He took her by the hand and led her out of the control room and into a little side room. There, amid a lot of sculpting paraphernalia, was her statue. The statue from the museum. The statue of Fortuna. New and gleaming.
Rose gaped. 'But I never posed for this.'
'No need,' said the Doctor, patting it on the arm -- an arm which still had a hand attached.
'What d'you mean?'
'I mean,' he explained, 'that you won't have to pose for it. As Mickey said -' the Doctor smiled to himself - 'it was sculpted by someone who knew you pretty well.'
He ran a hand through his hair and looked as though he was expecting applause.
Rose walked round the statue. 'Is my bum really that--'
'Yes,' the Doctor interrupted testily. 'This statue is accurate in every detail. Bum. Arms. Legs. Nose. Broken fingernail on your right hand.'
* * *
Rose stood looking at the statue for a bit longer. 'It is perfect,' she said at last.
'I was inspired.'
They smiled at each other. All was right with the world again.
