Third Date of the Unacquainted Kind

Of Shopping Trolleys and Semi-Harmless Stalking

A/N: Hello dears, now I apologise in advance for whatever may occur below that page break. First time writing 11, I seem to have fallen hopelessy in love with him (forgive me 10!) and am now a sucker for 11/Rose. So please do let me know if you can't hear 11, if it's too much like 10 or if it's just a bit rubbish in general. Thanks again go to my septic blister for being my beta, if it is a bit rubbish you could always blame her too.

She was standing in the frozen aisle of the supermarket when he saw her; halfway between the Petit-Pois and Aunt Betty's Yorkshire Puddings. He was quite fond of Yorkshire puddings now, his previous incarnations never having seemed to fully appreciate the delicious juxta-position of the floury little beauties- crunchy on the outside and fluffy on the inside. He was sure there was a metaphor somewhere in there but it currently eluded him, storing itself away in his mind-bogglingly big brain for a time when his senses weren't overcome by floury little beauties, and the blonde girl currently holding a packet of them.

He followed her down the aisle slowly, putting half a dozen packets of fish fingers into his basket that was already filled with Jammie Dodgers, a tin of Ambrosia custard, some double AA batteries and a jar of Bramble Jelly while never taking his eyes off the woman in front of him.

She seemed to be taking her time in the supermarket, picking up items, studying them and putting half of them back, and the Doctor was almost sure she was unaware of her semi-harmless stalker, or if she wasn't she was doing a very good job of pretending to be.

He managed to make it all the way to the bread aisle before the desire to talk to her overcame him, and he grabbed hold of the nearest person he could find.

"How do I look?" He asked the rather startled man, adjusting his jacket collar and attempting to brush his mop of unruly hair out of his eyes.

"Er," began the man, trying to figure out the quickest and least harm-provoking way out of the situation. "Slightly crazy?"

"Good! Good. Crazy is good." The Doctor thrust his arms out in what one could assume was an intergalactic version of a thumbs-up, and spun away from him. "No! No, not good." He turned back and wrapped one of his arms around the man, who now looked like he wished he had gone to Waitrose after all.

"What's your name?" He whispered conspiratorially.

"Uh... Graham."

"Graham! Now Graham," he bent in even closer to the man. "What I need to know is that if you spent two years inside a police box with me before a horrible and completely unnecessary event ripped you away from me and my police box, and years later I approached you in the bread aisle of a Tesco just off Fleet Street, would you..." He paused and bobbed his head in the entirely flirty sort of way his girlfriend did, but Graham hoped it was entirely not the way his girlfriend did it.

"You know..." The Doctor paused again, waiting to see if Graham of the Tesco just off Fleet Street had any more common sense than what it looked like he did. When no noise of recognition was forthcoming, the Doctor accepted he didn't. "Would you think I'm hot?"

The previous rationalisations and placations that until now were keeping Graham a little bit less than calm and a little bit more than -he hoped- safe, came crashing down around him as the hot, sickening ball of panic (and probably vomit) came crashing up. He struggled desperately to remember what all the documentaries on Animal Planet said to do when faced with inescapable danger. "Er-" He squeaked, and he felt the shameful spread of warmth down his legs. Don't show fear Graham, oh God they can smell fear. "Y-yes?"

The Doctor grinned widely, clapping Graham heartily on the back. "Thank you Graham, you've made an old man very happy!"

The frightened-looking man could only muster up a squeak, which the Doctor was sure must be due to just how hot he really was. Or maybe his bowtie. A pungent smell wafted up to his rather prominent nose, and his eyes slowly lowered between their two bodies. "Blimey, Graham. Get that seen to." He stepped away from the offending man, who promptly dropped his basket and sprinted around the corner of the aisle, plimsolls skidding on the linoleum floor.

"What," the Doctor began, stooping to pick up something that was called Durex Fruit Flavours. "Is this? Is it sweets? Might be a banana one..." He turned the packet over in his hands, finally realising just what the fruit flavours were for just as a voice startled him out of his thorough investigation.

"You alright there, mate?" The voice belonged to a girl, the girl whose gaze was now directed on the packet in his hands.

"Ah." The Doctor straightened up to his full -rather impressive- height and tossed the offending packet over his shoulder. "Yes. Yes, hello." He automatically adjusted his bowtie and grinned, resisting the urge to run his gaze up and down her frame. Graham didn't seem to like it. "That wasn't mine," He began, scooping up his own basket and brandishing its contents rather smugly, in what Rose could only liken to the majority of young men with a sports car. "See anything you like?"

The moment the last word left his lips he wanted to smack himself in the head. All the words in time and space and I come up with that. Stupid Doctor. Speeches number one through six were now thoroughly useless, as were 12, 17, and probably all of the 20-somethings.

Rose simply laughed, the same laugh that he heard so many times before, but not with these ears. "Well, as long as you're alright." She turned and began to walk away from him, and one of the Doctor's hearts -the left one to be precise; it always was the more emotional of the two- leapt at the thought of her getting away again.

"Wait! Wait up R- random lady whom I have never met before." She turned back to look at him, her face curious, amused. The Doctor strode right up to her, bending slightly so his eyes were level with hers. "You," he began, his voice soft. "Have got lots of food." He looked purposefully at her heartily-filled trolley.

"Oh," she breathed, her features suddenly resembling a look of something that Rose had never directed at him before, something that was normally reserved for children or small creatures from the plant Raal. "Do you need some help?" She started gathering armfuls of bread, rice, and various fruits and vegetables out of her own trolley and placing them into his basket. "You poor thing."

"What? No!" The Doctor shovelled the items back into her trolley. "No, just- no. I meant, that I could- help you. I could help you." He motioned between the two of them, and then pointed to her trolley once more. "With your… food."

"You want to help me carry the bags?"

"Yes! Yes, that is exactly what I want to do. Carry your bags!"

"Oh. Right." Rose blinked, trying to figure out if this strange yet somehow endearing man could pose any sort of threat to her. "I hope you're not planning on getting anything in return." She raised an eyebrow at him.

"Huh? Oh! Right! No, no I wouldn't do that. I'm-I'm being... chivalrous. People still do that, don't they?"

"Not round here mate, but maybe if you carry on people might get the message." Rose laughed again, tugging on his sleeve slightly and continuing her way down the aisle. The Doctor hurried to follow.

"So," he began, swinging his basket by his side and trying not feel like a schoolboy on a first date. He supposed it was more accurate to call it a third date, if you could call trolling the aisles of Tesco with a woman who wasn't actually aware this was a third date- a date. "How have you been? Are. How have you- are. How are you?"

"I'm fine thanks." She smiled sideways at him, seeming to be amused by his stammering attempts at conversation. "How have you are?"

"Oh, this and that. Good. I've been good."

"Good." She replied, hiding her smile as she and the Doctor joined the cue for the checkouts. The robot that greeted them with a friendly metallic smile surprised the Doctor, as did the rather absurd total of his bill.

"How much for a packet of Jammie Dodgers? That's highway robbery!" He thrust a handful of notes at the robot regardless, and snatched his bag up. "How do you sleep at night?"

Rose was waiting patiently for him by the door, hands full of bags. "Alright?"

"Fine." He grumbled, glancing around the shop once more. "This is a bit new. And the inflation of biscuits! What year is this?" He asked, stomping past her and out of the shop.

"2099." She replied, hoisting her bags up and following him. "You sure you're alright? You seem bit... out of sorts."

"2099? Hm." Been doing a spot of time-travelling, had she? "Great year for a party."

Rose laughed again, "I'll keep that in mind." And she led the way down the road and past St Paul's Cathedral.

A/N: Many thanks for reading, blessed readers. Thoughts?

And never fear, if the masses decree it there shall be more.