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“Are you in a relationship with River?” Rose blurted out, wincing when the Doctor immediately banged his head on the grating.
Great going, she scolded herself, give 'im a headache right before you start a conversation he’ll want to avoid like the plague.
Swallowing hard, Rose hurried to continue before the Doctor could conjure up a response, though he’d straightened where he stood, the lower half of him hidden by the grating and the floor and the upper half of him riddled with tension.
“I didn’t mean ta—that wasn’t an accusation,” she grimaced, as though an affirmative answer to her question wouldn’t shatter her into pieces that she’d never be able to fit back together. “'S just… I know you go off without me. Don’t,” she pointed a finger at him and narrowed her eyes, “try to deny it. I hear the TARDIS every time she moves, I feel it when she’s not here, even if you land seconds later. You go off on your own when I’m eatin’ with mum, or out with Mickey, or catchin’ up with Shareen. And the first time,” Rose bit her lip, thinking back to that day on Kalastrada. “The first time we met her, you didn’t seem to know her. But every time since, 's like you know her more and more each time, even though we’ve only just met again,” Rose exhaled shakily, hastily swiping at the corner of her eye and hoping he wouldn’t notice. “'Cept I realized… it’s me that only just met her again. Because you see her when I’m not here.”
The Doctor had folded his arms over his chest in a deliberately loose manner, the picture of stiffness trying its hardest to appear casual. On any other day, Rose would’ve appreciated the visual—his coat and suit jacket were draped over the jump seat, and he’d rolled his sleeves up for the repairs, giving her a rather delicious view of his forearms. Instead, all it served was to give away the fact that his hands were clenched as tightly as she’d ever seen them. His eyes didn’t leave hers, and Rose could admit that there was something comforting in that, that he wasn’t avoiding her even though she could feel just how badly he itched to run.
After a long pause, he sighed very slowly, eyes flicking to the ceiling as though the TARDIS could help him choose the right words. “It’s not on purpose,” he told her, weariness making his voice hoarse before he cleared his throat. “I don’t try to take off without you. The TARDIS… there are places out there that I can’t take you,” he admitted. “Planets you wouldn’t be able to breathe on, planets whose rainfall would poison you upon first contact, planets where something as innocent as a bee sting could stop your heart. Sometimes, when you’re out, the TARDIS will take me to one of those places. Because she knows we can’t risk accidentally landing there while you’re here.”
“But River can go,” she finished, barreling on before he could get further than the beginning of his protests, “because she’s not human.”
Silence served as her answer.
“She’s part-Time Lord,” Rose said softly, and the Doctor sucked in a sharp breath. “She’ll live quite a long time. And she travels with you, when I’m not here.”
“Rose,” the Doctor said lowly.
“Smart as a whip,” Rose continued on, “and gorgeous to boot.”
“Still not an accusation?” he asked evenly.
“I—no,” she said adamantly. “Just… understanding, I guess.”
“Rose,” he said, pulling himself up and out from below the grating to match her in level. “You’re brilliant. The most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen,” he began, giving their bond a mental caress when he saw the doubt flicker across her face. “Yes, sometimes when I’m on my own, I run into River. I don’t look for her. I’m not even sure if she looks for me, honestly,” he frowned. “But we’re not… she’s just… a mystery.”
“We usually solve those together,” Rose pointed out, trying not to sound bitter and cringing a bit at the resulting tone. “A mystery just for you, then?”
“Not in the way you mean,” the Doctor sighed, making his way over to her and taking her hands. The bond flared between them at the physical contact, and suddenly she felt silly—his affection for her enveloped her like a tidal wave, and the hurt and guilt he felt because of her insecurity nipped at the edges of his mind.
“In what way, then?” she pressed, because they truly did need to talk about it.
“The hints she drops, they’re all in Gallifreyan,” he explained. “Words she says, notes she leaves. I don’t know who she is, but she’s… quite strongly connected to my timeline,” he allowed, and Rose pulled away quickly. By the look on his face, she hadn’t been quick enough to stop him from feeling her heart drop. “Rose…”
“You’re bonded to her,” Rose concluded, and the Doctor took a step towards her even as she took a step back.
“I’m bonded to you,” the Doctor stressed, running his hand through his hair in agitation. “I can’t be bonded to two people at once, you know that.”
“But I’ll die, some day,” Rose snapped, and her words seemed to suck all the air from the room. “I’ll die,” she whispered, loving the man before her for the way he couldn’t even look at her now, like making eye contact while she said this would be enough to crumble him entirely. “I’ll die, and you won’t have to be alone. Because there’s someone out there who can live with you, change with you, love you,” she continued, voice breaking. “And you shouldn’t be alone. I don’t want you to be alone.”
Time stretched before them as her words sunk in, the only sound in the room the Doctor’s deliberate breaths—the sort of even he kept them at when he was consciously regulating their pace—and her sniffles, light though they were.
At last he turned back to her, and she pretended she couldn’t see the way she’d broken his hearts— a kindness too small for what she wished she could give him.
“I’m not in a relationship with her,” he said firmly. “I’m not bonded to her. And,” he said, and this time when he stepped forward, Rose held her ground. His hand on her cheek was gentle, though the tides she felt rocking his chest were not.
“I will not bond with her in the future,” he told her, shushing her at her immediate frown. “No, you listen to me, Rose Tyler. I know what I feel,” he said softly, taking her hands and placing them directly over his hearts before sliding his arms back around her waist. “I know what you’re going to say,” he sighed, fighting back a smile at the thought—she, undoubtedly, knew what he was about to say just as well as he could anticipate her protests. They made a stubborn pair, certainly. He couldn’t—wouldn’t—imagine life with anyone else at his side.
“I know I can’t know my future,” he conceded, deciding to try to cut her protest off at the root. “But I do know my hearts. I know what I decided when I married you,” he promised, kissing her forehead. Rose’s eyes remained locked on his, and he could see, as well as feel, over the bond, the insecurity and love and despair swirling through her mind. “I chose you, Rose Tyler, and I didn’t do that lightly. I didn’t do that with a… a timer, on how long we have together,” he choked out. “Because I don’t believe in a lot in this universe. Not gods, not demigods—I told this to the Beast, you know, it really would’ve helped if you were there. There aren’t deities, or angels, or superheroes. But there is you. My Rose Tyler,” he sighed, unable to withhold from pecking her lips despite the fact that he was far from done. Rose’s eyes shone with tears, and he could only hope that they were a good kind.
“I believe you even if I believe in nothing else. And you, little lady,” he winked, hearts soaring when a small grin cracked through her expression like rays of lights breaking through clouds. “You promised me forever. And if there is any person that could make it happen, it’s you. If there is any way that it can happen, I want it. And if—Rassilon forbid, if I… if I lose you, I will always be waiting for us to find each other again,” he vowed, wiping a stray tear from her cheek. “So yes, Rose, I can promise you that. Because while I believe in you, I will never stop hoping for miracles. And nothing could break my faith in you.”
“Doctor,” she breathed out, countless sonnets and speeches and soliloquies packed into two syllables, and he kissed her hard this time, wishing he could climb into her skin. He settles for being wrapped in her arms, fingers tangling in hair and digging into sides, and feeling the currents of her emotions envelop him in a matching embrace.
“I told you I’m yours,” he murmured against her lips. “Just like you’re mine.”
“Yeah?” she asked, and he swallowed hard at the feel of her breath skating across his face.
“Oh yes,” he assured her.
“Better prove it,” she smiled, giving him another quick peck. “You know, just in case.”
“Oh, yes,” he repeated with relish, and set about to do just that.