He was stepping out of his lecture when he heard the commotion in the stairwell. Tucking his papers underneath his arm, he shouldered open the door and immediately dropped said papers to the floor, rushing over to the woman lying at the foot of the stairs. He pushed past the students circling around her and crouched down.

"Are you all right?" he asked her in concern, watching as she cradled the back of her head.

"I'm so clumsy," she winced.

"She went down like a ton of bricks," put in some bloke usefully. John rolled his eyes and reached forwards, examining her head.

"It's fine, honestly," she said. "My ankle hurts a bit but I don't have a headache or anything -"

"Think we'd better get you checked out all the same," he replied. Some of the crowd had already dispersed, but to the few still lingering he said, "Can one of you phone for an ambulance please?"

"I'm fine, seriously, there's no need -"

"Nonsense, you might have a concussion. Better to be safe than sorry."

"But I don't want to cause a fuss -"

"It's no trouble," he smiled at her in assurance. "Now, what's your name?"

"Rose Tyler."

"And what's the date?"

She rolled her eyes but answered correctly.

"And the prime minister?"

"Same posh twat it was five minutes ago," she sighed. "I'm fine."

He chuckled. "Good enough." He held out his hand for her to shake. "John Smith."

"Nice to meet you," she replied, sending him a lovely smile, and bugger, that smile was going to be a problem.

"Let's check out this ankle," he muttered hastily.

He went with her to the hospital.

"Don't you have classes to get to?"

"Nah, don't worry."

"What do you do?"

"Physics," he replied, getting into the ambulance with her. "What do you study?"

"I'm doing my Masters in English Lit."

"Ah, excellent! Love a good book, me. What's your thesis on?"

They spoke about her work for the entire journey, which helped distract her from the throbbing pain in her ankle. During the hours she was at the hospital, being examined and x-rayed and the waiting around, he kept up a constant stream of chatter with her, although he barely said anything about himself. It was better that way, really.

Once it was clear she'd sprained her ankle but not broken any bones, the doctors handed her some crutches and that was that; she was cleared to go home.

"I'll call you a taxi," John offered, taking out his mobile. "Save you getting the bus back."

"Actually, I was wondering if you - I mean, there's, a, um…"

He watched her closely as she trailed off, looking nervous. "A what?" he asked.

"A coffee shop. A little bit down the road. I was wondering if you wanted to go, you know, for me to say thanks for you staying with me all day," she said, her eyes darting between his as she searched his expression. When he floundered for a response, she smiled flirtatiously at him. "I mean, it's the least I can do, really, buy you a cuppa - "

"I...it's a lovely idea, Rose, but, um," he paused, clearing his throat. "It probably wouldn't be appropriate, me being a member of the faculty and you being a student, and all that."

"What?" Her eyes widened. "Oh, shit, you're a professor? A professor of physics? Not..."

"Yep." He tugged on his ear. "Did you not…"

"Realise? No. Um. Wow, this is awkward." She shifted in her seat.

"It's okay, I'm flattered you thought I looked young enough to be a student," he chuckled.

Rose swallowed. "Well, a PhD student, maybe. So, uh...how old are you?"

He scratched at the back of his neck as he answered quietly, "I'm thirty-five."

She flushed. "Oh, right. Well that's…"

"Yeah."

"I - I wasn't - that, the coffee thing, it wasn't - I wasn't like, asking you on a date or anything."

"No?"

"No, course not, I mean, I just met you, anyway, so. I was just - we were having a great chat and, uh, I wanted to say thanks for coming with me today and everything. That's all."

"Oh, well, if it's...if it's just that, then that's - fine."

"Wait, really?"

He put his phone back in his pocket. "Yes, of course. Nothing inappropriate about a thank-you cuppa." He flashed her a reassuring smile, even though his stomach churned with nerves.

That first afternoon at the coffee shop, getting to know one another over lattes and blueberry muffins, led to several return trips. Not on purpose, mind you; it just so happened that she liked to do her work in there, and he soon discovered that so did he. Nice atmosphere, and all that, and really, some very good coffee. It wasn't like he was going in there deliberately to try to catch sight of her.

Nevertheless, when they did cross paths now and then, it always brightened up his day.

"Shall we pop along to the museum?" he asked her one morning, placing the paper he was marking back onto the pile in front of him.

"Hmm?"

He sniffed casually. "Well, what we were talking about yesterday - I found out that they've got a lot more to say on the topic than I do, in there. Great exhibition on at the moment, apparently, and - "

"Sounds good," she nodded. "When?"

He glanced at his watch. "I'm free now."

"Okay," she agreed readily. She looped her arm through his as they made their way along the pavement. He pretended not to notice.

Another morning, about a month after they first met, she complained about needing some fresh air, and so they grabbed some supplies and he drove them out into the countryside, and they went walking, as he termed it, over hill and over dale. Well, maybe just one small hill. They huffed and puffed for breath as they stood surveying the route they'd taken from above.

"I'm so unfit," she grumbled, flopping down to the ground to rest. He handed her some water and she gulped it gratefully. "How do people do this every day?"

"It was only a couple of miles, Rose Tyler," he teased, sitting down next to her.

"Oh, shut up."

They laughed, and when they had recovered, they raced back down the hill and across the field, back to the safety of his battered old blue fiesta.

"I didn't know you liked art," he said, noticing that she had a leaflet for the opening of the new art gallery in town.

They were walking along a cobbled street, her with her laptop and a few books stacked up in her arms, him with his briefcase swinging between them, as they made their way to the coffee stop. They'd met up just outside campus and decided to stroll into town together to take advantage of the sun being out.

"Oh, yeah! Love it. Used to do a bit of sketching myself."

"Really?"

"Yeah."

"Do you still…?"

"Nah, not got time."

"I think you should keep up a little hobby, though. Gives you a break."

"Do you have a hobby?" she laughed.

"No, but then I'm famously a workaholic."

"Ah, right," she smiled. "I see."

"I'd love to see something you've drawn."

"Not gonna happen."

"Why not?"

"I'm not that good."

"Bet that's a lie; bet you're being modest."

"How can you possibly bet on that when you didn't even know I drew until a few seconds ago?"

He shrugged. "Dunno. You just look like you'd be good at all things artistic."

"Right. Sure."

"You do! Anyway, this new art gallery. Reckon it'll be any good?"

"Why don't we find out? It opens tomorrow, and anyone can show up." He watched as she focussed her eyes ahead of them to make her suggestion. "We could, I dunno. Go together."

He probably shouldn't. It was getting far too like date-territory.

"Okay," he answered, feeling a bit giddy about going against what his rational mind was telling him to do.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. What time is it?"

"It's an evening thing. Eight o'clock. You should wear this suit," she said, reaching out a hand to smooth along the sleeve of his jacket. "Thing about these type of artists, the ones with fancy studios, is that they do things a bit posh for my liking. No jeans for me tomorrow night."

"I'm sure we'll cope." He dropped his gaze to her jeans. They fitted her very well, but there was no denying that he was intrigued to see what her legs looked like out of them. That is, in a situation where she was wearing a dress. Not through any - nakedness. Or - no. He cleared his throat.

John leant against the wall of the building that the new gallery was housed in. It was ten to eight, and he was a tiny bit impatient to see Rose. When she came walking down the street towards him a few minutes later, a black trench coat covering her shoulders but left open to reveal a striking red, floaty dress that hit just above her knees, he pushed himself away from the wall with a gulp. Her shiny black heels made soft clicks against the pavement as she closed the distance between them, and John didn't quite know where to rest his gaze.

"Hello," she smiled, reaching him at last.

"Hello," he murmured back, eyes drinking in her face and the way she had her hair done up in a clip with a few waves left loose and framing her features, and if he were to just lean in and press his mouth to hers, move his hands through her hair and let it fall down her back, would she -

He coughed awkwardly, his body tense as he told himself to keep still, his lips pressed together to stop himself asking her if he could kiss her.

"Shall we go in , then?" Rose laughed uncertainly, when they just stood there for a minute looking at one another.

"Oh! Yes. Of course." He turned to go in and she slipped her hand into his and his heart took a tumble in his chest. But he let her entwine their fingers and neither of them said a word, and when they got chatting to the owner of the gallery, the woman's assumption that they were a couple also went uncommented on by them.

"Did you know that there's a museum in Belgium solely for strawberries?" he mused, staring up at the blue sky. It was a lovely spring day, completely perfect, really, for the end of March. He'd never seen this park look so perfect.

Rose, who was lying on her stomach reading a book about classical rhetoric, glanced across the picnic blanket at him indulgently. "No there isn't."

"Yes there is!" he insisted, rolling onto his side. "And who can blame them," he added, picking up a strawberry and waving it at her. He bit into it and let out a contented noise. "Delicious."

"Those ones are so inferior, though. You wait 'til the summer, I'll get you some better strawberries than those imported ones."

"Promises," he teased. "Anyway, these are perfectly fine. Try one."

"I'm reading," she said primly. She turned her face back to her book but he could see that she was smiling.

He shifted closer to her, placed a hand on her lower back. "Rose, do you want another interesting strawberry fact?"

"I dunno, do I?"

He touched a strawberry to her lips and she took a bite. "They are members of the rose family," he informed her.

She wrinkled her nose. "You are so cheesy."

"What? They are! Lots of fruits are relatives of the rose."

"If you say so."

"You are wildly uninformed about your namesake."

"You are wildly too informed about useless facts."

"I resent that. I'll have you know I'm a professor of physics," he said mock-sternly. "And physics is just about the most important subject there is."

"I'll have you know that I've got to write an essay on this," she said, shaking her book at him. "Not on strawberries. And you have to teach classes on gravity or whatever. Not. Strawberries," she teased.

"I dunno, I bring you to a nice park for a picnic and you lie there insulting me."

"Why did you, by the way?" she asked softly, seriously.

His hand, the one still on her back, twitched slightly against her vest top. "It's a nice day. You needed to get out of that coffee shop. Being cooped up in there on a day like this? Not good for the soul," he laughed, eyes bright. Avoiding.

Rose nodded. "Thanks. This is nice. Really."

"You're welcome." He pried his hand from her, but not before his fingers ghosted up her spine once or twice. Rolling onto his back once more, he was alarmed to find a few fluffy clouds in the sky, spoiling the blue.

"That looks like an elephant," Rose said, pointing up at one before returning to her reading.

"Nah. A dinosaur, maybe. Not an elephant."

"Why are you so argumentative?" she laughed.

"I'm not."

"And stubborn. I've noticed that lately. You're very stubborn for someone who's supposed to be a Mature Adult."

"Oi, you can talk."

"Yeah, but you've got years on me."

"Don't I know it," he mumbled.

"You should've grown out of it."

"Now you're just provoking me," he said, turning his head to the side. She had shifted onto her back, now, book cast aside, her face towards his. "Any other criticisms of my personality while you are at it?"

"Mm, no. Apart from the desire to always be right, and the stubbornness, and the retaining of useless facts, I think you're pretty much perf- fine."

"Were you gonna say perfect?"

"No."

"Rose."

"Nooo."

"You're blushing."

"It's rude to point out when someone's blushing, Doctor. That's another thing, yeah. You, you're rude."

"And you're - " he broke off.

She inched closer, nearly squashing the punnet of strawberries that sat between them. "I'm what?"

His breath rushed out of him in a whoosh. "Young."

She blinked. "We covered that."

"Yeah." He swallowed. "You, er. You're also a good friend. Funny and - and loyal, that's you."

"Ta," she smiled, a little sadly. "You too."

He turned his head back to the sky. "Now that, that's definitely a T-Rex." He heard her sigh softly beside him, and his fingers clenched around a tuft of grass.

Another day, one that started out as bright and sunny as their day in the park, they hopped onto the open-top bus and took a tour around the city, as though they were tourists. It soon rained, of course, and he shielded them both as best he could with his coat, lifting it above their heads. They laughed through it and continued to point and observe the sights as if they were seeing them for the first time. Neither one of them suggested they go downstairs where it was dry, like the actual tourists had done. When the shower finished, he lowered his coat, then draped it around her shoulders when he caught her shivering. She shifted closer to him on the seat, and at the feeling of her pressed along his side, he couldn't pull away. He knew he should.

He knew a lot of things he should do.

"Doctor, can you pass me the parmesan?"

He handed it to her across the table, and she caught the look he was sending her way.

"What?" she asked, putting down her fork. "I like cheese, okay?"

"It's not that," he laughed. "I was just wondering...you've started calling me 'Doctor' a lot. Never John. Why?"

"You're a doctor aren't you? It's what it says on your office door," she shrugged. "'Doctor J. Smith.'"

"Well, yeah. I mean, I have my PhD. I just wondered why you call me that."

"Do you want me to stop?"

"No."

"It's just nickname, I dunno," she said, spooning some lasagne into her mouth.

"Okay."

It wasn't that he minded her calling him that. In fact, he loved it, loved that it was something just between them, something affectionate, an endearment - no, not that last one. He - no.

But it was, wasn't it? It was almost intimate. A name for him that was just from her. Certainly no one else had ever called him that. Not even at the university. None of his colleagues or him ever made the students address them as such, nor was 'professor' this or that thrown around. All on first name terms, at least verbally. It was better like that, the informality - their students were adults, too, after all.

"Doctor?" Rose said, jarring him out of his thoughts.

He took a hasty sip of wine. "Yeah?"

"Your pasta's getting cold."

"Right."

No one at work had heard anything about his little trips with Rose. She wasn't the sort to see anything wrong with their mini-adventures, but likewise, she wasn't the sort to spread around the fact that they saw each other so often. He realised that she must have a lot of friends, some perhaps that she'd told about their friendship, but he'd never heard any rumours flying around the university. He'd never had anyone implyanything. Which was -

There was nothing to imply, of course, nothing to -

But still, it was good. No one was talking and that was - yes.