The pub was warm, full of old wood and the steady hum of conversation, the kind of place where people lived their lives in slow circles. Rose Tyler, pint in hand, had made up her mind—she was going to enjoy this moment. No running, no shouting, no saving the world. Just a quiet drink with a very handsome soldier who, crucially, was not a centuries-old alien prone to disappearing acts.

Sergeant John Benton. UNIT. He had the air of a man who could make a cup of tea under fire and still remember to ask how your mum was. Square shoulders, a reliable smile, and the kind of face that made you want to lean in just a little closer.

"You always drink alone, or is this a soldier thing?" she asked, tilting her head just so, letting the words sit between them, an offering.

Benton chuckled, like he'd been waiting for someone to say that. "Depends who's asking."

"Rose. Just Rose."

"John Benton. UNIT."

She shook his hand, felt the solid warmth of it, the steadiness. Held on just a second longer than necessary, just to see if he'd notice. He did. His smile deepened, just a fraction.

They talked. Benton had stories—not just about aliens and classified nonsense, but the kind that told her he noticed things. The way a person carried themselves. The way to fix a truck engine when the manuals were all wrong. The best place to get a fry-up at six in the morning. Rose liked a man who noticed things.

And then the door slammed open.

The Ninth Doctor strode in, all damp leather and deliberate presence, like he'd been summoned by the universe itself to personally ruin her evening.

His eyes locked on her instantly, sharp, assessing. Then flicked to Benton. And oh, oh, that smirk.

"Well, well, well," the Doctor said, strolling forward like he'd just walked into a crime scene and knew exactly who'd done it. "What've we got here?"

Rose exhaled, slow and steady. "Oh, fantastic."

Benton, ever the polite soldier, stood, offering a handshake. "Don't believe we've met."

The Doctor took it like he was taking something. "Oh, we go way back. Worked with the Brigadier. UNIT days, different face, better taste in haircuts."

Benton frowned slightly. "You were in UNIT?"

"I was UNIT," the Doctor shot back, leaning in like he was telling a secret. "But enough about me. Let's talk about you, Sergeant Benton. Handsome bloke, strong jaw, good haircut. You get a lot of girls falling at your feet?"

Benton, visibly caught off guard, rubbed the back of his neck. "Uh—well—I wouldn't say that."

"Wouldn't you?" The Doctor turned to Rose, all wide-eyed mock innocence. "Would you say that?"

Rose clenched her jaw. He was doing this on purpose.

"You got a problem, Doctor?"

"Me? No problem at all," he said, all lightness and lies. "Just making sure he knows what he's in for. Rose Tyler—professional troublemaker."

Benton chuckled, catching onto the undercurrent, the weird energy sparking off the Doctor like static. "I don't mind a bit of trouble now and then."

The Doctor's smile twitched. Just a little. But Rose saw it.

"Oh, don't say that," he muttered, too casual. "She takes it as a challenge."

And there it was. The shift. Benton might have been easygoing, but he wasn't blind. He glanced between them, the way a man does when he realizes he's just walked into something big and messy and unresolved.

Rose pushed back her chair. "You. Outside. Now."

The Doctor blinked, all exaggerated innocence. "Me? What'd I do?"

"You know exactly what you did!" she snapped, grabbing his sleeve and dragging him toward the exit.

Outside, the rain hit like a cold slap. The neon bar sign buzzed overhead, casting jagged light across the wet pavement. The city was loud, even in the quiet.

Rose turned on him, hands on her hips. "You're jealous."

The Doctor scoffed. "Pfft. Jealous? Me? Of Sergeant Stiff-Upper-Lip in there? Absolutely not."

She narrowed her eyes. He held up for about three seconds before something flickered across his face—something real, something unguarded.

"Alright," he admitted, low. "Maybe I care a little."

The city hummed around them, but for a second, it was just them. Rose could feel the weight of it—of everything unsaid. Then, because she was her, she went straight for the kill.

"And what would my mum say about all this?"

The Doctor exhaled sharply, already regretting it. "Oh no. I am not—"

Rose grinned. "A bloke like that? She'd be trying to get him for herself."

The Doctor stared. Then, gloriously, he broke. A full, proper laugh, head thrown back, the kind she didn't get to hear nearly enough.

"Oh, that's an image I did not need! Jackie Tyler and Sergeant Benton. That poor man wouldn't stand a chance."

Rose beamed. "Yeah, well. Now you've got something new to haunt your nightmares."

She turned back toward the pub. The Doctor stayed behind, watching her go, rain dripping from his hair. Watching her choose, even if just for tonight.

Benton looked up as she slid onto the stool beside him. "Everything alright?"

He studied her, saw something in her face, and gave her a knowing smile.

Rose picked up her drink, knocking it back like she needed it. "Oh, just fine. So, Sergeant… ever had a drink with a time traveler?"

Benton grinned. "Can't say I have."

"Well then," she said, clinking her glass against his, "guess it's a night for firsts."

Outside, the Doctor lingered a moment longer, hands deep in his pockets, frowning up at the universe like it had just personally insulted him. Then, shaking his head, he muttered something about "no respect" and walked off into the night.

A shadow in the rain, disappearing into the city.

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