Disclaimer: I do not own Doctor Who. The song belongs to the Temptations.
My Girl
Tossing the stack of clean clothes into an open drawer, she spins on her heel and bounds back out into the hallway. Music follows her, bouncing and reverberating off the walls and knocking cheerfully about her head. She kicks up stray jackets and mismatched shoes and throws them towards their proper place. She's sure the TARDIS could take care of it, if she'd only ask, but her mother's always taught her that every hard-working woman needs a break every once in awhile, and Rose thinks the TARDIS deserves much more than that. So, she'll pick up her dirty laundry, and the occasional lone Converse of his, and in return, she'll get to hear her song.
It's always the same song, only played on days like these when the going is easy and the Vortex is quiet. From the first strains of the first lilting notes, her face lights up. Spinning and twirling down corridors and into rooms, the music always comes with her. The words are branded on the inside of her head, and if she's sure no-one's looking (especially him), she has a perfectly choreographed routine that she's been doing for years. Shimmy to the left, shimmy to the right, open invisible perfume bottle, dab imaginary liquid on her neck, roll her shoulders, shimmy again.
She's halfway through her third repetition, and adding in some improv hip wiggles and hand-claps, when he slides in the open door. "Why's it always this song, Rose?" He's moaning, bouncing on the balls of his feet and contorting his face in a passable imitation at a two-year old. She'd never tell him that, of course. Time Lords do not whine, he'd tell her. "You've travelled a fair bit of space and time, heard a respectable amount of the greats, probably inspired a few of them too, and you pick this?"
She shrugs her shoulders, a hip-wiggle punctuating her motion, and flashes a brilliant smile his way. "It makes me happy."
He rubs the back of his neck, smiling somewhat crookedly back at her. "Can't argue with that, I suppose."
As he turns to walk out the door, he calls back to her. "You were a little off on the last go through. Might wanna work on that bit."
She flushes a slight pink but continues her dance with renewed vigor when she hears the distant sound of his sing-song voice echoing back to her. "My girl, my girl, my girl, talking 'bout my girl."
The End.
