Detour
(mid-The Unquiet Dead)

The sound of her footsteps clattering towards him comes too soon for her to have found it already. Honestly, the human memory is about as much use as a banana in a battle situation – less, in fact, given its poor potassium showing. Nineteen years' worth of information should be easy enough to keep hold of, but knowing her she'll have come unstuck at round about third on the left.

Her face is flushed and her eyes bright as she bursts in.

"Who puts the bins out?"

It's not what he was expecting – beyond third on the left, for a start – but he answers her quickly enough.

"You might as well."

"Where do I put them?"

"Out."

Later he'll tell her beautiful for a human and so glad I met you, but for now he turns back to the console, shaking his head and musing on the strangeness of human logic. Definitely in need of more potassium.

Two
(post-The Doctor Dances)

Three is OK. Two is not OK when it's the number of champagne glasses left out after a night of god-only-knows-what.

Two is not OK when it's the time in the morning he finds himself up tinkering with the TARDIS controls, restless and strangely aware of that fact, which is stupid because restless is his default mode. Not unpleasant, of course, to be kept awake by adrenaline enough to keep two hearts beating overtime, but he feels like something he held has somehow slipped through his fingers, and he's not sure how, or when, or why.

Because this day, just this one day, he fixed everything. He stood with hope raining down around him like a glorious meteor shower, and she danced with him, and everybody lived.

And now there are three.

He jabs at a lever, and over the clicking and whirring and the twin patter of his heartbeats he catches something.

Her footsteps, only hers, and he glances up.

She walks over to him, and he's not sure he can even read the expression in her eyes, but something about it makes him wonder whether restless at two in the morning is such a bad thing after all.

Rose picks up one of the empty glasses and turns towards him, her face soft with something like regret. "You never turned up, so I drank both of 'em."

For a moment neither of them says anything, and then that look in her eyes, again. "Still, there are other ways to celebrate, right?"

The Doctor nods, smiling steadily as he reaches across to take the glass from her hand.

"I'll put the kettle on."

Traffic Jam

"Twister," says Captain Jack.

"You would say that," says Rose, but she catches the Doctor's eye and he's grinning. She's not having any of it, though.

"Last time I played Twister I pulled a muscle I didn't know I had," she says, decidedly. "My mum always made us play I-spy when we got stuck in traffic jams. What's the matter?"

The Doctor shudders. "I was just thinking about being stuck in a traffic jam with your mother."

Rose opens her mouth to reply but Captain Jack cuts in.

"OK, how about spin the bottle?"

"We can't," the Doctor says, and Rose can't decide whether he sounds disappointed or relieved. "Not in the middle of a Hyppondrian force field. It wouldn't stop spinning."

There's silence for a moment, and then the Doctor's face lights up.

"Hide and seek."

Jack cocks an eyebrow. "In the TARDIS? It could take a week to find anyone."

"Better start counting then," says the Doctor, winking suddenly at Rose, and there's a spring in his step as he leads the way to the door.

Crème Brûlée

"Should you be doing that?"

Rose widens her eyes in mock disbelief. "OK, who are you and what have you done with Captain Jack?"

"Hey, I'm just saying. Is the Doctor gonna like it?"

"He'll like it."

"What am I aiming for here?"

"Something hot."

"Now that, I can always do."

Rose giggles as she punches him in the arm. "Is there anything along the lines of blowtorch?"

"You know it's a screwdriver, don't you Rose?"

"It's sonic."

"I don't think sonic is a recognised culinary term."

Rose holds out her hand. "That's it. Give it back."

"Hang on! I am so nearly there."

"You're not. I don't think you're holding it properly."

"Shall I?" says a third voice, cutting in from the doorway.

Jack hands over the screwdriver, and the Doctor twists and taps it a couple of times before passing it back to Rose.

"There you go." He grins over his shoulder as he heads for the door. "Plenty of bite round the edges and melting in the middle. But then, you knew that anyway."

Little Red Riding Hood
(post-Boomtown)

There's space enough in the TARDIS to be alone, if that's what she'd wanted. Strange, then, that she should be here, where even the walls thrum with words unsaid, and the heart of the TARDIS beats in knowing synchrony with her own.

She stares into space she doesn't see, something clawing at the edge of her mind in spite of her efforts to put it aside. She half-smiles, saying familiar words out loud to no-one in particular, as if maybe it is just a fairy tale, after all.

"Why Grandma, what big ears you've got."

"All the better to hear you with."

She spins round, and he's there in the doorway.

"I made you some tea."

Rose takes the plate of scrambled eggs warily. "It's not Slitheen, is it?"

He grins and shakes his head. "Iguanodon, I think."

Rose fixes him with a look, and he corrects himself, cheerfully. "It's all right; it's a hundred per-cent hen, if that makes you feel better, although goodness knows why it should. They're even from this century." He thinks for a moment, "Well, last century. Eat up, it'll get cold."

As she sits down on the edge of the platform he turns to go, but he stops in the doorway, and turns back.

"Rose."

"Yes?"

"I promised I'd keep you safe."

She smiles up at him, just a little bit shakily. "You promised me it would be dangerous. I'm holding you to that."

The Doctor rests his hand on the doorframe, and there's something like gratitude lighting his face as he smiles softly back down at her.

"Keep hold, then, Rose Tyler."