It was like Cassandra was trying to count off the ways she could make Rose squirm – whether it was posing and preening with narcissistic delight, or flicking open a button on the Doctor’s shirt, or loosening up his tie…
Rose had seen the Doctor do this before. At Christmas, in her mum’s flat. Stopping in front of mirrors, inspecting the thin, sharp angles of his brand-new reflection. This was different, though; this was completely different. Especially since she didn’t like at all how the Doctor’s hands were roaming so freely over his suit, his sides, down his…
‘But you thought so, too–’ Cassandra waggled her new eyebrows very suddenly and knowingly in Rose’s direction. ‘I’ve been inside
your head, Rose Tyler. You’ve been looking…’
Rose felt her cheeks burn a bright, guilty red.
‘N–No I haven’t …!’
‘Oh yes you have,’ purred the Cassandra-Doctor in a sing-song tone. His body inched itself over to her with a slither and a wiggle, dark brown eyes shining deviously. ‘Look at you blush! You’re always looking. You liiiiike it…’
And Rose really was blushing, now – and spluttering, and even had to pinch her lips together to fight back a laugh.
She didn’t answer. Couldn’t. Wasn’t going to give Cassandra the satisfaction.
The Doctor’s body came closer, and closer still. Much too close, invading Rose’s personal space with a crooked imitation of that same grin he always used when he called her ‘brilliant’. There was no warmth left there, now; no affection. But it was still enough to make her heart race…
It’s not him, Rose reminded herself, praying the Doctor wouldn’t remember any of this. It’s not him, it’s not him, it’s not him–
It was his eyes, though. And his voice, and his lips…
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