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Egg hunt

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Egg Hunt
Ten x Rose

When he suggested a lovely walk in a meadow, the Doctor hadn’t planned on crashing an Easter egg hunt in baroque-era Bavaria.

He hadn’t even planned to land on Earth. He’d instructed the TARDIS to find a lovely meadow where he and Rose could enjoy a picnic. In retrospect, he also probably should’ve instructed Her to find a deserted meadow. Certainly not one with egg-hunting, Oarscheibn-playing people.

Shame the Oarscheibn was only for the children. Given the chance, the Doctor knew he’d win the rolling-the-egg-down-the-rake race.

But that was not the purpose of today’s outing.

Oh, no. His plans included the aforementioned lovely walk. A picnic lunch. Kissing. Definitely kissing. Lots of kissing. Because kissing Rose Tyler was new and exciting and, he just knew, would never get old.

He’d dreamed-fantasized-wanted to kiss her for, oh, forever. Since at least their trip to 1869 Cardiff. Their two kisses previous to that lovely, wonderful, exquisite kiss last week weren’t quite what the Doctor had in mind when he dreamed-fantasized-wanted to kiss Rose Tyler.

First, he wanted her to remember them. Second, he wanted more than the brief kiss of those two previous kisses. Rose definitely remembered last week’s kiss, and she definitely wanted more.

Hence today’s trip.

Secluded meadow, Rose, him—no cat. Perfection.

Except they’d crashed an Easter egg hunt with a bunch of laughing Bavarian peasants who eyed his clothing with all their stern Protestant distaste and Rose’s long, blue sundress with an equal measure of scandalous distaste. It showed her bare arms, afterall.

Still, no burning at the stake, a very real threat in this time and place, and no threatening with pitchforks. No pitchforks at all, real or metaphorical. Just as well, that’d ruin his plans.

“Your wife, she is very carefree.”

The Doctor looked at the man next to him, arms crossed, face set in a very serious frown. He didn’t even bother disputing the wife part. No one ever believed him anyway.

“She likes new experiences,” the Doctor said as Rose and the other women laughed and chatted as they hid the eggs around the meadow and barn for the children. “Enjoys anything, my Rose.”

He didn’t bother trying to correct that part, either. The my Rose part. Nope. Not worth it, and that silly smile on his face refused to dissipate. Der Bürgermeister, with his very serious frown, grunted. The Doctor shrugged him off, but eyed the distance between he and Rose, and them and the TARDIS.

Just in case.

Because one never knew. Actually, he did know, and, with their track record and his luck, it was just better to keep all escape avenues open.

For when just in case inevitably manifested into Run! as it so often did.

Rose’s laughter drifted on the breeze. They didn’t have to run yet, despite the harrumph that accompanied the very serious frown, and the Doctor closed his eyes and simply enjoyed it. Rose’s laughter, not the harrumphing frown. The Easter day was quite beautiful, warm breeze, shining sun, birds calling to each other. And Rose’s laughter.

He could die a happy man in that moment.

“How did you come to be here?” Der Bürgermeister asked.

“What?” The Doctor opened his eyes and looked at the man, equal in height, but at least thrice his girth. “Here?” He shrugged and recalculated the distance between he and Rose for that increasingly more likely run. “Oh, just passing through. We’re travelers, ah, wanders,” he corrected, in case travelers in Germanic translated to the poor, maligned Gypsies as it did in Gaelic.

He had nothing against either travelers or Gypsies, great people they were, but wanted Rose to enjoy herself. Not that she didn’t enjoy running. Her eyes brightened and her cheeks flushed—her smile widened and her laughter. Oh, her laughter! It burst forth and brushed his skin with light and sound, reminding the Doctor of all her wonderous traits and how much he—

“What?” The Doctor frowned at his still-speaking companion.

“We don’t see many outsiders here,” der Bürgermeister repeated, clearly annoyed. “How is it you came to our village on today of all days?”

“Oh, ah—” the Doctor shrugged. “Just lucky.” He stepped away from der Bürgermeister. “I’m going to help Rose.”

“Hiding eggs is women’s work.”

The Doctor snorted. “You’re missing out there, Herr Bürgermeister. Hiding eggs is half the fun—course, hunting them is the other half. Shame only the children get to enjoy that.”

Before the other man had the chance for another snarky, dour reply, the Doctor wandered toward the group of women gathered around Rose, giggling and whispering and looking over their shoulders at him.


The Doctor smiled and waved, prompting Rose to wave back. “Enjoying yourself?”

“Very much so.” Her tongue poked between her teeth and the Doctor scrambled to remember why kissing her in mid-sixteenth century Bavaria was a very bad idea. Honestly, he had nothing.

“Frau Lamminger was just telling us about her daughter.” Rose nodded to the prettily blushing, fair-haired woman next to the formidable looking Frau Lamminger. “She’s to be married in three weeks.”

“Oh?” The Doctor grinned at her, moving through the group of women toward Rose. He took her hand and only thought about the automatic action in the moment after when the women giggled again. He did not let go. Never. “Congratulations. Who’s the lucky man?”

He only half listened to Fräulein Lamminger’s dreamy explanation. “Right, well, good luck.” He looked down at Rose. “Ready to go?”

“Will you not stay for luncheon?” Frau Lamminger asked.

“Oh, no,” Rose insisted, and the Doctor could tell it wasn’t the first time she turned down their invitation. “We’ve got to be going. But thank you for today, it was lovely.”

Rose tugged the Doctor’s hand and, amidst many farewells, and another harrumphing frown, they crossed the field to the TARDIS.

“Have fun today?” The Doctor asked as he listened for footsteps behind him. The villagers watched them, at least Herr Bürgermeister did, and he didn’t want an angry mob after them before he had the chance to put the TARDIS into the Vortex.

Or kiss Rose.

“It was very nice,” Rose agreed. She opened the TARDIS door. “But not what I had in mind.”

“Oh?” His mind jumped from disappointment, the stomach dropping, hearts squeezing kind, to confusion.

“No.” Rose slammed the door behind them and pushed him against it. “Wanted more of this.”

And proceeded to snog him for all he was worth. Leaning up on tiptoes, fingers combing through his hair—yes more of that! —and lovely human body pressed to his. Lovely, curvy human body. Lovely, curvy human body of all Rose and she fit so nicely against him.

He always knew that, since their first hug.

This—with the kissing and the hands in his hair and that little moan that escaped her? So. Much. Better.

“And less,” she added while the Doctor tried to figure out why she stopped kissing him, “egg hunting.”

“Yes.” The word squeaked out, and he swallowed. Settling his hands on her hips, he pulled her closer and kissed her again. Walking her backward, he only stopped when her bum hit the console. “Much more of this. Very much more.”

Now if only she never stopped kissing him.