Despite possessing a spaceship, the Doctor rarely stopped to look at the stars while in the TARDIS. That was more an activity of his youth- back when everything was newer, brighter, less attached to words and people that hurt. He had better things to do, anyway. The old girl wasn't going to take care of herself. Well- sometimes she needed some touch-ups from a Time Lord, too. That was an Earth day's work for the Doctor, so he didn't exactly intend on making a pit stop in the Monoceros region of the Milky Way Galaxy.
On Earth, it was a Tuesday afternoon, a bit hotter overall than usual. Typical. Only 30 more years until they successfully fix that problem. Humans… such a capacity for carelessness, yet such a brilliant desire to fix things, the Doctor mused. The TARDIS, of course, was currently vacant of human visitors, it being only a matter of months after the incident on the planet currently dubbed "Planet X"- have to remind myself to warn someone about that- and the Doctor's heart was still repairing itself. Funny how he's so much like his beloved machine- perfectly capable of taking care of himself… for the most part.
Naturally, such a peaceful afternoon couldn't be left alone, and that's when the cloister bells began ringing. The Doctor jumped to his feet, not at all surprised. His previous incarnations had a habit of overreacting to things like this, but the twelfth body was surprisingly calm and not as apt to drop phrases akin to "but that's impossible" when it was completely and entirely not impossible or even slightly out of reach. He quickly did a scan of his systems, where there was no indication whatsoever of anything wrong on the ship. He did an external scan of the ship, searching for an outside threat, a rip in space and/or time, a strange presence- nothing. At all. The cloister bells stopped, and the Doctor's ears rang with the sudden silence. His body, previously bent over controls and screens and buttons, straightened slowly. His eyes lifted up to the rotor. He turned towards the door, caution evident as he stepped towards the stars waiting for him outside. He opened the door.
Nothing. Just a nebula, stars, gas, dust. Space. He exhaled and turned away from openness, leaning against the doorframe, when it clicked. Milky Way. Monoceros. He had seen this nebula before. So long ago. Such a different life.
She had insisted on taking a day off. A picnic, complete with a basket and blanket. He had whined for all of a minute before she raised her eyebrows with that stupid bemused look and it took all he had to not spin her around and kiss her stupid forehead and give her anything she could ever want- but that didn't matter. They ended up here, her very confused, him very excited. They set up the picnic blanket near the door, and enjoyed their jam sammies bathed in the light of the Rosette Nebula. She had been so delighted. A beautiful galaxy named after a beautiful girl, he had thought. "See there, Rose? That's the Rose Nebula. It's an emissions nebula, which means it's a cloud of ionized gas emitting various-" he had said, before he was cut off by a very tight- and very, very nice- hug.
Rose. Seven centuries later and the name still ignited something buried deep within his hearts. Something he had purposely tried to kill; something eulogized by tears and an undying commitment to kindness and giving second chances. A promise kept until this day, except on some occasions when he failed his companions, the universe, and her.
He looked out over the nebula, pained, but content. Such an insignificant cloud of dust formed into something so brilliant, so beautiful, so wonderfully bright- the name fit perfectly. After all, he did talk to some scientists and bribe other ones to name it after his human. He had to. A sky full of stars, and all the Doctor could see was her.