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Rose loved to watch him cook. Even if all the Doctor did was throw frozen fish and chips in the oven, she enjoyed it.

In fairness, she had tried to make dinner for the two of them, but her attempts had been met with little success. She may have also started a fire one. Now meals on the TARDIS were strictly the Doctor’s department.

He liked to claim cooking to be as exciting as any of their adventures, considering he was trained by famous chefs from all over time and space. Rose didn’t care what he claimed. This was the Doctor doing domestic, and secretly, she loved it.

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He’d promised her a vacation. Peace, serenity, tranquility, he’d told her. A spa where she could be pampered and a beach where they could relax. She hadn’t asked for it, but he’d wanted to show her the calmer side of the universe, considering that since she’d followed him into the TARDIS they’d yet to have an adventure-free stop. Even taking her home for a visit a couple of days ago had turned into them barely surviving a missile launch.

Hence, his attempt at a quieter trip this time. Still, looking at Rose now, her hand clasped in his, running for her life, a smile on her face and laughter in her eyes despite the danger they were in, the Doctor couldn’t be upset he’d mucked up the landing.