"I’m the Doctor, by the way. What’s your name?" She’s a head taller than Rose, with a rock climber’s wiry build, and her pale blue eyes, glittering with mischief, remind Rose of the calm at the eye of a tornado.
"Rose." The subtext: who the hell are you?
"Nice to meet you, Rose. Run for your life!"
How long do you have to know someone before you decide that you indubitably, unequivocally, want to shag them? Rose’s had a few crushes on girls before- that’s normal, right? - but nothing as distracting as this.
The Doctor’s beat-up leather jacket smells like cinnamon and chicory, and there’s a melted jelly baby in the left pocket.
She always wears black pants over knee-length boots ,plus- on most days- a burgundy t-shirt under her jacket. Rose wonders if it’s the same outfit- and then she finds a closet filled with identical black pants and t-shirts that are identical except for the color. She laughs, because it’s such a Doctor-ish thing to do.
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