Who Fic - He was a punk, she did ballet
Sep. 8th, 2011 10:36 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
sapphire_childHe was a punk, she did ballet Nine/Rose AU, PG
There is something so much more to it than that though. It’s in the way his eyes soften when she apologises for wasting trips to go and see another ballet when they’ve already seen a million of them. It’s in the way he watches her dance, how willing he is to sneak her into lessons with exclusive ballet companies using the psychic paper...
Written for this prompt at the TTU fic-a-thon.
She’s been waiting her whole life for that one big break when he tumbles into her life. A strange, solitary creature in a black leather jacket, he lingers outside the studio with a penlight and pretends to inspect the brickwork three days in a row.
Creep, the other girls hiss as they pass by him in protective gaggles. Weirdo. Freak. Pedo.
Ever uncomfortable with their sniping, Rose watches but doesn’t quite dare say anything. The stranger glances over his shoulder, obviously hurt by the stinging accusations though he doesn’t retaliate. He just brings his gaze back to the hand he has splayed on the bricks and bows his head, like he’s resigned himself to being put down for a living or something. And with a rush of sympathy Rose forgets to be afraid of him.
She knows a little bit about what it’s like to be the outsider. After all, she’s the girl with the wrong build to be ballet dancer. The one who gets the encouragement award but is denied the lead role in the end of year showcase. She is the less talented performer in a world that prizes perfection – having fought every step of the way to get to where she is now only to realise it still isn’t enough.
It’s never going to be enough.
And so she watches with pity as his shoulders form an even lonelier slant than before. It isn’t until his sharp blue gaze pierces her that Rose realises that she has actually stopped walking and is staring openly at him. There is a moment of startled panic – a swan trapped by the gaze of a hunter – and then he grins crookedly at her and she relaxes.
He doesn’t look scary at all really. If anything he actually looks a little bit silly with his big ears and mad grin. And now she feels silly for being scared of him.
Instead of smiling back she scuttles off, embarrassed by herself. He’s still staring after her when she glances back and somehow she works up the gumption to offer him a nervous smile and a little wave. He smiles even wider and his already prominent ears seem to stick out even further. He waves back at her. Ridiculously, she half expects his ears to waggle at her too.
She doesn’t expect him to tackle her as she walks home and wrestle her dancing bag off her though. Or to turn up at her house a few days later to steal her new Pointe shoes because apparently they’ve been manufactured by an alien company intent on taking over the world.
“You’re full of it!” she laughs. “Remote control ballet shoes?”
“Bombs in ballet shoes,” he corrects her. “And no, I have no idea why either.”
She decides to help him round up the shoes, mainly because he’s just a little bit too abrupt and scary to be talking to ballerinas alone, and wouldn’t they listen more if she was with him and said that they were doing a recall of a faulty product or something? He thinks it’s a fantastic idea and all is going well until her ballet mistress finds them hazing her studio, goes postal and tries to shoot them with some sort of laser gun.
They barely escape with the shoes, and as if his Time and Space Ship wasn’t overwhelming enough, he takes her to a supernova to dispose of their spoils safely. Or maybe he’s just trying to be impressive again. “S’beautiful,” she breathes, all but hanging out of the door and he grins, pleased.
Killing her ballet mistress with insecticide isn’t quite as nice, but it’s a necessary evil when she’s been infested by a parasitic praying mantis from a far off world. Afterwards, when they’re still laughing and on an adrenaline high, he asks if she wants to come with him.
“But...we’ve got our showcase tomorrow.” She protests, smile fading. “All the reps from the big ballet schools are gonna be there. I can’t miss it.”
“Time machine this,” he pats the box with a sly grin. “Can get you back ten seconds from now. If that’s what you want...?”
She chews her lower lip, considering. Her family are well off thanks to the Vitex Empire and up until now her life has been one carefully constructed step after another. She’s never even considered stepping off the path to see what else the world – the whole of time and space – has to offer her.
“I could take you anywhere,” he adds. “Supernovas? That’s just the beginning. There’s whole worlds out there – whole galaxies just waiting for you to come dancing along their streets. Can’t you imagine it Rose? Any theatre, any performance, anytime in the history of universe. The opening night of Sleeping Beauty. The last production of the Bolshoi Ballet. The Nutcracker in Space on Ice...”
Her head spins with the possibilities. And then she smiles, slowly. “Well I am gonna need some new ballet shoes...” she begins and he grins so wide it’s like his face is cracking in half. “You know, considering some alien berk stole mine and threw them in a Supernova. Don’t suppose you know someplace you can get blocked shoes that don’t completely knacker your feet?”
They make quite a pair – the tiny blonde ballerina and her leather jacketed chaperone. He is coarse and alien at first but slowly he softens over time. She might look delicate but she has enough fire to fight back and puts him in his place when he most needs it. He tells her, falteringly, of the war that broke him and his pain is so obviously raw that it surpasses everything she’s ever believed about grief.
The most tragic ballet could never compare to his story.
And yet she seems to be able to make him smile – like some sort of miracle. In between intergalactic adventures he takes her back to Earth and they break into theatres, just so that she can dance on the world’s most famous stages. She always teases him, trying to get him to join in but he refuses every time. “I can’t dance,” he laughs, touch surprisingly gentle as he releases her hand. “Don’t ask me.”
Instead he watches, smiling indulgently as she presses into her shoes and then executes dizzying, energetic pirouettes and grand jetés until she’s exhausted. He sneaks her backstage to meet Rudolf Nureyev and they share a cup of tea with Anna Pavlova in her dressing room. He even gets a kiss from Margot Fonteyn which leaves him ruby red and Rose laughing her head off.
She’s a little uncertain when he first suggests taking her to ballets conceived and performed far into her future, some of them on other planets. “S’not gonna be real ballet,” she protests. But after one performance by the Intergalactic Ballet Company she’s hooked. They do a whole season in three linear days – some of the performances he even lets her see twice.
“Thanks for all this,” she says afterwards, putting her arm through his as they head back to the TARDIS. “I know you don’t really like ballet all that much. We can go to a planet or something next yeah?”
As always he shrugs her apologies off but keeps a firm hold on her. “You like it. That’s all that matters.”
There is something so much more to it than that though. It’s in the way his eyes soften when she apologises for wasting trips to go and see another ballet when they’ve already seen a million of them. It’s in the way he watches her dance, how willing he is to sneak her into lessons with exclusive ballet companies using the psychic paper.
When their latest stop allows her to understudy Princess Aurora for a day she becomes desperate to try out the Rose Adagio on a real stage. The Doctor, usually dismissive when she asks him to join in, steps forward obediently today so that she doesn’t fall out of the painful, sustained attitude that so many prima Ballerinas have struggled with.
“Briar Rose?” he teases as he turns her around on the tip of one toe, carefully, like a life-size music box dancer.
She has to hold in her laughter so that she can stay steady while she lifts her hand from his. En Pointe she rivals him for height, especially when she manages to balance effortlessly with both arms in fifth. She places her hand back into his, flushed with her success and he begins to twirl her around again. “Princess Aurora!” she tells him, coyly, over one shoulder.
“The rosy-fingered goddess of the dawn...” he says softly as she lifts her arms up for the second time and Rose is so startled by the timbre of his voice that she falters, falling out of position. She lands clumsily, flat footed and is immediately enclosed in his arms. “Alright?” he presses, concerned. “You didn’t do an ankle in those stupid shoes did you?”
“M’fine,” she insists, though she is a little breathless from the fall. “Can I try again?”
His blue eyes are severe, like a storm of sleet as he obliges her. Four times she takes his hand, not daring to look away from them. He’s no ballet dancer and his shoes are heavy but there’s a certain grace to his movements nonetheless. He lets his hands awkwardly skim her waist as she does a graceful triple pirouette to finish and she leans back into his chest with a sigh.
“Wish the reps from all the ballet schools could see me now,” she says dreamily, mostly to herself.
“Idiots,” he says bluntly and she turns to him, trying to pretend that she hasn’t noticed how his hands are lingering at her waist. “Don’t know what they’ve been missing by not lettin’ you in. You should be dancing Sleeping Beauty at Covent Garden with the best of ‘em.”
“What, with my big feet and hands?” Rose mumbles, looking down at the offending paws, splayed on his jumper. “M’not exactly Princess Aurora material...”
“Whoever told you that you weren’t good enough to dance a part like that was an idiot,” the Doctor interrupts, furious, and she glows, just glows at his praise. “Aurora, Odette...any role. Doesn’t matter. The way you dance...” he shifts awkwardly here and almost looks embarrassed to be admitting it. “I can’t take my eyes off you once you get goin’.”
Her heart thunders at the feel of his gaze on her. It’s heavy and wonderful and terrifying all at once.
“Yeah?” she asks.
“Yeah.” He affirms, cupping her cheek abruptly with one rough palm and gazing at her with such sincerity she half expects him to kiss her right then and there.
But all he says is, very softly, “You’re fantastic Rose.” And then he grins that mad grin of his and gives a little chuckle and scoops her into his arms so they can dance back to the TARDIS together.
They start dancing around each other in earnest after that. He’s always been tactile with her but now it starts to feel like a proper pas de deux. Taking her hand. Lifting her up – his big hands strong and reliable around her tiny waist. His body enfolding hers in an embrace. So what if he’s doing it to make sure he doesn’t lose her in a crowded intergalactic marketplace? Or to hoist her over a wall as they escape a prison? Or to protect her from shrapnel when they blunder into a Civil War?
One of the last places he takes her is to see the Bolshoi Ballet doing Giselle. She’s used to him slumping down in his seat in resignation, but this time he seems to be paying just as much attention to it as she is. Or isn’t rather, considering she’s trying to gauge his reaction out of the corner of her eye for the whole thing.
Afterwards he is gruff as he helps her with the mink stole she’s borrowed from the TARDIS for the occasion – Moscow always seems to be cold when they come.
“Didn’t you like it?” she asks tentatively as they step out into the snow together, arm in arm.
“It was alright,” he concedes grudgingly but he’s still grumpy and it isn’t until they’re nearly back at the TARDIS and she’s been badgering him all the way that he admits what he’s really thinking.
“That Albrecht bloke,” he begins, awkward. “His girl loved him more than anything.”
“Giselle?”
“Yeah.”
He seems to be struggling with the next bit and so Rose takes both of his hands. They’re so big that even hers look delicate in his grasp, like maybe she could be the Lilac Fairy or the Swan Queen. The thought warms her. He has this amazing ability to make her feel like she could just about do anything if she put her mind to it.
“Love like that doesn’t come around all too often.” He finally says, all gruff and bluster like he was sometimes when they first met. “Promise me if you ever find something like that you’ll hang onto it with both hands.”
Rose smiles at him, laughs softly, and then squeezes.
“I promise.” She tells him, goofily solemn, then reaches up daringly to kiss him on the cheek.
She looks almost scandalised by her boldness, biting her tongue in that endearing way she has when she’s being cheeky or has misbehaved. If he’s startled by the gesture he doesn’t get a chance to say though. She incites him to race her back to the TARDIS and if he was ever going to ask what she meant by it...well he just conveniently forgets.
When the Daleks infiltrate Satellite Five a hundred thousand years in her future, Rose comes back to him – his own personal Gisele. Glowing gold, as ethereal and terrifying as any of the Wilis, she banishes the army of ghosts sprung from his past with a graceful wave of her hand.
Just like Giselle, it is her love that saves him. The kind of love that goes beyond death and all things – that brings forth courage enough to look into the fabric of time and become one with it.
And all of it to save him. The one person above all others that she...the one person who had given her so much...
How could she ever let go of that?
There is something so much more to it than that though. It’s in the way his eyes soften when she apologises for wasting trips to go and see another ballet when they’ve already seen a million of them. It’s in the way he watches her dance, how willing he is to sneak her into lessons with exclusive ballet companies using the psychic paper...
Written for this prompt at the TTU fic-a-thon.
She’s been waiting her whole life for that one big break when he tumbles into her life. A strange, solitary creature in a black leather jacket, he lingers outside the studio with a penlight and pretends to inspect the brickwork three days in a row.
Creep, the other girls hiss as they pass by him in protective gaggles. Weirdo. Freak. Pedo.
Ever uncomfortable with their sniping, Rose watches but doesn’t quite dare say anything. The stranger glances over his shoulder, obviously hurt by the stinging accusations though he doesn’t retaliate. He just brings his gaze back to the hand he has splayed on the bricks and bows his head, like he’s resigned himself to being put down for a living or something. And with a rush of sympathy Rose forgets to be afraid of him.
She knows a little bit about what it’s like to be the outsider. After all, she’s the girl with the wrong build to be ballet dancer. The one who gets the encouragement award but is denied the lead role in the end of year showcase. She is the less talented performer in a world that prizes perfection – having fought every step of the way to get to where she is now only to realise it still isn’t enough.
It’s never going to be enough.
And so she watches with pity as his shoulders form an even lonelier slant than before. It isn’t until his sharp blue gaze pierces her that Rose realises that she has actually stopped walking and is staring openly at him. There is a moment of startled panic – a swan trapped by the gaze of a hunter – and then he grins crookedly at her and she relaxes.
He doesn’t look scary at all really. If anything he actually looks a little bit silly with his big ears and mad grin. And now she feels silly for being scared of him.
Instead of smiling back she scuttles off, embarrassed by herself. He’s still staring after her when she glances back and somehow she works up the gumption to offer him a nervous smile and a little wave. He smiles even wider and his already prominent ears seem to stick out even further. He waves back at her. Ridiculously, she half expects his ears to waggle at her too.
She doesn’t expect him to tackle her as she walks home and wrestle her dancing bag off her though. Or to turn up at her house a few days later to steal her new Pointe shoes because apparently they’ve been manufactured by an alien company intent on taking over the world.
“You’re full of it!” she laughs. “Remote control ballet shoes?”
“Bombs in ballet shoes,” he corrects her. “And no, I have no idea why either.”
She decides to help him round up the shoes, mainly because he’s just a little bit too abrupt and scary to be talking to ballerinas alone, and wouldn’t they listen more if she was with him and said that they were doing a recall of a faulty product or something? He thinks it’s a fantastic idea and all is going well until her ballet mistress finds them hazing her studio, goes postal and tries to shoot them with some sort of laser gun.
They barely escape with the shoes, and as if his Time and Space Ship wasn’t overwhelming enough, he takes her to a supernova to dispose of their spoils safely. Or maybe he’s just trying to be impressive again. “S’beautiful,” she breathes, all but hanging out of the door and he grins, pleased.
Killing her ballet mistress with insecticide isn’t quite as nice, but it’s a necessary evil when she’s been infested by a parasitic praying mantis from a far off world. Afterwards, when they’re still laughing and on an adrenaline high, he asks if she wants to come with him.
“But...we’ve got our showcase tomorrow.” She protests, smile fading. “All the reps from the big ballet schools are gonna be there. I can’t miss it.”
“Time machine this,” he pats the box with a sly grin. “Can get you back ten seconds from now. If that’s what you want...?”
She chews her lower lip, considering. Her family are well off thanks to the Vitex Empire and up until now her life has been one carefully constructed step after another. She’s never even considered stepping off the path to see what else the world – the whole of time and space – has to offer her.
“I could take you anywhere,” he adds. “Supernovas? That’s just the beginning. There’s whole worlds out there – whole galaxies just waiting for you to come dancing along their streets. Can’t you imagine it Rose? Any theatre, any performance, anytime in the history of universe. The opening night of Sleeping Beauty. The last production of the Bolshoi Ballet. The Nutcracker in Space on Ice...”
Her head spins with the possibilities. And then she smiles, slowly. “Well I am gonna need some new ballet shoes...” she begins and he grins so wide it’s like his face is cracking in half. “You know, considering some alien berk stole mine and threw them in a Supernova. Don’t suppose you know someplace you can get blocked shoes that don’t completely knacker your feet?”
They make quite a pair – the tiny blonde ballerina and her leather jacketed chaperone. He is coarse and alien at first but slowly he softens over time. She might look delicate but she has enough fire to fight back and puts him in his place when he most needs it. He tells her, falteringly, of the war that broke him and his pain is so obviously raw that it surpasses everything she’s ever believed about grief.
The most tragic ballet could never compare to his story.
And yet she seems to be able to make him smile – like some sort of miracle. In between intergalactic adventures he takes her back to Earth and they break into theatres, just so that she can dance on the world’s most famous stages. She always teases him, trying to get him to join in but he refuses every time. “I can’t dance,” he laughs, touch surprisingly gentle as he releases her hand. “Don’t ask me.”
Instead he watches, smiling indulgently as she presses into her shoes and then executes dizzying, energetic pirouettes and grand jetés until she’s exhausted. He sneaks her backstage to meet Rudolf Nureyev and they share a cup of tea with Anna Pavlova in her dressing room. He even gets a kiss from Margot Fonteyn which leaves him ruby red and Rose laughing her head off.
She’s a little uncertain when he first suggests taking her to ballets conceived and performed far into her future, some of them on other planets. “S’not gonna be real ballet,” she protests. But after one performance by the Intergalactic Ballet Company she’s hooked. They do a whole season in three linear days – some of the performances he even lets her see twice.
“Thanks for all this,” she says afterwards, putting her arm through his as they head back to the TARDIS. “I know you don’t really like ballet all that much. We can go to a planet or something next yeah?”
As always he shrugs her apologies off but keeps a firm hold on her. “You like it. That’s all that matters.”
There is something so much more to it than that though. It’s in the way his eyes soften when she apologises for wasting trips to go and see another ballet when they’ve already seen a million of them. It’s in the way he watches her dance, how willing he is to sneak her into lessons with exclusive ballet companies using the psychic paper.
When their latest stop allows her to understudy Princess Aurora for a day she becomes desperate to try out the Rose Adagio on a real stage. The Doctor, usually dismissive when she asks him to join in, steps forward obediently today so that she doesn’t fall out of the painful, sustained attitude that so many prima Ballerinas have struggled with.
“Briar Rose?” he teases as he turns her around on the tip of one toe, carefully, like a life-size music box dancer.
She has to hold in her laughter so that she can stay steady while she lifts her hand from his. En Pointe she rivals him for height, especially when she manages to balance effortlessly with both arms in fifth. She places her hand back into his, flushed with her success and he begins to twirl her around again. “Princess Aurora!” she tells him, coyly, over one shoulder.
“The rosy-fingered goddess of the dawn...” he says softly as she lifts her arms up for the second time and Rose is so startled by the timbre of his voice that she falters, falling out of position. She lands clumsily, flat footed and is immediately enclosed in his arms. “Alright?” he presses, concerned. “You didn’t do an ankle in those stupid shoes did you?”
“M’fine,” she insists, though she is a little breathless from the fall. “Can I try again?”
His blue eyes are severe, like a storm of sleet as he obliges her. Four times she takes his hand, not daring to look away from them. He’s no ballet dancer and his shoes are heavy but there’s a certain grace to his movements nonetheless. He lets his hands awkwardly skim her waist as she does a graceful triple pirouette to finish and she leans back into his chest with a sigh.
“Wish the reps from all the ballet schools could see me now,” she says dreamily, mostly to herself.
“Idiots,” he says bluntly and she turns to him, trying to pretend that she hasn’t noticed how his hands are lingering at her waist. “Don’t know what they’ve been missing by not lettin’ you in. You should be dancing Sleeping Beauty at Covent Garden with the best of ‘em.”
“What, with my big feet and hands?” Rose mumbles, looking down at the offending paws, splayed on his jumper. “M’not exactly Princess Aurora material...”
“Whoever told you that you weren’t good enough to dance a part like that was an idiot,” the Doctor interrupts, furious, and she glows, just glows at his praise. “Aurora, Odette...any role. Doesn’t matter. The way you dance...” he shifts awkwardly here and almost looks embarrassed to be admitting it. “I can’t take my eyes off you once you get goin’.”
Her heart thunders at the feel of his gaze on her. It’s heavy and wonderful and terrifying all at once.
“Yeah?” she asks.
“Yeah.” He affirms, cupping her cheek abruptly with one rough palm and gazing at her with such sincerity she half expects him to kiss her right then and there.
But all he says is, very softly, “You’re fantastic Rose.” And then he grins that mad grin of his and gives a little chuckle and scoops her into his arms so they can dance back to the TARDIS together.
They start dancing around each other in earnest after that. He’s always been tactile with her but now it starts to feel like a proper pas de deux. Taking her hand. Lifting her up – his big hands strong and reliable around her tiny waist. His body enfolding hers in an embrace. So what if he’s doing it to make sure he doesn’t lose her in a crowded intergalactic marketplace? Or to hoist her over a wall as they escape a prison? Or to protect her from shrapnel when they blunder into a Civil War?
One of the last places he takes her is to see the Bolshoi Ballet doing Giselle. She’s used to him slumping down in his seat in resignation, but this time he seems to be paying just as much attention to it as she is. Or isn’t rather, considering she’s trying to gauge his reaction out of the corner of her eye for the whole thing.
Afterwards he is gruff as he helps her with the mink stole she’s borrowed from the TARDIS for the occasion – Moscow always seems to be cold when they come.
“Didn’t you like it?” she asks tentatively as they step out into the snow together, arm in arm.
“It was alright,” he concedes grudgingly but he’s still grumpy and it isn’t until they’re nearly back at the TARDIS and she’s been badgering him all the way that he admits what he’s really thinking.
“That Albrecht bloke,” he begins, awkward. “His girl loved him more than anything.”
“Giselle?”
“Yeah.”
He seems to be struggling with the next bit and so Rose takes both of his hands. They’re so big that even hers look delicate in his grasp, like maybe she could be the Lilac Fairy or the Swan Queen. The thought warms her. He has this amazing ability to make her feel like she could just about do anything if she put her mind to it.
“Love like that doesn’t come around all too often.” He finally says, all gruff and bluster like he was sometimes when they first met. “Promise me if you ever find something like that you’ll hang onto it with both hands.”
Rose smiles at him, laughs softly, and then squeezes.
“I promise.” She tells him, goofily solemn, then reaches up daringly to kiss him on the cheek.
She looks almost scandalised by her boldness, biting her tongue in that endearing way she has when she’s being cheeky or has misbehaved. If he’s startled by the gesture he doesn’t get a chance to say though. She incites him to race her back to the TARDIS and if he was ever going to ask what she meant by it...well he just conveniently forgets.
When the Daleks infiltrate Satellite Five a hundred thousand years in her future, Rose comes back to him – his own personal Gisele. Glowing gold, as ethereal and terrifying as any of the Wilis, she banishes the army of ghosts sprung from his past with a graceful wave of her hand.
Just like Giselle, it is her love that saves him. The kind of love that goes beyond death and all things – that brings forth courage enough to look into the fabric of time and become one with it.
And all of it to save him. The one person above all others that she...the one person who had given her so much...
How could she ever let go of that?
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Date: 2011-09-08 08:19 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-09-09 01:43 am (UTC)Thank you!
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Date: 2011-09-09 01:47 am (UTC)This has been sitting about unfinished FOREVER but when I saw the prompt I just had to finish it up for this ficathon. I'm so thrilled you like it so much!
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