(no subject)

[timelord1]

Here is another one for the ficathon: The prompt from isawthephoto was "Not if you're blonde"
Total fluff and silly. 10/Rose. Hope you enjoy a bit of nothing. :)   

      "I'm not going to say it doesn't feel good," the Doctor called to the empty hallway. She'd told him to sit still and wait for it to process. She had been gone for quite some time. "Erm, honestly, it is starting to burn a bit. Just a bit. Yeah, and itch as well. Very itchy. Are you still there?"

            No reply.

            "Rose?"

            …

            "Can I at least get up?"

            …

            "Rose. Honestly."

            He could hear her moving around, somewhere in the TARDIS.

            "What if it starts to fall out?"

            He gave it a tug. His fingers came back goopy and a little bit gritty. They started to tingle, too. He sniffed the substance on his fingers and it set his eyes watering. Definitely not one to lick.

            "I'm getting up from the chair!" he shouted as he got to his feet. "Washing my hands!"

            "You didn't touch it, did you?" she said, stepping back into the room. "Did you taste it?"

            He scowled. "Of course not. Do you think I'm thick? It's bleach."

            She came over and wiped a strand clean to check it. "Perfect. I'll rinse you." She took his hand and led him to the sink and began rinsing his hair. The feel of the warm water combined with her nails scratching his scalp made his eyes roll involuntarily upward. She passed her hand over his neck, giving him a little massage as she went.

            "You've done this before," he said, fiendishly staring at the exposed skin of her stomach where her T-shirt pulled up while she worked.

            "My mate Shireen did me the first time," she said, massaging something that smelled like cookies into his scalp. "Then I did her so I could learn how."

            "Date, time, location please," he said, closing his eyes to fully appreciate the scalp massage she was giving him. "I'd like to see that."

            She smacked the back of his head. His forehead bonked the edge of the sink. "Not that way, you creepy old man."

            "You know, I am a person," he groused as she sloshed water down his back. It trailed down his spine and into his pants. "It hurts when you hit."

            "Let me see," she said, shutting off the water. She draped a towel over his head and rubbed vigorously before snatching the towel away again. Her mouth twitched up into a smile which she quickly forced back down, though the right corner of her mouth kept trying.

            "What?"

            She started laughing and walked away.

            "What?!" he repeated, stomping his foot.

            "I have to find something to…help you," she answered. "Don't look in a mirror."

            He blew out a sigh. "I'm not ginger, am I? You let it," he fluttered his hand at his hairline. "Process too long."

            "Not exactly."

            His eyes bulged. "What's the matter?"

            "A toner, hm." she muttered, turning to look at him again. "No. Toner's not going to help that."

            "What 'that?' What is it?" He cried.

            She stopped fussing and came back to face him. "I don't know how to tell you this, but something's gone wrong."

            "I gathered as much," he said. "How bad is it? This is why I've never done this until now!"

            She was studying him like a science project. "I wonder if it's because you're not human. Different hair…chemistry?"

            "What color is it?" he demanded.

            She frowned. "Well, it's not ginger. It's a bit more towards blonde. But it's really not the color that's got me concerned. It's…well…something happened to the, ah, texture. Maybe when the bleach and the water got together?"

            "I have to see," he said, making his way past her tugs and protests to the mirror on the back of the door. He took one look at himself and then closed his eyes to mentally prepare for a second look.

            "We can fix it," Rose said, joining him at the mirror and putting her hand on the small of his back. He opened his eyes again. It was more blonde than ginger, perhaps strawberry-blonde. That wasn't the problem. The issue was that the follicles had twisted up on themselves in reaction to the dying process and his hair was now a nest of tight, kinky curls.

            "Oh," he breathed, reaching up to pull on a curl. It stretched, then snapped back into shape. "If I brush it out, I'll look like RuPaul."

            She shrugged. "Well, then, you better work!" she said, dissolving into giggles as she spoke. "I'm sorry. I really am. I'll fix it."

            "I'm shaving my head."

            She laughed harder. "Do you know how many times I've said that?"

            He pointed at the disaster that was his hair, which just made things worse for her. "How many times has your head looked like this?"

            "Never once," she answered with a solemn frown. Then started howling with laughter.

            "You're a great help," he snapped. "What if I have to regenerate for this to go right again?"

            She sucked her lips in as she considered this point. "If that'll fix it, I'll shoot you dead right now."