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tenroseforeverandever · 4 years

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The Perfect Blend - Chapter 4

Characters: Tenth Doctor (aka James Noble); Rose Tyler; Clara Oswald; Amy Pond; Jeanne Poisson; Donna Noble; Sylvia Noble; Wilfred Mott; Mickey Smith; Martha Jones; Clyde Langer

Tags: Human AU; fake relationship AU; coffee shop AU; stalkerish!Reinette; hurt/comfort; angst; romance; fluff; Christmas; New Year; New Year’s kiss

Story Summary:

Trying to escape from an predatory ex-girlfriend who will not accept their break-up, James Noble (aka The Doctor) finds himself in a coffee shop where he meets a barista (aka Rose Tyler) who makes him the perfect cup of tea and lends a sympathetic ear to his tale of woe.

Chapter Summary: In which Mickey feels the need to connect the dots…

Chapter Notes: You’d think, with all this time in social isolation, I’d be more productive! Alas…

Hugs and kisses to the brilliant @rose--nebula and mrsbertucci for looking over this chapter. They kindly did this days ago, and I kept forgetting to post! Oops! LOL

Anyway, hope you enjoy. <3

Read also at: AO3; Tsp (when approved); FF

THE PERFECT BLEND - CHAPTER 4

NEW YEAR’S EVE

James felt cold panic clutch at his throat, stealing his breath. Here it was, late afternoon on New Year’s Eve, and he had yet to secure a date for the gala. He’d had no time to continue his quest today, as he’d spent the entire day at the University, setting up his fireworks display and tinkering with the holographic projectors. Then he’d rushed home to change into his (unlucky) tuxedo. Not that he believed in such superstitious nonsense, but he couldn’t help but notice, nothing good ever came of him wearing that blasted black suit.

On his return trip to the Uni for another quick systems check before guests started to arrive, he’d walked by Pete’s Coffee Dimension and, despite running late, had been drawn inside. He’d been tempted by the thought of a nice, fortifying cup of something hot, maybe even the “best cuppa in London”, and in the back of his mind, had been thinking maybe the pretty barista he had met there on his last visit would be there this time too. He’d been hoping to bask in her quiet compassion, even for just a few minutes before his life turned completely to hell.

But the barista hadn’t been there, sadly, just some bloke, who was pleasant enough, James supposed. He’d told James the barista’s name was Rose (a beautiful name that suited her perfectly!) and had just disappeared behind the counter to prepare him a cuppa, spouting some cryptic, vague assurances that he had the answer to all of James’ problems.

James was not reassured. He ran his hands through his hair and down his face. His heart was thrashing out of his chest. Blimey, he needed that cuppa… If he could only get it down his anxiety-tight throat.

Jeanne would be at the gala tonight, on his arm or not. She had her own ticket, he knew. And she would be relentless (proper predatory-level relentless) when she saw he’d come alone.

Despite his many varied (and increasingly desperate) attempts to do so, he hadn’t been able to find anyone who was suitable (or willing) to be his plus-one for tonight. He couldn’t ask his work colleagues. Most of them were considerably older than he and happily married, and he honestly didn’t think for a minute he’d be able to pull off a convincing act of love with any of those few who didn’t have prior attachments. He’d made some hesitant requests of the students and junior scientists he knew from various labs throughout the Science department, but they either all had plans for the evening (quite right, too!) or had just told him in no uncertain terms that they didn’t want to get involved in his dating debacle (also… quite right, too!)

There had been one graduate student whom he’d been hopeful about. She worked in the lab next to his and was sweet and smart, and he had always gotten along quite well with her. He also knew her to be unattached and, while not the sort to party, thought she would enjoy a festive evening at the gala. But Petronella Osgood had nearly passed out from an anxiety-induced asthma attack the moment he proposed his ruse, and James had spent the evening in the A&E with her as she recovered from the trauma. He decided right then, he wouldn’t press the matter with her any further. He didn’t wish to cause her any more stress, and upon further consideration, decided he would rather suffer the horrors of Jeanne on his own, than subject the poor girl to a potential confrontation with the French woman and her nasty temperament.

With his options rapidly dwindling, he’d even considered paying for an escort, but after some frantic research, he’d discovered that even the semi-reputable ones were ridiculously pricey, and while he would have had no trouble financially, it was a bloody waste of money. Surely Jeanne had already cost him enough. Besides, quite frankly, the idea of using an escort was… weeell… repugnant.

As a last-ditch measure, he’d called on his friend, Jack Harkness, a pan-sexual playboy, and a true friend, through and through. He’d expected Jack to be more than happy to help him stage a fake coming-out, announcing he was gay. Afterall, Jack had been trying to get into James’ pants for years, though not in any serious way. He was a tease, but he understood that James considered him to be a friend only… no benefits of a sexual nature attached. But, as it turned out, Jack had picked this festive season to finally set aside his lecherous ways and settle down. He’d announced to James that he had a new boyfriend, Ianto Jones, with whom he was “exclusive” and had lots of “plans for private New Year celebrations.”

And now… James was out of time. Doomed. And he was spending his last precious moments of a Jeanne-free life, hiding in a coffee shop, like the coward he was, desperate for a cuppa and a glimpse of an absentee barista.

He heaved a great, sad sigh, and taking off his glasses, allowed his head to sink into his hands, despair overcoming him.

“Rose! Rose!” Mickey hissed at her through the pass-through.

Rose rolled her eyes at Martha (who giggled in response) and sighed. “Honestly, Micks, can I not leave you alone for five minutes without something going wrong?” she teased as she approached the opening to the coffee bar. “What’s up?”

“Well, I might not bother to tell you now, since you’re being like that.”

“C’mon, Micks…”

“Oh, alright. I have a customer who’d like one of your cups of tea. Wanna put the kettle on?”

“That’s it? That’s what you wanted to tell me?”

“Yup. You know I don’t have the knack you have for making a good cuppa.”

“He’s not wrong,” Martha piped up from behind Rose.

“Oi,” Mickey protested, “I can make a decent cuppa, but as long as Rose is here… Besides, we don’t want the place to get a bad rep from my one substandard cups of tea. Oh, and yeah, it’s for here, so put it in one of the china cups and bring it out when it’s ready, yeah?”

“Bossy!” Rose chided with a grin.

“Someone needs to take charge, otherwise the two of you would be frittering away the time, blathering on about who-knows-what.”

“The nerve! I’ll have you know we’ve completely cleaned the storage room and done inventory, while you’ve made a couple of espresso shots and wiped down a few tables.” Rose turned to Martha. “Are you seriously planning to marry this one?”

Martha’s eyes gleamed. “For better or for worse, that’s what I hear. I guess this is the worse.”

Mickey grumbled at them. “Just hurry and get out here with that cuppa, yeah.” Then he turned and stomped away, out of Rose’s line of sight.

Five minutes later, Rose rushed out from the kitchen, with a hot teapot of Darjeeling, a couple of complimentary biscotti, and a china cup and saucer on a tray. She paused briefly to pick up the milk from the fridge, then raised her head and stepped out from behind the service counter. She stopped short at the sight before her.

It was him. The Doctor.

She twisted around to look behind her, taking in Mickey’s cheeky grin. “I’m gonna kill you,” she mouthed, her cheeks burning.

“Go on,” her friend mouthed back, gesturing her out into the seating area with a sweeping motion of his hands. Martha stepped up behind him and Rose sighed as she watched the young woman’s eyes light up when Mickey whispered to her who the customer was. She clapped her hands silently together, bounced on her toes, and motioned to Rose in no uncertain terms to move her arse out there and deliver the tea.

Shaking her head at her friends, Rose turned back to the seating area and, taking a deep, fortifying breath, she moved toward the Doctor’s table.

He was sat there with his head in his hands, looking miserable, his gorgeous fringe spilling through his fingers. He was wearing a tuxedo, so she assumed he had somewhere to be tonight and couldn’t help but wonder why he was here instead. Unless it had something to do with that ex-girlfriend of his…

But that wasn’t Rose’s business. He had ordered a cuppa, and she would deliver it to him. That was her job. Nothing more to it than that.

Then why, she wondered, was her heart throbbing somewhere in the region of her throat? Why was her mouth as dry as ash and her palms hot and sweaty? Why did she feel that faint, fluttering hope rising in her chest again, the one she’d felt every time the bell over the door had rung over the last few days? The difference was, this time, the source of that hope was actually sitting right in front of her, waiting for her to deliver him a cuppa.

She fought back her giddiness. I have to remain impartial, she told herself. She’d probably find out he wasn’t as wonderful as her memory (and imagination) had made him seem. He’d probably turn out to be a right arse. And maybe that would be for the best. After all, despite her protests to the contrary, she knew Clara was right: she’d been mooning about him since his first visit, prior to Christmas. She needed to get on with her life, and not spend her time fantasising over men she wasn’t nearly accomplished enough to date. Yes, surely, he was a truly horrible person.

With that fortifying thought in mind, she stepped up to his table.

James’ head shot up out of his hands when he heard the soft sound of a throat clearing hesitantly. He’d been so lost in his troubles, he’d not noticed anyone approaching his table. His bleary eyes struggled to make out the source of the sound: a haze of pink and yellow. He picked up his glasses and snapped them onto his face.

Instantly, a most welcome sight came into focus before him. The pretty barista… Rose… was standing before him, cheeks flushed the colour of her namesake, and holding a tray that held what he knew was certain to be the best cuppa in London. His troubles seemed to instantly recede in her presence. (Of course, he warned himself, they hadn’t actually receded, just been put on the backburner of his brain for a blessed few minutes.)

“Hello.” She offered him a shy smile and flushed a deeper shade of red.

He waggled his fingers at her. “Hello.”

“Hello…” she bit her bottom lip endearingly, “…Doctor.”

“That’s me!”

She nodded her head rapidly, fervently agreeing with this statement.

“Is that my tea?”

“Oh, blimey! Yeah… course…” With shaking hands, she unloaded the contents of the tray onto the table. “Would you like me to pour?”

He nodded this time, his usually non-stop gob failing him.

She set his cup in front of him and, lifting the little teapot, poured out his tea with a practiced flair, allowing a few bubbles to form on the surface. “For good luck…” she murmured, as she set the pot down.

“I’m sorry… what?”

“Oh… the bubbles… in your cup… they’re supposed to predict good fortune or some such rot. Generally, financially, but if they cling to the side of the cup… erm… like these ones…” her voice dropped to nearly subaudible levels and she averted her eyes from his, “…they foretell romance.”

“Romance?”

She picked at the little knit cozy covering the pot. “Erm, yeah… each bubble represents a… well… a kiss.”

He beamed at her, covering her fidgeting hand with his. It was warm and soft, and fit perfectly under his. “Thank-you… Rose? Right?”

She met his gaze with wide, wondering eyes and nodded again, a bashful smile tugging at one corner of her mouth. “Erm… yeah. Rose. Rose Tyler.”

“Rooooose Tyyyyler.” He rolled the words in his mouth, enjoying the sound and feel of them. “Weeeell, thank-you, Rose Tyler. Not that I believe in superstitions and portents, but I am prepared to suspend my disbelief for tonight. I am more than willing to entertain the possibility that you have changed my fortune with your expert tea pouring. Maybe tonight won’t be the disaster I thought it was going to be, after all.”

“That’s the spirit!” Rose cheered.

“Would you join me?” He reflexively squeezed her hand. “For a cuppa, that is?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’d… I’d like that. I’m sure I can find an extra cup around here somewhere. Coffee shop and all, yeah.”

Mickey rocked from one foot to the other, his frustration building with each passing minute. “What are they on about?” he grumbled, gesturing at Rose and the Doctor. “Look at them! Look!”

Martha arched her brow at him. “Yeah, I see them.”

“What the hell is he waiting for, then? They’re obviously into each other. He’s holding her hand and they’re makin’ eyes at each other. It’s sickening, really. So why the hell doesn’t he just ask her out to that gala of his? Urrrrgh!”

“I think he may need a little help with that.”

“What? Why? She’s beautiful and available and–”

“Yeah, but from his point of view, she’s at work. And who knows what else is going on in his head. Maybe he just needs another little nudge.”

“Blimey, he needs more than a nudge. He needs someone to connect the bloody dots.”

“Off you go then, Mickey-Matchmaker. Go connect those dots.”

“Me? Why me? Don’t you think this might require a woman’s touch?”

“Look, this was your idea…”

Mickey glowered at his fiancée.

“Not that I think it’s a bad idea. Like you said, they’re obviously… attracted.”

“Attracted? They’re practically undressing each other with their eyes!”

“Right. All I’m saying is you need to go out and finish the job.”

“What about you? You just gonna stand here whilst I make a fool of myself?”

Martha flashed him a cheeky grin. “Yeah, something like that. Consider it moral support.”

“Pffft, moral support, my arse.” He scowled. “Well, since you’re obviously gonna leave me high and dry… here goes!” He took a step out toward the table where Rose and the Doctor were lost in each other’s gazes but pulled up short at Martha’s next words.

“Oh, and by the way, for my part, I already contacted Amy.” She arched a smug brow.

“And…”

“She can’t wait to help out. Champing at the bit, she is!” Then Martha added in a stage-whisper, “So Rose will have no excuses. Don’t let her worm her way out of this.”

James sat staring blankly at the bloke (Rickey?), a piece of biscotti half-way to his mouth. His brain had surged into overdrive, processing information and probabilities, but it seemed to have forgotten it was connected to his gob, which opened and closed uselessly. He looked over at Rose who gawped back at him with an expression that probably mirrored his own.

He had to admit, the bloke’s plan had merit. He could see himself falling for this girl. If he was being honest, he was already teetering at the edge. He’d just never considered asking a total stranger to accompany him to the gala (apart from his fleeting research into escorts), and he wasn’t entirely sure Rose was even vaguely interested. For one thing, it was all very last minute, the epitome of last minute; frankly, if he could define last minute, this would be it. Secondly, weeell, while she obviously didn’t have any plans to celebrate the New Year, she had plans… working-type plans, plans that were obviously very important to her. And much more important than his stupid University Gala. And, C, no three… thirdly, why the hell would she even want to go out with him? He thought he’d felt some attraction between them, but she didn’t know anything about him… zip, zilch, nada, nought! He could be an axe-murderer for all she knew, a rapist, a–

His rambling thoughts screeched to a halt as he saw her expression morphing from shock and bewilderment to…

“What the actual fuck, Mickey?” she hissed at the young man who stood before them with a proud grin on his face. Her face was now fiery with embarrassment and anger. “How dare you?”

James tugged on his ear and watched, helpless, as Rickey’s grin collapsed. “But it’s perfect, babe, don’t you see?” James had to give the man credit. He’d never be able to face the wrath this bloke was facing, despite having survived Donna (and Aunt Sylvia) for many years. “He needs a date. You need to get a life. Simple.” Rickey (the idiot) ploughed on, clearly oblivious or indifferent to the immediate threat to his existence.

“Oh, I need to get a life, do I?” Rose snarled. “What is all of this, then?” She gestured around the shop. “Seems to me I have a life. A perfectly good life, thank-you very much. I don’t need you–”

“Yeah? Well, me and Martha, we think you do. Babe, you never see beyond these four walls, except to go upstairs–”

“To my home!”

“Home then. My point is, you never leave this building, except to pick up things for the shop.”

“This is my dream…”

“Look, Rickey…” James interjected, shooting a glance at Rose, who was glaring at her friend with pursed lips.

“It’s Mickey!” Mickey snapped.

“Right, sorry… Mickey then… Look, mate, I appreciate what you’re trying to do, and I certainly wouldn’t say no to having Rose on my arm at the Gala this evening, but–”

Rose swept around to face him, the fire in her eyes dying out and a smile twitching at the corners of her mouth. “You wouldn’t?”

James ran his hand through his hair again (he must look a mess…) “Weeell, no… no, of course not… I’d be honoured… Would you like to come?”

“Well, yeah…”

“Would you, though?”

“Yeah!”

“I just thought because you don’t really know me…”

“Yeah, I thought because you don’t really know me… and I just… I just work in a shop; you might not want me to…”

“Oh, I’d love you to come,” he gushed.

James sensed, rather than saw Mickey backing slowly away. His attention was riveted on the beautiful, blushing woman sitting before him. She beamed at him, her tongue touching the corner of her mouth. “Okay.”

He beamed in return, but his smile quickly dropped away, doubts racing back to the front of his mind. “But you… I mean, you don’t know the first thing about me….” He glanced down at the remains of his biscotti, pushing the crumbs around with a restless finger.

Rose’s hand closed over his, stopping his fidgeting. “I know a little… and,” she fixed him in her warm gaze, “I’d like to know more… But, oh God… oh no! I don’t have anything to wear. Certainly nothing that would do for an event like this one!”

“All taken care of,” a young woman James hadn’t noticed before piped up from the service counter. “Amy is more than happy to lend you something. It’s all arranged.”

“But, Martha…”

“No excuses!” Mickey added. “You’re going! You deserve to get out and enjoy yourself.”

Rose turned her nervous smile back to James and shrugged her shoulders. “I guess I’m going, then. That is if you’d still like me to come.”

James felt his spirits soar. For the first time in weeks he didn’t feel like he was plunging head-first into the depths of despair. Maybe his tux wasn’t such a portent of doom, after all. “Oh, yes!” He swept to his feet and offered her his hand. “It’s a date!”

“Yeah…” she chirped, standing and lacing her fingers with his, “…I guess it is!”

“Oh, yes!” he repeated. “Allons-y, Rose Tyler.”

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