A Change of Chip.

She sat opposite him. Eyes darting uncertainly from the table to his. She still wasn't as comfortable as she used to be. He could see it in the way her fingers twiddled uneasily with her hair, whereas before she would have entwined them with his. Every 7.5 seconds precisely (Yes, he was timing her, it was a habit OK?) her fingertips would make the most miniscule of twitches to move away, but would snap back to their fiddling task. His dark pupils followed their every movement. Praying, against his best attempts to quell the feeling, that she would forget, if even momentarily that he wasn't …him. But he was him. He was. She knew that. She still smiled, still joked, He still teased, still grabbed her hand and told her to "Run"… He had no trouble doing so when they were fleeing from some life threatening situation. That was the norm. It was expected. So why should this be any different?

Except, this was different. Sat here, in a fish and chip bar in the middle of London. Such was the normality, the domestic-ality of this situation, that it was alien. (Hah. He giggled inwardly at the pun). Awkward, uncomfortable. Something they, as far as he knew, had never felt around the other. Well, mostly anyway. He sighed as he compared her careful, tip toeing behaviour to another time. A good few weeks ago now. But he could have told you the time in minutes, seconds and mili-seconds since. He'd been keeping track. Just becuase.

This, alter-Rose who was Unsure and Awkward was was the same girl that had been there that day on bad wolf bay…as she had watched the TARDIS disappear with liquid pools of steel ready to overflow from her pretty eyes onto the all too familiar beach once again. After he had left her. Again. Softening the blow this time with a replica, a copy. A standardised version of the real thing. "Here you go, I can't stay here, so here's a nice broken version for you to have a bit of fun with fixing. Bye now!" . Sometimes, he wondered how he didn't get punched in the nose more often.

He, like an item of some high fashion Paris boutique, a one of a kind…watered down through London streets, until it eventually ends up in some cheap high street store on sale for a tenner. Looking, seeming exactly the same, but made with all the low class materials that wouldn't last more than three spins in the washing machine. One, measly human life-cycle. The Human Doctor smiled wryly at his inside joke. Eyes rolling momentarily towards his hairline. He was rolling his eyes at himself. Surely if talking to yourself was the first sign of madness then mocking yourself came a very close second? It was then he noticed she was looking at him. Confused and …what was that little flicer that danced across her irises that tugged at his heartstrings and made him want to hug her? Oh, oh that's right. Hurt. Yes that was definitely a glimmer of hurt shining in her eyes. Funny how two orbs of, if he was honest with himself; a rather flat off-brownish colour that was no where near as interesting as his own deep chocolate pools, could betray so much emotion.

She thought he was rolling his eyes at her. He felt like slamming his head down on the hard wood table that was sat between them. And repeating the action seeral times. Of course she would think that. Because that's what she thought of him. By the time this thought process had wound its way through his grey matter -a damn sight quicker than any other human would be able to process all that information he'll have you know- she was already back to scowling in concentration at the apparently fascinating grain of wood in the table. Not that it wasn't worthy of attention…He was proud of the fact that he was able to distinguish it as mahogany. Very cheap mahogany, but mahogany none the less. If he could just get a little taste of the varnish he would be likely to be able to distinguish the exact…but now was not the time for such frivolity, he reminded himself. He could distinguish the forest and factory of the table wood at a later date. With their shared love of chips there was no doubt In his mind that they would be spending plenty of time in here in the future.

No, he had been thinking of that day on Darlig Ulv Stranden. What had happened after her doctor had left. He really should work on remaining on one subject for more than five minutes without being side tracked…

He had walked next to her. Preparing himself for the fall. For her to turn her back on him forever because he wasn't him. Completely and utterly ready to see her tear soaked face as it turned around and not see a hint of affection or recognition in her eyes. Fully primed for an attempt to be upbeat and happy as they wandered back off the beach, but to hear the blunt falseness behind the pleasantries.

What he was not equipped for, as he took her fingers in his hand in such a way that she could slide her digits free of his with a simple flick of her wrist… was the fierce grasp with which her hand clamped around his. Or the way her eyes would burn with destitution as her face whipped around to meet his gaze. Hair splaying across her face and neck as a result of the unruly wind.

If she had felt awkward with him in those first few hours, she hid it well. Not that they talked much. The trip home on Pete's private jet was a relatively silent one, that is, apart form Jackie squawking out complaints in the background, her voice was easily tuned out though. It stayed on the same constant whiny pitch. Around an E flat. Not the most pleasant of notes. Nothing like Rose's.

They had said barely two words to each other since that kiss -his mind at this point had taken a temporary detour as he relived those moments with a rather sappy grin on his face and a slight reddening of the patch behind his ears- and yet, their hands were still entwined. He was mildly shocked and more than a little disgusted when his hand had begun to sweat after some time. Stupid human perspiration. It would obviously follow suit with the rest of his body. Great. Now he would have to start wearing that horrible deodorant stuff that had hung around the TARDIS while first Jack and then Mickey had taken up temporary residency there. Why human men felt the need to douse themselves in strong smelling liquids that only served to hang around them in a cloud of ordure for the rest of the day causing anyone within breathing distance to choke on the particles now flowing down their throats and being absorbed into their taste buds, he couldn't guess.

Despite the fact that the palm of his hand had a surface texture that could easily be likened to that of a Slitheen's tongue - not at all a very pleasant texture…and one he had hoped never to experience again- her small fingers had remained curled around his for the duration of the journey.

And yet here and now…his eyes snapped down and focused on his hand with no small amount of surprise. For it was no longer dangling over the edge of the table, where it had been since he had gone to reach for the salt earlier, before realising that he really should start looking after this human body. It being the only one he was going to be getting and all…but was , instead, intertwined with a delicate pale skinned hand that he knew the contorts and shapes of almost as well as he knew his own. Which, given the fact that after having his first chopped off with a, rather crude, sword, he had taken particular notice of said hand, was rather well indeed.

The smile lit up his face before he could tell his muscles to act. She tended to have that effect on him. He caught her eyes. She was shy. His Rose, being shy. He had to hold in a snort. Because he was sure she would not be amused if he was thought to be laughing at her for the second time in the last five minutes. Instead he lifted both his and her hands , refusing to break this suddenly re-activated physical contact, and brushed his finger lightly down her cheek. To which her cheek responded by turning the most endearing shade of rosy pink.

She glanced quickly down and back up. Locking his eyes to hers with such a force that he could have sworn she had just swallowed the key.

He vaguely registered her finger of the hand that was not conjoined with his own indicating towards her end of the table.

"…Chip?"