"I'm just popping out for some chips."
"Right then," Rose answered. "I'll have a cup of tea on when you get back."
It was a nice day, and the chips shop wasn't too far down the road. He decided to walk. "Walking, not running." He mused to himself. "That's a change." One of many, but he was surprising good at the domestic life. He could definitely get used to not facing Daleks, Slitheen, or Cybermen on a near-daily basis.
HONK! A car screeched to a halt mere inches from his Converse. "Hey, watch where you're going!" Someone hollered. "I nearly hit you!"
He hadn't even known he was crossing the street. "Right, sorry." He could feel his hearts—heart, he corrected himself—pounding against his ribs. What kind of body got so shook up over an automobile collision? The chips shop lay right on the other side, and he could see Pete and Jackie's house from here.
A fine mess that would have been. After centuries of fighting aliens and monsters, mowed down by some teenager in his mum's car. To have survived all that, finally be reunited with Rose—and be killed by a stupid motor.
This universe had no respect.
But this universe didn't owe him a thing.
The random thought stopped him cold. He hadn't saved this universe dozens of times. He hadn't interfered in its history at half a dozen fixed points.
This universe didn't even have its own Rose Tyler.
Maybe it had the Brigadier, but one who had never met him. Its own Liz Shaw and Sarah Jane Smith and Jo Grant and Grace—maybe even its own Donna Noble, who had never faced the Racnoss on Christmas Day. That car could have hit him as anyone in the universe, with perfect indifference.
He looked both ways, and ran back home.