A/N: Dear me. It's been ages and ages. I'm being steadily destroyed by school, which is so ruthless, that even on rare moments of freedom, I'm too tired to contemplate moving, let alone writing… But here I am. I've had this idea for ages and ages now. I actually meant to finish it before Series 3 started, but never managed to…And now suddenly - suddenly - it's finished itself. It's just a bit of random Denial, following the Doctor's side o'things. I'm not letting go of TenRose just yet… oh no…
Disclaimer: Mine? Gosh, no. Don't make me laff.
The Doctor ambled into the TARDIS kitchen, pausing just by the table to watch Rose, as she stood at the sink, elbow deep in soapy water. A smile spread over his face and he walked up to stand by her side, casually plonking his dirty mug next to the sink.
"You'll be washing that up," warned Rose, nodding her head at the dirty mug.
The Doctor shifted so that he was leaning back against the sideboard.
"Rose," he said, pompously, "a Time Lord cannot be seen washing up."
Rose raised her eyebrows. "No one would see you."
"It's undignified," he protested, "I'm over nine hundred years old, you know. And you expect me to dip my hand in a kitchen sink and get my arms covered in soap suds? Shame on you. Besides, you're already in the process of washing up. Makes sense for you to do it."
"I've already washed five of your mugs, Doctor. I don't think I need to do anymore, thanks." Rose flicked a particularly large soap sud at him, "You leave 'em everywhere."
"Nice shot," acknowledged the Doctor grimly, wiping the sud off his forehead. "Rose, I highly doubt I've managed to leave five mugs lying around."
"Well, genius or not, you managed it." Rose straightened, and started to count on her soapy fingers, "I found your 'Trust me, I'm a doctor' one in the Control Room, the one with the broken handle in the library, the football one on the floor in some random corridor, the Harry Potter one in the wardrobe, of all places, and your teddy bear one in my room."
The Doctor blinked at her. "Oh. Yes, well. But that's not all that many, when you think about it. When you put it into context of just how many mugs there are in the TARDIS… There could have been a whole lot more. And, really…." He paused to think, clearly clutching at straws, "Really, you should think of it as something fun. Like a treasure hunt! Never knowing when or where you'll next discover a mug, a trail leading you to some mysterious treasure..."
"Only, there is no treasure," interrupted Rose, dryly.
"Ah, I see. That could put a bit of a downer on the whole thing."
The Doctor fell into a musing silence. Rose continued methodically washing mugs and a few, marmalade -smeared dirty plates. She was used to the Doctor's silence and was hoping he would break it with some exciting hair-brained scheme. However, to her surprise, it was her who broke the silence. And not with words, either.
"Hungry?" Asked the Doctor, with some amusement, raising an eyebrow.
"Well, yes," admitted Rose, "I'm starving."
"Why don't you have something to eat, then?" laughed the Doctor. "We are in the kitchen, after all."
"Well, I would," said Rose, slowly, "only there is no food anywhere on the TARDIS. None at all."
The Doctor ran his hand through his hair. And groaned.
"Does this mean another of those awful trips to Tesco? Because I honestly don't think I could deal with that right now. After those carnivorous shopping trolleys, I haven't really enjoyed supermarket shopping. Well, I never actually enjoyed it, as such… I mean, yes, I liked throwing stuff in the trolley and getting the weird and wonderful products that no one ever actually uses. Oh, and those self-scanning things! Those are genius, those are. No more moody till people, wondering why on earth you've bought fifty jars of marmalade. Why do they do that?" He suddenly demanded, looking accusingly at Rose, "There is nothing wrong with buying fifty jars of marmalade!"
Rose stared at him for a few seconds, her mouth twitching, before solemnly wiping a wet hand across his left cheek.
"I have absolutely no idea what you're talking about, Doctor." She said, over his protests at having soapy water on his face again.
"Oh. Right. What was I talking about?" He shuffled his feet a bit, before suddenly remembering, "Tesco! We need food. But I'd rather not go."
"Tell you what," said Rose, drying her hands and coming to stand in front of him, "I have a better idea."
"Brilliant." The Doctor's face lit up at the prospect of avoiding a supermarket, "Let's hear it."
"We can go out for something to eat."
"I beg your pardon?" blinked the Doctor.
"You know, go out. Eat out. Do you realise, that in all the time we have been travelling together, you have never once taken me out to dinner? In some relationships, that would be considered scandalous."
"I bought you chips!" Protested the Doctor. "I've bought you lots of chips, actually."
"Yes," said Rose, laughing slightly, "but it's hardly the same, is it? Anyway, I distinctly remember that on a number of occasions, it was actually me who bought the chips."
"Rose, I'm not going out to some stuffy restaurant."
"I see," said Rose, slowly, "So you'll take a Slitheen out to dinner, but not me?"
"That was different," protested the Doctor, somewhat feebly.
"Was it?" Asked Rose, innocently, with wide eyes, "So if I put on a big, green, ugly bodysuit, would you find me more attractive?"
"More attractive?" demanded the Doctor, folding his arms and raising his eyebrows at her, "Who said I ever found you attractive in the first place?"
His eyes were twinkling in a way which told Rose he was only teasing, but that didn't mean she couldn't pretend to be offended.
"Fine," said Rose, mock-huffy, "It doesn't matter." She looked away, and lightly added, "You'd probably take me somewhere crap, anyway, what with me not being an enormous alien inhabiting someone else's body. I'd discover cockroaches in my meal, poisonous slugs in the salad and then you'd pick a fight with the head chef."
"I would not!" exclaimed the Doctor, insulted that his impressiveness was doubted, "I could take you to a restaurant better than anything you've ever dreamt of."
"Could you?" challenged Rose, grinning in a way that infuriated him.
"Yes, I could, actually." He stepped away from the sideboard and went to stand commandingly by the doorway, frowning as Rose continued grinning at him. "Right, that settles it. Go put something posh on and I'll meet you in the Control Room. Rose Tyler, would you like to go out for the best meal you've ever had?"
Rose beamed, beatifically. "Thought you'd never ask."
"Bit posh," commented Rose, squeezing the Doctor's arm slightly.
"Is that a complaint?" Demanded the Doctor, "Because I think I should remind you that the only reason we have dragged ourselves out-"
Rose shushed him, gently, "It wasn't a complaint, Doctor, it was approval."
"Oh. Well. That's clearly a different matter entirely. Shall we go in?" He offered Rose his arm and she readily took it.
"Oh, let's," grinned Rose.
The Doctor led her into the restaurant and with the use of some psychic paper and a one hundred watt grin, managed to manoeuvre one of the best tables in the house. The waiters were distinctly yellow in colour and scarily tall and skinny - they did not particularly compliment the restaurant's decoration of dark red walls and gold furniture. However, the Doctor reassured Rose that they were friendly enough and she soon relaxed.
"Planet of Sillcontan," he explained, in a low voice, as they were led over to the table. "Renowned for culinary excellence and high quality service. That's just the restaurant, too. The planet itself is very beautiful - has some great beaches, actually - with a lovely culture. There are all these ancient traditions, for different areas. Fascinating place."
Before they sat down, the efficient waiters came round to relieve them of their coats.
The Doctor started rambling about the wonderful service, only to stop mid-sentence, as he watched Rose's long, black cloak slide off to reveal a perfect, midnight blue dress. The neckline was low, but not indecent and the skirt hung delicately, making her legs look even longer. The Doctor felt he was staring slightly more than was appropriate, but couldn't seem to stop.
Rose caught his eye and looked anxious. "Is it too much?" She whispered, clearly awkward about the situation.
"Oh…" breathed the Doctor, trying to remember how to speak, "It'll do. Nicely."
Rose smiled, shyly, the Doctor forming a lopsided smile of his own.
"So. Dinner. Shall we actually sit down now?" Rose motioned to the waiters, who were still patiently holding her chair out for her.
"Oh, yes," laughed the Doctor, a little too loudly.
"I don't believe that," laughed Rose, "I can't imagine you doing that…" she frowned, briefly, "Actually, I could. Ugh. Horrible image..."
"Hey!" admonished the Doctor, slightly wounded, "I have a wonderful voice, I'll have you know."
"I've heard it," smiled Rose, "and I think I'll make my own judgement as to how good it is."
"Well," snorted the Doctor, indignantly, "it's better than yours, at any rate."
Rose raised her eyebrows, grinning. "That's a bit rude. And cocky."
"I have confidence in my ability. That's all." Affirmed the Doctor, airily, leaning back in his seat.
"So I've noticed," commented Rose, mischievously.
The Doctor pretended to look outraged, and then laughed along with her.
"I think you've been with me too long, Rose Tyler."
"Oh? Planning on getting rid of me now, are we?" Rose teased, tongue poking out the corner of her mouth.
The Doctor put down his glass of wine and looked at her, intensely.
"Never."
The Doctor neatly placed his cutlery on his plate and leant back in his chair.
"Marvellous." He grinned. "Best food I've had in ages."
"What about the dinner we had at mum's?"
The Doctor snorted. "Yeah, sure…"
Rose shook her head. "Honestly, you. My mum's not so bad…"
"Yeah, but I'm hardly going to say she's better than gourmet cooks, am I? You brought that one on yourself, Rose Tyler. You brought her up and there was really no need."
"I suppose," shrugged Rose, giving a slight smile, "Anyway, I think you've got quite into this whole meal out. Considering you were so against it to start with."
"I wasn't against it! Well… maybe I was a bit. But it hasn't been that terrible, all things considered. The food's been good. Nice environment, excellent service. Company hasn't been too bad, I suppose…."
Rose shook her head again. "So rude."
"Sorry, but it had to be said…."
"It really didn't," laughed Rose. "Anyway, I'm going to put you in charge of ordering dessert, because I need to visit the ladies…" She went to get up. "Actually, are the loos going to be… ok? Normal, I mean?"
The Doctor grinned at her, "They'll be absolutely fine. Don't worry."
"See you in a bit, then."
The Doctor watched her walk off, smiling slightly to himself.
One of the waiters brought over the menu, and the Doctor quickly scanned it, immediately able to pick out which dessert Rose would prefer. He smiled to himself, wondering if she would be able to recognise the brightly coloured variation of an Earth favourite.
Having ordered, he began to idly drum his fingers on the table. It hadn't been so bad while Rose had been there - ok, it hadn't been bad at all; far from it - but now she was gone, the monotony of the situation was beginning to hit him. He was sitting in a restaurant, enjoying a quiet meal - for no reason other than wanting something to eat. It made no sense. And now, Rose was taking ages. She was wonderful, but not infallible, he thought to himself.
He glanced around the room, impatiently. The other guests seemed nice enough. He smiled at a few, wondering if any of them were harbouring secret plots to take over the world. There were a few shady characters, but none he could comfortably suspect.
One of the waiters came into his line of sight, and he welcomed the distraction the harassed looking waiter offered.
"Everything alright?" He asked, with probably a bit too much interest.
"I'm terribly sorry, sir," apologised the waiter, looking quite agonised, "but we're having a little bit of trouble with the dessert."
"Oh," sighed the Doctor, before smiling brightly, "not to worry. My companion probably won't be back for a long time, so don't worry about rushing the pudding on her account."
The waiter gave him a strange look, but bowed. "Very good, sir."
The Doctor smiled to himself. Lovely people, the waiters, very attentive. But probably a little too intent on pleasing people. He couldn't imagine what kind of problems they could be having with the dessert, though. He'd ordered the most simple dishes. Still, couldn't be helped. He'd have to let them get on with it.
This, he thought to himself, grimly, is what doing domestic does to you. You stop worrying about saving lives and end up agonising over whether your pudding will arrive on time. And everything boils down to petty details until you end up doing nothing and… Where is Rose?
He sighed elaborately and stretched. He did not want to seem possessive or controlling, but over twenty minutes in the toilets was quite ridiculous. And while he was obviously enjoying spending time with Rose, he had not signed up to spend time without Rose. He thought he'd just take a wander over to the toilets, and hope she realised that he was intending to return to the TARDIS at some point.
Once at the toilets, he felt like a bit of a fool. He was standing outside the red doors, which had elaborate decorations of golden leaves running down them, simply hanging around. The doors were slightly removed, in an alcove, but he still felt quite exposed. He nodded at a few waiters who passed by. They were obviously a little perplexed, but far too polite to inquire as to what he was doing.
A particularly quiet moment passed by, with no waiters passing. At the last possible instant, the Doctor acted. Shaking his head and muttering slightly to himself, he burst into the ladies' toilets.
Thankfully, there was no one at the sinks. He hadn't been particularly worried, but from past experience, he had learned that he did not like the scandalised looks ladies gave him when he entered 'their toilets'. And fair enough, he supposed. He wasn't a lady, after all…
"Rose?" He called, somewhat cautiously, "Rose?"
There was no answer.
"Ok… Rose, I just came here to remind you that, um… well, there's a rather handsome Time Lord out there, in the restaurant, who seems to think that you two were supposed to be enjoying a meal together. Just wondering if you remember- Rose?"
He walked up to the cubicles, to find that out of the five of them, only one was occupied. He knocked on the occupied door.
"Rose, come on. You must be in there. This is the only occupied cubicle, and it doesn't take a genius to figure out that-" he stood back, expectantly, as the door started to open.
With a squeak, a small, slightly feline looking creature emerged. She stared at him in disgust, before rushing out of the toilets.
The Doctor stared after her, with wide eyes, before casting around the toilets. There was nowhere Rose could have been hiding.
The Doctor was not at all pleased.
He quickly poked his head out of the toilet door, wondering if Rose had returned to the table some other way. Nothing.
He knew she had come into the toilets. He had not seen her go out. So…
He reached into his jacket pocket for the Sonic Screwdriver… only to find it empty.
"Damn," he said to himself, "left it in the coat pocket. There was not," he continued, through gritted teeth, "supposed to be any trouble."
With a sudden burst of energy, he rushed out of the toilet door, startling an elderly lady who had just been about to enter.
"Terribly sorry," he called over his shoulder, wincing as she shot him a look of intense disapproval.
He hurried over to the man at the entrance, urgency on his face
"Excuse me," he said, quickly, "I need to get something out of my coat. Left it in there by mistake - I'm always doing that."
"Of course, sir."
The alien disappeared and reappeared, bearing the Doctor's coat, within a matter of seconds.
Gratefully, the Doctor took the coat, quickly locating the Sonic Screwdriver. He grinned as he handed the coat back to the waiter, "You're very good, you know," he complimented.
The alien modestly inclined his head. "We do our best, sir."
"Yeah, thanks. Don't suppose you've seen my… friend anywhere, have you? Human, blonde, really quite pretty…"
"No, sir, not since you came in." The waiter's face was completely unreadable.
"I was afraid you'd say that. Anyway, must go."
The Doctor bounded back off to the ladies' toilets. He was greeted by a startled screech, as three ladies simultaneously turned from the sinks to stare at him in horror.
"Ah," he said, staring back at them, "sorry about this. It's not what it looks, I'm just doing some… maintenance on these facilities. They would have got a lady, but there was an absence of female plumbers at the office, so they got stuck with me. But they're urgent repairs." The females were still staring at him. "I can show you my doc-" he broke off as he realised the psychic papers were still in his coat. "Actually, on second thoughts, never mind that. Anyway. I'm going to start work now, so if you don't mind…"
Still staring at him, the female aliens began to sedately make their way out of the toilers, eyeing the Doctor suspiciously.
"In your own time," he muttered, as they neglected to move any faster than a gentle walk.
As soon as the door had swung shut on them, the Doctor's smile faded and he set to work looking around the room. He tried the mirror, only to find it really was a mirror. He stared at his reflection for a few seconds, frowning, before starting to examine all the walls, both inside and out of the toilet cubicles.
Finally, he came to the wall opposite the door he had come in by.
"Don't think much of the décor," he commented, regarding the wallpaper. 'Busy' was the word that instantly came to mind. The rich red wall was so covered in gold patterns, that it looked like several five year olds had been let loose with some very expensive crayons. The Doctor marched up to the wall, shoving a gold velvet couch out the way and began tapping.
"Aha!" He exclaimed, as one part resonated slightly differently to the others. He continued feeling and listening to the wall, before whipping out the Sonic Screwdriver and working on a small space, at about hip height.
With a faint click, a small door in the wall swung open.
The Doctor grinned - but it was one without any trace of humour.
"Now," he said, softly, "what have they done with Rose?"
The passageway he was in was rather dark, and curved sharply round to the right. The cold stone walls, and earthy floor was a rather alarming contrast to the richness of the restaurant décor. From the end of the passageway, the Doctor could hear a lot of activity - there were clearly a lot of people there.
Cautiously, the Doctor followed the passageway round, grimacing as he accidentally stepped in a muddy puddle.
With some consternation, he leant flat against the wall, to peer into the larger room.
"A kitchen?" he muttered to himself, his brain whirring into action, "Ohh…Sillcontan…" He rubbed his hand through his hair, concentrating, "Sillcontan…Oh... Oh! No!" The more curious expression on his face was instantly replaced by one of fierce determination.
In one swift movement, he drew himself up to his full height and marched into the kitchen.
Everywhere, small, yellow cooks were busy labouring over different shaped pots. Some tiny, some medium and some disturbingly people-sized.
The Doctor smiled pleasantly at a few chefs, acting as if he owned the place, all the while scanning the room for any sign of Rose.
He had just fixed his sights on a small doorway, just next to the largest oven, when he was stopped by an impressively rotund chef.
"Excuse me, sir," the chef demanded - even when demanding, these aliens were polite, thought the Doctor, "what are you doing back here?"
"Oh, no need to worry," said the Doctor, breezily, "I'm an inspector, just passing through to see if…" he stopped patting his pockets, as he remembered that the psychic paper was no longer with him.
"If you're an inspector, I'm afraid I'll need to see your papers."
"Ah, now, you see… I would happily show them to you - would love to show them to you - but I happen to have left them out by the main entrance for, um, safekeeping…"
The chef scowled at him. "With no proper papers, sir, I cannot authorise you to be back here."
He nodded at several aliens behind the Doctor, who moved in to escort him away.
"No! Wait!" called the Doctor, holding the Sonic Screwdriver out in front of him… before he realised the futility of the situation, as he noticed that the chefs were surrounded by carving knives, small blowtorches and all other kinds of kitchen-utensil-cum-weapons. "Ah… ok, new tactic. Honesty. I'm here looking for my friend. She's disappeared and I think you may have got the wrong end of the stick and…"
The chef shook his head, impatiently, "That is nothing to do with us, sir. If you have any complaints about the food, you really need to take it to the management. We merely cook as we are bid."
He nodded his head again, and once more the other chefs advanced.
"Honesty is clearly not the best policy," muttered the Doctor, "Oh!" he shouted, again, "Over there! That pot's over-boiling and over there… my God, it's burning!"
He used the sudden flurry of culinary activity to barge past the bodyguard chefs, dive into the room beside the oven and lock the door behind him.
He had hardly turned away from the door, when he felt two arms fling themselves around him and blonde curls tickle his face. He laughed and hugged Rose back.
He stopped laughing when Rose pulled back and walloped him.
"What the hell is going on?" she demanded, angrily, as he sadly rubbed his shoulder, "One minute I'm checking my reflection, the next, someone's tied my hands behind my back and I'm being dragged through a kitchen."
"Sorry about that," said the Doctor, sheepishly. He glanced around the room; it had simply painted light blue walls, a small fire burning in a basic fireplace and there was a single, metal chair in the corner. A short length of rope was lying in a heap at the foot of the chair. "Not as nice as our spot in the restaurant, is it?" he commented. His eyes fixed on the pile of rope, "Hang on - you were tied up and now you're not…?"
Rose blushed a little, "These shoes, the heels… sharp and pointy… and, well, I've done gymnastics …"
The Doctor stared at her in complete disbelief, before laughing with delight. "Rose Tyler," he grinned, slightly madly, "you are brilliant."
"Yeah, yeah. Now would you mind telling me what is going on?"
"Never mind that," said the Doctor, as someone bashed against the door, "I think we should concentrate on first getting out."
"The window," said Rose, "but I can't open it. Locked. And I can't smash the glass, even though I tried using the chair."
"Locked?" asked the Doctor, nonchalantly, twirling the Sonic Screwdriver, "Not any more."
"Well, get a move on," said Rose, "I have a feeling that I'm not here because they want my opinion on their latest soufflé."
"Well, no," frowned the Doctor, as he set to work on the window, "I bet you've never made a soufflé in your life."
Rose was about to protest, when with a loud clatter, the window opened.
"Good," breathed Rose, "you've just saved yourself from a slap."
She dragged the chair up to the window and with the Doctor's help, proceeded to climb out, lightly jumping down onto the ground outside. The Doctor had just begun to climb out himself, when the door to the room violently burst open. He was nearly through, when one of the aliens grabbed hold of his foot.
"Oi!" yelled the Doctor, niftily kicking out sideways, "Buy your own converse!"
He landed next to Rose, in a rather inelegant heap. Rose dragged him to his feet, and they began to run. He took her hand and began to pull her back towards the entrance of the restaurant.
"Are you mad?" she yelled.
"Yes," answered the Doctor, simply.
He skidded into the entrance of the restaurant, stopping opposite the completely unfazed doorman.
"My companion and I," he panted, "need our coats. Now. Please."
"Of course, sir," said the doorman, smoothly, once again exhibiting his peculiar speed and precision.
"Thanks," smiled the Doctor, handing Rose her cloak and proceeding to sprint out the door.
He took her hand again, as she stumbled slightly in her heels.
"What?" he asked, as she shot him A Look, "I could hardly leave the psychic paper behind, could I?"
"One quiet meal!" exclaimed Rose, with some difficulty, considering she was running for her life, "One quiet meal, that's all I asked for. And instead, we end up running for our lives - and I still don't understand why, by the way."
"That would be my fault," said the Doctor, glancing over his shoulder and somewhat alarmed to find the entire kitchen staff hot on their heels, all brandishing kitchen knives.
"It normally is," remarked Rose.
"I, um…" the Doctor hesitated a little before telling her, "I, um, picked a fight with the head chef."
"Typical!" snorted Rose, "Can't take you anywhere. You still haven't explained why, though…"
"Well," said the Doctor, attempting to increase their speed, "If you remember, I said that the planet of Sillcontan is very big on tradition. What I happened to forget is that in this particular region, there is the peculiar custom… of, um, eating women for dessert."
"What?" exploded Rose, breathlessly, "Eating… women…?"
"Only if they're not wearing a wedding ring…" panted the Doctor… "which you're not. So when you left the table just before dessert, they probably thought you were making things easy for them..."
"Disgusting," panted Rose, relieved to see the TARDIS was just in sight, but concerned to see that the chefs were actually gaining on them.
"Yeah," agreed the Doctor, "and they're now thoroughly angry because not only have we just thwarted one of their time-honoured traditions, but…." he rooted in his pocket for the key to the TARDIS, "we also haven't paid."
They both slammed into the TARDIS' door, as the Doctor deftly slotted the key into the lock and turning it, wrenched opened the door, shoving Rose in, just ahead of him.
Inside, with hearts hammering faster than was probably healthy, they both slammed the door - just as one of the more athletic chefs grew frustrated and threw his knife.
Both the Doctor and Rose leant breathlessly against the door for a few seconds, hearing the shouts of about fifteen furious chefs and a heavy clunk as a knife bounced off the TARDIS door and hit the ground outside.
"Right," said the Doctor, dashing up to the control panel, "probably best we park her in space somewhere. Somewhere quiet."
He shifted the controls, while Rose, still regaining her breath, painfully peeled off her high heels.
"You nutter," she said, as the TARDIS stilled, "that was the worst date I've ever been on."
"Worst?" said the Doctor, somewhat aghast, "It wasn't that bad! The restaurant was lovely, you got to wear a nice dress and the food was excellent…"
"Yeah, but then I nearly became part of that excellent menu and worse than that… I didn't even get any dessert."
"Yeah," grimaced the Doctor, "sorry about that. Still… still alive, eh? And, um, if it's any consolation, I'm sure you would have made a lovely dessert."
Rose snorted. She played idly with the skirt of her dress, "S'all ruined now," she remarked sadly.
The Doctor watched her. Even barefoot, with a ripped skirt, flushed face and messy hair, she still looked beautiful. He would never understand it.
"Tell you what…" he said, slowly, looking at Rose, slightly shyly, "you go change out of the dress, pick a film and wait in the TV room… and I'll go buy us some ice cream for dessert."
Rose smiled up at him. "Really?"
"Yeah," sighed the Doctor, "I probably ought to apologise. And at least on the TARDIS, we won't end up running. Well, not unless you pick a really bad film, anyway…."
Rose rolled her eyes. She gave him a quick hug, while simultaneously ruffling his hair, before wandering off down the corridor, limping slightly.
The Doctor grinned stupidly after her for a few seconds, before bringing himself back to the present task in hand.
"Right," he said, addressing the TARDIS, "where can I find the best ice cream in all of time and space?" he paused briefly, as the TARDIS blinked a few lights, "Brilliant idea. And if Rose doesn't like that… well, we can just take her back to Sillcontan…"
"It was a joke!" he protested, as the TARDIS fired a few sparks from the console. "Although, if she chooses Dirty Dancing, it might not be… Honestly. Women. They can have the most awful taste. That was a joke too…" he amended, hastily, stepping away from the control panel. "So," he said, beginning his dance around the controls, "La bella Italia…ice-a cream-a…. Yes, I know it's gelato, thanks."
He stepped over to the TARDIS doorway.
"Won't be long, old girl…and do me a favour…" a slightly haunted look passed over his face, "Make sure she doesn't choose Dirty Dancing..."
Pleath, pleath review. It's a been such a long time, you know…