Work Text:
By the time she managed to escape from the office, Rose was ready to scream in frustration. Aliens she could deal with; budget spreadsheets, not so much. Pete might say she seemed to have a flair for understanding the wretched things, but it didn't mean she liked them. "All part of being a team leader," she kept hearing. "There's more than just running and saving the universe."
For a moment, she had the image of telling an invading force to wait while she completed three different sets of budget expectations, and then compiled bullet points for a high-level management presentation on the same. That was enough to make her consider digging into Torchwood's arsenal of unidentified alien tech to see if she could find something that would wipe every spreadsheet from the face of the earth.
Of course this would happen the day she had a lunch date. She'd told the Doctor to meet her just around the corner from Torchwood's headquarters; the lobby would have been more convenient, but he'd gotten twitchy when she mentioned it. Her office was out of the question at the moment, not after the incident where the Doctor proved Clarkson's pet weapons project was really a carpet steamer. It wasn't that Rose was worried he'd leave when she didn't show up on time -- he knew she'd call if it was something truly serious to invite him in on the fun -- but what mischief he might get into when he got bored. And he'd once called her jeopardy friendly?
But as she turned the corner, there he was, wearing sunglasses against the bright winter sun, happily nursing a cup of coffee -- wearing the new brown suit he'd ordered a few weeks ago.
When she'd first seen the fabric at the tailor's, her heart had skipped a beat because it was so like...him that it physically hurt. She thought she'd moved beyond that, found joy in this Doctor and let the one who'd chosen to leave her behind go. Even so, there were still moments when something struck her and she felt flung back to that beach in Norway, hurt and unsure how it had all come out this way. Rose's first instinct was that he should find something -- anything -- else but she'd also seen the longing in his eyes as he'd been ready to tell Horace to take it away before she'd said a word.
There'd been so much he'd lost that day on the beach as well, a realization that had only come to her over time. A brown suit like the one he'd left behind was such a small thing and something that was actually within her power to give; how could she refuse? But it was more than that. The fabric had looked good against him, the subtle differences in the wool promising to flatter him when complete.
The finished result lived up to that promise, evoking the old suit while being something that was entirely its own, much like the man who wore it. She was pretty certain when the Doctor first put it on, Horace had insisted his tie be properly done up. Now, though, he'd pulled it slightly loose as always, jacket completely unbuttoned for once. Even as she watched, his head turned in her direction as if he'd somehow sensed her presence. Cheerfully raising his cup, a grin lit his face as Rose crossed the street to join him. "Sorry I'm late," she said, stretching up to give him a quick peck. "Meeting ran long."
"One area Torchwood has never been particularly efficient in. So?" He turned to give her the full effect. "You like?"
Cup of coffee, sunglasses, cheeky grin, and a brown suit -- yes, this was her Doctor. "I like it very much."
She hooked her arm through his as they began to make their way toward the restaurant. She complained about her spreadsheets while he told her about the rather clever punishment the Pushnaram of Karvile devised for bureaucrats who annoyed him with too much paper. She asked if they could arrange for the Pushnaram to pay Earth a visit because she had some folks she'd like him to meet. It was the minutiae of their lives and whether he wore brown or blue, they were learning this new rhythm together.
