"Rose, what are we doin' for dinner tonight?" Mickey says, peering into their fridge for the millionth time in the last hour. "I was thinkin' we could get a Chinese."

"How many times do I have to say, Micks? I'm goin' to James's house for dinner tonight," she reminds him. He sighs, shoulders sagging. "I don't know what time I'll even be home."

"But Martha's out of town! What am I gonna do?" he demands. He throws himself down on the sofa next to her. She laughs, shoving his shoulder with her own.

"I dunno, maybe go home? You have a flat, Mickey. Why don't you pick up a Chinese, go home, and download a movie?" she suggests, shaking her head fondly.

"I mean… if you don't want me around, all you gotta do is say," Mickey says, a pathetic pout on his face that tugs at Rose's heart.

"Mickey, you know you're welcome here," she reassures him. "I just thought you might enjoy it, is all! Get a Chinese and a movie and come back here with 'em."

"You staying the night at his?" Mickey asks, a sly grin overtaking his pout. Any chance to poke fun at her and James.

"No," she says, rolling her eyes. "We're just gonna have dinner. We've only known each other two weeks."

"I wouldn't judge you if you just happened to fall asleep over there," he teases again.

"Shut up and go get some dinner," Rose groans, getting up off the couch and walking towards her room. "I've gotta get dressed. James is expecting me over soon."

Her phone dings in her pocket just as she finishes speaking, and Mickey laughs.

"That him, then? Tellin' you to bring your overnight bag?" he calls. Rose laughs and shuts her door behind herself.

RTRTRTRTRTRTRTRTRTRTRTRTRT

Rose fidgets with her makeup for what feels like the hundredth time. She fluffs her hair, checks that the curls are perfect again. Her phone lights up, James's name appearing on the screen. The tight bundle of nerves in her stomach all but dissolves when she opens his text.

I'm ready for you over here! You can head over whenever you like :D

She thinks for a moment about teasing him, but decides against it. She's ready to get this date started.

Leaving now :)

RTRTRTRTRTRTRTRTRTRTRTRTRT

James paces around the kitchen, worrying over the food. He glances at the recipe book, reading the familiar handwriting, even though he has this one memorized. Has for ages.

He crouches down, peering into the oven critically. He nods to himself, satisfied with what he sees there, and opens the oven. The smell of the roast chicken warms the kitchen gradually, mingling with the already delicious scent of potatoes cooling on the counter. He puts it down next to them and steps back to admire his work.

This dish is very near and dear to his heart, but he's honestly a bit worried it might be too simple for a second date. It's probably more suited for a lazy Sunday lunch with your loved ones than for a second date with the first girl you've taken interest in for years. But it's delicious and important to him and he can make it in his sleep, so that'll be enough. Right?

For one insane moment, he considers trashing it all and texting Rose that he'll be a bit later than he first said. She's already on her way over, though. She'll probably be here in a few minutes, so he takes a deep breath and steels himself. It's going to be just fine. Rose is kind, she won't be upset that the meal is simple. She likes him (hopefully) as much as he likes her. This will go well. The doorbell interrupts his internal pep talk, making him jump.

"Shit," he mutters. He wipes his damp palms on his trousers and rolls his shoulders back as he attempts to force some courage into his demeanor. Everything is okay. He manages to lift one foot and place it in front of the other, slowly making his way towards the door. A nervous smile overtakes his face when he gets there and places a hand on the knob. When he opens the door, a fist almost knocks directly on his face. He jumps back, and Rose makes a small noise of surprise.

"Oh my God! I'm so sorry," she exclaims, cheeks flaming red. Her hand comes down and clasps over her mouth in embarrassment.

James reaches up and feels his cheeks and forehead, a thoughtful expression on his face.

"Everything seems to be in order," he jokes. "I suppose I'll let it slide."

Rose laughs, hand falling to her side. He sees an idea spark behind her eyes and she leans in closer to him, lifting her hand to caress one of his cheeks.

"No damage done, then," she says, lifting a mischievous eyebrow. His brilliant retort dies in his throat as his entire brain is overtaken with the feeling of her skin on his.

With a start, he realizes they're still standing in his doorway, the chill from outside slowly creeping in.

"Come in!" he says, perhaps a little too loudly, as it causes Rose to jump. He cringes at himself, stepping aside to let Rose in. She smiles when she steps over the doorway, and the jumble of nerves in his stomach eases the smallest bit.

"Your flat is gorgeous," Rose gasps, taking in the open, spacious kitchen and dining room. He grins, looking around at the hardwood floors and granite countertops.

"Honestly, I still don't know how I lucked into this place. It's much, much nicer than my one back home in London," he admits. "There's so much room! I dunno what to even do with all of it. Oh, you can take your shoes off if you like."

"Yeah, thanks," Rose says. She slips them off and leaves them by the door near his, then makes her way to the sitting room. It's taken up by a large grey sofa, a fireplace, and a telly. On the whole, it's fairly barren. "It's a big place to live alone. A little empty."

"As you settle in, you'll fill it up, though," she says assuredly. "With books and trinkets and memories… Hang on – did you say London?"

"Hmm?" he mutters, caught up in the way her fingers are trailing along his fireplace. "London? Oh, yes!"

"I didn't know you were from London," she says, sounding surprised.

"Did I never mention?" he asks, genuinely unsure. He could have sworn he said something when she told him she was from London.

"Nope, never," she says, a teasing grin on her face. "Memory slipping up on you, Doctor?"

"Oi! I'm only four years older than you," he grouses. He can't help the warmth that blossoms in his chest (or across his cheeks) when she calls him that, though.

"Well, you're the one who can't remember what he's said," she retorts. He laughs, unable to disagree.

"Are you originally from London, then?" she asks after a moment, eyes trained resolutely on the fireplace instead of him.

"Originally?" he asks, confused.

"Yeah, y'know… your birth family and all," she clarifies, still not looking at him.

Oh. Right, now he remembers why he hadn't mentioned where he was from. He was avoiding this exact question. He clears his throat, wondering how he should respond.

"Er, no…" he says, "actually, I lived in Scotland when I was very young. With my birth family."

"Oh," she says, finally looking up to meet his eyes. She can't, however, as his are now downcast towards the fireplace. She looks away quickly, and he can see the tension in her shoulders.

"I'm told by my sister and granddad that I had quite the little accent," he offers, biting his bottom lip.

"Yeah?" she asks. She looks back up at him, a tentative smile taking some of the anxiety from her face.

"Mhm," he says. "I don't remember it at all. Don't really believe it, if I'm honest."

Rose laughs, walking a little closer to him. "Do you remember your mum and dad's accents?"

He breaks their eye contact, taking a step back. "No. I've only got… very, very vague memories of any of them."

"Right, sorry," she says. When he looks at her, her eyes shoot away from his and he sighs, coming closer to her again.

"It's okay," he assures her. "It's just… been a long time since I've talked about them. And I've never said a word about them to anyone but my mum and granddad and Donna."

"I'm sorry," she repeats, reaching up to cup his cheek. She hesitates just before her skin touches his, so he leans into her, sighing when they meet.

"I'm bloody starvin'," she says suddenly, stroking his cheek one last time and stepping back. He's very grateful for the change in subject.

His eyes flash open – when had he even closed them? – and he clears his throat, stepping around her to get in the kitchen.

"Of course! Can't let the food get cold, can we?" He grabs plates from the cupboard with as much flourish as he can possibly manage, balancing them on one hand and grabs two wine glasses with the other (much more gently than he had the plates).

"Oh! D'you need any help?" Rose offers, rushing over with her hands in the air to catch anything he might drop.

"That's alright! You just have a seat right there, Rose Tyler." He gestures with his chin at the dining table, which already has candles and a bottle of wine on it. He wasn't sure if the candles were too cheesy, but he figures Rose deserves them since he planned their last date so poorly.

Rose laughs and sits down at one end of the table, getting comfortable.

"Candles and wine and all," she muses, grinning with her tongue between her teeth. His breath catches and stomach swoops every time she does that. It's utterly unfair.

"Yes, well, I did sort of cheat you out of a proper date last week," he says, neck flushing at the memory of their frigid date that he didn't even pay for.

"I thought it was lovely," she promises with sincerity that surprises him. He really had thought she was just being nice last week when she hadn't mocked him for the terrible cock-up of an evening.

"You did?" he asks.

"Absolutely."

He's captivated by her smile for a moment too long, and she chuckles at him (probably at the idiotic expression he can feel on his face). He shakes his head and sets the plates and glasses down, returning to the kitchen to grab the chicken. He'd have gotten the potatoes at the same time, but he hasn't got enough hands.

"One more trip, then," he says, carefully bringing the hot dish over. "Oh, and the silverware…"

He hears Rose mutter something under her breath as she stands up from her seat. She walks to the adjacent kitchen, getting the rest of the food.

"Well… I suppose I could use a hand," he says, sheepish. She laughs, bumping his hip with her own when they pass each other. He returns her laugh, getting the silverware quickly and returning to the table. Finally, he takes his seat across from her and uncorks the wine.

"I appreciate the chivalry, but I'd like to eat sometime tonight, is all," she teases.

"All right, cheeky," he says, holding out a hand for her glass. She giggles as she gives it to him. Their fingers brush together against the delicate glass, and a spark passes between them. He wants to touch her again. To brush their fingertips against each other. To kiss her pouty lips. To let his hands trail down her body, torturously slow.

"Doctor?" she asks, interrupting his filthy thoughts.

He blushes for the third time tonight, swallowing hard and filling her glass. He picks his own up then, and fills it, taking a sip in the hopes that it'll take some of the awkwardness out of him. He isn't sure what it is, really. He was fine on their other dates. Rose is always lovely, of course, but usually he can control himself around her. Maybe it's the sight of her in his flat… his home… having dinner with him. The thought of what they might get up to after their meal. Nothing too racy, he's sure. They haven't known each other long enough for that, he thinks.

"You look lovely tonight," he says quietly from behind his glass. He's only just realized he never mentioned it. Rose's dark jeans and deep red top complement her perfectly, and he feels like a bit of an arse for not saying so the moment he saw her.

"You don't look so bad yourself," she says, eyeing him appreciatively. "That color looks great on you."

He preens and looks down at his clothes, a blue button down and khakis. "Oh, thank you!"

He takes the knife and cuts into the chicken, looking up to see if he's cut enough for her. She nods with a grin and holds her plate up for him to fill. He does, moving next to the roasted potatoes and spoons a good portion on. He fills his own plate next and sits back, subtly waiting on her to take the first bite. Moment of truth. She begins with the chicken, and he can tell from her face when she bites in that it's good. He breathes a sigh of relief, tucking in to his plate.

"This is gorgeous, did you really make this?" she asks. His chest puffs out a bit at the ecstasy in her voice and he nods.

"'Course I did!" he says.

"I had no idea you could properly cook," she admits, a little sheepish. "I wasn't sure how this was gonna go."

"I'll have you know I have many hidden skills, Rose Tyler," he boasts, lifting his chin. She blushes, taking another bite.

"I was a little worried…" he begins.

"About wha'? This is delicious, there's no way you don't know that," she says, shaking her head.

"No, just that… I know it's a little simple for a date. Roast chicken and potatoes." He blushes, looking down at the table. He isn't sure why he even brought it up, it's perfectly clear that Rose doesn't think badly of it.

"Oh, I don't think so at all," she says, giving her head a small shake. "It does sort of remind me though… Of Sunday lunch with my mum."

James has a fraction of a moment to make his decision whether or not to tell Rose exactly where the recipe came from.

"It was my mother's recipe," he says before he can chicken out. His shoulders tense as the words leave his mouth; he's sure he made the wrong decision.

"Your adoptive mother?" she asks gently. He shakes his head.

"It's from her cookbook," he continues, voice weak. He gestures to the well-worn book on his countertop near the stove. "This is… this is the only meal…"

She waits quietly, not pushing, though she reaches across the table and laces their fingers together. He squeezes her hand, finding his resolve.

"This is the only meal I ever remember eating with them. I actually have one… the most vivid memory of my entire life. Mum lifted me up to peer into the pan after she'd taken it out of the oven, cut a tiny piece of chicken, and gave it to me. That's it. The whole memory."

Rose's eyes are shining, and he knows he needs to change the subject very, very quickly. She gives her hand one last squeeze and lets it go, digging back into his meal.

"Little heavy for a second date," he jokes, breaking the mood and stuffing his mouth full of potatoes. Rose laughs, clearly sensing his need to move on.

"Much more suited for the third, wouldn't you say?" she teases back. He laughs and nods, washing his massive bite down with a small sip of wine.

"Oh! I completely forgot to light the candles!" he says suddenly, jumping up. His chair topples precariously, almost falling completely over. Rose laughs.

"I didn't even notice," she admits, sipping her own wine as he rushes around the flat looking for a lighter or matches.

He exclaims loudly when his fingers brush against one on top of the fridge. Rose coughs and her fork clatters down on her plate in surprise.

"Sorry about that," he says. Rose waves it off.

"Why was your lighter on top of your refrigerator?" she asks, brow furrowed.

"Your guess is probably as good as mine," he says with a self-conscious laugh. Rose gives him that grin again – the one with her tongue between her teeth – and he damn near catches his arm on fire. He'll have to ask her to refrain from it when he's dealing with fire or knives or walking or talking.

"Anyway, here we are," he mutters, lighting them and placing the lighter on the table near him.

"Oh, they smell good!" she says, shocked.

"Well, 'course they do. What's the point of a candle that doesn't smell good?" he asks in confusion.

"I dunno," she says, shrugging. "Looks? They always have 'em at fancy restaurants."

"Well, my flat is no fancy restaurant," he promises. "Here we believe in candles that smell nice. And turning on the lights so we can see. And not playing music so that you can't hear your date properly. And not kicking people out for laughing at jokes too loud. And – "

"I've got you, Doctor," Rose interrupts with a giggle. "I'm very happy we don't do those things here. This is much, much nicer if you ask me."

"Thank you," he says, chin lifting in pride.

"How was your week, then?" she asks.

"Oh, it was alright. A bit slow. I had dinner with my sister one night. Been spending most of my time planning lessons, really. How about you?"

"My roommate's been out of town," she says, spearing a few more potatoes. "Visiting family. It's her mum's birthday. Normally that would make it pretty quiet around the flat, but her boyfriend has stayed over. He wanted to go with her, but he's got work."

"That's Mickey, right?" he asks around a bite of chicken. Rose nods. "How's that been?"

"Pretty good, honestly. I've known Micks my whole life. He's fun to be around most of the time. Like a kid brother."

"Does that mean he bugs you sometimes?" James asks, lifting an eyebrow. She laughs, nodding.

"Absolutely. He loves to tease. And today he kept asking what we were going to do for dinner even though I told him about a thousand times I was coming here."

James smiles at the fond irritation in her voice. His own sister pulls much the same reactions out of him.

"When will Martha be back?" he asks.

"Day after tomorrow," Rose says with a smile.

They chat idly about this and that, and he's amazed again at the comfort between them. There aren't many people he's ever been able to connect with so quickly. It feels simultaneously like they've known each other forever and for only a couple short weeks. He could learn about her life and her family and her passions forever, he thinks.

After a while, he looks down at their plates and realizes with a start that they're empty. When did that happen?

"D'you want any more?" he asks. He's more than full himself, but if Rose isn't he certainly wants her to have her fill.

"I'm stuffed, ta," she says, pushing back from the table. She stands up and gathers her dishes, turning towards the kitchen.

"What do you think you're doing?" he asks, standing to follow her.

"Cleaning," she says simply, flicking the tap on.

"Wha – you are not doing the washing up!" he exclaims, bumping her aside with his hip since his hands are full of dishes.

"Am so," she says stubbornly. "You did all the cooking and setting up. I'm not lettin' you do all the cleaning."

She grabs the sponge and soaps it up, moving to wash her plate first. He snatches the sponge, splattering them both with soap.

"You paid for everything and froze to death on our last date," he counters, scrubbing his plate before she can grab the sponge back. Rose rolls her eyes and laughs.

"You're too stubborn for your own good," she insists.

"You can talk," he laughs. He hands her the plate after it's soapy. "Here, you rinse?"

"Fair enough," she says, smiling. They make quick work of the washing up, splashing each other with water and soap as they go. By the time they're done, their forearms and chests are right messes. It's only now that he thinks it might not have been the best idea to completely soak their tops, since Rose has literally no other clothes to wear.

"Let me get you a towel," he says. He blushes at the sight of her top clinging even more now than it had been when she got here.

"Have you got a shirt I could borrow?" she asks hesitantly. "I'll give it back before I leave."

"Oh! Yeah, 'course. I'll just…" he trails off, pointing behind him towards his bedroom.

She nods and he turns around, walking down the small corridor to his room. When he gets in, he grabs two t-shirts and quickly unbuttons his own shirt, shucking it off into the hamper in his en suite. He pulls the t-shirt over his head, mussing his perfectly styled hair a bit. He doesn't give himself much time to fuss with it; Rose is probably shivering in her wet shirt out there. He stumbles, tripping over his own feet at the thought of her in a soaking shirt, then again at the thought of her in his warm, dry t-shirt. He pauses, taking a moment to collect himself, lest he get out and fall flat on his face when he sees her again.

Taking a deep breath, he walks out into the corridor and manages not to trip again.

"Here you are, then!" He hands the shirt over, perhaps a little too aggressively, and steps back, unable to keep his cheeks from flushing. Rose laughs and looks expectantly at him.

"Is there… somewhere I could go to change?" she asks after a moment of him standing there like an idiot.

"OH! Of course! Sorry, right down there, last door on the right. You can just change right in my bedroom, I won't come in. Or you can use the loo. If you like. It's in there." He bites down on his bottom lip hard to shut himself up, and kicks himself for completely losing his cool.

"Thanks, Doctor," she says. She leans up on her tiptoes and kisses his cheek and all the anxiety leaves his body. He grins at her retreating back.

RTRTRTRTRTRTRTRTRTRTRTRTRT

She returns in a few minutes, dry once again.

"I hope you don't mind I lit the fire while you were changing," he says.

"That's brilliant," she says. "So… do you wanna watch some telly?"

"Right! Yes. That sounds fun," he says, tilting his head toward the couch for her to make herself at home.

"Oh, this is one posh couch," she says, sinking down into the cushions. He hums in agreement, sitting beside her and wrapping an arm around her shoulders. He feels her sigh against his neck, and he shivers, holding her closer.

"It came with the place," he says, laying his cheek on top of her head.

"Mmm," she says. He swears he hears her take a deep breath through her nose. "What?"

He giggles, shaking his head. "Nothing."

She lifts her head to look at him, dislodging him from his very comfortable perch.

"Are you gonna turn on the telly?" she whispers with a smirk.

"Of course," he answers just as softly. She leans up, hesitant. He swallows hard, meeting her halfway. Their lips press together in what must be the sweetest kiss they've ever shared. Something feels different about this one, but he can't put his finger on what, exactly.

She shifts up a bit more, making the angle less awkward. Her wonderfully deft fingers bury themselves in his hair, tugging on the strands gently. He holds back a groan and kisses her harder, their lips molding together in a way that steals his breath. He breaks the kiss, gently tilting her head up to press his lips all along her jaw. He feels her swallow against him, her breaths loud and harsh in his ear.

Rose grips his hair tighter, pulling his head back up to seal their lips together again. She nibbles on his bottom lip, and he's very grateful that they're finally sitting to do this, because his knees would have completely given out otherwise. He tugs on her hips a little, encouraging her to get on his lap if she would like to. She eagerly follows his suggestion, settling atop him fast enough to make his head spin.

It's her turn to kiss along his jaw, nipping her way down to his throat where she sucks a little too roughly. He's afraid he'll have a mark before too long, so he cups her jaw and brings her face back up to his to look in her eyes. She grins sheepishly. He can't help but notice the way her pupils are blown wide in lust. His probably look just the same, honestly. He crushes their lips back together in a bruising kiss, running his tongue along her bottom lip. A small noise escapes her throat and she grinds down on top of him. He groans, thrusting against her instinctively.

Rose rips their mouths apart, gasping for air. They rest their foreheads against each other, chests heaving.

"I should probably go home," she whispers. His heart clenches, but he knows she's right. It's too soon for this. This is very, very new. And he hasn't done anything like this in a long time.

But he's definitely not ready for her to go yet.

He moves his head, bringing his lips to rest against the shell of her ear.

"Don't go yet," he whispers, still trying to catch his breath.

"Doctor, we can't," she begins, shaking her head.

"No, I know. Trust me, I'm not ready yet," he promises, pulling back to look in her eyes. "I'm just not ready to say goodnight yet. I'll make us some tea and actually put on the telly. Just stay a bit longer?"

"No messin' about?" she asks, a grin creeping across her face. He puts a hand over his heart.

"No messing about," he promises. She nods at that, pecking his lips once more before climbing off his lap.

"So," he says, "how do you take your tea?"

"Why don't I come help you?" she offers.

"Sounds perfect," he says. They grin at each other and he stands up, offering her a hand to get up off the couch. Their fingers stay laced together the whole time they make their tea, inconvenient as it is.

RTRTRTRTRTRTRTRTRTRTRTRTRT

"Ooh, let's watch Friends!" Rose exclaims, bouncing on the couch next to him. He laughs, putting the remote down on the coffee table and settling back against the couch. He props his feet up on the table in front of them and Rose snuggles up against his side. He wraps an arm around her shoulders again, sipping at his scalding tea. He hisses as it burns his tongue and Rose mutters about taking two minutes so that you don't lose all your taste buds.

They make it through a couple of episodes without incident, too worried about spilling hot tea on each other for any funny business. Once the tea is gone, however, so are the distractions from anything but each other.

Rose's hand rubs circles against his chest, thoroughly distracting him from the telly. For a while, he thinks she doesn't know what she's even doing to him. Then she shifts closer to him, and her nails replace her flat palm, scratching gently through his shirt. He bites his lip, trying desperately to keep his head on his shoulders and not push her down on the couch and cover her body with his own.

She kisses his shoulder and breathes in his scent, moaning on the exhale. It breaks him. His fingers thread through her hair and bring her face up to his, their lips meeting in a hot kiss. Rose smiles against him, deepening the kiss. Their lips slide against each other for a few minutes before he feels the urge to tug her back on his lap. Rose pulls away again, biting and tugging his bottom lip as she goes.

"We can't behave," she says, an odd mixture of mischief and sadness in her eyes.

"No," he agrees, gently carding his fingers through her hair. Her eyes close in contentment for a second before she remembers herself.

"I'll go change back into my shirt," she says, detangling herself from him and standing. He gets unsteadily to his feet after her, stretching his arms up above his head.

"Keep it," he says, nodding at his shirt. It looks better on her than it ever had on him.

"Yeah?" she asks, tugging on the bottom hem of the large shirt. He nods again.

"You can bring it back next time we go out?" he says, eyes hopeful.

She laughs. "Sneaky. It's a date."

"Brilliant," he breathes, leaning down to kiss her once more. "Let me walk you to your car."

Rose gathers all her things, slips her shoes back on, and they walk outside. He's got parking for two despite being the only person who lives in his flat. He'd always thought it wasteful, but it worked out quite nicely tonight.

"So have you got any ideas for our next night out?" she asks as they stand outside near her car. It's properly freezing, their breath clouds the air between them.

"I've got a few working," he hedges with a teasing smile. "If there's something you want to do, though?"

"I might have a plan or two," she teases back.

"I guess we'll see," he says. She hums and bounces on her toes.

"You'll text me?"

"Of course."

She leans up and kisses him one final time. He licks his lips when they part, wishing very much that she could come back up to his flat and stay the night.

"G'night," he whispers.

"Night, James," she says, getting in her car. He steps back as she starts it up, waving as she backs up. She waves back just before turning around to head home.

He goes inside and finishes picking up the leftover food. The flat feels much emptier now that he's alone again. He extinguishes the fire and remembers what Rose had said about filling this place with books and trinkets and memories. When he looks over at their place at the couch and his chest is filled with warmth, he knows exactly what she had meant.

With that thought, the quiet of the flat seems more peaceful. He hums as he walks back to his room for a quick shower before bed. When he gets in the loo, he sees that Rose had forgotten her shirt in here. He picks it up and tosses it in the hamper for the next time he does laundry.

RTRTRTRTRTRTRTRTRTRTRTRTRT

When he lays his head down to get some sleep, his phone buzzes on his nightstand.

I had a wonderful time tonight Doctor.

The smile that stretches across his face actually hurts his cheeks. He texts her back as soon as he collects himself.

It was fantastic.