Rose cocked her head and tried to hold back a smile. From her position at the doorway she saw the pinstriped suited doctor sitting with his legs straight out in front of him making a wide V. In between his long legs lay millions of tiny pieces that may have once been a blender. His ruffled hair was bent over one particular metal part which his slender fingers worked over swiftly. The sonic screwdriver, never far away, was held in his mouth below his concentrated eyes that studied through his 'brainy' specs. Rose had caught him doing far worse things than ruining kitchen appliances before.
Once she had to rescue him from the washer as he had fell in head first, legs struggling helplessly. Her grin grew wider at the memory. The first time she had caught this regeneration singing in the shower was an interesting one also. Something was irrevocably funny about this specific moment though. Something about the way the Doctor would look longingly at one of the bunches of bananas on the counter every now and then, coupled with the fact that he had rolled up his sleeves and removed his suit jacket. He is always so put together in that random way of his; even Rose, who shared the intimacy of people who live together with the Doctor, rarely saw him out of the completed suit ensemble.
Well, except for when he asked her to wash the loved outfit. You have no idea what going through a time lord's pockets does to a person. One moment Rose was fine but the second her hand disappears into that pocket anything was possible. About a month had passed since Reinette when Rose found her note folded in his pocket. She had no qualms about opening it, if he had wanted the letter he would have taken the paper from his pockets beforehand, at least, that was what Rose told herself. After reading the heart-wrenching words, Rose cried hard. She was not quite sure whom she was crying for. Her worst fears where confirmed but also she felt no jealousy at their story. How can one resent the Doctor for finding and trying to keep happiness? He was not human, and he had never asked Rose for more than friendship. Sometimes it seemed to Rose as if the whole Universe was against him; always giving him more or less, than he desired. Rose reflected. The Pompadour had trusted the Doctor as all eventually do. Yet she would never be rewarded for her faith in him. She wondered how long it would be before he forgot the Frenchwoman, just like he had forgotten her note, in the depths of one of his pockets.
This chain of thoughts had sobered Rose's expression and the smile had slowly fallen from her face. The melancholy turn her daydream had taken caused the Doctor's gaze to land on her figure. His brow furrowed in concern as his hands grew still.
"Are you alright Rose?" He asked, letting the screwdriver fall from his lips to his lap. Rose's eyes suddenly snapped to the present but he could have sworn he was talking to a reflection when he heard, "I'm always alright," as an answer.
Rose smiled again. Her words were true. As long as she was here to pull the Doctor out of the occasional washer or inevitable heartbreak she would be all right. She had to be. That is what companions were for, after all.
"You know what I want?" Rose's voice continued, "A banana smoothie."
Not for the first time, the Doctor wondered if Rose could somehow read his mind. Grinning maniacally, and bursting with enthusiasm, he proclaimed, "Coming right up Miss. Tyler."