She sprawled on the sofa outside the changing rooms, idly tapping her fingers on the leather covering and wondering if she could make it over to the Topshop section and back before he emerged.
He drew back the curtains dramatically. "What do you think?"
She nodded, secretly quite impressed but determined to play devil's advocate. "It's very... twenty-first century."
"Is that bad?"
She shrugged. "This coming from Nineties Man?"
"Nineties Man?" he asked, confused. He tugged at the stripy jumper he was wearing.
"The whole leather jacket thing. Made you like Richard Ashcroft."
His blank look suggested her words had flown right over the top of his unruly mop of hair. Which reminded her...
"So, it was yes to the combats, yes to the hoody, yes to the tee shirt, yes to the top with the stripes on and yes to the jeans... I knew there was a reason I bought you along with me."
She laughed. "You keeping your hair like that?" she asked.
He shrugged, touching a hand to it self-consciously. "You think I should.?"
"What am I? Your style guru? I think it'll suit you longer than you normally keep it. But not as long as it is now."
"Right, barbers next then... What are you smiling about?"
"I just... Normally... you and me... It'd be aliens. Or something. Not trips to Topman and discussions about haircuts... You've not... regenerated gay, 'ave you?"
He laughed. "You humans. It's not as cut and dried out there as you like to imagine."
"S'pose not."
"Why? Would it bother you if I was?"
She paused for a moment. "No. Not if we get to go shopping more."
He laughed even louder. "Rose, I can honestly say, I've never known anyone quite like you. There's a whole universe out there... and you want to buy clothes from all of it."
She rolled her eyes. "Welcome back, Doctor. I definitely know it's you now..."
She followed him to the sales desk but found herself distracted by the sunglasses display. She tried on a pair as he paid for his purchases.
The look on the salesgirl's face made her look away from her own reflection in the mirror. He was flirting with her, she realised. More than that, the girl was flirting back.
Having paid, he turned around. She hastily pulled off the sunglasses and followed him out of the store, brow furrowed in thought. She was silent all the way to the barbers, seating herself in the window with a copy of Heat from the magazine rack while the hairdresser worker on his reddish locks.
She stole a glance at his reflection in the mirror. Every-time she had looked at him so far, she realised, she had been comparing him to the man he had been.
A rush of sadness hit her as the realisation struck her for the first time. Over-large ears, a nose that was too big for his face, close-cropped dark hair and an infectious grin... they were all gone.
Forever.
Just like her Dad.
She turned her attention back to Heat as tears pricked at her eyes, staring unseeing at an article on Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie's wedding plans.
When she had her emotions under control again, she glanced up. He was almost making faces at himself in the mirror, cycling through a series of different expressions. He caught her eyes in the glass and stopped, momentarily embarrassed. She smiled at him.
He smiled back, and raised an eyebrow.
She burst out laughing. He's a flirt.
He's always been a flirt.
Okay, but now he's a pretty flirt. She thought back to the salesgirl in Topshop. And he knows it.
She'd retreated to her room after eating her fish and chip supper with him. Judging by the swearing, he had resumed repairing the TARDIS.
She sat on her bed. The numb feeling had returned and she desperately wanted, now she had a moment to herself, to try and start dealing with everything that had happened. It was something she had learnt after her Dad had died.
It hadn't affected her very much, when she was little. She'd never really known her father, so she hadn't really missed him. She'd missed the things that Dads did, certainly, but not Pete Tyler the man.
But when she was thirteen she'd suddenly had this blackness hit her, and for the first time she had mourned. Her friends had called it 'losing him all over again' but that wasn't really the truth. It was losing him for the first time, and she'd never really gotten over it.
Not until the Doctor had taken her back to nineteen eighty-seven, anyway.
The tears came, blinding her as her shoulders shook with sobs.
"He's not my boyfriend Mickey! He's better than that! He's much more important than that!"
"What-use-are-emotions-if -you-will-not-save-the-woman-you-love?"
"Just tell me you're sorry."
She cried into her pillow, letting the memories assail her.
Letting him go.
She jerked awake, blinking to unstick her eyes where her mascara had run and glued her eyelashes together. She wondered blearily how long she had been asleep, unable to remember closing her eyes.
The tears had burnt away some of her grief, as she had known they would. She stumbled into her bathroom and washed away the smeared make-up.
The scream rent the air, making her drop the towel she was using to dry her face. She sprinted out of her room and into the TARDIS corridor, heart hammering madly. The lights had been dimmed. Sometimes the Doctor did that, when they were both sleeping. She'd left them on for the past two months. There had been something reassuring about the ever-present daylight outside of her room.
Now the corridors seemed to seethe with a sullen menace. The TARDIS that had become her home suddenly felt very alien.
"Doctor?"she whispered, lips dry. "Doctor!"
There was no reply. Perhaps she had imagi–?
The cry came again, a scream of agonising pain that made her flatten against the wall in fear. Her breath came in short, shallow gasps.
It had come from the Doctor's room.
She moved without thinking, padding softly down the corridor; her hands bunched tightly into fists for all the good thumping someone, or something, could do.
The Doctor's door was shut, but yielded under her hand, making her jump. Her teeth were clamped together so tightly her jaw ached, her hand trembled as she reached out again and pushed the door fully open.
If I'm going to die, I hope it's quick.
The Doctor's room was larger than hers. Her eyes, already adjusting to the gloom, could make out a long wardrobe that took up most of the far wall. There was an impressive chest of drawers in the corner, a dressing table and a mirror to her right.
The other wall was dominated by a four poster bed. She could make out a figure, bundled up in the blankets. Apart from that, the room seemed empty.
She flicked on the light, blinking owlishly in the startling brightness. It was the Doctor in bed, she could see his hair poking out from under the coverings. They were beautifully woven in deep purple and green, and, she knew instinctively, certainly Gallifreyan.
With heart stopping suddenness he let loose a tremendous yell, making her jump several inches into the air. He was thrashing about under the covers, obviously in the throes of a terrible nightmare. She ran to his side, as he struggled against some unseen force, grabbed him by his bare shoulders and shook him gently.
She'd been half-expecting his violent reaction, and she leaned back as he thrust out with both his arms, sitting upright with an ugly expression twisting his face. For a moment his eyes were wild as his mind made sense of his new location. The murderous look faded. He turned to her, ashen faced.
"Rose, I'm sorry. I didn't know it was you."
"You missed," she said, "Anyway, you were having a nightmare. I wouldn't have been that angry if you had hit me."
"Thank you for waking me."
"You woke me. You were... screaming..." her voice trailed off, a mild horror settling on her as his expression changed again. His eyes were dark, a deadened look claiming them. "What... what 'appened, Doctor? When you were gone. Was that what you were dreaming about?"
He nodded, his hand straying to his shoulder. There were no marks visible on his bare torso, but Rose remembered the gash that she had healed, that had run across that shoulder. "I ran into some old friends."
She sat down gingerly on the covers next to him. "Old friends as in old enemies?"
"Yeah. I escaped, got on a transport. Don't remember much of what happened next, but I got... sold to someone, I think. They were headed to the Watering Hole. I saw the TARDIS... you know the rest."
She sniffed. "I'm so sorry I wasn't there for you."
His hand found hers where it lay flat on his blanket. He squeezed it gently. "You couldn't have known where I was Rose. And you were in the right place, at the right time, when I needed you the most. I couldn't have asked for more."
She managed a weak smile. "Thank you."
His thumb was stroking the back of her hand. "Rose... You still want to travel with me, don't you?"
She nodded vehemently. "I told you before. You're stuck with me. I'm sticking around as long as you'll tolerate me."
"Good. I'm glad. Regeneration can be... hard on companions."
"Yeah. I can see why. But... you're still you. You still want to... save the universe. You just want to do it better dressed."
He laughed. "You know, if you hated my clothes that much, you should have said."
"I didn't. They were... you. And now, your new clothes are very you."
"Oh?"
"Yeah. Ever so slightly camp."
He thumped her lightly on the arm. "Cheeky."
She grinned. "There is one thing I wanted to ask you, though."
"What's that?"
"Your accent. It's... even more Northern than it was before. Is that what happens, when you regenerate?"
He chuckled. "No. I dunno. This is just... my voice. How I talk when I'm not thinking about it in this body. Why? Would it be better if I talked like this again, Rose?"
She gasped with shock as his voice slipped smoothly back into his original accent. A lump rose in her throat.
"No," she managed, "No. That's not who you are, anymore."
He nodded. "I'll stick with Scottish then. Maybe I should buy a kilt."
"Maybe."
"What do you want to do tomorrow, then? I thought we could check out the gas giants of Erudial. Or is there somewhere you want to go?"
"I've had two months of going where I want," she replied honestly. "You can choose."
"Erudial it is then."