"Rose," the Doctor whined, "please don't make me do this."

Smirking slightly as she leaned across the polished kitchen table, Rose rolled the piece of green fruit between her palms. "Doctor, it's only a pear. It's not going to kill you."

"How do you know that?" he fired back, eyes flashing. "How do you know I won't take one bite and" —he clutched dramatically at his chest a few times before toppling out of his seat and onto the tiled floor— "keel right over?"

Rose laughed. "Please. You're definitely overreacting. It's bloody fruit, not some method of torture devised by the Daleks."

Cringing, the Doctor looked up at Rose from his spot on the floor "I—well, the real Doctor—went to this festival one time on Raxacoricofallapatorius, and they had this target game with little balls that looked like Daleks. Of course, the balls were actually packed with really powerful explosives or something like that—bet you can't guess who manufactured them—and we ended up having to evacuate the planet."

"Oh, my God. Dalek balls?"

"Yes. Dalek balls," the Doctor repeated slowly, then—after a moment—realized what he had said. "For the love of Gallifrey, Rose, you made me do that!"

"Stop corrupting my daughter, Doctor, or I'll slap you into next week," called Jackie from the hallway.

"Mum can make people time travel? Imagine: 'Jackie Tyler, the new TARDIS'," Rose joked, then immediately shut up and looked cautiously at the Doctor. He could guess what she was thinking; it was written all over her face.

"Rose," he said softly, climbing off the floor and back into his chair. "You don't ever, ever have to be afraid of hurting my feelings with the whole 'this-isn't-really-the-Doctor' situation. I made my choice, Rose, and that choice was staying here with you. I love you, okay? Don't worry about my feelings." He took one of her hands in both of his and leaned in so their foreheads touched across the table.

Rose closed her eyes and leaned into his touch, inhaling contentedly. "Thanks, Doctor." Suddenly, with a grin, she flattened his palms to the table and brought up the pear that remained in her free hand. "But no matter how much you love me, you're not getting out of eating your pear."

"And I was so sure it would work." The Doctor sighed. "I told Martha not to let me eat pears. Where is she when you can't help but listen to the girl you're madly in love with's insistence that you eat the fruit of death?"

"You know, you're very dramatic. You would have done well in theater."

"Thanks, beautiful."

"Eat your pear and stop flattering me."

"Fine."