Hey, look who actually wrote something! My friend (her username's burnithot, you should check out her writing :D) showed me a cool 30-word prompt that I really wanted to write for. This fic will be 30 drabbles based on the prompts. I'm having all the Doctor/Rose feels tonight, so this drabble is for them. The rest may be Doctor/Rose, or they may just be Doctor Who drabbles in general... we shall see.

Two notes: 1. I'm American, so I apologize for not using British lingo. I tried to use it on the occasion when I knew the right word. 2. This is obviously not exactly how this scene went down on the show, but my own interpretation. Enjoy! :)

beginning.

He's dying.

This isn't a new feeling- the panting breath, the wibbly-wobbly limbs, the heart aching from physical pain and from the nearing loss of friends and familiar flesh and his current wardrobe. He's regenerated ten times, soon to be eleven. He's been through this time and time again, but the experience always shakes him to his core.

He has one last goodbye.

She wraps her arms tightly around her sweatshirt, providing little warmth in the falling snow and bitter air. Mum's worthless boyfriend, Jimbo (even his name is pitiful), failed to take them to the bar for drinks, so they had to walk there themselves. Feeling a little tipsy and more than a little cold, all Rose wants to do is throw herself on the couch, eat some leftover Christmas sweets, and watch the dumb New Year's specials on TV.

A man leans against the wall of a nearby apartment complex in a long overcoat. He clenches his fingers and leans over uncomfortably.

"Y'okay, mate?" Rose asks, biting her lip in concern.

He's in the shadows, and it's hard to see his face, but Rose thinks she sees him shudder, like she does when she is surprised to see an ex-boyfriend at the grocery store.

"Yeah. I'm fine," he replies, placing his hands awkwardly in his pockets.

"Too much to drink?"

"Something like that." He stares at her intently, like he knows her deeply, and Rose feels a little uncomfortable. He's barely more than a silhouette, but she swears she hasn't seen him before.

"S'alright," Rose replies. "I think we all have a little too much to drink on a night like this."

The buzz of the alcohol in her system throws her through a surge of giddiness, and she sticks her tongue out to catch one of the fluffy snowflakes swirling around her.

"Don't you wish snowflakes tasted like candy floss? Or sugar? Or something that's as wonderful as they look?" Rose giggles.

"I know a planet-a place where they do." The man replies with what she thinks is a smirk. He's still sort of cowering in the shadows. He definitely had too much to drink.

"Well, if we ever meet again, you'll have to take me there."

"I will." The man looks wistful, and Rose figures she better leave him to his drunken thoughts.

"Happy New Year, mate." She smiles, waves, and begins to walk toward her apartment.

"What year is it?" the man asks. Quickly turning around, Rose tries to discern his expression, and realizes that he's actually serious.

"How much did you drink?" She laughs. "It's 2005, as of about an hour ago."

"2005, eh?" He pauses. "I bet you're going to have a really great year."

She grins broadly. Something about the way he says it, so full of confidence, makes her believe him.

She runs through the growing slush, and up the apartment steps. She gives him a quick wave before entering her apartment.

2005. It's going to be her year. She's going to be something. Something about the magical early morning hours of January 1st make her believe even the loopy, drunk man who has tasted snowflakes like candy floss.

It's a night of new beginnings.