“Okie dokie! Let's see… we could go witness the famous Martin Luther King speech? Or see the Jazz Singer in theatres for its very first screening? Or watch the fall of the Berlin—”
“—are we just not gonna talk about it?” She interrupted, leaning against the console with her arms crossed. “... ‘Cause, I can handle it if last night was just a one-off thing. And like, it doesn't have to be a big deal or anything… But I'm not gonna sit here pretending it never happened, alright? That's not on.”
The Doctor had dropped his eyes to the screen again. His jaw was set and his brooding brow in a deep furrow.
“... Do you… I mean, do you regret it? I don't wanna… listen, it sucks if you regret it, ‘cause I don't wanna lose you, Doctor. So… if you do regret it, could you get over it?”
“You don't regret it, then?” The question burst out of him, as if he'd been holding it back all morning. When she didn't answer right away he finally looked her in the eye, and that glimmer from last night was there again, the hint of hope and fear mixed together. She stared, slightly caught off guard for a moment, before slowly shaking her head. His own expression relaxed at last, falling into cool thoughtfulness. He sunk his hands into his trouser pockets and wandered over to the railing opposite her, leaning there with his chin raised and eyes assessing.
“Alright, then. Let's talk.”
God, that expression would forever turn her on now. Damn him.
Keenly aware of her bright pink face, Rose challenged herself to hold his gaze. “Right. Well, it was… fun.”
“Fun?”
“... Hot.”
“Yeah?”
She scoffed, “yeah, Doctor. It was… amazing. What about you?”
He worked his jaw, clearly wrestling with something. “Yeah, Rose. It was really amazing.”
Relief washed over her, and she combed shaky fingers through her messy hair, “that's really good to hear.”
