I Want Chips

We're walking down a street, Rose and I. It's one of those typical twenty-first century London streets – heaving with people. We're here because Rose wanted to go for a walk after spending all day with Jackie (can't blame her, really), and the day before – that was spent saving a runaway planet. (Of course planets run away...)

Anyway, been to Jackie's, tick. But I glance at Rose and I can tell she's thinking. She's not actually watching where she's going properly. It's like she's in her own little world, arms swinging by her sides and biting her lip.

She stops and I have no choice but to stop as well, because if I keep walking I'll be wandering off, and that's Rule One.

Rose straightens her back, folds her arms and says, "I want chips."

And that one sentence has the power to ruin a nice afternoon. Of all of the planets we've been to, of all of the local delicacies we've sampled, it always comes back to a slim cuboid of potato, deep fried. She's timed it perfectly, of course, almost as if she's planned it all along, as there's a chip shop just ahead. It's the one with all of the funny names for things that you can never remember. I don't even think they call chips 'chips'.

"But, Rose, you had chips last week," I point out and I can't help feeling like Jackie when I say that. That's what she would say in this situation.

"I know." She's nodding now. I think it's her way of coping with things. Or maybe it's this new face - perhaps it just encourages people to want chips. But I have no choice; I'm going to have to be Jackie, and I suppress a shudder at the very thought.

I point to a shop across the road with a picture of a cartoon lettuce on the front. "Why don't we go over there? Lots of nice salad there. Bit of lettuce, banana. Mmm."

She follows my finger with her gaze. Looks at me again, "Are you calling me fat?"

Rose takes it the wrong way like she usually does. Now she's looking offended. She doesn't look so nice when she's offended. Rose isn't fat, certainly. I would say 'healthy weight' but she probably slaps like her mother so I restrain myself. "No."

I'm not trying to distract from the chips because of Rose, but because this chips business has been happening so often now that she's come up with a rota. Yes, we time travellers aboard the good ship TARDIS have a chips rota. And it's my turn to get them. Not to pay, you see, but to do the hard bit of actually gathering them. Rose hands me a ten pound note folded neatly into a square and gives me a hearty shove in the direction of said chip shop. I spin around again because she forgot to tell me what she wants, and so I ask.

What comes out of her mouth next is such a blur of confusing words that I just find myself nodding.

"You won't forget that, will you, Doctor?"

"Never. I have a very good memory, you know," I lie. Not about the memory span, but the actual remembering of what she said. I think it's gone already, actually. No matter, as I'm at the door to the shop now.

I push it open and enter into the unknown. The floor is like a chequered flag and tables which are too small for the average human being litter the area. There's a kid's party area full of little people all giggling and eating ice cream while a clown does a funny little dance. There is a counter that looks like a bench on one side of the room, with the kitchens behind it, and I head for it. There is no queue, which is handy.

A woman who seems to be around Rose's age is standing there. She's got brown hair pulled back into a ponytail and is wearing the company uniform. Her little name tag tells me her name is Laura.

She smiles at me. "Hello. What can I do for you, sir?"

Oh, I hate being put on the spot like that. She's just staring at me, expecting me to be fluent in her company's language. Which of course, I'm not. Rose would be good at this. Especially now since I've completely forgotten what it was she wanted. Ah well, time to improvise. I can do that.

"Er... I would like some chips please. Or fries. Or whatever you call them now."

"Fries," she confirms. "Small, medium or large?"

Whichever one will make Rose happiest, and with humans it's usually size that matters. "Large."

"Anything else?" Oh, she wants more. She wants me to want more. So I say the first thing that comes into my head, even though it doesn't make a complete sentence.

"Um... a chicken... thing?"

"Burger?" By now she's talking to me as if I was one hundred instead of over nine hundred, but I'll let it pass just this once.

I shrug. "Yes, that'll do."

"Chilli or mayo?"

She'll complain if the chilli's too hot, I know she will. "Mayo."

"Any drinks, sir?"

More questions? You want even more? Alright.

"Milkshake, banana," I say simply. It's for me, the milkshake, not Rose. It's my type of revenge for her asking – no, telling – me to do this and be interrogated by people in shops.

The word 'milkshake' must be in the company language for she nods and relays the order to a man standing next to a machine in the kitchen. Laura turns back to me and I hand her the money which she counts out change to. And then I stand there, waiting. Do I go and sit at a table or do I just stand here? I resist the urge to join that children's party as they've started on the cake and they're going to need help finishing that whopper of a sponge off.

As I long for the cake, the items are piled onto the counter. I can see Rose watching from the window, brown eyes narrowed at me. She's expecting me to fail, as if this is some sort of test – which it probably is, come to think of it. She's probably testing my listening skills. She's in for some surprise.

A throat is cleared and Laura indicates to the three items sitting on the tray. A chicken burger thing, 'fries' and a banana milkshake. Perfect.

But Laura has one more question to ask me. "Sit in or take away?"

I pause for a moment to consider, before sticking a thumb over my shoulder towards the door. "Uh... outwards?"

Author's Note: My first time writing for both Ten and Rose, so I hope it's not too OOC for you. And believe it or not, the Doctor's conversation with Laura in the *unnamed* restaurant is an almost exact copy of a conversation yours truly had with a waitress in the *unnamed* restaurant (the only change was from a cola to a milkshake). I must have been having an off day. I mean, really, who says outwards? Except me? Anyway, I hope you enjoyed and review! :)