I do not own Doctor Who.

He beheld the box in absolute pleasure, excitedly waiting for the opportunity to use it. Rose was planning on watching some telly, and the Doctor waited until she was preoccupied before rushing to the bathroom. He ripped the lid off and emptied the contents of the package onto the counter next to the sink. He very firmly ignored the fact that the marketing picture covering the front displayed a Guan'nal woman's lustrous hair. He convinced himself that his hair was far too delicate for the harsh beauty products formulated for human men, so it was perfectly acceptable to be using one intended for alien women.

He haphazardly chucked the instruction sheet aside and set to work mixing the concoction of chemicals charged with the great task of making him finally ginger. He cautiously eyed the door one more time before liberally applying the pungent substance to his scalp. It was cold and stung slightly, but he made certain that every strand of his precious hair was evenly coated with the stuff. He discarded the excess product and perched himself on the edge of the bathtub with a book. He incorrectly supposed the colour would have to stay in for, what, an hour? Maybe more?

Without any regard to the time, he perused the novel in his possession. He became enthralled in the events as they were expertly described by the writer – an artist of words and composer of literary symphony. His attention was so captivated by the written work before him that he didn't realize just how much time had elapsed until a he heard footsteps. With a start, he locked the door, shed his clothes, and showered, effectively washing the orange substance from his head. He was giddy with excitement. He had been waiting for this for over nine hundred years. His dream would finally come true. Or would it?

He peered in horror at his reflection. The colour completely washed out his skin tone and brought an almost mystical quality to his face. Sprouting from the top of his lovely head was a field of hair blonder than Rose's.

"Doctor, where are you?"

His head whipped to the door as he heard the voice of his beloved approaching. He wrapped himself in a towel and placed another one uncharacteristically upon his bleached mass, hiding it from the world.

"I'm in here! I'll be right out!" he shouted uncertainly. His mind was racing wildly. What was he to do? This was certainly not a problem that could be solved tonight, for to do so he would have to exhibit the unspeakable results of his experiment. He knew Rose would be avidly snapping pictures to forever memorialize the occasion. No, tonight was not in the question; this would have to wait until tomorrow. He could hide his blond locks for the evening, right? With a deep breath, he exited the bathroom and ran hastily to the safety of his bedroom. He thanked every deity he knew that Rose was not waiting there for him.

Once he had clothed himself in Howard's warm jammies (which he now claimed as his own) he searched every inch of his wardrobe in search of a head covering. He threw streams of items behind him, occasionally trying one on, but then discarding it. He tried scarves, alien caps, a fez - which was actually quite brilliant, if he did say so himself - and several other options. At last, he found a hat. Well, more of a tuque really. Upon further inspection of the item, though, he gathered that it belonged to Rose, as it was fluffy, purple, and adorned with delicate little pink hearts.

"Doctor, I was going to put a movie in. Do you want to join me?"

He had no other option. The door handle was turning; she was coming in.

"If you don't want to we can alwa –" She erupted into a fit of uncontrollable giggles. "What are you wearing? Is that mine?" He couldn't meet her eyes. He fidgeted nervously, paranoid that some rebellious strand had poked its way out from under the ridiculous article. Once her amusement had died down and his confidence had returned, he brushed her questions aside, deciding to ignore the topic for the remainder of the evening.

"A movie you say? Which one? What are you in the mood for? Some action?" – he made a gun with his hands and pretended to shoot her – "Or a comedy?" – he made silly faces and delighted to hear her laugh – "Romance maybe?" – he wiggled his eyebrows and slung his hands around her waist, pulling her close. She blushed. – "Definitely a romance then. You have anything particular in mind?"

They discussed possible films as they made their way to the large media room. He put the chosen movie in and quickly popped some popcorn while the previews ran. Soon he returned and took his seat next to Rose on the spacious couch.

"You never answered my question earlier. Why are you wearing that hat?"

His eyes widened and in one swift move he shoved a handful of popcorn into her mouth and pressed play. "Shhh… it's starting…"

Every time her lips produced questionings such as these he silenced her in a similar manner: either by ignoring the words or directing her attention elsewhere. She of course knew what he was doing, but stubbornly refused to halt her interrogations. It was intriguing her to no end. Plus, she missed the familiarity of his magnificent hair and needed an explanation. The film ended and another one was put in. He made sure to choose one that would bore her to sleep; it was a historical film made by emotionless androids.

He re positioned himself so that she was practically laying on him and smiled triumphantly when, halfway through the film her head drooped onto his chest and her eyes slid gently shut. As soon as he felt her breathing even out he let out a sigh of relief; he was in the clear for now.

He soon followed her in her slumber and dreamed joyous dreams of silky orange sticky-uppy hair. The next morning he awoke with Rose in his arms. One of her hands was gripping his and the other was resting on his chest. Their legs were intertwined around each other and tangled with a fluffy throw blanket.

Rose sighed and began to wake, humming in contentment.

"Good morning," he said with a smile. "Sleep well?"

"Mhmm."

He leaned down to deliver a sweet good morning kiss to her head but halted when she reached up and ran her hands through his hair, still half-asleep. Where had his hat gone? Thankfully her eyes were still closed but it couldn't stay that way for long. He thawed his frozen limbs and let his eyes scan his surroundings. There it was; his hat had fallen to the floor next to his head. He removed one of his arms from her waist and reached down to pick it up, slowly. Once he had it firmly in his grasp, he jumped up and shoved it over his head with a triumphant smile. Rose steadied herself, as his sudden movement had almost knocked her to the floor.

"Doctor! What the hell was that?"

"Nothing!" he cried, holding his hands up in defense and backing away from her glare.

"Why won't you take off the hat?"

"Um… Err…. Well…" he stammered as he retreated to the other side of the sofa, putting as much distance between them as possible. She continued forward and followed his every step, a threatening and mischievous gleam in her eyes. Suddenly, she lurched forward, her arms reaching up for the hat. He ran and just missed their snatches. They chased each other through endless hallways and random rooms; she pursued him around furniture and over beds. He looked over his shoulder, the action slowing him just enough for her to catch up to him. With an agile leap she tackled him to the ground and pinned him down. He gave a nervous chuckle as she fought her way past his defenses and reached for the offending article. In one swift move the hat was off, his hair exposed, and her side hurting from laughter.

"What did you do? Oh, I've got to take a picture of this!" She dug in her pocket for her phone while he objected.

"No, please, please Rose! Pease, don't you dare take a picture! Rose, no! Put that away! No, no, no, don't press the… button…" But his protestations were too late. She held the screen to his face proudly, demonstrating her accomplishments.

"Set as… contact photo for 'the Doctor'…" she mumbled to herself as she touched the screen of her superphone.

"Rose, can you please let me stand up?"

"Why, don't you like me on top of you?" she smiled cheekily. He sighed and ignored the light pink spreading over his cheeks. "Why did you ruin your hair?"

"It wasn't on purpose! I just wanted to be ginger!" he pouted at her giggles.

"Oh, Doctor! What am I going to do with you?"

"Can you… fix it?"

"Are you sure you don't want to stay like that? It's quite… different…" He frowned. "Okay, okay. Why don't we go see my mother? She always did my hair..." He looked terrified. Oh, he could imagine all too vividly Jackie's wild laughter and insulting jokes. "Or not... what about that salon you took me to last week? What was it called...?"

"The one on asteroid 25-alligator-7F?"

"Yes! That one!"

"Well, Rose Tyler, as soon as you let me stand up, we'll go. Allons-y!"

They soon arrived at the aforementioned place. There was a short wait period, but there were jelly babies in a dish on the table, so it was tolerable. He stuffed himself on the sweet tasty treats until they called him in; there were no more candies left.

He patiently explained to the hairstylist, who had four arms, his dilemma and sat back to let her work her magic. Unfortunately, he realized too late that the shampoo they use is pear-scented, pear-flavored, and infused with real pear juice. Ugh. It would take him ages to get the smell out.

An hour passed and the time had come for the final revelation.

"You look marvelous, darling! Absolutely dreamy!" cooed the stylist. She sounded like one of the robots from Jack's 'Extreme Makeover'.

With a smooth spin of the chair, the Doctor was turned to face a handsome gentleman.

"Well, aren't you going to give me a mirror?" he asked the stylist. She stayed silent. "OH! That foxy bloke is me?! Really?" He ran his hands through his smooth and now ginger hair. It wasn't bright, but a subtle ginger-brown. He jumped to his feet and ran to find Rose.

"So... what do you think?"

At the sound of his voice, Rose pried her eyes away from her magazine and sucked in a breath.

"I- I... uh... um... it- its..." she stammered. He was leaning casually against the counter, the light from behind him creating seductive shadows on his face. His hands were in his pockets and he had one perfect eyebrow raised. And then was his hair. It had never been more perfectly haphazard. And it was ginger! The colour brought out the myriads of tiny freckles along his face and neck. She grabbed the bottom of her seat and held on tight, reminding herself not to go snog his face off. It was a tremendously good look that definitely needed to be repeated.

"Is it really that bad?" He said, feigning hurt.

"No! It's... it's fantastic!"

"Good." He grabbed her hand and they walked back to the TARDIS. "Now. Where did I put that fez?"

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