Rose's dad in this world might have had an outdoor porch, and it might have been an unseasonably warm (read: nice) summer evening for London, but Rose was absolutely miserable. Mosquitos were rampant; the Doctor seemed to have some magical way of keeping them off of him, but he seemingly couldn't negotiate with them not to bite Rose. All of them seemed to gravitate towards her, and more specifically, her back.
"It's because you're so delicious," laughed Rose's mother, raising a glass of wine as though toasting her. She winked at the Doctor as she said it, giving him a distinctly unnerved expression as he blushed slightly. Rose couldn't help but smile at him.
Trying in vain to reach the numerous mosquito bites on her back, Rose was vaguely pleased when the Doctor rose from his seat and gallantly instructed her to turn around so he could get them for her. She even felt her staunch veil of perpetual depression (worn since the disappearance of the Time Lord incarnation of the man she loved) slipping a little from her face as the Doctor's rhythmic, gentle scratches soothed her bites, but quickly snatched it back again.
He was very good at this. Rose made a mental note to ask him how many centuries of practice he'd had, then reflected that maybe she didn't really want to know. She'd probably just get jealous of all his previous romantic encounters, of which she was sure he'd had plenty.
As the Doctor stopped, Rose let out a contented sigh. Maybe it was worth getting a thousand bug bites, if it meant the Doctor would help her out like that.
((Okay, this is a bit fluffier, I think. Anyway… yeah. Probably gonna update daily or something. Don't have a schedule worked out yet.))