Summary: Rose feels bad about leaving the sloshed man outside in the cold, and on New Years' Day at that.

Please forgive any glaring American-isms – or correct them for me.

Disclaimer: I do not own Doctor Who.


Rose glanced out of the glass in the enclosed stairway one last time. The man who'd had one too many was leaning against the doorway, looking as if he was going to be sick. Rose knew exactly how that felt, and sympathy coursed through her body. He was quite handsome, pretty, even, and that sure was some great hair... Taking the steps two at a time, she arrived at the entrance to the tiny flat where she lived with her mother. Unlocking the door, the skinny blonde slipped inside but not before noticing that the man was now beginning to stumble towards – was that an old-fashioned police box? Shrugging, Rose put it out of her mind and shut the door.

She pulled off her warm hat and scarf before her eyes landed on the bullet-shaped vacuum flask that her mother had bought on a whim and then set aside. Quickly, Rose set about heating some water and making a small pot of tea. No one should have to celebrate the New Year alone and pissed. Pouring it into the flask, she threw her hat and scarf back on before flinging the door opening and hopping back down the stairs that she had just climbed. Bursting out of the door she looked around wildly, trying to find the pretty boy that had been standing right there just minutes before -

Rose heard a bizarre grinding noise just then, before it faded away to nothing, and somehow she knew that the man was gone. But strangely enough, there was another feeling, one she could not for her life explain, and that was one of hope. Somehow she knew that she would see that good-looking man again.

In the meantime though, this flask of tea certainly wasn't going to drink itself and Mickey would be needing a New Year's kiss...


Did not intend for this to end like it did. I don't like Mickey.