#9xrose

She lay there for a few more minutes, eventually determining it was safe to resume her day.  Moving gingerly, she washed her face and brushed her teeth, pulling her dressing gown tightly around her as she shuffled towards the kitchen-

And froze, shocked to see her husband sitting at the table sipping from a mug and writing on a piece of paper.

“Morning,” he said flatly, not looking up.  “That’s for you.”  His head tilted in the direction of a steaming mug across from him, and she sank into the seat without taking her eyes off him.

Lifting the mug to her lips, she found ginger tea, her stomach clenching at the implication.

“I thought you had office hours this morning,” she broke the silence once she’d drunk half of it. “Why…”

“My wife is sick, I wanted to be here if she needed me.  However, I didn’t want to intrude if she wasn’t ready to tell me what’s going on?”

And just like that, she knew- that her fears were correct, and worse, John had clearly figured it out first.  Shit. In the back of her mind she knew this was a good thing, she should be happy about it, but we’ve only been married a year, it’s too soon!

She let out a sigh. “Technically, I don’t know what’s going on.  I just have… growing suspicions.”  Peeking up at him, she met his eye, his expression softening.

“I see.”  Setting down his pen John removed his glasses, rubbing at his face for a moment before rising, coming around the corner of the table to kneel beside her.  “I realized yesterday, and… it’s more than a suspicion.”

“That’s what I get for marrying a doctor,” she joked weakly, rubbing her thumb along his jawline.  “I wasn’t… keeping it from you, I just… hadn’t faced it yet myself.”

Leaning up, he pressed a kiss to her cheek.  “Okay. I’ve already called us both off, so why don’t we lie down for a cuddle, and not talk about it?”

“Okay,” she agreed, heart filling with love for such a wonderful, understanding partner.  “I’m gonna finish this tea, first, though.”

“Absolutely.”  John stood, resting his hand on her back and offering her a small smile.  “The ginger will help with the nausea.  So will a nap.”

Deciding to bring the mug to the bedroom with her, she let him guide her into bed, curling up in his arms with her head on his chest and his hands on her belly.

-

Seven nausea-filled days later found them sitting in an exam room, Rose aggressively chewing on a piece of ginger candy as she sat on the table looking around.  John was seated on the guest chair, seemingly enthralled with a pamphlet, though his bouncing leg gave evidence to his own anxiety.

“Oi.”

He looked up, blinking. “Yeah?”

“Why ginger?”

“What d’you mean?”

She gestured with the bag of candy in her hand.  “Why does this supposedly help?”  With every minute they had to wait she was growing more nervous, and nothing distracted her the way her husband could when he fell into ‘professor mode’.

John immediately abandoned the pamphlet on the countertop, leaning forward to brace his elbows on his knees.  “Well, first, it’s a traditional remedy dating back thousands of years, mostly in India and Southeast Asia, where it grows naturally.  It’s fairly interesting actually – it helps with a number of ailments, and isn’t limited to the digestive tract.  Current thought is that it’s an anti-inflammatory and anti-oxidant, and can cure sickness from motion and chemotherapy, not just-” he paused to wave at her, but was prevented from continuing by a rap on the door followed by it opening.

“Good morning,” the doctor said brusquely, stepping in.  “Noble?”

“Yes,” they chorused, Rose adding, “I’m Rose, this is John.”

The doctor nodded, consulting the iPad in his hand.  “Great, I’m Doctor MacMartin.  So, I have your test results.”  He sat on the stool, setting down the tablet and looking at her for the first time. “You’re pregnant.”

Despite having spent the last week coming to terms with the idea, the confirmation knocked the breath from Rose’s lungs.  Pregnant. A baby.  She looked to John, who was silent, eyes wide and surprised but pleased, with a silly smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.  In response her own twitched, and suddenly they were beaming at each other, tears pricking at her eyes.

A baby.  A family.

And just like at the end of The Grinch, her heart expanded.

-

“I have literally never hated you more than I do at this moment.”

John, the bastard, had the gall to smirk, not pausing as he tucked her in.  “It’s just for two weeks,” he said cheerfully.  “Then our bundle of joy will be here, and you won’t want to get out of bed.  You should rest while you can.”

She huffed in response, folding her arms across her enormous belly.  At thirty-seven weeks she’d been placed on bed rest as a precaution, and two hours into it, she was already going mad.  John was fussing over her like a mother hen, and she already knew it would be worse when word spread and Donna and Jackie showed up to ‘help’. She was tired, and sore, and she hadn’t seen her feet in months, constant heartburn, and the most galling bit- “Why do you lie?”

“About what?”  Kicking his shoes off he settled himself next to her hip, one hand naturally settling to the bump and stroking, doing little to calm the rolling child within.

“‘Morning sickness’. More like ‘all day sickness’.  And why do you say it’s only during the first trimester?  Why am I still nauseous?  I mean, I know I haven’t actually been sick, but honestly, I don’t mind that so much- at least after I feel better, if only for a few minutes.  But there’s no relief!”

He clucked his tongue sympathetically, hand moving to caress her knee.  “I know it sucks, and you’ve had it rough.  But you’re doing brilliantly, really, and I’m so proud of you. You’re already such a great mum.” Leaning forward, he nabbed a ginger candy from the nightstand and handed it to her.  “Not much longer.”

“And to think, people say this is the easy part,” she muttered petulantly, unwrapping the candy and popping it in her mouth.  “I just wanna meet them.”  They’d decided, after weeks of squabbling, not to find out what they were having- the deciding factor had been when Pete had let slip Jackie’s plans for a gender reveal party, and Rose had put her foot down out of principle.

John was silent for a long minute, waiting out her sighing and grumbling until she settled.  “I know.  Me too.  But for now, can I tempt you with a movie instead?”

“Don’t you have to go to work?”  Even as she said the words she reached for her mobile, pulling up Netflix to broadcast it to the telly he’d set up.

“Nah,” he said easily, moving to sit next to her, close enough they were touching from hip to thigh. “And, I had one in mind.”  Nabbing her mobile, he held it out of her reach, typing one-handed.

Moments later the telly flicked on, Netflix opening on the movie credits, and she gasped.  “Top Hat!  My favorite.”

“I know,” John said smugly, dropping the mobile on the bed in favor of taking her hand.  “I know you and your Mum have Cliff Richards movies, and I want us to have something similar with little Florence.”

“Not happening,” she didn’t glance at him.  “Ginger and Fred- yes.  Florence?  No. We’re not having a grandmother.” The baby kicked then, and she smiled down fondly at her stomach.  “Isn’t that right, little one?  Daddy’s just being silly, you’ll see, Earl.”

Her husband scoffed. “Is that a pun?  We are not name our child Earl Noble, Rose Tyler- talk about setting him up for failure!”

“Shush.  The movie’s starting.”

Grinning, they turned back to the show- neglecting the dancing on screen to focus instead on the movement of her belly, the child within dancing to the music far more interesting.

Two more weeks!

-

Fighting back a yawn, John made his way down the corridor to the waiting room, stopping just out of sight to take in the room.  Everyone they loved most was gathered there, scattered around in small groups.  At first glance the only person missing was his godson August, the baby likely with Martha’s parents; even Tony was there, though the six-year-old was asleep against his father.

It warmed his heart to see them all together, waiting, already loving the little life they didn’t know had arrived, and was currently be weighed and cleaned up.  Slipping his mobile from his pocket he took a picture of the group, wanting to capture this moment, show his child how loved they were from their first breath.

Taking the few steps needed to enter the room, he bit back a smile when no one looked up or registered his presence.  “You all waiting on someone?”

In seconds he had everyone’s full attention, eager eyes waiting with bated breath, and he knew he was failing to contain his joy as they gathered close, instantly dropping their newspapers and books and mobiles to focus on him.

“Well?!”  It was Tony who broke the silence, eyes still full of sleep, and John crouched down in front of him.

“C’mere, mate.”

The boy stepped closer, watching impatiently, little brow furrowing.  “Is my Rosie okay?”

“She is.”  John took a deep breath, nearly overwhelmed with the moment, and the weight of the words he was about to say.  “So’s your niece.”

The room was silent enough to hear a pin drop for one heart stopping moment; and then Jackie screamed “It’s a girl!” and everything devolved into chaos, as he was pulled in every direction for hugs, kisses, and congratulations.

“Wait!” Donna commanded, loud enough to be heard over the chatter, drawing everyone’s attention. “More information.  Is Rose okay?  What’s the baby’s name?  When can we see them?”

“Right.”  Still hugging Martha, somewhat leaning on her for support, he organized his thoughts.  “Rose is fine- a champ, of course, though she’s exhausted.  Baby’s good, big and healthy.  And you can see them in an hour or so.”

Martha poked him viciously in the side.  “And her name?”

His smile grew, thinking of his little girl – for so long she’d felt like an abstract concept, despite watching Rose’s belly grow and actively planning for her arrival.  But now she was here, and beautiful, and his heart was fully.  “Genevieve Amelia.  Jenny.”

This brought on more gushing, and far too many questions for his tired brain to track, much less comprehend or answer, until once again, his sister’s voice broke through.

“Who’s she look like?”

“Rose.”  He grinned; every baby he’d ever seen had just looked like a squirming blob, especially at only minutes old, but not his little girl- no, his daughter already looked so much like her mother it was uncanny. “But she’s got your hair.”

“Yes!” Donna crowed, clutching onto Lee’s arms.  “Another ginger!  We need more of them in this family, I always said that.  Does this mean I get first dibs on meeting her?”

This sparked a new, lively debate between Donna, Sylvia, and Jackie, John just shaking his head with a grin. Catching his grandfather’s eye he tilted his head slightly, before grabbing his brother-in-law’s hand and slipping away with a wink to Pete.

Everyone would have a chance to meet the baby, but they’d decided the oldest and youngest would have first dibs.

Overwhelmed by the urge to see Rose and Jenny, he quickened his step.

Jack scoffed, freshly-manicured hand waiving dismissively and putting the still-open bottles of nail varnish in jeopardy.  “Oh, please.  Yeah, maybe he’d dump me off on the nearest planet, but you?  No chance.  Besides, no changies remember?  You picked dare, you get a dare, you do the dare.  Buck up Tyler, where’s that stiff upper lip?  The ‘Keep Calm and Carry On’ strength?  The Dunkirk spirit?”

She arched an eyebrow, scowling at him and crossing her arms carefully.  “It just seems like a stupid dare, is all.”

“Fine.  Then, instead, I dare you to snog him, with tongue, for thirty seconds.”

“So you want all of his jumpers?”

Jack’s laughter followed her for far too long down the hall.

-

Once she’d wandered four corridors away and his laughter had faded,  doubts crept back to the front of her mind.  This is absurd, she huffed, feeling exposed in her sleep clothes and dressing gown, wrapping the folds of the latter tighter around her.  I don’t even know where he keeps his clothes.

They certainly weren’t in the wardrobe room; she’d done many a thorough inventory during downtime on the ship, not for anything specific but just to see what was in there.  Gorgeous clothes from almost every style of fashion, all in different sizes and patterns and colors – it was a shopper’s dream, and on more than one occasion Rose had picked out an outfit she particularly loved, brought it to the console room, and said Take me somewhere I can wear this, please!

And, of course, the Doctor had obliged every time with his happy aren’t I so impressive grin, whisking her away to various time periods.  They hadn’t done it since Jack came on board though, and she had the sneaking suspicion that the Doctor didn’t want the other man to see Rose in fancy dress.

She turned a random corner then and a door appeared; it was entirely unremarkable, and she would have walked right past it had the door not creaked open just the tiniest bit.

Rose stared for a moment, but when no one came out, she looked up at the ceiling.  “Was that you?”

A warmth brushed across her mind lightning fast, one she had come to understand was the ship trying to communicate with her.

“Well, if you’re helping…” she chewed on her bottom lip, glancing both ways to make sure she wouldn’t be seen, before slipping inside the room.

-

It was dark, but no sooner had Rose had the thought that the lights turned on, a soft glow just enough to see.  It was a reasonably-sized room, functional and practical but on the whole unremarkable and nothing like she had pictured.

Not that she had every really pictured the Doctor’s bedroom, though curiosity had occasionally crossed her mind.  She hadn’t even been sure that he had a bedroom; he never seemed to sleep, and instead spent most of his time in the console room, galley, or library.

Rose wondered if he ever dreamed.

The doors to a closet on the far end snicked open, catching her attention, and she found an empty box where none had been just a minute before.  Casting another guilty look around she hurried over to it, quickly tugging down the jumpers and folding them neatly, before stacking them in the box.  In total there were at least two dozen, far more than a normal box would hold given their weight – but given it was provided by the TARDIS, it was not a normal box.  The jumpers all fit with room to spare, and if a few ended up momentarily pressed against her face, well, she didn’t think the TARDIS was the tattling sort.

Folding the flaps closed, Rose hefted the surprisingly-light box into her arms and snuck out, peering carefully around corners to try to avoid the Doctor.  But either she was lucky or the TARDIS was still helping, because she made it back to the wardrobe room without being rumbled.

-

The next morning, she was slumped over the table in the galley cuddling a mug of tea and hoping to absorb the caffeine by osmosis as Jack worked at the stovetop, frying eggs and bacon.  They’d shared several bottles of wine both before and after her ‘heist’, but now, Rose looked like she’d drank alone, and Jack as though he’d had none.

Then the yelling started.

“Wha’ was tha’?” Rose jerked upright, staring at the closed door to the hall from where the ruckus was emanating.

“Gotta be the Doc, right?”  Jack turned off the burners, and they made their way out into the corridor, following the noise until they found the Doctor standing in the middle of a hallway, shouting up at the ceiling in a language the TARDIS wouldn’t translate.

Like magic Rose was wide awake, exhaustion wiped away by sudden, overwhelming lust.  The Time Lord was only half-dressed, wearing his usual black trousers and a white undershirt.  His socked feet were shoeless, and he looked deliciously rumpled.  Based on Jack’s sharp inhale next to her, he felt the same.

The Doctor spun round then, spotting them, his face twisting into a scowl as they gaped at him.  “Enough fun and games,” he bit out, Northern accent more pronounced than usual, “where are all my jumpers?”

Rose was too busy studying the outline of muscles beneath the white tee to answer, but slowly became aware of the single index finger pointed in her direction from the man to her left - who, until five seconds before, she’d considered a good friend.

The Doctor’s right, can’t trust a con man!

“Rose took them,” Jack easily threw her under the bus, and though she made a noise of protest and disgust at his treachery, she couldn’t quite tear her eyes away from the Doctor.

“He dared me,” she managed to retort, trying and failing not to smile at the turtle-covered socks peeking out beneath the trouser hem.

Her former friend gasped dramatically.  “I did no such thing!” 

The Doctor snorted, crossing his arms and stalking forward.  Despite their similar build he easily towered over Jack, giving him his best Oncoming Storm look until the Captain swallowed, at which point he grinned.  But it wasn’t a friendly grin, it was a predatory, king of the jungle teeth-baring, and to Rose’s horror, her stomach bottomed out.

Oh, God, he really is sexy Rose flushed, biting her lip.  Somehow she caught the Doctor’s attention, and his gaze moved towards her, eyes widening for a moment before narrowing, looking somehow pleased and surprised all at once.

“Good job,” was all he said, in an incongruously mild tone, “well done.  Nice prank.  But can I have at least one back now, so we can get on with our day?”

The lights from his room flashed, and the Doctor slowly turned to face the open door.

“I won’t forget this,” he warned the ship, padding back into his room and starting to shut the door behind him, pausing when only a few inches remained.  “And Jack, pull something like this again and I’ll leave you on the Time Agency’s doorstep, with a letter detailing what you were up to when we met.  And irrefutable proof you were the one who blew up the weapons factories at Villengard.  Understand?”

Jack nodded numbly, for once looking properly shamed and chastised; Rose almost felt bad, even if it was entirely of his own making.

The door slammed shut, sparking the other man back to life as his eyes brightened.

“Hey!  How come you didn’t threaten Rose?”

Not giving him time to answer she spun on her heel, making her way out of the store and into the mall.  They’d landed on a famous shopping planet in the 52nd century, and she was determined not to leave until she’d found the perfect jumper for each of them and a gift for her mother and Mo.

“I don’t understand the appeal of buying something specifically because it’s ugly.”  The Doctor skulked after her, and she didn’t have to see him to know his arms were crossed.

“It’s fun.”

“Spending what little disposable income you have on something hideous you’ll only wear once is fun?”

Rose rolled her eyes, ignoring his dig about money.  “Yes.  It’s part of the spirit of the season.  A chance to laugh and spend time together, and maybe even win a few quid.  Sometimes Mo requires them be homemade only, but this year shop-bought is fine.”  A light-up green monstrosity hung in the window a few doors down, and she bee-lined for it.

Forest green, it was decorated like a tree with bits of tinsel stuck to the front.  The gifts under it were 3-D as well, in garish colors, and the lights on the tree were real, blinking lights.  “This might work.”  Turning to hold it up against the Doctor, she spotted It towards the back of the shop. “Hang on.”

Putting the jumper she held back without looking, she never took her eyes off the one she found.  “Yes!”  Meant for two, it was red and green with white lettering.  Overly large, it had two neck holes but only two arm sleeves.  The left side was red with green detailing, the words “I’ve been nice” in white.  In the center was a large stocking, filled with a teddy bear, lollipop, and gingerbread man.  In contrast, the right side was green with red lining, reading “I’ve been naughty”; the stocking on this side had coal coming out of the top.

“It’s perfect!”  Rose beamed up at the Doctor, who was staring at it in horror.  “The only question is, who is which?”

He opened his mouth, maybe to reply, maybe to curse, and she covered his mouth with her hand.  “That’s not really in question, I’m obviously the nice one.”

“Rose, we cannot go to a party with your mother in the same jumper,” he pointed out, not hiding his tinge of desperation as well as he probably thought.  “She’ll think we’re a… a couple.”

Rose flipped through the surrounding options, but there wasn’t anything she liked better.  “Okay, a, we are a couple.  And b, I don’t think you’ve considered the brilliance of this.”

“What brilliance?”  He held it up, expression still sour as he gazed at it.  “‘M not seeing any brilliance, here.”

Dumping her purse on the ground, Rose wriggled into the ‘Nice’ side. “Well, for one, we will literally be inseparable – no one, especially Mum, will be able to corner you without me there to run interference.  And two- c’mon, try it on.”

It took some maneuvering to get them both settled in the sweater, but finally it was on.  Their insides arms hung awkwardly for only a moment before Rose took his hand.  “See?  Not only do you not have to be alone at any point during the party, you can hold my hand the whole time!”

The Doctor’s expression was softening, and she knew she almost had him.  He would have gone along regardless, albeit with plenty of grumbling, but she wanted to, if not make it fun, at least minimize his suffering.

“And,” she lowered her voice to murmur, reaching up on tiptoes to press her lips to his cheek, “it’s just like the night we met.  My left hand, your right.  And you never have to let go.”  She kissed the corner of his mouth, waiting there until his head turned towards her enough that their lips met.

It was a sweet kiss, full of promise, and Rose tasted victory. “Is that a yes?” she whispered, and he sighed heavily.

“Fine.  But only for a few hours.”

“Deal.”

-

Naturally Jackie loved their sweater, even if she did give Rose a raised eyebrow when the Doctor wasn’t looking.  Her mother’s was red, with the A Christmas Story leg lamp front and center, making Rose laugh.

Mo’s flat was crowded by the time they got there, the booze flowing freely judging by the raucous laughter and off-key singing emanating from the open door.  The first hour was spent saying hello to people she hadn’t seen in a while, telling highly sanitized stories of things she’d seen and done, the Doctor standing silently next to her all the while.  Every so often he’d squeeze her hand, and she’d taken to rubbing her thumb over his to soothe his agitation.

“Here!”  Mickey appeared nearly out of thin air, holding out a plastic cup filled with eggnog.  “Hey, babe.”

Rose tensed as he leaned in, turning her cheek so he missed her lips.  She saw the Doctor’s expression tighten and squeezed his hand in comfort and apology. Not telling anyone they were together meant Mickey assumed they were still somewhat together, though she was under no illusions that he was sitting home on Saturday nights hoping she’d show.

“Thanks, Micks.”  Rose frowned down at the proffered cup, and her only available hand already holding a beer. “Uh…”

“I’ll take that,” the Doctor said with a too-bright grin, grabbing the eggnog and taking a long pull of it.  “Cheers.”

“Yeah, sure.”  Mickey frowned at him, before taking in their sweater.  “That’s all right, I suppose.  Certainly true enough.”

“Yours is… interesting,” Rose replied diplomatically, leaning in closer so he could catch her words.  The music was blasting, and any conversation deeper than unimportant pleasantries required minimal personal space to hear.  His sweater was, as most were, red and green, with two gingerbread people doggy style. The female was on all fours, red lipstick and a pearl necklace, her partner behind her.

“Thought it was funny,” he shrugged, and she was torn on whether or not to be pleased that her opinion didn’t matter to him.  “I like it, at least.  So did Vince.”

“Of course he did.”  Rose hated the awkward small-talk between them on the best of days, but it was even worse with the Doctor literally joined at the hip with her, in a sea of people during a party.  She was still looking for a way out when the song changed and the Doctor leaned down to her ear.

“Want to dance?”

“What, really?”  She blinked up at him, before looking towards the dance floor.  All of Mo’s furniture had been moved out of the sitting room, except for tables set up along two walls holding the snacks and beverages respectively.  Despite the catchy pop Christmas tunes blaring from speakers, most of the people were dancing like they were in a dark club, grinding on each other.  There were a few wandering hands between partners, and the later the party went, the fewer inhibitions there would be.  Last year, one amorous couple had gotten evicted when the girl, a coworker of Mo’s boyfriend, started giving her bloke head in front of everyone.

The Doctor merely shrugged, finishing his drink.  “C’mon.”

“Okay.”  Wriggling her fingers in her ex’s direction, she let her partner lead her to the floor.  It took a song to figure how to work around the sweater, but they ended up front to front. He maneuvered them back towards the corner, and he relaxed once his back was to the wall.

“So when you said dance…” Rose drawled, and he merely shrugged.

“Wanted to get away from Rickey."

“Mickey.”

“Whatever.”

Rolling her eyes she danced in place a bit, the jumper making it difficult to move much, but she did her best to lose herself in the beat. Eyes slipping closed, she let her body move.

“Rose?”

Blinking her eyes open, she found him frowning down at her.

“What?”

“I… feel weird,” he murmured, and the party attitude she was struggling to maintain evaporated.

“Weird how?”  The only thing he’d had was the eggnog Mickey had intended for her, but it was Mickey – she highly doubted it was drugged, and even if it was, it shouldn’t affect the Doctor’s superior biology, right?  “What’s wrong?”

“The room’s… spinning, a bit,” he said slowly, his hands settling on her hips, one on top of the jumper, the other below it.  “And… my mind is fuzzy.  What was in the drink?”

“Should’ve just been eggnog.”  Rose scowled, looking around the room trying to spot Mickey. She couldn’t see him, and the way the Doctor was leaning back against the wall suggested he wasn’t in any position to move.

“What’s in that?”

“Milk, cream, eggs,” she listed off, shrugging.  “Rum, probably.”  Rising on tiptoe, she smelled his breath.  “Definitely rum.  A lot of it.”

“It had a… something sprinkled on it.”  His brow furrowed in concentration, making Rose tense. She wasn’t used to him being at anything less than perfect capacity, to needing to be the strong one for him.

“Cinnamon, probably.”

Their eyes widened at the same time.  “I thought just ginger was a problem!” she hissed, wrapping her arms around his waist.  “Cinnamon too?”

“Apparently,” he said helplessly.  “Learn something new every day, I suppose.”

“Let’s get you out of here,” Rose decided, turning so they were side to side and maneuvering his arm inside the jumper over her shoulder. “C’mon love.”

She guided him to the door, half-carrying him as he dragged his feet.  Jackie was standing by the door flirting with Howard from the market, though she straightened when she caught sight of her daughter.  “Rose!  What’s going on?”

“He’s having a reaction to the eggnog,” she said tightly.  “I’m gonna take him home.  We’ll see you in the morning?”

“You’ll stay?”  Her mother lit up with hope, and Rose couldn’t say no if she tried.

“Course, yeah.  He’s in no condition to be driving anyway.”

“All right, love.  Need help?”

Rose shook her head, guiding him forward again.  “No.  Thank God it’s just down one flight.”

-

Rose was a sweaty mess by the time they stumbled into the flat, and she brought him straight into her bedroom.  “Right, down you go.”  He sank onto the twin like a sack of rocks, and she struggled out of the shared jumper, leaving him in it for the moment.  “Okay.”

A quick rifle through the medicine cabinet found some Time-Lord safe medication, and she brought it and a large glass of water back to her room to find he’d rolled onto his side and was snoring slightly.

“Doctor?”

He grunted, jerking awake to blink blearily at her.  “Wha’?”

“Drink this.”  She gave him the pills and water, watching as he downed both easily.  “Good.  How much eggnog did you have?”

“A few cups,” he muttered.  “Was good.  Think just the last one had cinnsimon.  Ciminison. The… bad stuff.  Tasted good though.”

“How bad is it?”

The Doctor rolled onto his back, throwing his arms wide as he stared up at her.  “No’ too bad. Can’t filter out the alcohol’s all.”

“So you’re drunk.”

“Yep.”  He popped the ‘p’, before snickering at the sound.  “You’re very pretty.”

“Thanks, love.”  Reassured that he wasn’t about to die, Rose perched herself on the edge of the bed by his hip.  He looked rather loveable, alone in the two-person sized jumper, a little out of it. One of his hands migrated to his stomach, the other settling on her knee, and she grinned at the adoring smile he gave her.

“Very, very pretty.”

“You’re not so bad yourself.”  Leaning forward to kiss his cheek, she stood with a sigh and moved towards her chest of drawers.  Locating a pair of pyjama shorts and a tank, she turned her back on him and changed.  Just as she finished he grunted as if in pain, and she spun in worry – only to find him watching her, hand wrapped tightly around his cock.

“Doctor!”  She scrambled for her bedroom door, slamming it shut before turning back to him.  “What’re you doing?”

“You’re wet,” he replied smugly, hand continuing it’s smooth glide along his length.  “Don’t deny, I can smell it.  You want me.”

He’s drunk, Rose reminded herself firmly, determined to hold his gaze and not let her eyes wander. “I nearly always want you.  Doesn’t mean it’s going to happen.”

She settled on the side of the bed beside his hip, so close his forearm brushed against her knee with every stroke.  He didn’t seem to be in a hurry, wasn’t wanking with intent, but it was still distracting, talking to him normally as he did so.

“Awww, come on,” the Doctor whined.  “Please?”

Rose drew her knees up to her chest, scowling at him.

“Ooh, that was a mistake – I can smell you even better now,” he tried to leer, making her roll her eyes.

“You know what?  Let’s get that jumper off you, make you comfortable.”  Her main goal was to get his hands off himself, but if it made him more settled and therefore more likely to pass out, she’d take it.

They struggled together to get it off him, Rose ending up in his lap as she pulled it over his head, only realizing her mistake when his fingers snuck inside her shorts to rub against her.

“See?  Wet,” he smirked, as if she’d denied it.  “Very wet.  Maybe you should’ve been wearing the ‘naughty’ side.”  His middle finger slid inside her with no resistance, and her mind went blank for a long moment as she ground down on it and the thumb he pressed against her clit.

“Oh, shit.  Shit! Stop it,” she scolded, not quite able to force her body away from him.  “You’re drunk.”

“I’m perfectly aware of my actions,” he argued, not only disobeying her but adding a second finger inside.  “As are you.  C’mon, please?  Don’t make me beg.”

Rose grunted, her hips taking on a life of their own as they thrust down on him.  “Are you gonna come and pass out before I do?” she asked, semi-rhetorically.  “Cause if you do I might kill you.”

The Doctor sniffed, offended.  “Have I ever left you unsatisfied before?”

“No, but I’ve never seen you drunk before,” she shot back, eyes widening.  “Fuck, I’m close.”

He struggled upright, managing to keep the rhythm going until they were both sitting up.  Nuzzling her neck, he sucked at her pulse point and she shattered, yelping with surprise before collapsing onto him.

“Oh.  Oh, wow.” Rose moaned softly into his neck. “Okay, that was nice.”

He snickered, peppering kisses over her neck.  “My turn.”

Sighing as aftershocks shuddered through her she climbed off his lap, removing her own shorts.  “Right, everything else off.”  They managed to get him naked fairly easily and distraction-free, only a few pauses for soft kisses and the thorough suck she gave his erection before positioning herself over him.  “Again, you pass out and I kill you.”

“Noted.”  His eyes were a little clearer now, and she hoped he was able to keep that promise. Then he pulled her down onto him, seating himself fully inside her on the first try.

“Fuck.”  Still somewhat boneless from her first orgasm, Rose had to cling to his broad shoulders for leverage as she began to work herself over him.  Using his nose, hands busy guiding her hips, he moved the neckline of her tank down so her breasts were free.  Dimly aware that she was grunting with every thrust, his hips moving in countermeasure to her own, she shifted her grip to her headboard.

It didn’t take long before they came together, crying out in unison as she sagged, draping herself over him.  Eventually able to move she got them cleaned up, and when she returned to her bedroom she smiled to see him sound asleep.

When her mother asked the next morning about the scratches on her neck as she handed over Rose and the Doctor’s winnings, she merely shrugged.

Closing the TARDIS door behind him and double checking his pocket for the sonic and psychic paper, he picked a random direction and started walking.  A path emerged, the pure white snow turning gray and slushy with previous travelers.  He saw no one, no signs of life, but a path always led somewhere and there tended to be people at the end of it.  His ship had brought him here for a reason, after all, and he would get nowhere trying to convince her to leave – she’d stay parked where she was until she deemed him ready to continue on.  He’d already wasted too many hours losing that particular argument against her.

The first hints of activity began filtering down the lane, and he unconsciously picked up speed.  It sounded like a celebration; was it Christmas? The weather was certainly right for it.

Within a mile he stumbled across the outer edges of the little village, cottages decorated with bright greens suggesting midwinter.  Children laughed, chasing each other, as adults manned wooden stands with wares and goods along the main thoroughfare.

“Welcome, visitor,” a woman called, catching his eye, and everyone around them stopped, staring at him with curiosity and only a hint of mistrust.

“Ah, hello.  Happy Christmas.”  He waved awkwardly.

“Happy Christmas,” was murmured back in unison, the spell broken when the children took up their play again.  He smiled politely at the more suspicious looks before making his way over to the friendly woman’s stand.

“Very nice,” he approved, taking in her merchandise; the table was piled high with tarts and bite-sized cakes and other delectable treats.  “May I?”

She nodded, and he dug out a coin that he hoped would be contemporary, sighing with relief when she merely pocketed it before handing him a tiny cake.  “Where do you hail from?”

“Farther norther,” he said vaguely, biting into the treat with pleasure.  “Blimey, this is good.”

“Thank you.”

“I’m the Doctor, and you are?”

“Alice,” she replied promptly, dusting her hands on her apron and turning on a charming smile. “My husband owns the inn.  Will you be needing a room?”

“No, just passing through.” He crammed the last bite into his mouth before licking his fingers, collecting every last tasty morsel.  “My compliments, though.”

A church bell rang then, eerily similar to the TARDIS’ cloister bell, making the villagers drop everything.  A strange mood, sober yet excited, took over the locals as they began to make their way down the road towards where a steeple rose out of the trees.  The children abandoned their games to run to their mothers, and a foreboding feeling took ahold of him.

“What’s going on, then?” he asked Alice, falling into step with her as she covered her goodies and stepped onto the path.  “Mass?” He hoped not, not sure how he could extricate himself from that while sticking around, then winced when she gave him a startled look.  “I mean church, of course.  Not too good with terminology, me.”  So some point after the 1560s, then- the Church of England.  Last thing he wanted was to be executed for being a Catholic, considering he wasn’t one.

“Witch burning,” she whispered, glancing over her shoulder before drawing her shawl tighter around her and crossing herself.  “A witch appeared in the middle of the square yesterday afternoon, dressed like the Devil and carrying a fearsome weapon.  It took four of our strongest, bravest men to subdue her.  The reverend commanded she be burned at midday, as a sacrifice.”

“A burning?” the Doctor repeated, brow furrowing as he looked ahead.  The chapel was just coming into view around the bend, and sure enough a pyre was assembled in the courtyard, piled high with logs of firewood. “That’s different.”

“Normally it would be hanged, of course, but it is so ferocious an evil spirit Reverend Archer wishes to take no chances.  And it’s been such a cold winter, the fire will provide much needed heat.”

“Why do you say ferocious?” His instincts told him it was no ordinary ‘witch’; a lost alien, maybe?  Something requiring rescuing?

“It fought and struggled like nothing we’ve ever seen, sir.  As I said, it took our best men to subdue, making an awful, howling racket the whole night long, begging for its tools, promising to leave and never return if granted.  We refused, of course – you cannot trust the word of a demon.”

They reached the square then, and with a nod of thanks the Doctor pushed his way to the front of the crowd, palming his sonic and tensing in anticipation.  Midday was only minutes away, and he was ready to act if, or more likely when, necessary.

A few of the locals gave him odd looks, but he merely smiled politely and turned his attention to the pyre. It was a cruel way to go, burning to death, and in the back of his mind, the ever-present screaming as Gallifrey-

“It is time to put the witch to death,” the town crier called, and the crowd parted across the pyre from the Doctor to let the procession through, moving deliberately to give the villagers the best chance of a view of the so-called witch.  “In the name of our King, James the First of that name, we sentence this creature to be burned at the stake.  We offer this sacrifice to humbly beseech our Creator to protect us, granting us health and safety if He so chooses.”

The Doctor could sense something in the air now, a strange crackling signifying shifting timelines that only he could feel.  The strength of the premonition, the overwhelming feeling of wrongness, was so surprising, so unexpected he missed the rest of the speech, watching without seeing as the ‘witch’ was secured to the stake.  He came to again as the torch was lit, the village leader giving his own monologue before he would set the poor creature on fire.  Looking up the Doctor was startled to find a humanoid figure not of the time period, judging by the purple leather jacket, black trousers, and peroxide-blonde hair.

The woman’s hands were bound behind her back, a gag muffling almost all of her shouts and obscuring half her face.  She continued to struggle against her bindings, her tenacity impressing him.  He met her eyes then, and to his surprise he could see a maelstrom of emotions there – shock.  Fear.  Relief. Recognition.  Confusion.

Whiskey eyes stared back at him as she fell silent and still, and the leader stepped onto the dais next to her, keeping the torch and his body well away as he leaned over and yanked the rag out of her mouth and down around her neck.  “Have you any final words, whore of Satan?”

Her face was exposed, and the Doctor’s world stopped spinning.

The nagging feeling of wrongness made sense then, as did the TARDIS’ insistence.  Their ‘demon’ was no witch at all, but rather a time traveler. An extraordinary yet perfectly ordinary teenager girl from London.  Well, London of four hundred years in the future.

It was Rose Tyler.

“What are you doing here?” he croaked, stepping forward without thinking. Shock clouded his mind, as he tried to comprehend how she could have gotten here.  Certainly not via the TARDIS; Alice had said she’d arrived the previous day.

“Me?  What are you doing here?” she shot back, now surprisingly unperturbed at her current circumstances.  “Are you here alone?”  It was an odd question, and he opened his mouth to tell her so, to demand answers, when he was beaten to the punch.

“What is the meaning of this?”

They both turned to stare at the village leader, the Doctor blinking in surprise as the very real danger she faced coalesced in the burning torch.  “Uh…”  Fumbling in his pockets as he leapt up onto the dais as well, he produced the psychic paper and flashed it in front of the man, never taking his eyes off her.  Rose.  “Here’s my credentials.”

“Oh!”  He whipped off his hat, handing the torch off to a lackey as he bowed.  “Witchfinder General!  I’m terribly sorry, sir, I was not aware you were to join us.  Um, do you know this… creature?”

“My assistant,” the Doctor blurted, raising an eyebrow at Rose, who nodded.  “She’s… she’s with me.”

“But… she’s a witch,” he protested weakly.

“Listen, mate, I was undercover,” Rose said with remarkable patience, gritting her teeth but remaining calm.  “I tried to tell you, but you refused to listen.”

“I… I thought…”

“Get her down.”  The Doctor’s tone brooked no argument, hearts pounding.  As long as she remained tied to the stake he wouldn’t be able to concentrate, the timelines screaming at him to save this girl.  She would not die on his watch.  “Now. Then we can talk.”

The would-be executioners leapt to, and soon Rose was at his side, his body between hers and the pyre. She rubbed at her wrists where the ropes had surely dug into her skin, trembling only slightly, but otherwise remained astonishingly poised.  Impulse had him putting his arm around her shoulders, and her tension instantly melted away as she snuggled into his embrace, sagging against him.

“This way, sir.”

The village leader led them into the church, the reverend hot on his heels, both watching carefully as Rose stepped foot over the threshold into the chapel proper.

“Now, if I was really a demon, I wouldn’t be able to do that, would I?” she remarked dryly, arching her eyebrow in the locals’ direction.  “Couldn’t enter holy ground, yeah?”

“Nope,” the Doctor snapped off cheerily as they settled onto pews in the middle of the church, the locals in front of them and forced to turn to look at them.  He wanted them uncomfortable.  “Now, tell me what’s going on, start at the beginning.”

“She appeared in the square in a flash of brilliant purple light yesterday afternoon,” the reverend sniveled, wringing his hands.  Roughly thirty with a round belly and pasty complexion, he was a caricature of the stereotypical man who became a pastor because he couldn’t find a willing wife. “What were we to think?”

“Parlor tricks,” the Doctor said firmly, even as he privately wondered how she’d done it. Vortex manipulator?  Teleport?  “If you want to successfully and accurately weed out witches, you must become one with them.”

“And what did you find, miss?” the leader cut in.  Forties, he was weedy, with dark eyes and hair, a cruel look about him, fitting with his willingness to murder a stranger is such a terrible way without any consideration or due process.

“Well, Mister Hayward, I didn’t exactly have much time to find anything, did I?  Considering I was immediately arrested and sentenced to death.” Rose met his gaze coolly, holding it until the older man flinched.

“But child, why didn’t you say something?” Reverend Archer implored, and she let out a distinctly unladylike snort before arranging her features in a trying-for-demure grimace that made the Doctor cough to hide a laugh.  He’d clearly underestimated her fiery spirit.

“My Lord forbid me from revealing my purpose under any circumstances,” she bit out, smiling sweetly.  “I could not disobey.”

“You are a Lord, sir?” Hayward asked, eyes lighting with interest and greed.  “Truly?  What is the name of your estate, if I may be so bold?”

“Time,” Rose said promptly, and the Doctor struggled not to react; he hadn’t told her that.  The Consciousness had mentioned it, but why would she remember that?  “He is the Lord of Time.”

“And you?”

A slow, dangerous smile spread over her face, and for the first time the Doctor realized that she was not the same woman he had left in the alley three months before.  She had an aura of confidence, of self-worth and experience she hadn’t had when they’d met.  What had happened to her?  “Me? I’m the Big Bad Wolf, mate.  I’ll huff, and I’ll puff, and I’ll blow your house down.”

As the locals cast her nervous looks, the Doctor decided it was a good time to redirect the conversation before they both ended up on the pyre. He could probably get them out of that, but didn’t want to waste the time on the risk.  “My companion’s things?  I trust nothing will be missing.”

“Yes, sir, of course, sir,” Hayward jumped to his feet, bowing slightly.  “I’ll fetch them right away, sir.”

The reverend took one look at each of them before standing as well.  “I’ll help!”  He scurried after the leader’s retreating back, leaving the Doctor alone with her for the first time.

“Rose?  What are you-”

She threw herself at him, wrapping her arms tightly around his neck and burrowing her face into his chest as she began to shake.  He slowly brought his arms around her back, holding her tighter as hot tears began to soak through his jumper.

“Shhh, you’re okay,” he murmured, pressing his lips to her crown.  “You’re safe now, I won’t let anything happen to you.  I promise.”

After only a few minutes her tears slowed, but she made no move to let go.  “I can’t believe you’re here,” she whispered.  “I missed you so much.”

“Rose…”  He leaned back far enough to see her face, studying her carefully.  He hadn’t seen the difference at first glance, but this close she was obviously older, a weariness in her eye he recognized from companions who had just had another close call.  Whatever was going on, she wasn’t new to this life, wasn’t lost in the reality of being in a different time period.  “How?”

“When are you in your timeline?” she asked instead, and the phrasing just showed how familiar she was not only with time travel, but with meeting other travelers out of order.

“We met roughly three months ago, for me.  You said no. How are you here?”

It was Rose’s turn to pull back, and she groaned slightly.  “I’m not sure I can say.  Timelines.”

“Try.”

She bit her lip, staring blankly over his shoulder for a moment before meeting his eye again. “Sorry, ‘s just a bit overwhelming, making concentrating difficult.”

“Near death experiences tend to do that.”

“I meant seeing you. Specifically, this you.”

His eyebrows shot up at that, hearing what she wasn’t saying.  “You know another me?”

“Yep.”  She popped the ‘p’, smirking momentarily.  “So, Cliff Notes version, you came back like ten seconds after you left, and I travelled with you – this you – for about a year. Stuff happened, you regenerated, and we were together another two years.  We, um, got separated, and it’s too complicated to explain and you shouldn’t know anyway, but you couldn’t just… come get me.  So now I’m trying to get home to you.”

“But not this me.” The Doctor decided to ignore the other curious comments, focusing instead on the timeline-important parts of her story.  He was itching to ask questions, to know just why she’d phrased things the way she had, but reigned in his impulses.  Timelines were fragile, and he didn’t want to risk knowing more than he should.

“Would that I could,” Rose sighed, brushing her fingertips over his jaw.  “Missed this face too.  But your fate’s set, I’m afraid.”

“You said I came back?”

She nodded, letting her hand fall to her lap.  “Course, you never mentioned you were gone for three months.”

“Why?  Why’d you change your mind, I mean?”  His excellent hearing could pick up footsteps approaching the church, but he needed to know.

“I didn’t – I just needed you to ask a second time.  It’s a long story, involving deadbeat boyfriends.  You’ll hear it eventually.”

“Uh, sir?”  It was Hayward’s assistant, and oldest son by the looks of him.  “I have the lady’s possessions.”

He dumped the armful of items on the pew, and made to flee.

“Wait,” Rose commanded, sorting through her things quickly.  “I had a billfold – just like the Doctor’s credentials.  Where is it?”

“Erm…”  The youth shuffled his feet, glancing nervously behind him.  “I think…”

“You’d best find it,” the Doctor grinned.  “She’s not a lady you want to make mad.  Go on.”

The boy scampered, and Rose huffed.  “Honestly.”

“Everything else there?”

She nodded, inserting an earpiece and tapping a button on a high-tech wristband.  It resembled a Vortex Manipulator, but not quite. “Micks?”  Rose flinched, and he could hear the shouting from where he was seated a foot away.  “Hi, Mum. I’m fine.  Yes.  Yes.  Just a misunderstanding.  Sort of. It means sort of.  Soon, I think.  I’ll radio in.  Don’t you dare.”  She jammed a button again, rolling her eyes.  “I was only meant to be here twenty minutes if you weren’t, and it’s been a full day.  Mum worries, after that year- well, never mind.  I’m sorry, but I’ve got to go.”

Disappointed but not surprised, he nodded.  “D’you need any help?”

Rose shook her head. “Just the psychic paper back – that usually saves my neck.  I wonder, though… did it not work so you’d come rescue me, or did you come because the TARDIS knew it wouldn’t work?”

“Which came first, the chicken or the egg?” the Doctor retorted, earning a laugh.  “No way of knowing.  Sure there’s nothing?”

She bit her lip, glancing around the chapel for a moment before pulling a mobile out of her pocket sheepishly.  “D’you mind a picture?”

“C’mere.”  He took the device from her, and they snuggled up in the pew.  “Say ‘TARDIS’.”

“TARDIS!” she crowed, laughing, as he snapped the shot, and a few more for safety’s sake.  “Thanks.”

“Here, miss.”  Hayward Junior reappeared, practically throwing the psychic paper at her before fleeing as they watched in amusement.

“Better go before they try to burn me again,” Rose teased, putting her things back into her pockets; given the size of the pile, he realized at some point he must have made her pockets trans-dimensional.

“I’ll walk you out.”

They found a back door, and once outside Rose threw herself into his arms, holding him tight. “Goodbye.  For now, at least.”

“Goodbye,” the Doctor repeated gently, squeezing her.  “Though, I suppose it’s not for me, is it?”

“Nope!”  She pulled away, wiping at her eyes.  “Right, time to go before I- well, don’t.”  She reached for the communication button on her wristlet, finger hovering over it.  “Oh! You forgot to tell me something.”

“What’s that?” Despite barely knowing her, his hearts were breaking in his chest to see her leave, but he set his jaw against any stray tears or other displays of emotion.

“That it travels in time.” Rose hit the button, giving him a wide, tongue-touched grin.  “I’ll see you when I see you.  And I will see you.”

She vanished in a purple bolt of energy in front of his very eyes, and as soon as she was gone the details of the afternoon began to fade.  Travels in time, he began to repeat to himself, a sudden, overwhelming urge he couldn’t fight telling him to head for the TARDIS.  It also travels in time.  It was a message he had to pass on, but to who, and from whom, was growing foggier by the second.

-

Eventually they reconvened with Algy in the dining room, settling in for lunch.  The third time the server gave Rose a nervous look, she snapped.

“What?!”  Her tone drew the attention of the other three quickly; Algy looked panicked, Mo worried, and Jackie suspicious.

“I’m sorry, ma’am, I was just wondering if your companion would be joining you for luncheon?”  The maid asked, eyes wide.

“No,” Rose bit out.  “He won’t.”

“Certainly, ma’am.  I only ask because he’s been sitting outside for hours, and it’s freezing cold.  The butler was worried.”

There was a dull rushing in Rose’s ears.  “Outside?  He’s been outside for hours?”

“Yes, ma’am, down at the gate.  Reggie, the butler, tried to talk to him but he, uh, wasn’t receptive.”  The girl’s attitude relaxed when Rose’s tone lost its bite.

She sat there for a moment, frozen, as she tried to process what the girl was saying.

“Rose?  What’s going on?”  Her mother’s voice broke the fog, and she shoved her chair back to all but leap across the room.

“Thank you!” she called over her shoulder, dashing out the hall, through the door, and down the drive without stopping for a coat.

Skidding to a stop at the gate, her heart pounding had nothing to do with the cold or exertion, and everything to do with the Time Lord sitting on the low brick wall surrounding the property.

She didn’t say anything, just staring at him as he resolutely ignored her.

Finally, perhaps understanding it was up to him to break the silence, he spoke.  “Couldn’t do it.”

He laughed bitterly, breath puffing in the frigid air.  “Ironic, isn’t it?  Me, unable to leave.  It’s all I’ve ever done – for centuries.  Pop in, try to help, make a mess, and head off before anyone starts the cleanup.  Just a drive through.  And yet I can’t seem to make myself leave here.”

“I don’t expect you to marry me,” Rose finally said, hopping up next to him.  It was even colder with nothing to block the wind, but she was too stubborn to jump back down.  “Everything was fine, until Algy proposed.  Are you thinking I want that?  Because I don’t, not really.  I mean, sometimes I think it’d be nice, but it’s really the partnership I want.  I mean it – I want what we have.  I want you.  Whatever relationship form that takes.”

He made a strangled, choking sound.  “Oh, Rose, don’t you understand?  I wasn’t running because I don’t want to marry you – I was running because I do.”

She inhaled sharply, bowled over by the confession.  “But then why-”

“I’m nine hundred years old,” he interrupted.  “Probably more, I lost track a good long while ago.  You, your species – you’re lucky to make it to ten percent of that.  And I’m still young, relatively.  Only about middle age for a Time Lord.  The problem isn’t that I don’t want you, it’s how badly I do.  Because today, in a year, five years, if you live to be a hundred – it’s still a fraction of my remaining lifetime.  The blink of an eye.  I don’t know if I can survive losing you then.  Blimey, I can’t even survive it now, and I was only a thousand feet away.”

“So what’s the answer?” she asked quietly.  “What happens?  You can’t go, you won’t stay – what am I supposed to do with that?”  A sharp wind blew, and she couldn’t contain the shiver.  Turning to her for the first time, his eyes widened as he took her in.

“Bloody fucking hell, Rose, it’s below freezing out here and you’re not even in a coat!”  He quickly shrugged off his leather jacket, helping her into it and zipping it up.  It helped block the wind, but he’d been out here for ages and didn’t have much in the way of body heat to begin with.

“Don’t yell at me,” she ordered through chattering teeth.

The Doctor shook his head in fond exasperation.  “Come on, let’s get you inside.  You dying’s not on my must-see list, but if you’re going to pop off at least do it when I’m out of range of your mother,” he complained, jumping down before turning to help her.  He led her up the drive and back into the house.

Jackie was waiting just inside the door, and he pushed past her.  “Not now, Jackie.”

Never one to listen, the woman followed him up the stairs, nagging.  “Where’ve you been?  What’s wrong with her?  What’s going on?”

He’d never been so glad to see their bedroom door, and he managed to get Rose and himself in without Jackie following.

“I’ll take care of her,” he snapped, before slamming the door in her face and turning to Rose.  “Come ‘ere, love.”  He guided her to the floor in front of the fire, stoking the flames quickly before pulling the duvet off the bed.  His superior senses could still smell the sex on it from their morning romp, though it felt like centuries before.  Wrapping it around Rose’s shoulders he curled behind her, pulling her into his grip.  Kissing her forehead, he sighed in relief.

“You’re not hypothermic, but you would’ve been given another ten minutes.  Why would you be so reckless?”

Rose shrugged, the movement almost lost beneath the heavy layers.  She nestled her head below his chin.  “I didn’t want to wait,” she murmured, staring into the fire.  “What if you were waiting for me, and gave up?”

His breathing hitched.  “I will never give up,” he promised softly.

“I don’t want to lose you,” she whispered in response.

He nuzzled his cheek against her temple and she gasped, jerking upright.  “What was that?”

The Doctor stared at her, perplexed.  He’d brushed his mind against hers just as a surface check, but she shouldn’t have been able to feel it.  It happened accidentally, sometimes, usually when he lost control as they made love.  She’d never noticed before, or at least had never said anything.

“What was what?”  He played dumb, hearts racing.

“It was like- it was like- did you hear singing, or somethin’?”  She screwed up her face, the memory of it already fading.  “It was like I could, I dunno, feel you.  Like when we make love.”

That answered that question, and he was momentarily annoyed she’d never told him until he considered all that he’d never told her.  “Rose…”

“Aren’t you telepathic?”  She finally connected the dots, scrambling up on her knees, back to the fire.

“I…”

“You are!”  She gasped, and he grimaced.  Her freakout on Platform One rushed to the forefront of his mind, and he prepared himself for a repeat.

“Am I?”

That was unexpected, and he marginally relaxed.  “What?”

“Am I telepathic?”  She demanded, eyes wide.  “Is that why I could feel you?”

“Yes, I’m telepathic,” he said carefully.  “I don’t think you are – you shouldn’t be, at least.  And you shouldn’t be able to feel me, either.  Not that I’m in your head ever; it’s just sometimes my control slips when I’m…”

“About to orgasm?”  Rose provided helpfully, and altogether too calmly for the subject matter.

“Yes.”

“What does it mean, that I can feel you?”

“I don’t know,” he replied, distracted.  There was something about her question, tied to the way she almost glowed golden in front of the fire that tugged at his time senses.  They weren’t nearly as strong as his previous body, but something told him this was a point in flux that could have far-reaching repercussions.

“Time Lords are telepathic,” she said slowly, almost as though repeating it.  “You would hear other Time Lords in your mind – is that how your species married?”

“Yes,” the Doctor blurted.  He was too taken aback by her knowing that to obfuscate.  “Rose, what’s going on?”

She shook her head, and it seemed like the universe righted itself.  The strange feeling disappeared as quickly as it came, and she blinked at him.

“Doctor?”

“Marry me,” he blurted, and the timelines seemed to freeze, and then dance just out of his view.

“Wha- seriously?  Are you kiddin’?  Two hours ago-!”

“I know,” he admitted, “but I was scared.  Running’s my default, remember?  But I love you, and it’s worth it.  A day, a millennium – it’s worth it.”

“When you say marry, do you mean bond our minds together, like I felt a minute ago?”

“Yes.”  The Doctor exhaled a shaky breath.  “But closer.  We’d see each other’s very souls.  Our thoughts would be private, but… there’d be no hiding who we are.  Not really.”

Rose sat there quietly, staring at him with a thoughtful look on her face for several long minutes.

Just as he was about to change his mind, she said, “okay.”

“Okay?” he repeated, eyes widening.

She nodded.  “What do I need to do?”

“Do you realize what you’re committing to?” he asked desperately, hope igniting in his chest.

“You,” Rose said simply.  “For the rest of my life.”

The strange energy was building in the room again, and he rather thought time itself was invested in this moment.

He wouldn’t be the Doctor if he didn’t argue at getting his way, and he spent the next ten minutes trying to talk her out of it.

When she wouldn’t budge, merely smiling softly at him, he gave in to what he wanted; what they both wanted, apparently.

“If you’re sure.”

“What do I need to do?” she repeated calmly.

He rather thought he might be losing his mind, but if he was losing it to her it would all be worth it.  He settled two fingertips on either temple, and she copied him.

Carefully walking her through the steps, he marveled at every turn at how… clean her mind was.  He’d been in multiple humans’ minds along the way, but none had ever felt so, so… Time Lord-y.  Something nudged him away from that thought, and he realized that it was a puzzle only to be solved by living it.  Guiding her to the very core of them, he showed her how to bond their essences together.

It could have been seconds or hours, but eventually they each pulled back with a gasp.

“Did it work?”  Rose demanded, staring at him with wide eyes.  “Are we… married?  Bonded?  Whatever?”

Can you feel me, sweetheart?  He asked, stretching mental muscles that hadn’t been used since he’d ended the war.

“Oh!” she gasped, mouth dropping open.  Doctor?

Hello, he murmured in her mind, smiling at the awe she was projecting.

“What’s so funny?” she asked aloud, jaw dropping further when he giggled.

The Doctor giggled!

“I’m so happy,” he said softly, pushing the joy and wonder he felt to her.

She gasped again, eyes watering as she brought her hand to her mouth.  “Can you read my mind?”

He considered.  “Can you hear what I’m thinking?”

Concentrating, she could feel his giddiness, but hear nothing.  “No.”

“Now?”

She reached out again, not sure she was doing it right until she got a vivid image of their lovemaking from that morning from his point of view.  She moaned quietly at the vision, and arousal flooded through her as she felt his own grow.

“I love you,” she said clearly, sending the emotion towards him as well.

He shifted uncomfortably.  “This will take some getting used to, and we’ll have to practice for you to control it,” he said delicately.

Rose frowned.  “Have I already done something wrong?”

“Not… wrong,” he bit his lip.  “But, uh, I think you were trying to show me you love me?”  She nodded.  “You, ah, sent your love for… a specific part of me instead.  And how you, er, show that love.”

Suddenly she understood, and flushed.  “Well, I do, but I- that was supposed to be you as a person, not your…”

“I figured,” he smirked.

A pounding on the door interrupted them, and the Doctor shook his head.  “We should show her you’re all right,” he stood, offering her his hand.

“Oh, I’m fantastic,” Rose said confidently, rising to stand next to her- husband?!

Her delight filtering through the bond made him laugh with happiness.

“Me too.  Shall we?”

Arm in arm, they headed across the room to answer the door, and their future, the only way they knew how.