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"Have you completely lost your mind?"
The Doctor's grin doubled in size, a feat Rose would have thought impossible a moment before. "This is adventure, Rose," he said grandly, dropping his overcoat into her arms. "This is throwing yourself into the thick of things, getting your hands dirty, wriggling your bare toes in the freshly-made mud pie of life. You and I, we don't just seize the day – we sink our teeth into it. We devour it whole." He shucked off his suit coat and draped it over her shoulder. "We live on the edge, baby."
The overcoat slipped from her arms and she stooped slightly to catch it. "You're mad."
"Probably." He unbuttoned his cuffs and began to roll his sleeves up to his elbows. "Does he look nervous?"
Rose leaned to one side and peered around his shoulder. At the other end of the dim alley, a man stood, flexing his biceps and laughing with a crowd of his friends. "He looks like a small mountain."
"If I didn't know better, I'd think you doubted my prowess."
"You have prowess?" she asked with wide-eyed innocence, and he glared down his nose at her. "Honestly, though. I've known you for years and I can count on one hand the times I've seen you bump into somebody hard, much less throw a punch."
"Violence is never the answer, Rose," he said with mock solemnity.
"Unless the question is, 'How do you spice up a dull evening at a 24th century human pub?'"
The Doctor sniffed, offended. "He cast aspersions on your virtue."
She only just managed to keep from rolling her eyes at him. "I'm fairly sure he meant that as a compliment."
"He groped you!"
"Only a little." His frown deepened, and she sighed. "Fine, then. Let me fight him."
"No can do, buckaroo. He challenged me, and as a gentleman I have no choice but to accept." He beamed at her, bouncing on his toes. "Isn't it exciting?"
"He's going to crush you like a bug."
"O ye of little faith," he opined mournfully. "I'll have you know that back in the day—"
"If the next words out of your mouth have anything at all to do with the lost art of Venusian Aikido, I'm going to punch you." He looked down at her, wire-thin and oddly vulnerable in his shirtsleeves, his eyes round and beseeching. She sighed again. "All right, you win. Give us your tie."
He loosened the knot of his blue and green checkered tie, pulled it from around his neck, and dropped the loop over her head. "It suits you," he said, smiling. She couldn't help but smile back. He turned, then, and stared down the long stretch of the alley at his opponent. "He's not that big," he said dismissively, obviously deciding to ignore the basic principles governing visual perspective.
Rose shrugged his overcoat and suit jacket onto the lid of a nearby rubbish bin and stood beside him. They both watched, hypnotized, as the challenger's now-bare chest rippled and gleamed in the low light of the streetlamps. Rose wondered what sort of man oiled his pecs for a fistfight in the back alley of a pub. "No, not that big. Not compared to, say, a sperm whale."
"Is this you being supportive?"
In reply, she slipped behind him and began to knead the muscles of his shoulders with her thumbs. "All right, tiger," she ground out, affecting an odd and entirely unidentifiable accent. "You're the underdog in this ring; I ain't gonna lie. He's taller, heavier, stronger. He's got fists the size of a Christmas turkey and – let's face the cold, hard facts here – you're not exactly a spring chicken anymore. You're the underdog, all right, but the way I figure it, every dog has his day. He may be physically superior to you in every way, but you've got brains, kid. You've got brains and excellent hand-eye coordination, and I believe in you."
The Doctor paused, leaning back into her hands. "I'm confused. Am I a tiger, a chicken, a dog, or a baby goat?"
"You're a winner."
"Oh, right. Of course."
Rose watched as, at the other end of the alley, a buxom 24th century barmaid flounced up to the pugilist in question. Judging by her colouring and the condition of her roots, which Rose noted with some small irritation, the woman was a natural blonde. The barmaid reached into her ample, ruffled bosom and drew out a delicate white handkerchief.
"Rose, look at that," the Doctor said over his shoulder to her. "The duelist's Lady bestows upon him the gift of her Favour, as a symbol of her esteem and affection for him, in the hope that it will bring him luck, strength, and valour."
The barmaid spat her chewing gum into the handkerchief and handed it over to the well-oiled, half-naked man. He tucked it carefully into his belt, clearly delighted.
Rose shook her head. "Human beings are weird."
Suddenly, the Doctor turned, bent down on one knee, and took her hand. "My Lady, I beg a token of your favour as I battle this cretin in your name."
She blinked down at him. "You're joking."
He grinned. "Nope."
"Let me guess. You're embracing the spirit of adventure?"
"Something like that," he answered evasively. "Will you do me the honour?"
She shifted from one foot to the other, wishing he would stand up. "I'm not chewing gum."
"It can be anything. Doesn't matter what."
Rose bit her bottom lip, thinking. Then she reached up and removed one gold hoop earring. "This all right?" she asked, oddly nervous.
He took it, his eyes warm. "It's perfect," he said and, standing, tucked the earring into his trouser pocket. Then he clapped his hands and rubbed them together eagerly, turning back to his opponent. "Right. Let's get this bloodbath on the road."
The Doctor and Rose watched wide-eyed as the cretin and his Lady tried to suck out each other's lungs by way of their mouths. Rose's head tilted to one side as she watched the frenzied snogging, fascinated. "He seems rather…busy."
The Doctor huffed. "Well, that's not exactly sporting, is it? Now he has an unfair advantage."
"Now he has an unfair advantage?" she repeated, incredulous.
"Look at that. She's getting him all worked up." He took Rose's arm and turned her away from the show at the other end of the alley so they stood face to face. "Kiss me."
Rose gaped at him. "Sorry?"
"It's the only way to even things out." His hand moved to her waist, pulling her closer. "Kiss me."
Her mouth opened and closed silently, making her look rather like a goldfish who'd overindulged in mascara. "But," she managed finally, "but…"
"But what?" he asked, his expression perfectly serene.
She stared at the deranged, rumpled alien before her and, strangely, couldn't think of a single reason to say no.
Brilliant, she thought, I've gone mad, and then she stood on her tip toes, one hand coming to rest on his shoulder for balance, and brushed her lips over his in a hesitant whisper of a touch.
"Oh Rose," he murmured into her mouth, his eyes closed. "You can do better than that."
Mad and giddy and not a little indignant, Rose pulled away slightly and let her hand slide from his shoulder to the back of his neck, twisting her fingers into the hair at the nape. Her free hand settled against his jaw, fingers brushing his cheek, her thumb curling around his chin. "That a challenge?" she asked softly.
The Doctor smirked, but when he tried to answer she drew the pad of her thumb over his open mouth, stalling the movement of his lips. She felt his sharp intake of breath against her skin and smiled.
Rose was still smiling when she replaced her thumb with her lips, mouth hard against his, and slipped her tongue past his teeth. His jaw moved beneath her fingers as he allowed her greater access, his hands clutching her waist. She pulled at his hair and he pulled at her top and their mouths pulled at each other; it was fast and messy and easily the nicest thing that had happened to her all week.
She stumbled backwards, reaching for a rubbish bin or brick wall or anything steady to lean against until the world stopped tilting to and fro in such an exhilarating manner. "Well," she said, and tried not lick her lips. "That should do it, then."
He grinned stupidly at her, looking a little dazed. "Yeah."
She gave him an amused look. "Yeah?"
Something in his face sharpened, as if snapping back into focus. "I mean, yes. Of course. Absolutely, obviously, positively, indubitably.
Ready and raring. Raring and eager to inflict grievous, unnecessary bodily harm on my fellow man."
He turned to back to his opponent, who had apparently grown tired both of his naturally blonde barmaid and of waiting for the skinny, big-mouthed bloke to take his pounding like a man. He was walking towards them. The earth shook with each step.
The Doctor gulped. "Strike that. My fellow behemoth."
Rose patted his shoulder. "Oh, he's not that big."
"You know, Rose," the Doctor said conversationally, "I've actually been in quite a few pub brawls in my time."
"Really?"
"Really." He took a small step backwards. "In fact, this encounter is beginning to acquire a distinct 'Been there, done that' quality."
"Oh dear," she said, her tone dry. "Sucks the adventure right out of getting your face bashed in, doesn't it?"
He didn't seem to hear her, his eyes fixed on the oncoming human battering ram. "And, now that you mention it, I am philosophically opposed to needless violence."
Rose grinned. "And those things he said about my—"
"Really rather flattering, if you think about it. Anyway, given the impressive crunch I heard when your heel made contact with his instep, I think we can assume he's learnt his lesson. And, after all, you do have a lovely—"
"But, Doctor," she interrupted sweetly, "you said that, as a gentleman, you couldn't refuse his challenge."
He snorted. "Oh, I think we both know that was just silliness."
The behemoth's slight limp didn't seem to be slowing him down much. In a rather clichéd move which Rose found vaguely disappointing, the man grimaced menacingly at them and pounded his fist into his own palm. That fist was easily the size of the Doctor's head.
The Doctor scooped up his overcoat and suit jacket from the lid of the rubbish bin and grabbed for her hand. "So, Rose, not to hurry you along or anything, but—"
"Run?"
"Well," he said grudgingly, "if you insist."