It was a quiet, rainy Sunday at the flat belonging to the Doctor and Rose Tyler. The couple tried to have at least one day a month in which they stayed in at home; the lack of plans and weather made this day the perfect choice.
Rose was on her laptop looking at the proofs that the photographer had sent from their recent photo session. She was currently looking at one pose: the Doctor was wearing his blue suit with a royal blue t-shirt as, he had said, "oxfords and ties are not cool." She had on her blue leather jacket and they both wore serious expressions. In the next shot, the Doctor was sitting sideways on her lap with a goofy expression on his face. He had stuck one skinny leg, red Converse on foot, straight up in the air.
She looked over to the couch where said Doctor was engrossed in a paperback book, his lips moving as he read.
It was not a scientific or history book which his other self adored, instead it was "The Making of the Star Wars Saga." Every now and then he would chuckle or snicker out loud, no doubt scoffing at the scientific content or lack there of. Today he was wearing a powder blue sweatsuit with green striped slipper socks.
This Doctor should not have been sitting there at all, should never had been created, should not be alive.
Mortally wounded, the Doctor had not wanted to change his appearance; he used some regeneration energy to heal and directed the rest into the jar holding the hand. Human, Gallifreyan and Time Lord: a glorious mix with a dash of Donna. He was a freak of nature, an impossible man, and he had saved the multiverses by destroying the Daleks.
"Genocide", the Time Lord had spat in anger; forgetting that he, too, had committed that same crime in the past. He all but pushed them together after bringing them back to Bad Wolf Bay, claiming this new Doctor was too dangerous to be left alone. So far, the greatest threat that he had posed was learning how to do all the things that he had once taken for granted. He was still touch and go when it came to doing the laundry or shaving or remembering to apply deodorant.
"Roooose," he had whined, "I never had to put this stuff on before." He then sniffed one armpit, gasped, and almost looked like he was going to pass out.
Now here he was, sitting sideways from where she sat. Rose drank in his familiar profile; wild brown hair shimmering with bright ginger highlights, pronounced yet aquiline nose, smooth chin and long neck with the ever bobbing Adams apple. He looked just like Him, the Time Lord Doctor, yet she loved him even more than the original. He was not afraid to show emotion, told her that he loved her several times a day. He was quick to anger at times but rarely at her. She was his muse, the love of his life and he had put her on a pedestal.
The Time Lord could not have done all those things and she felt sorry for him. That Doctor had made the choice to martyr himself, pushing Rose out of his life. This Doctor would die before turning his back on her.
The Doctor looked up at her, having sensed that she was watching him. The love in his deep brown eyes warmed her as he blew a kiss her way and he grinned that lopsided grin that she loved. She blew a kiss back and gave him the tongue-touched smile that he adored.
"Almost done," she smiled. Rose looked back at the pictures on the screen. She clicked on several, including the one with the white background, then pressed the send button. The Doctor had walked over, his book now abandoned on the couch, and leaned down to kiss her on the cheek.
"Still raining," he murmured in her ear, "how about a snuggle and some telly? That program you wanted to see is on in 15 minutes and 23 seconds. What's it called? Hamlet? With that actor who looks a bit like me? Weeelll, maybe more than a bit....except for the blue eyes."
"David MacDonald, that's 'is name."
"Whatever. I am way foxier than he is." The Doctor sniffed then preened as he waggled his eyebrows at her.
"I'll go and make the popcorn." He leaned down to kiss her again.
She watched as he spun on his heels and bounced towards the kitchen with his usually exuberance.
"My Doctor, my impossible man," she murmured to herself, "and all mine."
Rose turned to log out of her computer with a smile on her face; all was right in their little world this day.