kalleah | Polar Bears (1/1)

Give me one of my own stories (that link goes to my masterlist), and a timestamp sometime in the future after the end of the story, or sometime in the past before the story started, and I'll write you at least a hundred words of what happened then, whether it's five minutes before the story started or ten years in the future.

Everything including The Song of Yarru is fair game for this, although for it, I'll hold the mini-story until after TSoY is finished posting.

ETA: Feel free to add more requests in the comments for this story, also!

This ficlet written for

platypus, who requested something later in the day following Proof (which is a Christmas story, and probably relevant before reading this one).

PG for nudity and some mildly suggestive comments.

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Rose expected to encounter unusual cultures and traditions in her travels across time and space with the Doctor, and the quiet monastery where Brother Jacob and his fellow monks resided seemed most times to be a world onto itself. However, there was a reverence and peace here that seemed most – no, completely unsuitable for the whooping and yelling at the edge of the river.

"You're going to swim?" she stammered, trying not to look at at Jacob, who wore a broad grin framed by a moustacheless white beard and not a stitch of clothing.

"It's tradition, Rose!" he shouted, lost somewhat in the clamour of his brothers around him. "Boxing Day, we swim in the river. It's exhilarating!"

She put one hand in front of her eyes to prevent getting more than an eyeful of plump, naked monk and spun around with her other hand outstretched to reach for the Doctor.

"Hold this," he said, dropping his jacket into her hand.

She spluttered as if coming up for air and blinked several times to see the Doctor divesting himself of his clothing just as rapidly as Jacob had. "What are you doing!?!?" she shrieked. "You can't possibly be –"

His grin was as broad as Jacob's, and wicked to boot. "I wouldn't miss it! I've never been here for Boxing Day, and you're the one who persuaded me to participate in the local traditions." His grin became a cherubic smile, full of innocent glee, reminding her that he had in fact attended church here for the first time only the night before, however unlikely that had been.

His shoes came off last, and then he was, like the monks all around them, as naked as a newborn babe.

She had no idea where she was supposed to look, so she leaned back and stared into the cold, clear blue sky. Not even clouds huddled overhead to cast shadows on the display of consecrated bare skin (or in the Doctor's case, unrepentantly unconsecrated but still bare).

"Jacob," she pleaded, "could you tell the Doctor that he shouldn't –"

But the monk gave her no quarter, of course. "Doctor! Are you ready!" And then, to Rose's utter astonishment, "Rose, why are you still dressed?"

Even the Doctor paused then, shooting both eyebrows straight up and giving her an appraising, amused look.

She looked at Jacob through her hand, concentrating on only his face. "It can't be proper, me here and everything –"

"You're God's creation too, Rose, and it's too cold for anything sinful. Come on, come on, the both of you."

And with that, Brother Jacob hopped (as least as far as a plump, slightly elderly monk could be said to hop) to the river's edge with his bare-bottomed brothers and flung themselves into the cold winter's water. The Doctor gave a happy shout and went plummeting down the slope and disappeared under the water as smoothly as a seal, with all the bobbing monks around him.

Rose realized, with a dizzy, bubbling sort of giddiness rising within her, that she was in fact more prudish than a monk. That couldn't stand.

She stripped off her shoes, socks, jeans and went to the water's edge standing in only her shirt, knickers, and bra. She was already cold and she wasn't even wet. The Doctor, seeing her huddled and hesitant, sent a huge splash in her direction. She shrieked again and gave in – peeling off her now-soaked shirt and other garments and leaving them in a sopping pile on the river's edge.

The water was shockingly cold, and she couldn't understand how the much older monks could bear it, until someone passed her a flask of something hot, which she drank thirstily. It was flavoured with cinnamon and fruit and burned all the way down, leaving her gasping. She passed it along to the Doctor, who took a long draught and sent it back up the row of monks.

"Out!" someone yelled, and there was a mad dash to the shore, to collect dry and damp clothes alike. The monks had a significant advantage here in that they could wrap themselves quite quickly and easily in their robes, but Rose had to shimmy into jeans with her cold, damp skin putting up significant resistance. The Doctor, for his measure, looked like someone had thrown a bucket of water on him, but he scrubbed out his wet hair and never stopped smiling.

Everyone proceeded in a distinctly unorganized but jovial manner to the dining hall, where they drank steaming mugs of cider and ate warm, soft rolls with plenty of butter. For once, the prohibition on talking in the hall was lifted, and everyone talked over and around everyone else, energized from the exposure.

When the monks finished their brief snack, they headed out for the little church, and Rose held the Doctor back toward the end of the group. She might have been enthusiastic about having him participate in Midnight Mass the night before, but a post-swim service was a little more than she could personally wrap her mind around.

"I need to get out of these wet things," she said, pulling at her damp sleeve.

"So you do," the Doctor said agreeably. "A long, hot bath, perhaps?" She glanced up and his eyes were sparkling. Up to no good, of course. "I wouldn't want you to catch a chill."

"I thought you said that was just an expression, and that walking out in cold water wasn't any more likely to get me sick than any other time?" Her question lilted in the middle, definitely a tease to see where he was going.

"Did I say that? Hmm. Well, I daresay it's better to be safe than sorry, isn't it? I wouldn't want to take such a risk with your person."

She giggled, and held out her hand for him to lead her back to the cottage, and presumably a hot bath for two.

It wasn't such a bad thing, these unexpected customs, even if she would never get the mental picture of Jacob's bare bottom out of her head until the end of her days.

Author's Notes:
A lot of different places have Polar Bear Swims after Christmas, although they're most typically done for New Year's and not with monks. To say I took liberties is to put it mildly, but I also have a monk who would encourage a naked woman to join them! :)