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She hurried through Marylebone, the dread of missing her train — knowing that she was about to — only making her stomach clench and her heart drop in the most terrible, dreadful of ways.
Not today, she pleaded hurriedly, any day but today.
She was late leaving the office, because she was late getting to it; her mission had taken her all the way into Cardiff today, and, what with the Great Western Railway service being down due to torrential rain, the prospect of a far too complicated trip on the temperamental underground, and a dead phone, meant that she was currently legging it in her heels to King’s Cross from Marylebone above-ground with little more than fifteen minutes to do it in.
She knew it was next to hopeless, because she would need near-superhuman speed to make that train on time, so she took her heels off and sprinted barefoot now, wincing and yelping but ignoring the pain, keeping her arm out whenever she spotted a black cab pass her.
The rain was coming down fast and heavy now and she could feel a stitch beginning to form under her ribs. By the time she had gotten to the station, she had very much gained ground, but just not enough to make the train on time.
Stupidly, she began to cry. She looked up at the train times and saw the next train to Brighton nearly two hours from now, meaning she wouldn’t get back home until at least half one in the morning. Considering she told him she would be home for dinner by eight-thirty, and on their ten year anniversary, her heart broke to think of him sitting at home, waiting up for her and not knowing that she wouldn’t be coming back. She looked around helplessly for any open cafes that might by some wild stretch have a phone charger she could use to at least contact him and let him know, but, at gone-ten at night, they had all closed.
It was quite rare for Rose to stress. Usually, she kept her composure in a trying situation, taking just a couple of seconds to gather herself before tackling the problem head-on. But not today, and not when it came to him.
Her legs were splattered with mud and she looked a right state, mascara now most likely smudged half-way down her cheeks. She slumped down on one of the benches, her elbows on her knees and her head hung low as she ran through her remaining, certainly futile options.
She knew she could get a taxi, that would cost a bloody fortune and take an age, but the chances were it would take even longer than the combined three hours it would take for her to wait for the next train. Other than that… other than that, she just had to sit and wait.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered to herself — well, to him.
Her heart ached, and it seemed to want to torture her at the thought of him sitting at the table, realising that she wasn’t coming home, and going to bed alone. She knew he rarely got angry when it came to them and especially when it came to her, and she doubted he’d be angry even now, but just knowing how hard they had been finding it recently to find time in their conflicting schedules for one another only made missing their ten year anniversary that much more devastating.
She felt somebody sit down next to her and she almost snapped at them for sitting so close to somebody in such an empty station, but she didn’t care. All she wanted was him, to hold him and say sorry and plant kisses on every inch of his skin in her apology. She glanced back up at the train times and tried to think, to use her terrible understanding of English geography to see if there were any trains that might be able to somehow get her there quickly but, without her phone, she had no way of knowing whether one train might take her to one place which then in turn might get her to Brighton quicker than if she were to wait. Once more, she sighed, and put her face in her palms.
“Ten years, she barely even acknowledges me anymore.”
Her head snapped up to the sound of his voice and she could barely process him — her him — sitting next to her with a small smile.
“Doctor!” she gasped, but that’s about as far as she got when his smile only widened and he leant in for a sweet kiss. She was sure he only meant it as a quick peck on the lips hello but the moment she felt his lips on hers, she couldn’t stop herself from returning the kiss deeply, all her stress and panic over not being able to see him tonight relieved in the truly best way she ever knew how. He pulled away with a chuckle, and she shook her head in disbelief. “I dont— what are you— how did you get—”
“Your dad called me about three hours ago, said you were running late,” he explained. As he leaned back, she took him in — he was wearing a woolly jumper with jeans that told her he’d chucked anything on in a rush to leave the house. She groaned as her heart swelled, and she leant into his side and shuffled herself closer to him, his hand finding her arm and brushing it gently. “The trains have been an arse today and I knew there was an almost one-hundred percent chance you would miss this one— especially because I know what you’re like with the metropolitan line and you were wearing heels today.” He looked down at her feet and frowned. “Well, you were when you left the house this morning.”
The feel of his jumper under her cheek, the sound of his one single heart and his soft, forgiving voice blanketed her in such a comfort that only he ever seemed to know how to and she clung to it all, to him.
“I’m so sorry,” she mumbled.
“Hey, c’mon,” he murmured in response, kissing her forehead before shifting out from underneath her to remove his jumper. “You don't ever be sorry for trying your best. Anyway, you’re bloody freezing, take this.”
Her teeth chattered and she obliged, slipping the warm wool over her head and grasping the cuffs from the inside to keep her hands warm. She snuggled back into his chest and sniffed wetly. “So you took a train all the way up to London because you knew I’d miss this one?”
“That I did — ironically, time has never really been on our side, has it?” he chuckled.
She shook her head once more and giggled; now that he was here with her, she found it all too easy to. “You must have heavy faith in me missing trains.”
“You forget, I know you. Not many things I know for certain in life, but you missing trains is always one of them.”
“Glad I could be so consistent,” she sighed, and his finger scratched her arm. “How long did it take you to get here?”
“Oh,” he dismissed, “never mind that. Not long enough from wanting to stop me spending a few more hours with you — I know, I’m a sap.”
Her smile widened, and she pulled back when she felt his body shift under her to crane his neck in search of something outside. He caught her eye and grinned, “Yes, I know, I’m an amazing Time Lord husband married to somebody who cannot for the life of her keep the time, but I’m bloody starving.”
“Part Time Lord,” she pointed out.
“You certainly do like to pick and choose how much of me is human and how much of me is Time Lord depending on which would work better in your favour in an argument, hmm?”
She entwined her fingers with his, bringing his hand up to her lips for a kiss. “Think there’s a chippy just round the corner — which reminds me,” she grinned, her heart warming so delightfully at the thought and she reached up to claim his lips once more. “Happy anniversary.”
His lips curled and he kissed her back softly, pulling away only to whisper, “Happy anniversary.”
They both giggled, and nudged each other’s noses for no other reason than to simply relish in being so close to one another.
“Ten years,” he said in wonderment. “I married you when you were twenty-seven!”
“And you were nine-hundred and eight.”
He winced, and prodded her arm. “Unnecessary, that one.”
“S’my duty as your wife to remind you of your old age.”
“You used to do that even before you were my wife”.
“Was always your wife,” she corrected. “Just not in title until I was twenty-seven and you were nine-hundred and eight.”
“Oh,” he breathed heavily, “you’re certainly right there. Day one— well, maybe day three— I was stumbling over my feet in love with you.”
She scoffed. “What put you off on day one and two?”
“Nothing, except me helplessly begging myself not to fall in love with you.”
“How romantic.”
He shuddered. “It was a dark time indeed.”
“Took me a little longer,” she admitted, and he tutted his disagreement. “If you remember, when we first met you took me to see my home blow up, picked a flight with me about ghosts, pointed a gun at a helpless Dalek and me, and just when I thought I was falling in love with you, you blew up in front of me.”
“Sounds like I was a catch right from the start.”
“Mmm.”
“Did you actually fall in love with me, or did you just feel sorry for me because I was so woefully in love with you that I literally died and regenerated in the desperate hope that you might fall in love with me?”
“Oh, I definitely just felt sorry for you.”
“Thought so.”
She grinned and kissed his neck in a way that proved otherwise.
“Hey,” she whispered. “I love you.”
He closed his eyes as he most usually did whenever she said those words. “You know, I don’t know what it is about the way you say that, but it’s like the first time I hear it, every time.”
“What, when I was sobbing on a beach thinking I’d never see you again?”
He shook his head, not hearing the joke. To be honest, neither did she; no amount of love between them since could entirely dispel the heartache of that day. “No, I mean that every time you tell me you love me, it feels like the first time you’re telling me. Like I can’t quite believe you’re saying it.”
She blinked. “I was joking when I said I just felt sorry for you.”
“No I know,” he grinned in an odd blend of longing and rejoice, and he finally opened his eyes to look back at her. “I spent so long only ever dreaming of hearing you say those words to me, and when you finally did it was, for a long time, the last words you would ever say to me. But you say them to me now and I can’t believe that I—“ his voice caught in his throat and he swallowed, regaining his composure. She stroked her thumb over the back of his hand and he smiled to himself “Hearing you tell me you love me, no matter how many times you’ve told me, I just still can’t believe how lucky I am that you do.”
She smiled against the ball of his shoulder to the feel of him holding her hand so tightly. “You know, I don’t think I’ve ever really realised, but it’s one of the many things I love about you. Because I noticed long ago that, every time I said it, you would drop whatever you were doing to listen to me, and to tell me you loved me, too.”
“Oh, absolutely,” he affirmed. “Once was all it took for me to know I never want to take saying those words for granted.”
She nuzzled his shoulder and groaned at not being able to be any physically closer to him. He heard her, and understood, because he released her hand to pull her back into his arms and kiss the top of her hair.
“Thank you for coming to get me,” she murmured, shuffling to swing her legs over his so she could settle into his chest more comfortably and he chuckled at, what she presumed was, how daft they must look sat in such a way at Kings Cross station.
“I should say the same about you, all those years ago.”
She scoffed. “Yeah, you weren’t doing much to cross from universes to get me now, were you?”
“I was not, no, so coming to find you at King’s Cross is the best I can do.”
“I’ll take it.”
“That’s a relief,” he grinned, “because I don’t have any cash on me, so chips are on you.”
She scoffed in disbelief, poking his chest. “Me paying for our chips cos you’re a tightwad? It really is our anniversary.”
“I’ll get them for our twentieth.”
“Twentieth’s your last chance, after that I’m finding someone new.”
“Blimey,” he said, tapping her legs to get them to swing back over so they could stand. “Two chances and you’re out with Rose Tyler.”
“Normally only one chance, I’ve just always had a soft spot for you.”
He nodded dutifully. “I do not take that lightly but I think I'm in with a chance — ten years so far, how’m I doing?”
She stood and pulled him up with her, squaring her hips so that they stood directly in front of each other and she held his waist. “Kiss me, and I’ll tell you.”
He grinned, and dipped his head to bring their lips together. And it was wonderful, each and every time, and she understood exactly what he meant when he said that every time feels like the first time, because the softness of his touch now, and the way he held her face as he kissed her was every time extraordinarily beautiful. Sparks of desire and love tickled her fingers and toes as he held her lips carefully with his before he released her, his thumb brushing her cheek and their foreheads held together while they caught their breaths.
Well, while she tried her best to; he so often rendered her completely unable to breathe whenever he loved her the way he did.
“Hmm,” she considered, biting her bottom lip in thought. He gave it one last try by kissing the tip of her nose. “Ten years? Not too bad.”
“Shame,” he whispered. “Give me ten more years to make it better?”
“Tell you what, you can have forever if you play your cards right.”
The kisses he left for her across her face was his way, she was sure, of telling her how very much he wanted that forever.