A/N: I don't know where in the TARDIS he is, or what exactly is wrong with it. XD

"Blasted thing," the Doctor muttered, his voice muffled by the pipes over his head. Rose lounged nearby, watching his legs because that was all she could see from her vantage point.

"Why don't you just go find a TARDIS mechanic? I bet this would get fixed a lot faster," she said.

The Doctor chuckled in spite of himself, "There is no TARDIS mechanic. There's just me, and I can fix this myself."

Rose found it hard to believe that over the entirety of time and space, not one other person knew more about the machine than the Doctor. Instead of voicing that remark, she said, "Are you sure? Because you've been under there an awful long time."

There was a clatter, and Rose watched as a length of pipe rolled to a stop a few feet away. The Doctor reached his arm to grab it, grumbling curses in another language, but his fingers fell a few centimeters short. Rose left her seat to pick it up, studying it while the Doctor continued to grasp at air.

"I mean, it just looks like plumbing," she mused, turning the plastic pipe over in her hands. "Surely there's a book somewhere that had directions to fix these types of things."

The Doctor had finally realized that she'd picked up the object of his desire, and he pushed out from underneath the pipes to meet her gaze, "I'll have a hard time doing much of anything if you don't let me have that."

"You're having a hard time anyway, Doctor," she said, but she tossed it to him nonetheless. He caught it, fumbled, and almost lost it again—this Doctor was a bit clumsier than the last—but ultimately righted himself and disappeared back under the pipes. He didn't deign to respond to her comment.

The minutes ticked by slowly, and Rose's eyes started to slide shut. She knew there were a million things she could be doing right now. But the sound of the Doctor fiddling with the TARDIS, occasionally huffing under his breath, was a comfortable soundtrack. She was quite happy to sit and watch him work.

And, of course, poke fun at him occasionally. When he dropped his sonic screwdriver and hit his head on the pipes while (futilely) trying to grab it before it fell beneath the floor grating, she couldn't help but laugh.

"Doctor, do you need help?" she asked as the screwdriver clanked and rolled to a resting place about three feet below them. She walked to the corner of the room, where the grating didn't extend, and slipped between it and the actual floor, crawling on her knees to retrieve the Doctor's most prized possession.

The Doctor slumped against the grating above her, one arm over his eyes, "I can fix this."

"I have no doubt," she lied. "But maybe you should take a break for a bit. Come back later, when you aren't so frustrated." She pocketed the screwdriver and pulled herself out from underneath the grating, wiping dust and grime off her pants as she walked back to him.

The Doctor took the screwdriver, but didn't move out from underneath the pipes. Instead, he got back to work, musing, "And what would I do if I didn't have to fix this?"

"Any number of things," Rose replied.

"Such as?"

"Take a lovely lady to a medieval dance. Watch the sunset from the roof of the Roman coliseum. Go to the movies on the opening weekend of The Notebook."

"These all sound suspiciously like dates," the Doctor remarked, sounding amused. She could hear the sonic screwdriver at work, but knew he was giving her most of his attention now.

She dropped back into her chair, smirking, "Well, they're just ideas, Doctor."

"Ah," he said. There was a few more minutes of silence as he fiddled with the pipes, and finally he pulled out from underneath and wiped his brow with an arm. "I think that's done it. If you would?" He nodded towards the lever beside her, and she pulled it down. The consol hummed, crackled, and died almost immediately.

"Blasted thing," the Doctor grumbled.

A/N: Am I the only American who starts thinking in a British accent after watching this show? .