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If the TARDIS didn’t need charging up, the whole thing might never have happened. But there they are, sitting on the rift in Cardiff, and the Doctor is so painfully bored that he’s actually going through his storage system (or as Rose calls it, his “boxes of space junk”). To his credit, he is vehemently refusing to go in alphabetical order—that would be far too sad.
“People assume that the alphabet is a strict progression from A to Zed,” he says, feeling himself gear up for a quite heroic effort at a Time Lord maxim—that is, until Rose cuts him off.
“You’re only trying extra hard to be clever because you’re bored,” she says sagely, flipping through a magazine. She is stretched across the jump seat, hanging half upside down in that boneless way that young people have. “An’ I’m too bored to let you. Wish we had somethin’ fun to do instead.”
The Doctor’s brow furrows as he digs deeper into the M’s, though he most certainly isn’t sulking. His hands run across a small bit of smooth, cool plastic at the bottom of the box, and when he manages to extract it, his face brightens considerably.
“Ooh, a mix tape!” he cries, examining it uselessly for a track list. “Always love a good mix tape.”
“Well, go on.” Rose tells him, only perking up enough to pinch the magazine closed between finger and thumb. “Let’s have a listen.”
“Oh Rose,” he says, plan forming as he speaks. “A mystery mix tape? That deserves something a bit more special.”
She sits up slowly, watching his expression and trying to read his mind. She’s got a fairly good record for deducing his schemes, but this one escapes her. “How d’you mean?”
The Doctor grins.
“Fancy a road trip?”