"Hey, Doctor?" Rose calls from the bowels of my glorious ship.

I sigh, pulling myself from underneath the console. Said glorious ship has been decorating for Christmas (I have no idea why) and Rose and I just keep finding more and more hidden decorations that make us wildly uncomfortable.

"Yes, Rose? What is it?" I brush any dirt from my pinstriped trousers and climb ungracefully to my feet. This body seems to be rather lanky and ungraceful.

Rose is quiet for a moment before piping up, in a slightly subdued voice, "Erm, ne'er mind. Go back to tinkerin' 'r whatever you're doin'."

Of course she had to go and say that. Now my interest is piqued. I straighten my tie (the one with the swirls on it. Rose gave it to me when I first regenerated as a gift) and pull my jacket on to go investigate. After a brief game of hide-and-seek with the TARDIS (That ends in me yelling at her to get me to Rose) I find said human furiously scrubbing at a counter top in the kitchen, her pink face less pink than bright red.

"Rose?" She startles, the blood draining from her face before returning in full force.

She leans over the counter and covers whatever was on it with her torso, her pale breasts pushing together to show off her impressive cleavage—

I shake my head to clear it, "What're you doing?"

"Ah, er, nothin'." She tries a bright smile, the effect of which is diminished considerably by her crimson face, "Jus'… cleanin'."

"Cleaning."

"Yeah. Fig'red the countertops needed to be… cleaned. What with you always puttin' your fingers in the jam jars before touching everythin'."

"Oi! I'll have you know I always wash my hands before I touch my TARDIS," I respond indignantly. Rose's eyes widen before her face flushes even deeper. And then she raises a single eyebrow.

"You realize what that sounds like, yeah?"

Puzzled, I think about her words before matching her color at the euphemism, "Oh."

"Yeah, oh." Rose sits up slightly to look at the countertop. She squints and (I guess) finds it satisfactory as she stands up fully and wipes off the cleaning solution that is all over the counter and the front of her shirt. The white clothing is relatively see-through due to the fluid and her tan skin is clinging to the damp fabric. I drag my eyes away from Rose's abdomen up to her whiskey-colored eyes.
"You done… cleaning?" I inquire awkwardly, scratching at the back of my head.

"Yeah, yeah. I don't think it's going to get any cleaner," Rose glances down again, noticing her wet shirt and flushing again, crossing her arms defensively over her chest, "I'm gonna go take a shower, yeah?"

"Right! You go do that. I'll just return to tinkering. The cleaning solution on your shirt is partially toxic and is probably eating away your skin as we speak. Be gentle when using soap on it because if you combine them too violently the chemical reaction that will ensue can burn your skin even more. I would recommend throwing that shirt away as well—"

"Doctor?"

"Maybe even burning it in the incinerator. Maybe I should get rid of that version of Clorox. It is from the seventy-first century and New Earth—"

"Doctor."

"Funny place New Earth. In the seventy-first century all the cats in wimples have either been moved off planet or died out from disease, one of the reasons this type of Clorox exists—"

"Doctor!" Rose shouts, grabbing my attention, "As you continue to talk, this cleaner continues to make my skin tingle. Now, I'm gonna take a shower and get dressed in m'jim jams. After that I'll be in the library if y'need me." At that, Rose brushes past me, the sharp smell of Clorox bleach stinging my nose as well as the slightly acidic scent of bleached skin. I sigh again. Curious, I go over to the countertop and look at what she was scrubbing at so vigorously. Just barely visible on the white counter is a lingering painting of mistletoe.

After a good two hours or so I go to find Rose in the library, wanting to just sit with her and look at the fire. The library smells of old paper and pine trees as there are at least three new trees from Rose's century in the large library. On a sofa by the fireplace sits Rose, her blonde hair pulled back in a messy bun and flannel pajamas warming her body. Her feet are tucked up underneath her and she leans on one fist as she reads a thick tome with ease. Stars of the Universe is the title of the book. The complete life of star systems and galaxies and how each are created and how they die. Complete with pictures.

I clamber over the back of the couch and gracelessly fall on the squishy furniture, banging my head on her thigh. She does not acknowledge me except for the quirk of her lips and a hand running through my hair affectionately.

"I saw the mistletoe," I offer off-handedly.

"Good for you."

"Why were you trying to wash it away?"

"Because I fig'red you wouldn't like it. I found it like that, though."

"I believe you. The TARDIS and I had a talk about all these decorations."

"I think they're nice."

I realize that I do, too.

I glance up at the ceiling to find a clump of mistletoe hanging over our heads. My head still nestled on Rose's warm leg, I point it out, "Mistletoe."

Rose glances up as well, "Well, better follow tradition," she says cheekily. Before I get the chance to ask what she means, she leans over and pecks my lips with hers lightly, lingering slightly, before pulling away and closing her book.

"Wha—?"

"G'night, Doctor." Rose stands and walks out of the library leaving me to ponder what just occurred.