Lying on the iridescent pink sand next to the woman he loved, the golden ocean shimmering as it lapped at the shore, the Doctor knew there was no where else in the multiverse he'd rather be than with Rose Tyler. When he'd met her, she'd been a girl of nineteen and himself an alien of almost a thousand; now she was in her mid-thirties and he had aged at an almost-human pace. Where his hair had started ti grey and the lines on his face become more pronounced, Rose had only become more radiant as the last ten years passed. Not that he minded in the slightest. If a few grey hairs were the price if spending forever with Rose, then it was a small one he'd pay over and over again. (He'd been grey before, and had looked quite dashing, if he did say so himself.)
"I am so going to beat you this time," Rose sat suddenly, reaching for a nearby trowel, already scooping sand into her bucket.
"Oh, that's not fair," the Doctor pretended to pout, rolling over to begin moulding his own sand castle. "What era are we going for this time? Elizabethan? Victorian? Or something a bit more alien? Avoleian, perhaps. Or were they Alovevian?" Though the Doctor's sand castle quickly overtook Rose's in terms of architecture, it was Rose who ended up winning the impromptu contest.
"This might be a different planet, but a moon's a moon and an ocean's an ocean," she said through an amused tongue-touched smile, "and a tide is still a tide, ta?"
The Doctor easily conceded defeat, sweeping Rose off her feet and into the warm water. "Oh, quite right, Rose Tyler. And water is still wet!" He carries her until he was nearly waist-deep, then crossed his legs, sinking so that he was sitting on the sandy ocean floor.
"As you just so eloquently put it, water is still wet," Rose's grin became wolfishly playful. She spun away from the Doctor, easily twisting out of his arms to create a large splash that completely soaked him.