Fic Tennis, Twelfth Match
Because we wanted to, Allison (gallifreyburning) and I are doing a fic tennis match that isn’t Gallifrey Records themed. We’re returning to our TenToo and Rose fic tennis roots. If you’d not like to see these roots, you should go ahead and savior “fic tennis.”
It’s my serve, so:
The minute they hit Bergen and Rose’s mobile locks onto a satellite signal, her screen lights up with missed messages. Messages that, apparently, didn’t make the dimension jump to another universe with her.
The little flashing notifications make Rose’s stomach churn, because she can begin to guess whose voices are on the other end of those voicemails, and she doesn’t have the stamina to listen to them anytime soon.
The Doctor leans over as they walk into the dirigiport, heading for the flight home to London. “Got tired of universal roaming?” he says. “A bit of shiny Torchwood tech?”
She flicks the button to dim the screen and crams the newer mobile in her pocket. “I’ve still got my old one,” she says, pulling it out instead. The battered, scratched screen lights up when she flips it open. “See? But the new one, it’s because I needed a local number.”