Title: The Tea That Makes The Time Lord.
Author: Iby.
Characters/Pairings: The Ninth Doctor, The Tenth Doctor, Rose; Nine/Rose and Ten/Rose.
Genre: Friendship, fluff, romance, traces of humour.
Rating: PG-13.
Spoilers: Nope.
Author's Notes: This is two different takes on the Doctor and Rose going grocery shopping, one with the Ninth Doctor, one with the Tenth. There's also something of a little...outtake at the end, which involves the Ninth Doctor getting rather embarrassed and the Tenth Doctor getting very excited. *g*

Summary: For some, it's the suit that makes the man. For others, it's the car. For the Doctor, it's the tea; it's the tea that makes the Time Lord. Now, all Rose has to do is figure out what flavour he likes. Not a simple task, considering how many different types there are, and the fact that he has regenerating taste-buds.





“I’ll get the milk, you get the tea,” the Doctor instructed as he picked up a red shopping basket and curled his fingers around its handles. “Non-fat,” he rolled his eyes at the thought, “I know, I know.” Shaking his head, he walked off and was quickly swallowed up by the many aisles of the supermarket.

Rose marvelled for a minute at the way that he always seemed to know exactly where he was going, even when they were in a random supermarket in a little country town in Victoria, Australia. Putting it down to his being an alien and…well, him, she shrugged and set off, swinging her own shopping basket a little beside her hip.

It didn’t take her long to find what she was looking for, but when she did she realized that she was faced with a rather unusual question.

What flavour of tea did the Doctor drink?

She’d made tea for him before; she’d noted what jar he used when brewing himself a cup, and had just used that one from then on, but she’d absolutely no idea what was actually in it.

She quickly dismissed the fruity, flowery herbal teas in their bright packets; she was pretty sure the universe would implode if the Doctor drank raspberry tea. She knew it was a generalization and an assumption, but the idea of him; hair so closely cropped, clothes so very basic and routine, gaze so intense, words so rarely given except to her - sitting down to a mug of something pink made her laugh.

She could practically feel his horror, and she kept chuckling even as she deposited a couple of packets of plain black and a few earl grey into the basket.

“What’s gotten into you?” the Doctor asked as he made his way down the aisle to stand beside her, his brow lined from curiosity.

“Nothing, nothing,” she sing-songed as she leant over to inspect the contents of his basket. She studied the many packets and containers, and her heart caught in her throat.

Nestled beside her non-fat milk was a tub of her favourite honey yoghurt, a packet of the chocolate biscuits that she loved but he hated with a passion, two bottles of Coca Cola (which he was allergic to) and a tube of the minty toothpaste that she swore by, even though it made his tongue sting.

The Doctor’s awkwardly shuffling feet told her that it was best not to comment, but as they made their way towards the registers, she rubbed her thumb over the back of his hand in thanks.


;



“I’ll get the milk, you get the tea,” the Doctor instructed, as he dashed down an aisle towards the back of the supermarket. She saw his long brown coat flick around the corner, and then he was gone.

Not for long. He came dashing back, his grin bright enough to power the entire store and all its fridges, before pouncing on one of the familiar red shopping baskets and dashing off again.

Rolling her eyes, almost but not quite used to his frenetic new pace, she made her way towards the tea. She knew exactly where it was this time, but again she was presented with the unusual question.

What flavour of tea did the Doctor drink?

This was the first time they’d gone grocery shopping since his regeneration. Oh, she knew he didn’t mind the stuff her mum had, obviously, but what did he like to drink when every cell in his body wasn’t under incredible stress?

She eyed the herbal teas curiously. Whilst last time the idea had been laughable, she gave them consideration this time. Except for the Pear Tea; that absolutely wasn’t an option. She was just about to pick up a packet of mango leaves to inspect them more closely when the whirlwind that was the Doctor came crashing into her side. She pulled her hand back quickly, suddenly shy.

“I was thinking, as is my habit, that perhaps we could shop together? It’s a trifle co-dependent, I’ll grant, but we are in the same supermarket.” He looked down at her, his eyes wide and his expression somewhat bashful.

There was a lot about her new Doctor that she had yet to figure out, but what was becoming readily apparent was his desire to be joined at the hip with her. She wasn’t about to complain.

“Better with two, right?” she asked, bumping her shoulder against his and delighting in the way he beamed at her. Somehow emboldened by his going out on a limb, she nodded towards the selection of teas.

“What do you like?”

He turned to study the shelves and his eyes widened at the many choices. “Oooh, good question. Still got to test out these new taste-buds, buddddds, b-b-buddy-buds. Don’t know what they like, don’t know what they hate. Except for pears. I know they don’t like pears.” He shuddered at the mere thought of the green little fruits and Rose laughed.

Quick as lightening, as was his way, he began scooping up random packets and dumping them in Rose’s basket. Russian Caravan piled on top of Lady Grey, Darjeeling sat beside Earl Grey and English Breakfast topped off the somewhat precarious mountain.

Rose knew the second the Doctor noticed the herbal teas. He stilled in indecision, his fingers hovering over them curiously.

“Ah well, in for a penny, in for a pound.” He picked up a packet of raspberry tea, whipped out his specks and began to read the fine-print.

Rose was on the verge of getting quite bored indeed when the Doctor did something new and spectacular to catch her interest.

He licked the packet, his long tongue laving from one end to the other, leaving the thin cardboard slightly damp.

Rose blinked in shock, but when the Doctor picked up a packet of mango tea and gave it the same treatment, she knew that she wasn’t seeing things . “You…you…I can’t believe…” she noticed a woman and a little boy staring at the Doctor in horror and she near wilted with embarrassment. The woman put her hand on her boy’s shoulder and scooted him down the aisle and away.

“Doctor!” she hissed, “you can’t go licking things like that!” She gingerly pried the damaged packets from his long fingers and dropped them into her basket. “You’ll have to pay for them now. Come on,” she said sharply as she started walking down the aisle, “it’s time to go. Don’t forget your basket.”

The Doctor nodded meekly, suitably chastised and followed hard upon her heels like an eager puppy, trying to keep up and be rewarded.

All in all, this made Rose feel vaguely like his mother, which was not at all the way she wanted to feel. To remedy this problem, she snuggled up against his side when they joined the queue in a very I'm the person that snogs you kind of way. “I can’t believe you did that,” she mumbled into his coat’s lapels.

He rested his hand on the small of her back, not so low as to be improper, but low enough to be intimate. “Got to keep you on your toes.”

Rose frowned in disbelief. “Exactly what about the last few weeks would lead you to believe that I was anything but? Should I list the number of prisons we’ve been held in? Or should I list the number of soon-to-be-torched pyres that you’ve been tied to? Perhaps I should list the number of times you’ve been poked with something sharp and/or pointy? With you, I’m always on my toes.”

The Doctor chuckled and began putting the contents of his basket onto the register’s belt, making sure to keep his hand on Rose’s back.

It was then that Rose noticed what he’d bought.

Her favourite honey yoghurt, a packet of the chocolate biscuits that she loved, two bottles of Coca Cola (which he was still allergic to) and a tube of the minty toothpaste that she swore by, even though it made his new new tongue sting.

She grinned and gave his side a squeeze. Some things never changed.

. . . .

. . . .

. . . .

. . . .

The Doctor, Rose knew, was trying desperately not to appear embarrassed. He was trying so very hard that his embarrassment radiated bright red to everybody in the entire supermarket.

She knew she was being a new and creative shade of cruel, asking him the many questions that she was, but it was just too good an opportunity to pass up. This was the first time he'd actually been with her during the buying process.

“Are you sure? Why don’t you have a look?” She nodded towards the shelves and their contents, and the Doctor craned his head back so far to study the ceiling that Rose was sure he was going to get a crick in his neck.

“Really, Rose,” he said as neutrally as he could to the ceiling, “whatever we were using before was fine. You choose. It’s up to you, you’re the one who feels, well…” the neutrality started to slip, panic pushing at its edges. “You know the specifics. In regards to…well. Ah. Yes.” He coughed awkwardly.

Rose bit her tongue to hold back her laughter, but decided not to push the joke any further. If he got too awkward and embarrassed, he started to get snippy. She had plans for the evening - she didn’t want to have to nurse his wounded pride back to full health.

“Fine, fine,” she said mock-resignedly, as she plucked a packet of ordinary old condoms off the shelf.

;

“They come in flavours!?! Banana!?!”

. . . .