Changes
The Doctor's jumping around the TARDIS, full of energy from his still-recent regeneration. Rose is watching, bemused, unable to stop herself from smiling every few seconds.
"Where do you want to go?" The Doctor asks, flicking controls left right and centre, and grinning his irresistible grin. Rose isn't quite over how new it all is: how the teeth are whiter and the hair is poofier and he's...well...younger. Looking, that is. She's all too conscious of his true age. And if she was ever to forget, she knows that her mum will waste no time in reminding her.
"Well, it's a new you," she begins. "Where do you want to go?"
"I want...to pay Picasso a visit," he decides after a moment, eyes twinkling.
"Okay. Why?"
"I don't know! Isn't that great? I just feel like it! Old me used to hate art—I had a grudge; there was this thing with Monet-but I think new me might just love it!"
Rose pauses, thinking.
"How much has changed, then? Likes, dislikes...loves..."
"I don't know, not really. But I know I still..." The Doctor glances at her before shaking his head. "C'mon; we're here." He reaches out his hand, wriggling his fingers at her. Another pause, as she takes his hand. "I know you'll always be fantastic, though."