Rose
The Doctor and Rose came back to Paris just the next week, when it was 1994. This time they came with money, though it didn't matter about her clothes this time.
They didn't want to sightsee; they wanted to go to the museum and see if Picasso's painting of her was up.
After the Doctor had paid for the tickets, they browsed the entire museum. They felt it would've been an insult if they didn't pay respect to the other paintings there.
Finally, they reached the section of Picasso's paintings.
The Doctor was ecstatic; he really enjoyed everything he painted. They were just so unique!
He was gushing over a painting of a horse, that didn't really look like a horse, when Rose's voice gained his attention.
She was standing in front of a painting. "Look here."
"You found it," the Doctor said.
The painting of Rose that Picasso painted years ago was mounted on the wall in front of him.
"This is amazing," he said. "How does it feel being in a museum?"
"A little overwhelming," she admitted. "But kind of nice."
"Your beauty deserves to be seen by all," he kissed her cheek.
The Doctor touched the title, which read 'Rose, a beautiful, charming young woman.'
Rose faced the Doctor, her smile huger than he had ever seen it (which only expanded her beauty, to him, at least). She hugged him tightly. And he kissed her. It wasn't a passionate kiss, but it was enough to send her head twirling. It was soft and sweet, just like she imagined it.
"Let's get something to eat," he said.
"I'd love to."
They walked out of the museum, hand in hand, both with smiles on their faces.
