on it in a neat, old-fashioned script was her name and the words “do not open until Christmas.” She frowned at the little box. Christmas? How was she to know when that was? It wasn't as if calendars held any real meaning for her here.
She looked back to the candy cane trail and moved on, the box clutched tightly in her hand. Around the next corner, she spotted a change. The trail of candy turned sharply, and ended at a closed door.
She paused a few paces away and considered the unassuming door. It looked ordinary – neither tiny nor enormous (then again, she hadn't eaten or drunk any of her random finds). It simply was – and it mocked her with its mundaneness. She hovered for a minute more before she got a hold of herself. Was she not Rose Tyler? Had she not faced down Daleks, werewolves, and innumerable other nasty things? Was she now going to be defeated by a door? A single, mysterious, door? Here in her own home, safe even from the invading hordes of Genghis Khan?
She moved forward quickly and flung open the door. Inside was a cosy sitting room, like many on the TARDIS. Her shoulders sank in relief and, perhaps, just a twinge of disappointment.
“Oh, hello!” called a voice to her right.
She turned, and saw the room angled a bit and she noticed something she'd missed initially. A grouping of over-sized chairs and a small sofa clustered in front of a roaring fire set in a large, stone fireplace. The Doctor was in the far corner of the room, apparently making the final changes to the decorations on an enormous Christmas tree.
“Well, you certainly took your time,” the Doctor admonished light-heartedly; “I thought you'd never wake up.” He turned and grinned at her. “Oh and hang on, before I forget – merry Christmas!”
Rose looked at him, nonplussed. “But, Doctor, it's not Christmas.”
His smile didn't diminish. “'Course it's Christmas,” he said lightly, tapping her on the nose. “Here, I am Lord of Time,” he raised his arms and span dramatically, “if I say it's Christmas, it's Christmas.”
He sounded so much like his former self that she had to respond in kind. “You think you're so impressive.”
He moved close to her and took her hand. Looking deep in her eyes he whispered, “I am so impressive.” When he waggled his eyebrows at her, there was nothing comical about it.
Suddenly, he was much too close and she found breathing rather difficult. Then he was leaning in and before she knew what had happened he placed a quick, soft kiss on her lips. He pulled back and she stared at him wide-eyed.
“Mistletoe,” he squeaked, pointing upwards.
She barely had time to glance before he was yanking her hand forwards.
“But never mind that,” he crowed, “you have presents to open.”
“Presents?” she replied, confused.
He indicated the little box she still held.
Oh, right.
“If it's not Christmas, you can't open it,” the Doctor said with mock seriousness, reaching toward the box.
She waved him off.
“No, no that's fine. Merry Christmas, Doctor!”
She threw her arms around him in a sudden hug, then seated herself in one of the chairs and began stripping the paper from the little box. Inside was a small, lidded box, of the sort that jewellery comes in. She held her breath as she opened the box. Resting on a satin-like interior was a tiny, perfect, marble-like pendent suspended from a silver chain. The links were of a design she had never seen before, but it was the pendant that captured most of her attention. It was a tiny, perfect, Earth. Oceans, continents and clouds gleamed at her and the tiny jewel seemed to have depth as if she was looking at real planet. Indeed, as she moved it in the light the cloud formations themselves seemed to shift.
She looked up at him, speechless. “Thank you,” she managed.
He shrugged, seeming at once pleased and embarrassed.
“Well,” he drawled, rubbing his neck, “I know what it's like to be far from home. Thought you might like a little reminder of yours.”
She looked at him, touched, then scooted over and made room for him beside her.
“Thank you,” she murmured, as he seated himself, “but I am home.”
He blinked at her for a moment, staring, and then he slid an arm around her and brought her head against his chest, tucking it under his chin.
“Merry Christmas, Rose” he murmured into her hair.
“Merry Christmas, Doctor.”
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Brilliant fic, wasn't sure where it was going to lead, and i loved the Alice in Wonderland motif.
Love, love, love.
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But... candy canes aren't a British Christmas tradition, and I'd be surprised if Rose had even heard of them, let alone be able to recognise them. I'd certainly never seen one or heard of them before moving to North America, and I still haven't a clue why they're associated with Christmas.
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So did it originate somewhere else - Eastern Europe, perhaps?
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If Rose had ever watched Santa Claus: The Movie on telly as a kid, she’d know what candy canes are easily enough.
(That’s where the prompt came from, oddly enough; I love that film.)
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I was following my prompt, but in fanon you could say the Doctor would know about all forms of sugary goodness the world (and universe)over.
At least I got points for cuteness!
Thanks for reading. :)
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Glad you liked. :)
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Somehow, after encountering that nasty, I doubt the Doctor would want anything to do with any sentient candy! :D
Back OT, lovely story, and in the spirit of the season! :)
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Thanks again. XD.
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