In an attempt to encourage myself to write more, I've found a list of one-word prompts (list titled "365 One Word Art Journal Prompts," from the website artjournalist). I'm going to write one a day (ish), all Doctor Who based. The first prompt word is "happiness," and it features Nine and Rose. (They won't all be this pair.)
Rose was sullen when they left her newly widowed mother behind. Every time the Doctor tried to reason with her, she snapped, "We could have stayed longer, helped her!"
So he left her alone and pondered the best place to take a mopey human teenager. Finally, he thought of the perfect planet.
When they arrived, he coerced her out of the ship and onto the planet's surface. Three suns shone perilously close, so the air was stifling. Rose's eyes were fixed on the ground.
"Rose Tyler, welcome to Umbeka."
She peeked up, unimpressed. But he noticed they were hurtling away from the suns, and knew he had timed it perfectly. Even Rose could tell they were moving and she reluctantly peeked up.
It grew colder by the second until suddenly, white flakes appeared in the sky, hundreds, thousands, millions, until they could barely see. Within five minutes, the snow was up to their ankles, then their knees, their waists.
Then, just as quickly as it started, it stopped. The Doctor's expression was smug as he turned to face Rose, only to be pelted in the face with a snowball.
He was about to lob one back, but then he caught sight of Rose. She was all pink and yellow, her cold nose and cheeks and ears peeking out from under her messily braided hair. Then, her grin cut through it all, and he knew he had succeeded.
He trudged over to her, picking her up unceremoniously and tossing her into the snow. She squealed, the sound muffled by a wall of snow. Once she made it back to her feet, they fought and played and laughed until they were spent. They collapsed into the snow and were silent for an eternity, until Rose asked, "What is this place?"
"Umbeka. This snow, this winter, will last for centuries. A hot summer will melt it all away for two weeks, and the process starts again."
"Centuries," she murmured, thinking they could travel a hundred years in the future and find their disturbed patch of snow. She found the thought absurdly pleasing and grinned. He wondered what she was thinking, but let it go. That pure, unquestioned happiness was the reason he had never stopped moving through time and space, and so, they enjoyed the feeling together in a knowing silence.