Chapter Text
The appointment is scheduled for a Friday afternoon with only the slightest bit of forethought.
Nearly everyone they know is out of town, the register’s office had the date open, and, if the story does leak, it’s got the best chance of being swallowed up on a Friday night.
It’s not the most extravagant arrangement, but it’s what they want, and so, when that Friday finally rolls around, three weeks after the appointment was made, and nearly a year after getting engaged, the Doctor puts on a brown suit, Rose puts on a white dress, and they walk the six blocks to Joanie’s preschool.
It’s a walk they’ve made loads of times, in sun, in rain, in heat, in wind, and it’s always a nice walk, if not a little bit boring.
Boring enough anyway, that the paparazzi left them alone on it months ago, no longer able to sell the same photo of the Doctor and Rose holding hands in different clothing each week.
Today, though, today would’ve been a good day for a photographer to get a shot off, and the Doctor had assumed, when he thought about this day in the weeks leading up to it, that he’d be on the lookout for them.
He sees now that he completely underestimated what Rose Tyler in a white dress walking toward marrying him would be like. There’s no way his eyes are going anywhere else, not the street in front of him, not the lamppost he walked into, not shops or cars or even bloody aliens have the slightest chance at his attention.
And Rose, too, seems wrapped up in him, beaming at him with a wide, happy smile every time he catches her eye, and swinging their hands between them as they walk. Her finger keeps tapping his ring finger, sliding over skin that in an hour will be covered by a thin platinum band and belong to a married man.
The register’s office is a few doors down from the preschool, and they pick Joanie up first, along with her two teachers, who will serve as witnesses. They’d initially thought to bring their own along, Jack and Donna maybe, or Mickey and Martha, but the more discussions they’d had, the more it became clear that picking and choosing like that was only going to lead to hurt feelings – not least those of Jackie Tyler.
It’s part of what led them to elope in the first place – they’d need to go all or nothing on a wedding, because doing it halfway would be even more trouble. Since neither of them had an interest in planning a big production, not when their lives were already full of those, it became this.
They love each other, they want to spend their lives together, and no amount of two thousand quid wedding cake or organza was going to make it mean more.
(Which is exactly what the Doctor would tell Jackie Tyler, if he had the nerve, and if he and Rose didn’t both swiftly change the subject every time it was brought up.)
Anyway, the teachers are trustworthy, Joanie’s been in their class for a while now and not a word of anything inappropriate has appeared in the papers. They’ve even gotten her to put on her dress for the ceremony, and kept it (mostly) clean.
It’s the five of them then, Joanie between the Doctor and Rose, each of them clutching one of her hands, on the short walk to the register’s office.
From there, it’s a quick transaction and they’re in front of the register, a civil ceremony in full swing as Joanie tears up and down the aisles shouting happily, parroting the words of the register in a sing-song voice for a few minutes before demanding that Rose pick her up.
One of the teachers rushes to get Joanie from Rose’s arms, but there’s a moment where the Doctor looks at Rose and Joanie, looks at the two most important women in his life wrapped around each other, and everything else falls away.
The floor drops out and his head goes warm and he’s overcome, completely overcome and overwhelmed and overjoyed, eyes welling up and a lump in his throat, and his hands shake for the rest of the ceremony.
He puts a ring on Rose’s finger and she puts a ring on his and there’s more words, more happy singing and shouting and noise from Joanie and then they’re kissing, they’re kissing as husband and wife, and his feet may never touch the ground again.
They sign the certificate, leave the office, and have exactly three hours of wedded bliss before the phone rings.
The Doctor doesn’t even notice the first call, mobile vibrating away in his pocket as he distracts Joanie so Rose can surreptitiously deposit slivers of chicken into her mouth between giggles. They’d gone to a park after the ceremony, to give Joanie space to run her energy out, and eventually ended up at their favorite restaurant.
They sat in this very same booth just a few days ago, Joanie happily smashing chips between her fingers and shouting “All-on see! All-on see!” to all the diners within earshot. (Apparently Jackie has been teaching her phrases in French, something about how Joanie’s brain is a veritable language sponge at this age.) If a patron from three days ago happened to see them today, they wouldn’t be able to tell a single thing had changed … except that Joanie’s French phrase is now “Merde!” (going to have to have a word with Jackie about that one), and there is a subtle, wonderfully solid chunk of metal circling his left ring finger.
The Doctor’s using a napkin as a puppet to entertain Joanie, halfway through a performance when the mobile buzzes again. He notices it this time, and at the same moment, “I Believe in Her” starts up from the purse dangling off the back of Rose’s chair. It’s a pop song by the boy band du jour with a mental name, something like Cropped Tour, and Rose chose it because she caught the Doctor singing it in the shower a few weeks ago. Singing, plus trying out a few dance steps from the music video.
Fine, all the dance steps.
After she stopped giggling, Rose had soothed his ego by assuring him that he most definitely wasnot too old to crank that, and then joined him in the shower so he could show her the rest of his moves.
He isn’t kidding himself: this far into their relationship, she’s already seen all of his moves. Regardless, she was still impressed.
Twice.
They simultaneously pull out their mobiles to check caller ID, a frown crossing each of their faces.
“Donna,” the Doctor says, sending it to voicemail with a flick of his finger
“Mum,” Rose says in greeting, putting the mobile to her ear. The Doctor absentmindedly jiggles the napkin-puppet in front of Joanie, and she squeals, kicking the table from her booster seat. Silverware rattles. “No, I hadn’t forgotten about tonight.” Rose’s brown eyes flit up to meet the Doctor’s and she makes a face. “An hour, I know, I know. I promised I’d help, and I’ll be there. See you soon. Ta.”
She jams her thumb into the mobile screen, and the device beeps and goes dark.
“Don’t frown at me like that! We’ve got to tell Mum sometime, sooner rather than later. Better she finds out from us than the press, yeah?”
A thousand possible Jackie Tyler-induced deaths, from the beginning to the end of the universe, flicker through the Doctor’s mind. It is a series of images that would quell a lesser man. And yet, one thing supersedes any thought of agony, of mortality, of the infinite and endless gamut of the Doctor’s ever-impending existential crisis in the face of his own demise.
“It’s our wedding night,” he says. The whine at the edge of his voice is undeniable.
“Your pout is worse than your frown,” Rose retorts, rolling her eyes and kicking him under the table. A tiny smile pulls at the right corner of her mouth.
“Merde!” Joanie crows happily, proffering a fist-full of chicken to Rose. “Merde, Mama! Merde!”
It eventually turns into a song, to a tune that sounds suspiciously like Eensy Weensy Spider and projects at a volume the Doctor can professionally be impressed by, and parentally be keen to put a stop to, and they hustle out of the restaurant as soon as they’ve settled the bill.
Jackie’s place is only a quick drive away and they make the short walk back to their own home to pick up the car.
Rose is at their front door nearly before he can stop her, and he startles Joanie with a shout.
"Wait!"
Her hand falls away from the knob and she looks back at him in the driveway with her eyebrows raised.
"What? I’m just grabbing jackets."
Joanie has wiggled her way off his hip and is now running circles around his feet, preventing him from getting any closer and having this conversation any quieter.
"There are jackets in the car. Just – just come here," he says, voice slightly pleading. "Don’t go in there, not right now."
Rose casually pushes off the door jamb and walks over to him, amusement tugging at her lips.
"Did you do something ridiculous to the house? Are there rose petals on the floor?"
He scoops Joanie back up and moves for the car door, attempting to bundle Rose into the passenger side at the same time.
"No, there aren’t any rose petals on the floor," he says. "Unless you want there to be, in which case, you go on ahead to your mother’s and Joanie and I have some errands to run that definitely do not include the florist."
Rose rolls her eyes, laughing at him, but ducks into the car anyway.
"You’re not getting out of my mum’s, so let’s hear the real reason."
He finishes buckling Joanie into her car seat and jogs back to the driver’s side, slipping in next to Rose.
"It’ll be our first time in our home as husband and wife," he tells her. "I’ve got to carry you over the threshold and all that. Not run in forjackets.”
Rose’s face shifts to a smile and she tugs him closer by his tie. “Aw, that’s sort of sweet actually, come here.”
She deposits a quick kiss to his lips that he’d intends to draw out a little bit, but a piece of cereal lands in his hair before he can get anything started, and he looks back to see Joanie smiling toothily.
With a sigh, he removes the cereal and starts the car, maneuvering out into traffic as Rose leans into the back to confiscate the rest of the cereal.
Joanie’s apparently got a secret reserve though, as the cereal tossing keeps up for the entire ride, clear into Jackie’s driveway.
A final insulting handful is dumped into his hands as he unbuckles Joanie from her car seat and before he can dispose of it, Joanie’s off like a shot down the street, Rose on her heels.
"Bev! Bev! Ty-Ty!"
He turns to see that Joanie’s caught sight of Bev, one of Jackie’s friends, and her grandson, Tyson, out for a walk.
Bev greets Joanie with a wide smile, and Tyson greets her with a shriek, as the Doctor catches up to them and the adults exchange greetings as well.
"If you’re looking for your mum," Bev says, "she just left, said she’d be right back."
Rose nods. “I guess we are a little early, we can wait inside. Come on, Joanie,” she reaches her hand toward Joanie, who shakes her head in reply, reaching instead for Tyson’s hand.
Bev laughs, “Thick as thieves, these two. If you want, I can take Joanie to the park with us, bring her ‘round when we’re done?”
To the Doctor’s surprise, Rose only puts up a very small amount of polite protestation before agreeing and thanking Bev. Then she’s tugging the Doctor toward Jackie’s front door.
They’re in the entryway and still on the move when the Doctor finally realizes that Rose seems to be leading him with a purpose.
He doesn’t have to wonder long as she tugs him into the doorway of a spare room.
"That," she says, pointing at the bed, "is where I was sitting when I got the call from you about coming on tour. Right there – that bed.”
The Doctor grins at her, warmth flooding his veins. So this is where this is going.
Perfect.
"Which call? I had to ask twice, you know."
Their hands are still clasped and she twines their fingers together, pulling him into the room to sit on the edge of bed.
"The second one," she says. "The time I said yes."
He ducks his head, leaning into kiss her and stopping just before her lips. “I’m glad you said yes.”
She smiles, her lips brushing his. “Me, too.”
There are all sorts of emotional conversations they could have, all the usual cliches, but he’s a married man now, and a father, and he’s up against the clock, so instead he presses his mouth to hers and kisses his wife on the bed where it all began for them.
Ten minutes later, he’s got his tongue in her mouth, a hand up her dress and two fingers inside her knickers, when they hear noise at the front door.
"Finish, finish, finish," Rose pleads against his mouth, hips rutting against his hand, but it’s no use, the noise is growing louder, and closer, and he pulls his hand back.
He drops a quick kiss to her mouth and darts into the en suite as Rose groans and stands to straighten herself out.
Within a matter of minutes, Rose has Jackie cornered in the lounge. Jackie keeps trying to herd Rose into the kitchen to look at brochures — something about their official charity foundation, a new fundraising campaign for some worthy cause or other, choosing which ad company to go with. But Rose situates her mother in an armchair, the Doctor and Rose on the couch across from her.
It’s eerily reminiscent of the scene that played out in this very room years ago, after their first tour together, Rose bringing the Doctor home to introduce her to Jackie for the first time. He can’t decide whether he was more terrified then, or now.
Then, his terror wasn’t as much about Jackie in particular, and was more about how domestic the whole situation was — meeting someone’s mum. Now, his terror is entirely about Jackie in particular, and if he could be wearing an apron and vacuuming in his pearls instead of sitting right here right now, he’d do it in a heartbeat.
He’s trying to maintain an air of casual inattention, as if he isn’t perched on the couch like a cat on a pincushion. Rose doesn’t seem flustered at all, just excited.
“You didn’t have to come, Doctor,” Jackie huffs, a thin veneer of politeness over her irritation. “There’s probably some football on, you can watch while Rose helps me with the —”
“Mum, when have you ever known the Doctor to watch football?” Rose asks.
“When he’s at my house and trying to avoid talking to me, that’s when. Looks like he’d like to be in the den now. Go on then, we’ll take care of the details for the benefit, and let you know when we’ve finished.”
It’s true, he’d rather sit through a root canal or five than have to organize the mundane details of a fundraiser — his specialty is appearing at the last minute, putting on a show, saving the day with his stunning good looks and universally appealing charisma. The details of planning and clean-up always belong in someone else’s hands; he’s just there for the main event.
Announcing their marriage to Jackie is a detail, right? Not the main event — they already took care of that, just the two of them. The Doctor shoots a sideways look toward Rose, desperate hope in his eyes. Because maybe, just maybe she wants to talk to Jackie about this marriage business in private?
“It’s probably a rubbish match anyway,” he grudges.
“Mum, we have something to tell you.”
Jackie has been picking at her trousers in irritation, worrying at the ironed crease atop her knees. Her hands still and her gaze swivels between them, taking in Rose’s moderately confident smile and the Doctor’s thin-lipped grimace.
Realization dawns across her face. “Oh my god. Oh my god!” she squeals, quivering in place for a split-second before launching herself across the room to sweep them both up into an enormous bear hug. The Doctor finds himself wiggling in her grip like a pet caught up in a child’s too-tight embrace, pushing ineffectually at Jackie with straight-armed determination. “You’re having another baby!”
“Not pregnant!” Rose squeaks. “Married! We got married this afternoon!”
The force of Jackie’s arms loosens considerably, and she takes a half-step away. The Doctor collapses into the back cushions of the couch with a dignified wheeze. Rose stands up to take her mother’s hands. “Just popped ‘round to the courthouse and signed the papers this afternoon. It’ll be simpler this way, for legal things.” Rose is beaming too hard now, the cracks beginning to show — Jackie is horrified, there’s no other way to interpret that expression, and Rose’s pretense at making this a casual announcement has utterly failed. “Who knows, maybe I’ll even take his last name.” She winks and shrugs, and that seals it, the nail on the coffin of Jackie’s spirit.
Jackie takes another step back, her heavily chapsticked lips quivering, even though she’s got them pressed together tight. “You had a … wedding” — she says the word like it’s a profanity — “and you didn’t tell me?”
“We’re telling you right now,” Rose says, a feeble attempt at silly humor. She takes another step toward Jackie, and Jackie takes a mirrored step away. The back of her knees hit the armchair, and she collapses into it like a ragdoll.
“You didn’t invite me.”
“We didn’t want to make a fuss, Mum. Just signed the papers, is all. You’ve been so busy lately, running the foundation, traveling back and forth between here and New York to take care of everything, we didn’t want to give you something else to worry about.”
“Something to — to worry about? You thought that I would worry?” Jackie blinks, eyes watery, and the Doctor sits forward, pulling his left hand out of his pocket and reaching forward to take Rose’s hand. It’s trembling, because she’s upset that Jackie’s so upset. Upset that she’s so disappointed.
The Doctor never had parental figures whose opinions he cared much about, certainly none whose disappointment could trigger gut-level instincts of distress and mortification. Rose is the most independent and self-sufficient woman the Doctor has ever met, and yet the sight of her mother like this still makes her feel like that teenaged starlet under her manager-mum’s wing.
He can’t relate, but he definitely understands.
“After that stunt in Vegas, the pictures in the paper of the two of you at the wedding chapel,” Jackie says, hands clenched, “when we had the conversation afterward, I thought you realized how much it meant to me.”
“But we’re married, that’s the important thing,” Rose says, and it’s a drowning man reaching for a deflated life raft. It strikes the Doctor that this disappointment isn’t about the marriage — it’s about the wedding itself.
Jackie’s tear-filled eyes shift to the Doctor. “Pete got my name wrong at our wedding. Did you ever know that?”
He shakes his head.
“It wasn’t a big to-do or anything. Not in a church, just went to the government office and signed the papers. Like mother, like daughter, I suppose.” She takes a slow, shaky breath. “My parents were dead, y’know, and Pete and me didn’t have any money. That’s why we kept it so simple. Pete tried to make the best of it — he hung tulle and fairy lights all over the flat for the little reception we had afterward. Mints and lager, and my friend Sarah baked a cake. Pete always said we’d do it right on our tenth anniversary, re-affirm our vows and have a big to-do like he wanted to give me in the first place. A proper venue, with dinner and dancing and all our friends and family there.”
“Oh, Mum.” Rose is squeezing the Doctor’s hand so hard, his fingers are going numb.
“It’s silly.” Jackie takes a deep breath, slapping her hands onto her knees and rising to her feet. She sniffles, wiping one cheek. “I’m being silly. Congratulations to you both. It’s about damn time.”
"We haven’t had a reception yet," the Doctor blurts out, and both women turn to stare at him as if he’s grown a second head.
Being a married man has obviously made him mental.
He wants to backpedal, wants to reach out into the air and snatch the words away, and then take a nice, long holiday from speaking for, oh, two, three weeks, tops, just enough to make sure he doesn’t say anything else ridiculous.
Instead he repeats himself.
"We haven’t had a reception yet," he says. "And we could – we could have a reception and you could…plan it?"
His voice is very, very high on the last bit.
Rose’s hand goes slack in his, her mouth opening slightly in his peripheral vision.
"Or help plan it? I think I meant help? Rose…help? Did I…help?”
Someone should definitely check the oxygen levels in this house, he has a daughter, for fuck’s sake, he can’t just be bringing her into places where all the air in the room suddenly evaporates.
And that’s clearly what’s happened, because he feels dizzy and light-headed and obviously, obviously in the grips of a complete mental collapse.
Still standing above them, Jackie lets out a choked, happy sound, but then appears to try and compose herself, waiting on her daughter’s reaction.
He turns to Rose, eyes wide, and is surprised to feel himself pulled into a hug.
"Help’s good," Rose says, loud enough for Jackie to hear. And then, right in his ear, "We couldn’t have talked about this first?"
Within the confines of the hug, he tries shrugging apologetically, but then Rose is letting him go only long enough for both of them to be swept up into a hug by Jackie.
"Oh, you’ll see," Jackie says when she pulls back, "this will be wonderful! I’ve already got so many ideas! Rose, honey, what do you think about –"
In a life or death situation, the Doctor would be hard pressed to say what the rest of the words out of Jackie’s mouth were. Tulle, maybe? Is tulle a real thing?
Everything has turned into a loud, high pitched buzzing as he recognizes the gravity of what he’s done, and the room continues spinning slightly until a knock on the door brings things back into focus.
"Joanie!" He’s shouting, and stumbling for the door, opening it to see Bev and Tyson and, oh, his daughter, his beautiful, wonderful daughter who is somehow going to make this entire situation better, just by existing.
In a rush, he sweeps Joanie up and thanks Bev.
Jackie practically apparates to his side, looking poised to share the news with Bev, but then Rose is there, too, shaking her head at Jackie – beautiful, wonderful Rose, who certainly isn’t going to hold this against him, and will help manage it, and everything will be OK.
Jackie nods in understanding and they all bid Bev good night before Jackie takes Joanie from his arms, cooing at her.
"Did your Mum and Dad finally get married? Oh, and look at you in your pretty dress!" Jackie turns to Rose. "We’ll get her another one for the reception – is your husband going to insist on brown for everything?”
The buzzing in his head returns.
~~~~~
Lady Christina de Souza is, by all accounts, the most wanted celebrity wedding planner in the entirety of Europe. She has a reality tv show on Sky One, a swashbuckling panache to her personality, and a sense of planning and organization that would give Lord Nelson a run for his money. Her events are the stuff of legend.
Lady Christina’s calendar is already booked years in advance, but somehow (Rose doesn’t want to know the details, especially not the details involving cash numbers, for the sake of her own sanity) Jackie managed to book her for three months out. Not to be filmed for the reality show, Rose was adamant about that, there would be no cameras following them around. But whatever other business terms or black magic Jackie had to work to secure Lady Christina’s services, the deal was done.
It seems like a long stretch between wedding and reception, three months, except the sheer scope and size of the enterprise is breathtaking. A castle in Scotland, and the small village nearby, has been rented out in its entirety. An army of service people have descended, making everything over into the most picturesque version of a country wedding anyone could imagine — the project is positively Potemkin in scale.
Two weeks into the planning process, Rose decided not to fight the current. Less of a current, actually, and more of a riptide. Partially out of guilt, partially because her mother is a force of nature when she gets swept up in a project like this. There are a few hills Rose nearly died on — the reality television filming issue, the band and music selection, a few people added to the guest list. But by and large this is a Jackie Tyler and Lady Christina production.
The last few weeks leading up to the event, the Doctor barricades himself into the recording studio. Whenever Rose calls to ask his opinion about anything — tuxedo styles, dinner menus, centerpieces — he makes fake crackling noises with his mouth and shouts that he’s driving into a tunnel before disconnecting the phone.
He’s technically the one who got them both into this mess, and Rose isn’t a vindictive sort of person, but maybe the frilled shirts do really look best with that sort of tux. And the Doctor riding into the event on a white horse — well it’s only natural, if his suit is going to reflect elements of the rustic setting, right?
Time blurs into an endless series of meetings, oceans worth of color swatches to choose from and acres worth of vegetarian meal options to try.
Then suddenly it happens — Rose and the Doctor and Joanie all de-boarding a plane one night at the Glasgow airport and bundling into a hired car, driving off into the dark Scottish countryside. Joanie’s asleep on the Doctor, her little arms hanging down by her side and her head resting against his chest. He’s holding Rose’s hand and they’re both staring out the tinted windows at the stars and the rolling hills and the rain.
It’s not long before Rose feels herself dozing off, head lolling back and forth between the window and the Doctor’s shoulder for the duration of the ride.
When they arrive, it’s in front of a small, homey-looking cottage with the silhouette of the castle visible as soon as they exit the car.
Jackie had assured them that there was also room for them to stay in the castle itself if they’d like, but as construction and finishing touches were still happening around the clock, they’d opted out, with promises to reevaluate their lodging the night of the reception.
Now, as Rose ushers the Doctor and a sleeping Joanie through the door of the cottage, she’s reevaluating the reevaluation – it’s gorgeous in here. Even at first glance, everything looks warm and inviting, the perfect blend of rustic appeal and modern amenities.
At Rose’s instruction, the driver deposits their bags in the entryway and departs with a polite goodbye, leaving them alone with the reality of their newest Jackie Tyler-directed adventure.
The Doctor leans down so Rose can give the still-sleeping Joanie a goodnight kiss and then moves father into the cottage to put her down.
There’s meant to be a small bed in one of the rooms for Joanie, and Rose collapses on to the sofa to wait for the Doctor to find it and return.
While she waits, it’s hard not to appreciate the simple elegance of the cottage, and imagine a world where they’d had their wedding night some place like this.
The reality had been lovely – her mum, when she’d finally wound down on reception-planning excitement, had insisted on Joanie staying over, shooing the Doctor and Rose out the door to have the night to themselves.
They spent enough time in hotels while on tour, and had instead opted to head back home – a quiet, empty house decidedly luxury enough.
There were no rose petals or chocolate-covered strawberries, no reverent, hushed undressing or deep, soulful proclamations of love, but there was giddy admiration of the rings on their fingers and gleeful repetition of the words “husband” and “wife.”
There was a round one and a round two, and there was a break in between where the Doctor somehow found someone to sell him chips and a bottle of champagne in the middle of the night.
There was the Doctor’s insistence that they get themselves into as many positions as possible, refusing to settle into one for too long, lest – as he told her – they be locked into it exclusively for the rest of their lives.
There was a point where Rose had enough of that – both times – and set to finishing things in a way where they could see each other’s eyes, and the twin, dopey grins they were both wearing.
There had been muscle cramps and hickeys and stopping things to pee, but most of all there had been a night so perfectly them that Rose wouldn’t have changed a thing.
But still…there would’ve been something to a night in a place like this and, as she falls back asleep on the sofa, her last thought is of which of their friends might stay sober enough to keep Joanie for the night after the reception.