"Here, look, see? Right there. That's where our flat is right now." His voice was the same as always, a bit of Donna Noble creeping in, hidden under the old play with intonation and accents.
The London Eye, in this universe, is just a bit taller and somehow that makes it incredibly frightening. Rose had always loved it as a child, but in this universe, that added bit of height made her hands shake and her breath catch. She gripped the hand next to her.
He had taken her up here on her request. She was being silly, she knew, there wasn't nearly enough difference in the height to matter. Together, they'd conquer this stupid fear, just like they'd conquered what had seemed to be insurmountable: living together. Sex. Love. What to call each other. All of it —they'd figured it out. They could do this.
When they disembarked, finally, he wrapped her in his long brown coat. Not the same coat, of course, but close enough to fool anyone who wasn't Rose. She shivered inside it, leaned on his shoulder, and together they staggered down the road, not speaking, not even looking at each other.
They stepped into the flat, and Rose immediately plopped facedown on the sofa. One of the cats he kept bringing home snuggled up to her hand, and she began to pet it absently.
He locked the door and leaned against it, arms akimbo. "That went all right, yeah? Well, not all right. More like not terrible. Well, maybe not that bad. You—"
"Shut. Up." Rose's voice was muffled by the sofa cushion, but her meaning was clear enough. "Get me a drink. And a biscuit. And another drink."
"And another biscuit?" he called over his shoulder as he stalked toward the kitchen.
The tiny pillow hitting him on the back of the head answered that for him.