Disclaimer: I do not own these characters nor am I making any money off of this.

I am also American and have done my best to self-Brit-pick so excuse any leftover Americanisms and the American spelling. My word processor's autocorrect feature is quite determined on that last point.

James Noble woke up with a ridiculous headache and the taste of stale beer and vomit in his mouth. He blinked sluggishly a couple times, squinting at the sunlight streaming through his bedroom window. After a few minutes' consideration, the sun seemed rather high for a November morning. After a couple of long seconds to brace himself, he rolled over and strained is neck to get a good look at the clock on his nightstand, where red back-lit numbers cheerily blinked 11:45.

11:45! James couldn't remember the last time he'd slept this late. He was a certified morning person, always had been. His boss loved it– he was never late for the morning department meetings at school.

School! James jerked violently, for a second thinking he had slept through half a school day, before clutching his throbbing temples at the movement and remembering that today was Saturday, and there was no school.

Right. It must be Saturday. Because Mickey's stag night was scheduled on a Friday. And Mickey's stag night was a pub crawl. It was slowly coming back to him. Well, most of it. He vaguely remembered what happened. It began at pub near the location of Mickey and Martha's first date and moved around to various establishments near the locations of significant events in their relationship. At some point there had been a dare (proposed by Jack, no doubt) concerning some number of shots of Irish whiskey consumed in rapid succession, but after that there were a disturbing number of gaps in his memory.

Fuck. He'd have to text Jack about that later. Then kill him.

An attempt at swallowing and a wince pulled him out of his thoughts. Water, I need water. After a couple deep breaths for courage, he heaved himself out of bed and stumbled out his of his bedroom towards the kitchen. It took everything in his power not to groan aloud when he realized he was not alone. Right on cue, Rose spun around on the kitchen bar stool and smirked at his appearance.

"Beautiful day then, isn't it?" she said. James gave her the dirtiest glare he could muster as he shuffled to the cupboard to search for glasses and fumbled with the tap. Rose gave a shout of laughter through her sandwich that was like a gun going off next to James's ear. He jumped and gripped the countertop behind him for balance, splashing water down the front of his white vest top.

"Can't you whisper?" he muttered around his third massive gulp of water.

"Not really!" Rose chirped at a decidedly louder-than-normal volume. James started again and conceded defeat to his vertigo and headache, sinking down onto the linoleum and pressing the blessedly cold water glass to his forehead. Rose laughed again and walked around to stand over him so she could properly gloat. "James Noble, perfect, illustrious, always-put-together physics teacher at a posh senior school is not allowed to get completely pissed at a stag do and come back to zero teasing, not after what he put his long-suffering flatmate through last time she had her first girls' night out in over a month."

James glanced up at her with his best puppy eyes and what he hoped was an extremely mournful expression on his face.

Rose laughed and held out her hands, taking his water glass and hauling him up from the kitchen floor. Still giggling, she guided him into the living room and to the sofa, where he gratefully collapsed and buried his face in the nearest cushion. Rose's footsteps retreated back to the kitchen, but he lifted his head to watch her return with a fresh glass of water and a bottle of ibuprofen, blonde hair swishing around her shoulders. Rose must have recognized the gratitude in his eyes because she graced him with a genuinely sympathetic smile. It seemed to fill her whole face and made his insides feel warm and fuzzy.

She's so pretty, he thought suddenly. So pretty and so kind. The thoughts fell out of his hangover-muddled mind quite suddenly and unbidden. He blinked a couple times to reset his brain. Girlfriend. Girlfriend. You have a girlfriend. Rose was just a great friend. A great friend and wonderful flatmate.

"Drink some more water, take a few pills, and maybe you'll be up for your date tonight, eh?" Rose said.

James rolled his eyes and shoved his face back into the cushion, smiling in spite of himself into the back of the sofa when Rose laughed again.

"I've got to meet Martha and Tish for Martha's final dress fitting, but I'll be back in a few hours to make sure you're still alive." He felt her lean over and give him a firm pat on his shoulder before sweeping out the door.

A truly wonderful flatmate, he thought, savoring the lingering warmth on his shoulder and the smell of her perfume in the air.

And that's all she is, he told himself again later that day as he dressed for dinner with Renée. A flatmate. People could smirk and whisper about him and Rose all they wanted but really, they were just flatmates. Quiet excellent flatmates, too, if he said so himself. They never fought– she put up with his habit of taking apart home appliances when he got bored just to see if he could put them back together (he'd say he had about a 50 percent success rate) and even tolerated his taste for spontaneous adventure (sneaking into the basement of Henrik's to see if the rumored moving mannequins were robots or students playing pranks). In return, he wasn't bothered by the fact that her cooking skills were limited to stir fry, spaghetti, and takeaway or her tendency to leave her clothes on any available surface.

He hadn't planned it like this, of course. But after getting his job at the posh Melody Williams Academy in London last year and looking into the prices of decent flats in the area, he realized that unless he wanted to bunk permanently with his sister and her new husband (and he was pretty sure Donna was not above charging him rent eventually), he was going to need a flatmate. He brought this up to Donna for the first time over the phone–school was off early that Friday and she was still at work, an advertising firm.

"You know, I think the new graphic designer 'round here is also looking for a flatmate– name's Tyler, or something," she said. She must have been at the firm's print shop, because she was forced to speak quite loudly over the sound of the industrial printers. It didn't help that the print shop was in the building's basement where reception was spotty. James was having trouble hearing her, and felt like she couldn't really hear him, either.

"Tyler? So it's a bloke then? Not that I'd mind living with a girl, it's just that I'm not sure Renée would be too crazy about it, you know? I mean, she'd probably be fine with it but, new relationship and all and you never can tell with these things, you know?"

To this day, he wasn't sure what Donna thought he'd said, but she replied, "Oh no, no Tyler's great. I'm sure you'll get along famously–" Her distracted reply was cut off when someone called her name over the printers in the background. "Look, Spaceman, I've got to go, I'll text you the number, yeah?" Then she hung up.

If James had called 'Tyler' immediately after, the whole misunderstanding would have been sorted before dinner, but 'Tyler' beat him to it and texted within the hour, Donna gave me this number– are you her brother looking for a flatmate?

James replied at once, eager at the prospect of moving out of his older sister's home. That's me! The name's James Noble. Well, technically it's Doctor James Noble. I've a doctorate in physics, which I put to excellent use teaching at Melody Williams Academy. Though besides that, I love going on adventures of any sort, I have a telescope for stargazing in the summertime, a lot of books and very few shelves. Am I correct in assuming you're the graphic designer Tyler?

Tyler replied quickly, Haha, yes I suppose I am. I like art and chips and I have plenty of shelves.

James smiled and wrote, Good! I love chips as well, although I suppose I'd have to seeing as I was born in Ireland, and all they eat over there are potatoes. Although did you know they originated in America? I can't imagine what they ate before they discovered potatoes.

I can't imagine what I ate before I discovered potatoes.

They texted on and off all afternoon and into evening and James decided he rather liked this Tyler fellow. He was easy to talk to, had a quick wit, and did not mind his rambling texts and bits of trivia.

Around half-past eleven, Tyler wrote, It's getting late– but it's been great chatting. You seem cool, James. You could move in tomorrow if you want!

James was lounging on Donna's guest bed listening to his sister and Lee get very cozy in the sitting room with a bottle of wine and a romantic comedy, so he wasn't kidding as much as Tyler might have been when he replied, Maybe I will.

Tyler responded with the address, flat number, and a convenient time so James put down his mobile for what he was determined would be his last night at the McAvoy's. Somehow, through all their texting, Tyler's first name and gender never came up.

The name next to the buzzer outside the flats said Shareen Costello, and James was worried he had the wrong place, but when he mentioned his name to the jovial man with an American accent who answered, he was immediately allowed entry. The door to the flat was wide open, and he could hear the American's voice as well as a woman's, the thumping and scraping of furniture being moved, and a vacuum running.

He stepped in nervously, rapping his knuckles on the door over the racket. "Hello? It's James Noble…"

There was a shout from the woman and a tall, classically handsome man wearing a massive blue coat turned the corner. "So you're the new roomie," he drawled with a toothy grin.

James shifted from foot to foot but smiled brightly, "Yes, I am. As I said, James Noble. And you must be Tyler?"

The American gave him and odd look and said, "No, Rosie's still back there in Shareen's old room, did you just–?" There was a loud thump from down the hall and James missed the end of the question. He doubted he would have been able to answer it anyway, as he was completely confused by the first thing the American had said.

Rosie? James didn't have time to work out the misunderstanding when his already disorganized thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the vacuum fading and footsteps in the hall. A young woman in dusty yoga pants and cotton shirt with bottle blonde hair hurried into the main room. James blinked in shock, then struggled to contain the sinking feeling in his stomach when he realized what was going on. She saw him and gave him a wide, gorgeous smile that filled her whole face and lit up her amber eyes.

That smile.

She stuck out her hand and said, "Rose Tyler."

It took him a long couple of seconds (and a chuckle from the American) for him to respond. He started, then grabbed her hand and shook it vigorously. "Right! Ty- Rose Tyler, graphic designer, lover of chips and owner of multiple shelves, I'm James Noble, Donna's brother. Although I suppose you know that. I didn't realize– I wasn't expecting–" For once, his impressive gob failed him and all he could do was stand there gaping like an idiot, looking between Rose and the American, completely floundering after being caught so wrong-footed.

Rose looked at him nervously and there were a few beats of awkward silence before she seemed to remember there was a third person in the room. "Um, James, this is my friend Jack, he's helping me clean out my old flatmate's room– she wasn't exactly the tidiest person in the world. Jack, this is James–uh Doctor James Noble, who might be moving in today?"

She looked searchingly at him and while part of James felt rather apprehensive at the prospect of sharing a flat with this very attractive, friendly, witty, and did he mention attractive? woman, but somehow his mouth answered for him, all on its own, "Yes, I'm certainly ready to move in today. I just came by to, you know, get the lay of the land, get a feel for the relative dimensions of the space…" He trailed off for the second time in five minutes.

Jack raised his eyebrows and grinned again what James gathered must be his signature smirk. "Nice to meet you, Doc. I was just on my way out, I'm sure my girl Rosie can show you around. And don't flirt with her too much– that's my job." He winked and clapped James on the shoulder on his way out, great blue coat flapping behind him.

James offered a halfhearted wave and turned back to Rose. "Boyfriend?"

Rose huffed, "God no, just a friend. Jack flirts with anything on two legs and a beating heart. Expect him to flirt with you eventually." Something of what James thought of that must have showed on his face because she laughed and said, "Don't worry, he's harmless." She smiled that wonderful smile again and waved him further into the flat. "Come on, let me show you around. I've moved all the empty shelves into your bedroom for you…"

Dubious beginning aside, James and Rose's living arrangement worked out in everyone's favor. After he got over the initial shock, it became a habit to control his more…inappropriate thoughts about her. He wasn't really attracted to her, he figured. He just wasn't prepared the first time. His unruly thoughts only snuck out when he was mentally compromised– his hangover this morning, for example. Being properly drunk worked as well, and there were some weird dreams when he sustained a concussion after an incident in his teaching lab last semester, but most of the time they were simply best mates. And they both liked it that way.