Kissing Ace was like kissing a boy. Well, not exactly. Like kissing a boy with a girl's lips. She was pushing and pressing and claiming, but soft and needy. It reminded Rose of the first time she'd kissed Mickey, which she'd absolutely, positively, never ever ever tell him. “Oi, Mick. I snogged this girl once on some other planet, don't remember the name, but it was just like you and me. Funny, that!”
She giggled into the kiss and Ace pulled away, frowning. “You ticklish on the lips?”
That didn't help, and Rose doubled over with laughter.
Ace scowled. “Look, by now the Professor's gotten himself into trouble and needs me to wander in and save the day.”
“With explosives?” Rose had stopped laughing enough to wipe the runny mascara off her face. She moved closer to Ace.
“Yeah,” Ace grinned. “Probably. He hates doing the dirty work himself. That's why we're a good fit.”
“Funny. The night I met the Doctor he blew up my shop.” Rose smiled sweetly at Ace's incredulous look. “Honest. In fact, I've never really known him not to blow something up.”
“If I hadn't seen you step out of the same blue box that's been my home for a few years,” Ace announced as she snaked her arm around Rose's waist, “I'd think we were traveling with a different man.”
Rose smiled and rubbed her nose gently against Ace's, in a gesture she already knew the other girl hated, but found totally endearing — a bit like Rose herself. “Sometimes I think we are.”
They'd met beneath the triple moons of Rorrigoma (“Accent on the gom, Rose.”). The Doctor could have sworn he'd been there before, but shrugged it off and wandered out of the TARDIS. Right into another TARDIS.
“That's not right.” He scratched at a sideburn and took out his glasses and looked very very grave.
Until he was interrupted by a big blur of black and loud. “Oi, you! Back off!” And before Rose knew it, the Doctor had been shoved back up against his TARDIS, a very put out look on his face.
“Ace?” Turned out that the big blur was just a girl, with a big jacket and tight pants and, God, were those Doc Martens? She was so... eighties. But the Doctor seemed to know her. Well, he must've known people from the eighties, right? Only made sense.
“I don't know you, Slim, and I don't know how you know me, but -” that was when Ace noticed the other TARDIS. “Gordon Bennet.”
The Doctor disengaged himself from Ace's fists and straightened out his jacket. “Something like. I don't suppose I'm around here anywhere.”
Ace canted her head towards what appeared to be a café. “He's making nice with the locals.” She frowned, as if she'd swallowed something sour. “You are, I suppose.”
“Right.” The Doctor looked between Ace and Rose, then over at the café. “I'll be back in a mo, you two...” He waved his hands. “Amuse yourselves.”
In all fairness, the snogging didn't start until the Doctors had told them to “amuse themselves” for the fourth time. That was just after they'd dodged an angry mob of flying jellyfish (or something similar).
“That happen a lot?”
Ace shrugged and checked her supply of nitro. “Yeah. Not to you?”
“No,” Rose shook her head. “S'more like we're in some regular place, yeah? And then, suddenly... not so regular anymore and there's an evil bat bloke or a secret Jagrafess controlling things, and then we blow stuff up and run off before tea.” She paused. “Actually, I guess it's exactly like that. Seems different, though.”
“Bat bloke?” Ace looked interested, now, and set down her bag. “Like a bloke that looks like a bat, or a bloke that hits things with bats?”
It was, quite possibly, the most ridiculous question that Rose had ever heard. She couldn't help laughing, which led to grumbling (from Ace), which led to Rose thinking that she was really kind of cute, for a girl from the eighties, which led to snogging. Naturally.
Not altogether bad, really, for a couple of humans in the light of the triple moons of Rorrigoma (accent on the gom).
The snogging was good, so it led to other things. Just after Rose realized that Ace was actually older than she was, and stopped thinking about her as “that girl I snogged on the funny planet with flying jellyfish” and started thinking about her as “this woman who's seen amazing things and knows what it's like and it's been so long and — oh, that's brilliant, that tongue thing.”
That was when they found the nearest TARDIS (either key would work) and stumbled in, pulling at clothes and pressing at bodies. Ace was very talented with her tongue, but Rose knew a thing or two she could share.
“Where'd you learn that?”
“Shuttup, this one's even better.”
They did amuse themselves, for several hours, until Rose's mobile chirped to life. Somewhere between Ace's lips and Ace's thighs, Rose had forgotten all about the Doctor.
The two-woman rescue party that showed up at the prison the two Doctors were being held at was fashionably late and fashionably disheveled, and had accidentally swapped TARDIS keys with one another.
Oddly enough, that made it easier to say goodbye.
“The Professor says it's encoded to your genetic signature.”
Ace grinned and kissed Rose, eliciting a nearly identical cough from the two far from identical men. “It's a bit romantic for me, but seems right up your alley.”
A smile spread across Rose's face. “Yeah. I guess it kind of is.”
“Probably won't see each other again.”
Rose flashed her Doctor a look, then leaned in and kissed Ace again. “Probably not.”
“S'been real fun.”
One day, over a cup of tea in another dimension, Rose Tyler's skin gets very warm. The key around her neck is glowing, and for a brief moment she thinks the Doctor's finally found a way back to her. But then she looks across the room and sees a familiar face.
Her breath catches and she walks over. “Ace?”
“Hm?” Ace looks up. “Name's Dorothy, but I used to go by Ace when I was a kid. Do I know you?”
Rose grins and gestures to the empty chair. “It's a long story.”
Doctor Who and its accoutrements are the property of the BBC, and we obviously don't have any right to them. Any and all crossover characters belong to their respective creators. Alas no one makes any money from this site, and it's all done out of love for a cheap-looking sci-fi show. All fics are property of their individual authors. Archival at this site should not be taken to constitute automatic archive rights elsewhere, and authors should be contacted individually to arrange further archiving. Despite occasional claims otherwise, The Blessed St Lalla Ward is not officially recognised by the Catholic Church. Yet. |
Script for this archive provided by eFiction. Contact our archivists at firstname.lastname@example.org. Please read our Terms of Service and Submission Guidelines.