(A one shot for broadtennant)
Rose had just had a very, very, long day and she all she wanted was to open her dorm room’s door, take the three steps to her bed, do a very satisfying faceplant, and not get up for several hours, days, weeks - she wasn’t picky. Unfortunately, there seemed to be a slight flaw in her plan, namely that there was already someone face down in her bed. She froze for a second, the chucks hanging off the end of her bed definitely didn’t belong to her roommate Donna, but then her ears caught a slight sound of whimpering and she realized the person was crying.
Fishing her Biology textbook out and letting her bag drop to the ground, she crept around to the side of the bed, making sure to give it a wide berth, the book held up in case the intruder turned out to be an axe murderer, albeit a sobbing axe murderer. He wasn’t an axe murderer, at least she was fairly certain axe murderers didn’t wear pin-striped suits or have arses that were quite that pleasing or had hair that looked silky smooth and…she snatched her hand back from where it was descending to determine the texture of that hair.
Her movement across the floor had done nothing to disturb the prostrate man and neither did her clearing her throat or dropping the textbook on her desk. In fact, he only seemed to cry harder. Casting one last glance at the door and vainly wishing Donna would appear and tell her how to handle sobbing strangers, Rose stepped closer to the bed and poked at the stranger’s shoulder. The resulting howl had her scurrying backwards to safety, but it also brought a torrent of words of which she understood about one in ten, just enough to piece together that his heart had recently been broken by some lady named Reinette and “you were right, you were so right!” Rose didn’t know who was right, but presuming it wasn’t her, finally cleared her throat again and spoke.
The quiet, “erm, hi! My name is Rose” brought his head up, chocolate brown eyes widening at her in confusion and slowly-dawning horror. He looked ready to bolt, but she stepped forward, patting his arm and inviting him to stay and tell her the story again, but this time more slowly and intelligibly. When Donna swung open the door forty-five minutes later, Rose and the Doctor - as he insisted all his friends called him - were seated side by side on Rose’s bed, the kettle was whistling merrily for tea, and the two were roaring with laughter at something neither of them could explain. She threw up her hands and declared she was hoping to get through all four years without inflicting Rose with her “skinny strip of nothing” brother and Rose said nothing and just grinned and by the time he left for the weekend, bound for his own university, it was clear she did not regret meeting the Doctor one little bit.