Rose Tyler sighed in frustration as she stared down at the blank sketch pad that sat before her on the small corner table of the TARDIS cafe, mocking her. Three empty mugs and a small plate covered in crumbs, along with several sheets of crumpled paper, sat near the pad — evidence of the hours she'd been sitting here, waiting for inspiration to strike. She'd been so certain that something or someone would spark her interest here; the ever changing and eccentric clientele of the offbeat little coffee shop had seemed like an ideal source for a muse. Thus far, however, her visit had yielded her nothing but an increasingly well-chewed charcoal pencil and a case of the caffeine jitters.

Absentmindedly returning the end of the pencil to its familiar place between her teeth, Rose let her eyes lose focus as her mind wandered. She needed to have a proposal in for her final project by the end of the week, and despite having produced an almost exorbitant number of paintings over the past two and a half years of school, faced with this final challenge, she was drawing a complete blank.

Deciding it was better to draw something than nothing at all, and hoping that maybe in the act of sketching, something would come to her, Rose removed her pencil from her teeth and began a rough sketch of the cafe itself. From her seat in the back corner, she had a good view of the dim but spacious room. The walls were sponged a sort of antique gold and were covered with an eclectic array of small, round decorations — everything from decorative porcelain plates to ornate mirrors to what appeared to be old porthole windows. The tables and chairs were mismatched, ranging from enamel-and-chrome pieces that looked like they came from a 1950s diner to worn, dark wood carved in intricate patterns. Interspersed with these were a few lower tables surrounded by mismatched armchairs. From the ceiling hung cylindrical lamps of alternating teal and amber glass and iron, casting an odd, alien light over the space. To the right, a long counter held a display of treats and separated the lone barista, a red head who was currently flipping idly through a gossip rag, from the customers.

Unfortunately for Rose's inspiration, customers were something the cafe was significantly lacking at the moment. They were well past the morning coffee rush, and it was too early for lunch, so the tables were sparsely populated. Looking down at her sketch, Rose sighed again. She couldn't seem to capture the essence of the place in black and white; so much of its atmosphere came from the motley selection of colors and how they interplayed with each other. She'd have to come back with colored pencils or oil pastels, she mused, if she really wanted to do it justice. Resignedly, she flipped to a fresh page, not bothering to pull out and crumple this latest attempt. It wasn't BAD, per se, it just wasn't ENOUGH. At least it was something to think about. To clear her mind, she decided to do some quick figure sketches of her fellow cafe inhabitants.

She started with the barista; quick strokes capturing the way she leaned on her elbows against the counter, one hand propping up her head, the other flipping pages on her magazine. The curve of her back, the sweep of her hair. Next, she moved on to the other patrons of the cafe. First, an older woman, sitting straight backed in a wooden chair at a table by the front window, sipping from a mug and gazing outward. Rose thought she looked timeless; like a grand dame from another century. After that came a younger woman in an oversized jumper and thick rimmed glasses, curled up in an armchair with a book propped against her knees, an embodiment of coziness and relaxation. Rose smiled a bit as she drew her, enjoying the organic lines of the jumper as it bunched around the petite woman, pausing as she reached her face to ensure that she captured the rapt expression that resided there. Finally, she moved on to the last patron — a lanky, rather geeky looking man in a rumpled brown suit, hunched over a laptop, glasses perched upon his nose and hair sticking up in every direction.

Rose hadn't really paid much attention to the man at first; off to the side of the cafe and focused on his computer, he hadn't stood out to her. As she began to sketch him, however, details began to jump out at her. He wore trainers with his suit, she noticed. His posture wasn't anywhere near upright, but was somehow still confident and intentional. He had extremely elegant hands. And his face… well, his face was gorgeous, if she was being honest. His features were almost boyish, which contrasted with the look of intense concentration on his face. His lips were slightly parted as he studied his screen, and the full lower one looked downright… biteable. Whoa, Rose thought, where did that come from? Shaking her head at herself, she finished the full length study and flipped to a new page, deciding to do a more detailed sketch of the man's face.

For almost twenty minutes, Rose laid in the lines and shadows of the stranger's countenance. She was just putting a few final shadows in when she glanced up from her drawing to look at the man…

...and found him across from her at her table, sitting backwards on a chair, arms crossed along the back, watching her. "Hello!" he greeted her, giving her a wave and a cheeky grin.

"HOLY SH…" Rose yelped, clapping a hand over her mouth as she nearly jumped out of her skin. The man's grin widened.

"Sorry, didn't mean to startle you! Just thought I'd come say hi, seeing as you've been staring at me for the last half hour."

"How did… but you were so focused!" Rose objected, shocked and slightly embarrassed at being caught out.

"Oh, I'm a brilliant multitasker," the man answered matter-of-factly. "I've only been working on a couple of projects over there, so I've got plenty of brain left over to notice when I start getting used as an impromptu artist's model."

"I'm so sorry," Rose apologized, blushing in mortification at being caught out. "I should have asked. I don't usually spend so much time on one person, I just got caught up and…"

"Nonono, I'm not mad!" the man interrupted her, looking appalled at the misunderstanding, "Honestly, I'm flattered! No one's ever used me as a model before. Well, not that I've noticed." He shook his head as thought to clear it. "Sorry, I just thought I should come introduce myself. I'm the Doctor!"

"...The Doctor?" Rose queried, relief fading to confusion tinged with amusement. "Your name is 'The Doctor,'? Really?"

"Weeeeell, not my legal name, no. But everyone's called me that for ages, and John is so BORING, so I just sort of go with it."

"Why 'the Doctor'? Are you an actual doctor?"

"Several times over, technically," he responded casually, causing Rose's eyebrows to shoot up toward her hairline, "but I've been called that since well before I had any doctorates; it started out as a bit of a dig from my classmates when I was small — I skipped several years and was a bit on the loquacious side, so I tended to irritate people a bit — and it just sort of... stuck." He trailed off, looking thoughtful. Rose grinned at the thought of this enthusiastic man as an overly talkative child, annoying his older classmates as he babbled on like a tiny professor. The image was, for some reason, absurdly endearing.

"Well, hello, Doctor," Rose answered him with a tongue-touched smile. "I'm Rose; Rose Tyler." She stuck out her hand and the Doctor took it. His handshake was strong and warm and Rose found herself reluctant to let go.

"Pleasure to meet you, Rose Tyler," the Doctor grinned at her, releasing her hand. "Now that we've been properly introduced, may I see what you've been working on?"

Obligingly, Rose turned her sketchbook to face him, flipping back a few pages to the drawing of the cafe. "I'm trying to get some inspiration for a show I have to put together for school, and I've been drawing a blank, so I've just been sitting here trying some things out, hoping lightning will strike," she explained as he studied the sketch, his eyes admiring. "I love this cafe, but I didn't feel like I did it justice without color, so I went on to sketching the people." The Doctor raised his eyes to hers questioningly as he moved to flip the page. She nodded her assent and her turned to the page of figure studies.

"Ohh, look at these," he marveled, running one long finger down the page. "These are brilliant! Look at how well you captured Donna."

"Donna?" asked Rose.

"The barista," the Doctor clarified. "Lovely woman, good friend of mine."

"Come here often, then?" Rose asked, blushing as she realized she'd just used one of the oldest pick up lines in the book without even meaning to. Luckily, the Doctor didn't even seem to notice.

"Well, Donna doesn't like me to micromanage her, so I mostly try to stay out of her way, but I do come by to work on lecture planning or writing up my research when I need a change of scenery."

"Micromanage…?"

"Oh! I'm the owner, didn't I say?"

"You own the TARDIS."

"Yep!"

"You have a handful of doctorates, you lecture, you research, and you also own a cafe."

"Correctumundo… ooh, I don't like that, don't let me say that again." He grimaced, as though the word had left a bad taste in his mouth.

Rose laughed. "You think you're soooo impressive."

The Doctor put on a face of faux indignation. "I am so impressive!"

Rose shook her head with a smile. "You are a very odd man, Doctor. Has anyone told you that?"

"Oh, all the time." The Doctor had returned his gaze to the drawings. "And here's me! Blimey, is that what my hair looks like?" He ran a hand through his tousled strands, leaving it even wilder. "I look like a mad scientist."

"I think it suits you," Rose retorted, grinning at him. The man preened slightly. "Go ahead, look at the last one if you like," Rose encouraged him.

The Doctor flipped to the final drawing; the detailed study of his face as he focused on his computer screen. His eyes widened in surprise as he took it in, and then he looked up at her with a slight smirk, one eyebrow raised. "You've made me rather foxy, Ms. Tyler."

Rose raised her own eyebrow in response. "Are you fishing for compliments, Doctor?"

He grinned boyishly, unapologetic. She laughed. Glancing down at his watch, the Doctor stood up, bracing his hands on the back of the chair he'd been straddling. "Thank you for showing me your work, Rose," he said with sincerity. "You're very talented. I have to get to a lecture, but I'd love to see more of your work some time. I mean, if you'd let me." he rubbed the back of his neck nervously.

Rose smiled at him, eyes twinkling. "I'd like that, yeah."

"Really? Good. Great! I'll ah…" he fished in his pockets and then seemed to give up, looking lost. Rose laughed, and scrawled something at the bottom of the portrait of him before ripping it out of the notebook and handing it to him.

"See you around, Doctor," she said with a cheeky smile as he grinned down at the paper, which now bore her signature with a phone number below it.

"That you will, Rose Tyler. That you will." The Doctor carefully folded the paper and slid it into his jacket pocket before stuffing his fists into his pants pockets and sauntering back to his own table to pack up his computer. Rose grinned to herself. She may not have found the inspiration for her show at the TARDIS, but she realized that she didn't mind in the least.