First (published) fic. There might be a second chapter, but for now I'm marking it as done. Reviews are appreciated.
The TARDIS kitchen is arguably the most used room in the entirety of the time-traveling ship. The walls are painted a pale yellow. Apparently the TARDIS is fond of the color, because countless paint jobs in innumerable colors have been terminated in favor of the yellow walls. An array of mugs from hundreds of different galaxies, nebulas, and comic conventions are stored in the white painted cabinets, along with the tea and other dry goods, that hang over the stained wooden counters. Pushed against the left wall is a square oak table that usually bears the weight of banana peels and dirty dishes. To the right of that is the 1950's refrigerator, which is, not surprisingly, bigger on the inside.
The exterior of the refrigerator is usually quite bare. A few dull metal magnets are stuck onto the fridge. Most hold in place yellow sticky notes with Gallifrean script scribbled on them. You can imagine the surprise of a brooding Time Lord when he strolls in after a fitful rest and sees a pink pad of paper stuck to the metal case of the refrigerator with, of all things, a grocery list written out in his current companion's handwriting.
He nearly calls out her name but he stops himself just in time. Her sleep-cycle has hardly even started, and a grumpy pink-and-yellow human is not what he wants to deal with right now. He can question her when she wakes up. For now he brews himself a cup of tea and resigns himself to tinkering with the TARDIS.
Hours later, when he can hear sleepy human feet pattering across the TARDIS grating, he pulls himself up from under the console, tries to find the wardrobe, which the TARDIS moved the previous day out of spite, and, when he finally finds the wardrobe, searches for a clean jumper that's not stained with grease and sweat. He settles on a forest green one and dons his jacket again. His footfalls are heavier than the soft ones of the barefoot human, and he reaches the kitchen in no time at all.
She's making tea, going through the familiar cycle with bleary eyes and clumsy hands. Her blonde hair is frizzy and her fluffy white dressing gown from seventy-first century Earth is pulled tightly around her body. She glances over her shoulder when she hears him and greets him with a tired smile. "Tea?"
"Please." One of the oak chairs makes a horrible screech of protest when he sits in it. He ignores it like he always does settles his elbows on the table. He is broken out of his reverie by the steaming beverage that she places by his elbow. He murmurs his thanks and waits for his tea to cool. "So," he starts to speak, "what's that?" His hand gestures to the pink paper on the refrigerator.
Rose spares a glance at the refrigerator and turns back to her tea. "A grocery list." she replies matter-of-factly, sipping her tea and promptly scalding her tongue.
"It looks terribly out of place."
"You're right." Rose nods seriously. "Pink doesn't go with the rest of the kitchen. I'll get a white pad later." The TARDIS hums and a white pad of paper appears next to the pink.
The Doctor sighs. "That's not what I meant."
"I know what you meant."
"Then why do we have a grocery list on the fridge?" he asks in exasperation.
Rose's brown eyes peer innocently over the lip of her mug and seem to be brimming with mirth. "How else are we going to know what to get when we shop?"
He takes a swig of warm tea. "Superior biology, me. I'll remember everything."
"Wait, sorry, wrong question. Since when do you shop? Isn't it too domestic for a Lord of Time?" she teases.
"Well, how else would I get food?"
"I don't know, it's just-" She broke into a fit of giggles. The Doctor raised his eyebrows questioningly.
"It's just what?"
"It's just you," she gasped, "walkin' around the supermarket, pushin' a trolley-" her voice broke and she dissolved into laughter. The Doctor snorted into his mug as his companion giggled into her tea, and he would be a liar if he said her laughter wasn't slightly infectious.