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“You’re like some kind of space Gandalf.”
At this random pronouncement, the Doctor jerked his head up from where he was working under the console, narrowly avoiding injury. “Space Gandalf?” he repeated.
Rose fixed him with a stern look. “A wizard is never late,” she intoned, imitating Ian McKellen’s inflection perfectly, “nor is he early. He arrives precisely when he means to.”
Her eyes widened in comprehension, and she nodded quickly. “1879. Same difference,” she said, with breezy insouciance.
The Doctor huffed. “If we hadn’t landed in 1879, Queen Vicky would have gotten more of a bite than she did, and then where would Great Britain be?”
Rose smiled, her tongue peeking out behind her teeth. “So you’re saying you landed precisely when you meant to?”
“Yes, of—” The Doctor clicked his mouth shut and he waved the sonic at her. “Now that’s not fair, tricking me like that!”
She ignored his protest. “An’ you take people from their homes and set them off on adventures.”
“But not to defeat Sauron.”
She pressed her lips together, but her eyes danced with mirth. “Doctor, we killed Satan.”
Accepting defeat, the Doctor retreated back underneath the console. You’re much better than Shadowfax.