Archive of Our Own

On the first day after, they sleep.

Rose felt as though she’d been running since Bad Wolf Bay. She’d spent every precious moment trying and trying and trying to get herself back to the Doctor, conscious that with every breath she was wasting time that she was alive, time that she could be spending with him. It had taken a toll on her relationships, on her heath, on her sanity… but all along, she’d known that it would be worth it, if only she could reach him.

And she did.

And now here they were. 

The years searching for her Doctor aside, the last few days had been a bit of a nightmare. Daleks, two Doctors, Captain Jack, Martha and Mickey and Donna and Doctor-Donna and big guns and explosions and strategy and, well, winning, eventually. 

And tears. Bad Wolf Bay seemed to always lead her, ultimately, to tears.

When the Doctor told her he loved her, his lips soft against the shell of her ear, she’d known that it was him, really him. But even though it was him, it didn’t make the other him less him. She wished she could have them both, or just one combined, to keep them safe and comforted and loved forever. When the Tardis disappeared, leaving her for what she knows to be the real and final time, she’d felt a sensation so agonizing that it had left her gasping for air. She’d broken out of a kiss she’d been dreaming of for years, tripping forward in the sand, knowing that inside that vanishing box was a man so full of pain, so full of need for her. 

But then a hand had slipped into hers, achingly familiar, and she’d looked over her shoulder to see that very man, full of perhaps more pain, more need. 

It was impossible, the way things had been left. It had always been impossible, since the moment Rose’s hand was grasped by a 900 year old alien who would show her the world and mold her into the very best version of herself. There was no universe in which the Doctor in the blue box ended up happy, but there was a way that this Doctor could.

Still, she grieved for him. Oh, how she grieved for him, deep in space, all alone. 

Unlike the last time she was at Bad Wolf Bay, though, her sobs were met with the only arms capable of comforting her: the Doctor’s. He had swept her up, form so familiar despite the new suit, cupping the back of her head and the small of her back in a way that screamed intimacy like he’d never let himself show her before. He’d held her until her tears dried, and it was only until she pulled back that she realized he’d been crying, too.

They didn’t speak, just numbly followed Jackie to the car. The Doctor, needing a car. It felt fake, comical, even. Rose didn’t use a seatbelt; she stayed curled up at his side, practically in his lap, in the backseat. 

“Should I drop ya at your place, or you comin’ home with me?” Jackie asked tentatively from the driver’s seat. 

“My place,” Rose murmured. Her mom and Pete’s place felt more like home, to be truthful, but they had each other and Tony, and Rose was no longer alone. Her flat was no longer empty. Or, it wouldn’t be, if-

She sat up a little, staring into the Doctor’s eyes. “I- I didn’t even ask,” she said, voice thick. “Do you- I mean- I’ve got a place. It’s small, it’s not- it’s not-“ It’s not the TARDIS. “But it’s… you know? And you can- I’d love-“

Why couldn’t she get a full sentence out? The words were all jumbled, jumping  inconveniently across her tongue. 

“Rose.” The Doctor reached for her hands, squeezed them, then continued his way up her wrists, her forearms, until he was lightly gripping her biceps. One hand drifted up and cupped her jaw. “Yes.”

“But on- when we were on-“ Would he even remember? Was it even, really, him? Was it him? “You said you were afraid of mortgages.”

The corner of his lips lifted just a little. “Well, hopefully you won’t be asking me to pay mortgage on your flat just because I spend one night there.”

She laughed, so much sooner than she’d expected to, and something invisible and heavy rolled off her back. “So you remember that, then?” she asked, borderline desperately. “The pit and everythin’?”

His face darkened. “I remember everything, Rose. I was there. It was me, before I was pulled from his body. I remember holding you underneath a black hole. I remember our goodbye. I remember the coms, and each time they buzzed into static I felt cold all over, like it could be the last time I ever heard your voice. I remember being too much of a coward to leave you that message with Ida, in case I died.”

Rose, transported, suddenly remembered that her mother was in the front seat, hearing all of this, probably horrified by an unfiltered account of what her daughter had lived through. She put her hand atop the Doctor’s, still resting on her cheek. “I want to hear all of this,” she whispered. “I want to go through every moment with you. I want to remember everythin’, the good and the bad; I want to know that it’s you. But… not right now. Not…” she starting smirking. “Not in the back of my mum’s car.”

“Now, I’m not listenin’ in!” Jackie protested, proving that she was, in fact, listening in.

The Doctor grimaced, pulling Rose into his side and holding her tight. “Right. Good point, that.”

They reached Rose’s flat soon after, and Rose hugged her mom across the seat backs and dragged herself and her Doctor up the steps. The third floor never seemed so far away, and with each step she grew more anxious, trying to remember how she’d left her space. Was there even food in her fridge? Clean clothes? Nothing the Doctor could wear, likely. Maybe she’d made the wrong decision, maybe they should have gone back to Jackie and Pete’s. 

But when the Doctor took the key from her hand, unlocking and opening the door for her, she knew she’d made the right call. She needed to be alone with him. She needed his presence to be the only one within a hundred mile radius, and since that was impossible, the emptiness of her flat would have to do. 

She thought that, perhaps, she could survive with just him. No other people. No water. No air. Just him.

The Doctor toed off his shoes, eyeing her flat as they walked inside. It was embarrassingly sparse, seeing it through his eyes, especially considering she’d lived there for over three years. There was nothing on the walls, no pictures, no carpets or table cloths. Her bed frame was wobbly and she hadn’t bothered to fix it. Her shelves were dusty and she only had a handful of books and trinkets to cover them. 

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “S’not much. Really, I’d understand if-“

The Doctor snuck a hand around her waist, quieting her. He pulled her into him, head tucked under his chin, both of them swaying ever so slightly. He’d always been sporadically physical, enjoying hugs and a head scratch like he was an oversized cat. But he seemed to be unable to be without her, right now. 

Maybe he, too, felt her to be his air. Maybe, for the first time since they’d met, she meant to him what he meant to her. 

It was all she had ever wanted during those years hurtling around space with him in the TARDIS. To be able to be loved by him the way he loved her. The cost that it came at, though…

“I keep thinkin’ of him,” she whispered into his jacket. “The other you.”

He nodded. “As do I.”

“I wish he didn’t have to feel all that pain.” Tears welled up in her eyes again. “We can move on and live our lives and be happy, but he can’t.”

“I know exactly how he would feel,” the Doctor said, voice hoarse. “We have the same brain, the same history. I know exactly what thoughts would be coursing through his head, what emotions would be stewing inside of him, and it hurts, Rose. Why me? Why do I get to be here with you and not him? The real him?”

It killed her to hear him use the word “real,” even though she’d been secretly fearing the same all along. How could there be two near-exact copies of the same man? One of them had to be fake, didn’t he?

But that was using the logic of her tiny human brain. And the Doctor had never operated in that logic, not for an instant.

“He’s you,” she said, gripping his jacket, “and you’re him. But he’s separate, still, and I think- I think we’ll need to grieve him, just as if he were a different person.”

“I’m so tired, Rose,” the Doctor croaked. “I didn’t- I never- I didn’t know someone could be this tired.”

He wasn’t used to sleep, Rose knew. He wasn’t used to one heart and a human system, to the feeling of aging with each passing second, infinitesimally slowly, but aging all the same. She couldn’t imagine the toll that had to take on someone, living and breathing and feeling as a human but remembering a time where they did not.  

“I don’t have any pajamas for you,” she admitted, stepping out of the hug even as just the thought that she couldn’t even provide PJs threatened to make her begin sobbing again. 

He shook his head, forcing a very weak smile. “Layers!” 

She watched as he starting stripping out of his jacket and maroon shirt, a plain white undershirt underneath. Her breath caught at the domesticity of it all, something that she never in a million years dreamed she could have with the Doctor. The life she’d predicted with him was long and full, but it was always on the run, always on the move. They would never have a house, the TARDIS would be their home. They would perhaps spend their nights together, but both of them would know that they would lose each other eventually, sooner or later. She had said “forever” a million times, and Canary Wharf had still arrived and torn her away.

He was hers, now. The Doctor, this Doctor, was hers. For forever, really. A real forever. A mutual forever. 

She had a feeling that once the exhaustion settled back and the grief faded away, Rose would find herself feeling more joy and peace than she’d thought possible. It gave her hope, under the waves as she was, and a longing to reach that hypothetical someday.

“I know it’s the afternoon, but… bed?” she asked, wiping at the stray tears on her cheeks. She still felt so leaky, so fragile.

“Absolutely,” the Doctor agreed immediately. 

She led him out of her entry way and kitchenette towards the open door of the bedroom, which was even messier and sparser and sadder when they were fully inside. The Doctor laid his extra clothes onto a side chair and they both stopped and looked at one another. 

“I don’t know how to do this,” the Doctor admitted. 

This version of him was so raw, so uninhibited. It was the version of himself, Rose dared to hope, that he might have liked to be around her if he’d thought it at all possible, if he hadn’t known that doing so would eventually break both (all, technically) of their hearts even more. 

“Me either,” she said with a strained laugh. “But… there’s a spare toothbrush in the bathroom cupboard. There’s water from the tap. Don’t know about food.”

“Not hungry,” he broke in, and she nodded her agreement. 

He went to the washroom and Rose took the opportunity to change into the comfiest pair of pajamas she owned. Her head throbbed with everything that had happened in the last few days, the last few years. She felt like she could sleep forever.

When they’d gotten settled in bed, wrapped around each other, desperate for touch after just being apart for a moment, Rose found herself wanting to wait to sleep until the Doctor did. She wanted to make sure he was able to sleep, to rest, that everything was working all right with all the new adjustments he needed to make. 

“You’re tense,” he murmured into her hair, their legs spun together. “What is it?”

“I just want to make sure you’re all right,” she replied, eyelids so heavy. “I don’t want to leave you.”

“You’re right here.”

“In sleep, though.” It was absurd, worrying about abandoning him just by falling asleep. But even just that felt like missing moments. It always had, when they were traveling… at least now, he was right beside her and about to follow suit. 

“Sleep,” he whispered, stroking her hair. “Sleep.”

She lifted her chin and looked up to find him collapsing deeper into the pillows, the lines of his face evening out, his breath deepening steadily. 

Rose had never, not once, seen him sleep before.

It was unsettling, but it wasn’t enough to keep her awake. She was out like a light the moment she shut her eyes.

And that was how they spent the first day. Drifting in and out of slumber, moving only to use the bathroom or find a more comfortable position. The sun rose and set without them moving from the bed, too exhausted to talk or even eat. 

W / T \ Y

On the second day after, they eat chicken pot pie.

When Rose awoke, she was ravenous. The Doctor was still passed out, a bit of drool at the corner of his mouth. She patted around for her mobile and found three missed calls from her mum, and a text message that read: “left some food in the kitchen, didn’t want to wake ya.”

Oh, bless her.

Rose eased out of the Doctor’s arms, cold in the air outside of their mound of blankets, and crept to the kitchen. Jackie had left a casserole dish on the counter and Rose wasted no time in scooping a big mound of chicken pot pie into a dish and shoveling it into her mouth. She didn’t even bother to heat it up, didn’t even bother to sit despite her legs already feeling tired from the short walk to the kitchen, just stood and ate on a paper plate with a plastic fork.

She was just scraping the last bits into her mouth when she heard stirring from the bedroom. “Rose. Rose. Rose! Rose!”

Rose tossed her plate aside and ran to the bedroom in time to see the Doctor leap out of bed, patting himself down, head thrashing to the left and right. His eyes landed on her, widened, and then breath left him all in rush and he fell back to the bed. “Forgot I don’t have my sonic anymore,” he said, burying his face in his hands. “I forgot… I forgot everything.”

Rose couldn’t image it. Waking up, thinking you were a Time Lord, thinking you were an immortal alien who flew a space ship around time and space, and then… remembering.

But in a way, it was strangely comforting. It made her feel like it really was the real him. It proved to her that his memories were as self-same as he claimed they were.

The Doctor rubbed at his temples, neck still bowed. “Blimey… my head.”

Rose nodded, still hovering the doorway. “You haven’t eaten in, like, two days. Gonna have to get used to that, food’s sorta important for us apes.”

She’d been expecting at least a little laugh, but the Doctor’s fingers just dug deeper into his scalp. “No… it’s more than that,” he muttered. “I’ve got- I’ve got nine hundred years of memories and whole worlds of knowledge in this brain. It’s not- I can’t quite reach it, but it’s there, and I’m not quite fit for it anymore.”

“I get the same way,” Rose blurted, taking a quick step forward. The Doctor lifted his head, squinting a little with the pain, uncomprehending. “I noticed it once I left the TARDIS. I think it’s somethin’ about the Time Vortex? She was… soothing it or somethin’ when I was still travelin’ with him- with you. But when I was here, I’d get this ache like a- like a knot that you get in your back, but it was in my brain, y’know?”

He nodded, eyes searching hers. “I think about that day so often,” he admitted. “When you looked into the literal heart of the TARDIS just to save some daft old space man.”

With each memory he brought up from their history together, Rose felt more reassured that this Doctor really was her own. She crossed to the bed, tentatively slipping her fingers into this soft, thick brown hair, combing down towards the nape of his neck. “Thought it might be obvious by now,” she murmured, “that I’d do just about anythin’ to be with ya.” 

His gaze softened, but there was still something buried in there that was heavy and unsettled. Rose retracted her hand. She had no idea where their boundaries lay, despite having spent a good twenty-four hours asleep in bed together. Sure, this Doctor was willing to say “I love you” (or he had, once, back on the beach). He seemed desperate for closeness and so much more open with his words than before. But there were so many layers to their relationship that made this complicated, besides the fact that they’d been apart for three years.

“I should get you some food,” she said, swallowing and turning towards the kitchen. “Mum brought chicken pot pie.”

“Sounds delicious,” he said approvingly, hoisting himself to his feet to follow her and promptly swaying. 

Rose stepped back to him and quickly caught his arm, worried he was about to collapse. “All right?”

He squinted again, face screwing up against headache or dizziness or who knew what. “It’s this blasted body,” he grumbled, glaring down at himself. “It’s like learning to walk without a leg.”

Guilt squirmed in Rose’s stomach, even though she knew it was unmerited: she hadn’t created this version of the Doctor, she’d actually had zero part in it. She hadn’t asked or even ever voiced a wish for a human version of her Doctor, one to have and to hold until death did them part and all that. But she couldn’t help feeling bad that he was stuck here with her, a mere mortal when he’d once been so much more.

“ ’S not so bad, really,” she found herself saying. “Bein’ human. Sure, we can’t breathe underwater or look into people’s minds, and our bodies decay and we go gray and get arthritis and- bloody hell, okay, maybe bein’ human is sorta rough.”

“Rose.”

She lifted her chin at the tone of his voice and found him still watching her, almost painfully fond. “I would give up every organ, every limb, every sense, every function of my brain, if it meant I got to be with you for the rest of my life.”

She swallowed thickly.

The Doctor grinned. “But I only had to give up a heart and a binary respiratory system. Weeeeell, and a couple of extra lives. Weeeell, and the last TARDIS. Weeeell-“

“Okay, okay, into the kitchen, you git,” Rose laughed, dragging him by the wrist to get him something to eat.

He enjoyed the chicken pot pie, if the sounds he was making were anything to go off of. Rose watched with bemusement as he inhaled a large piece of the meat pie, still steaming from the microwave, in three or four bites, then immediately went back for more.

“Careful, you’ll be sick,” she warned. “Eatin’ that fast on an empty stomach is always a recipe for disaster.”

“I don’t get sick,” he scoffed, then paused, fork partway to his mouth. Then he lowered it to back to the plate and deliberately corrected: “I didn’t get sick. Seems there’s now something, Rose Tyler, that you know more than me about.”

“How much did it pain you to admit that?” Rose teased. 

He deliberated. “Less than expected, actually.”

They stood for a moment in silence. Rose didn’t know which direction to go with things. Serious? Should they talk about what had happened, how they were both feeling, about the other Doctor, floating around in the Time Vortex in a different universe? Or should she keep it playful, flirt with him a bit, return to their usual banter even if it was (and sort of always had been) a defense mechanism?

“Bloody hell,” the Doctor grumbled, smothering a yawn with the back of his wrist. “Been sleeping all day and night and I’m still so bloody tired.”

“Weeeeeell,” Rose said, half-mimicking his usual stretching of that word as she shimmied closer. “Us humans, we’re pretty used to “bloody tired.” Deal with it all the time, actually. So we’ve come up with some solutions, sorta, for our days off.”

The Doctor peered at her. “Yes…?”

She grinned, tongue touching her teeth. “TV and crisps.”

He didn’t look convinced, so Rose reached out and took his hand, drawing him gently towards the couch in her small living room. “Come on, Doctor,” she cajoled. “All of time ’n' space, and you and me have never watched the telly together before.” She held up a finger at his immediate protest. “Not the news.”

“Fine,” he groaned, yawning again. “Might just take another nap.”

She shot him a mock-glare and led him the rest of the way to the couch, flicking through the channels to try and find a program they might both like. She honestly didn’t really know what his taste in media was. He’d probably find sci-fi silly and romance dull; nothing could be more horrifying or thrilling than the adventures they’d been through, and even deep love for this man couldn’t make Rose put on a documentary.

She settled on HGTV, a safe pick but a trusty one.

The Doctor, despite his protestations, was immediately locked into Love It Or List It, mouth a little open, eyes glued to the screen. He did look exhausted, Rose noted as she studied his face more than the show. Deep bags laid heavy underneath his eyes, his skin was even pastier than usual, hair flat. 

He was still so very handsome, though. Rose could stare at that face all day long, all of it’s flickers and micro expressions, without growing tired of it for an instant. 

The Doctor sat with his elbow on the arm rest, one ankle crossed over his knee, slumped a bit towards the corner of the couch. Rose tried to arrange herself close to him, to get her head on his shoulder, but his position just wasn’t quite conducive to that. The Doctor blinked away from the show and glanced at her. “What’re you doing?” he asked, painfully blunt.

Rose sucked in her lip, embarrassed. “Just… tryna cuddle, I guess,” she said, staring at her lap. They had just spent the entire day curled up in bed together, so maybe he wanted some space? 

He no longer had Space, she reminded herself with a heart that kept rising and sinking like the tides of the ocean. He no longer had Time. He just had her.

But then she was being nudged, and the Doctor was stretching out his legs and scooting down the couch and dragging her in towards his chest. He settled his arms around her waist with a deep, contented sigh, cheek settling atop her hair. Rose bit her lip again, but this time it was to restrain a grin.

They stayed on the couch for awhile, half-dozing. As one show followed the next and they became steadily more horizontal on the couch, Rose couldn’t help feeling like they were waiting for something. She had done domestic with the Doctor in small ways when they’d traveled together, but it was really just between adventures. It was like a rest stop on a long cross-country journey, necessary but not what you took the journey for. 

But this was… it now, wasn’t it? There’d be no hoping back into the TARDIS once they grew tired of telly. This was their whole life.

Rose had lived this life for nineteen years before she knew the Doctor. She was accustomed to it, slipping back into it wouldn’t be hard, but it would feel wrong. Things would be different now, though, she had to remind herself of that. She had her position at Torchwood, and there were still alien threats to be dealt with, and maybe she and the Doctor couldn’t do space and time anymore, but normal people had adventures all the time, didn’t they?

Maybe life, every little bit of it, was an adventure if you had the right hand to hold.

The thought made her eyes go glassy. 

“I’m always gonna be able to hold your hand,” she whispered, curling her fingers around his as they lay interlaced on her stomach. “For both of our forevers.”

She heard him release a sharp breath and turned her head to see his eyes suspiciously wet. He flipped his hand to grip hers and smiled, jaw so tight with restrained emotion that it spasmed.

And for now, when she started to think of another hand of the almost-same man, empty and cold, she pushed that thought away.

She was allowed to be happy, wasn’t she? She was allowed to enjoy this, to soak in every moment with the man she loved.

The thought sent a shock through her. “I didn’t say it,” she realized, sitting up and turning towards him. “Before. I didn’t say it.”

He stared at her blankly, Flea Market Flip droning on in the background. “Didn’t…?”

“Doctor. My Doctor.” Rose smiled, watery. “I love you.”

A grin bloomed across his face and he cupped her cheek. “I love you, too,” he murmured. “And I’m gonna have to tell you that a lot now, make up for years of lost time.”

She nodded, absolutely unopposed to the thought. Then they both leaned forward, a little shyly, and let their lips fall together. 

W / T \ Y

On the third day after, Rose becomes her Doctor’s nurse.

After a long day of doing nothing, more chicken pot pie, and long showers, they’d called it an early night and gone to bed, once again tight in each others arms. Rose didn’t think she’d ever get tired of being held by this man, breathing in his familiar scent and feeling the band of his arms around her back that she’d longed so desperately for for so many years. 

She planned, the next day, to venture out of the flat. They needed food, and the Doctor desperately needed another set (or ten) of clothes. There were house chores to be done, not to mention the fact that she probably had weeks of debriefing and paperwork piling up at the Torchwood office. Pete was being kind, knowing what she and the Doctor had both gone through, but the world didn’t stop just because they asked it to. They didn’t have a time machine anymore.

But when Rose blinked groggily out of sleep on the third day since Bad Wolf Bay, she found the Doctor restless beside her, face beaded with sweat, breath stuffy and catching in his sinuses. She felt at his forehead and found him burning hot, and it reminded her uncomfortably of the early days of this face, when he’d laid in the Tyler guest bedroom and burned off his excess regeneration energy. 

Could this be the same circumstance? Rose hoped not: the state he’d fallen into post-regeneration had been very alien. If he reached that state as a human, Rose wasn’t sure if he’d be able to pull himself out of it. He didn’t have the same control over his inner operating systems as he once did, all he could do was slog along like the rest of them.

The Doctor awoke in a feverish haze not long after Rose procured some breakfast and tea for herself. He sat up in bed blearily, eyelids opening and closing in long, languid strokes. “Rose? Wha’s…?”

“You’re sick, Doctor,” Rose said, placing a second mug of tea on the bedside table beside him. Probably wouldn’t work quite as magically as it had the first time, but tea was healing if you were a Time Lord or a human. “ ‘M not sure why.”

He shrugged limply. “Why does anyone get sick?” he asked, smothering a sharp cough into his elbow. “Germs, fatigue… a sudden lack of control of their internal functions. Nope, just me, that one.”

He offered her a weak grin and Rose smiled back, glad that he was just normal-sick and not acting-like-he-was-dying-sick. 

“Can I getcha anythin’?” she asked, gazing at him sympathetically. “Not sure how used to all of… this you are.”

“I’ve been sick before, if that’s what you’re asking,” the Doctor replied dryly. He repositioned himself in bed, grimacing. “Never with skin so sensitive, though, blimey…” 

“Probably the flu or somethin’,” Rose sighed, sinking onto the bed. This wasn’t how she’d wanted the Doctor’s introduction into human life to go. Not only did it suck for him, but it sucked for her, because she would give up the bed-sharing if it meant she avoided getting sick. “I’ll go out to the store, get some gatorade and medicine and such.”

“Oh, to have the TARDIS’ hospital back,” the Doctor bemoaned, putting the back of his hand to his forehead dramatically. 

“No fancy cures this time, buster,” Rose told him, giving his knee a quick pat and rising to her feet. She needed to put on clothes, real clothes, before she went out. Besides, it would feel sort of nice to get out of her jammies for the first time in days, no matter how comfy. She’d never been one to relish in lazing around for too too long. “Guess I should pick up some necessities, too. Like food. We need food. And some real clothes for you, huh?”

She eyed his suit jacket and matching pants, which were still folded over her chair. “I’ll pop by the laundromat, too, just in case you want to put that on sometime soon.”

The Doctor slid down the pillows and pulled the blanket to his chin. “Don’t buy me anything ugly,” he requested plaintively. “I won’t wear it just to make you happy.”

Rose wrinkled her nose back at him as she headed towards the door. “Mm. Yeah ya would.”

“Yeah, probably.” The Doctor yawned hugely, eyes glazed with fever, and flipped onto his side to curl into a little ball.

“Call me if you get worse and need me to come home,” Rose told him, speaking through the open bedroom doorway as she shrugged on her jacket. It felt strange, almost painful, to leave him by himself. There was an intrusive, ominous voice in the back of her mind that warned her that if she took her eyes off him for even a moment, he would disappear, again. That she would come back and he would have blinked out of existence, or worse, chosen to leave. 

She told herself that that was irrationality rooted in fear, and forced herself to untwist the doorknob and step out the door.

Then, a moment later, she poked her head back through. “I love you,” she called into the flat, grinning a little cheekily.

The Doctor lifted his head with a bleary squint, and smiled tiredly. “Rose Tyler,” he said fondly, then shut his eyes again.

Rose’s heart clenched. That exchange on Bad Wolf Bay had been the most painful of her life, but now, in this context, it was perfect. Now that he’d said the words she’d been so desperate to hear, just her name, laden with that unspoken emotion so quintessential to their relationship, was enough. It was more than I-Love-You. 

She went about her errands, enjoying the fresh air even if it was a bit brisk. Food wasn’t a huge part of her history with the Doctor, but considering he licked walls and dirt and really whatever else he could, she had a feeling he wasn’t too picky. 

The clothes were more of a challenge. She’d tried to find a size on the jacket and pants, but apparently the TARDIS didn’t do tags. So she played it safe, making certain that there was plenty of spandex and stretch in the fabrics she chose. She picked blues and browns, like he’d chosen for himself, then branched out into some dark reds and greens. The thought of seeing him in other outfits than the two suits he always wore was bizarrely exciting. Like playing dress up, except the doll was… really hot. And probably looked good in everything.

Rose stopped for chips, finding herself tiring easily. Something about knowing that she could, finally, rest, was making her body beg to do so. Also, there was the matter of what (who) was waiting for her back home.

Home.

She’d never really thought of her flat as home until a certain brown-haired no-longer-alien had tangled himself in her sheets.

Rose meandered back to her flat, laden with food and clothes and enough medicine to stock at least one cabinet for at least a year. As she mounted the steps to her apartment door, she had to wonder if they’d actually be here for a year. She’d snagged this place because it was cheap and close to Torchwood, but who knew where life would take them? They’d been borderline nomadic for so long; perhaps they’d backpack across Europe, or something. Or go on a round-the-world cruise. Or take the Tyler family zeppelin and let the wind drag them where it willed.

Even without a TARDIS, Rose was reassured to find, they had options. Everything seemed more enticing now that the Doctor was back in her life. 

Rose eased open the front door and slipped into the flat, not wanting to wake the Doctor if he was still resting. Instead, she found him back on the couch, face still feverishly splotched, with a plate of mostly untouched chicken pot pie on the bedside table next to him. 

“Heyyy,” she greeted, setting her bags on a chair in the kitchen and then drifting over to kiss him on the forehead. 

He murmured incomprehensibly, listing towards her, catlike as always. Rose felt very warm inside, both at his obvious continued need to be close to her and just that he was still here. He’d proved her wrong, as the logical part of her brain knew he would. This Doctor wouldn’t leave her.

The thought pricked something in her. Did she resent the other Doctor? It was a sort of horrifying concept. All through those years that she’d tried to reach him, she’d never once blamed him for the hell her life had become once they’d been separated. She’d known that, if he thought there was a way, he’d be fighting just as hard to get back to her. 

But this time… he’d just stranded her, again, without even a goodbye. Why hadn’t he been able to say that he loved her? 

“Rose?” the Doctor—her Doctor—asked blearily, and Rose realized she’d frozen with one hand atop his head and was staring fixedly at a random spot on the wall.

She shook herself out of her head and muttered a quick, “sorry,” before hurrying to the kitchen to unpack her groceries.

“What is it?” the Doctor twisted around, putting his chin on the top of the couch. He sniffed and wiped his nose on his wrist. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” she told him, flashing a smile over her shoulder in his direction but not meeting his eyes. “Nothing’s wrong. I just spaced out for a mo, that’s all, just still foggy I guess.”

“It’s okay if something’s wrong.”

Her hands stilled on the cans of soup she was lifting from her grocery bags. How could you tell your… boyfriend? was that what he was? that you resented him for leaving you when he was right there in your living room? How could you tell him how much his inability to tell you he loved you had hurt you when he’d said those three words multiple times?

You couldn’t, that was the answer.

“Just muggy, really. Brain’s muggy,” Rose replied lightly. She risked a look over her shoulder and found the Doctor staring at her, eyebrows creased in concern, before he slowly turned back around on the couch. 

It was complicated because she wasn’t mad at him, he’d fixed all his mistakes. And they both knew how much the other him had sacrificed so that she and this him could have this shot at happiness together. Rose wanted to give him the complete benefit of the doubt, to decide that he’d refused to say “I love you” and to let her keep traveling with him because he’d known that’s what she’d pick over this human Doctor.

But was that even true? Sure, she’d fought tooth and nail to get back to her life with the Doctor, but she hadn’t been doing it for the intergalactic travel. She hadn’t been doing it for the adrenaline rush and the life-or-death situations. She’d been doing it for him, plain and simple. 

So if, on the beach, both of the Doctors had told her they loved her… who would she have chosen?

The thought made her almost nauseous. It turned the Doctor—Doctors—into an object, in a way, like she was selecting between two of the same pairs of shoes except one of them had brown laces and the other blue. She wanted both of them, she loved both of them… it was just that the Doctor here with her now was the one brave enough to love her back in the way she deserved. 

They wanted, needed, each other in the same way. Mutual forevers, just like she’d thought before.

Hands touched her waist and Rose jumped, realizing she’d gone spacey again. The Doctor turned her gently around and stared into her eyes, over-warm hands cupping her cheeks. His face was drawn and tired and his eyes looked very old. Sweat dampened his hairline. 

“Rose, please tell me what’s going on in that head of yours,” he said quietly. “I’m sorry I got sick and if that’s… if there’s something…”

“No, no, don’t be ridiculous,” Rose said, resting her hands on his chest, feeling his warmth through his undershirt. “ ‘M just still… processin’? Everythin’? You, this you, did nothin’ to upset me, really.”

He swallowed, head bowing. “Do you regret not going with him? My mortality, my humanity, it’s so… apparent.”

“Doctor,” Rose murmured, wrapping her arms around his back and pulling him into her. He tucked his hot head into the crook of her neck. “Your humanity is the biggest gift I’ve ever been given. This is what we wanted, yeah? Well, probably for both of us to be immortal, really, but both of us being human is maybe even better, in the end.”

He nodded, but without access to his face Rose couldn’t tell if he was convinced or not. She allowed herself this moment to sink into him, such a familiar habit almost lost to the years she spent rocketing through the multiverse to get back to him. His tall frame curled into her shoulder, arms around each others waists, his breath ghosting over her neck. 

Their time was, perhaps, the most limited it had ever been. But for the first moment in her life with him thus far, Rose felt like they had all the time in the world.

“You should take your medicine,” Rose murmured after quite a few minutes of just standing with him in the middle of the tiny kitchen. 

The Doctor groaned, lifting his head and looking at her groggily. She wondered, bemused, if he had somehow managed to doze off standing and hugging her. “Way to ruin the moment.”

She smacked his shoulder lightly and turned back to her grocery bags. The return to proximity had helped shake the fog and anxiety from her brain somewhat, as it always did, and she made quick work of the rest of the unpacking. She dumped the necessary pills into the Doctor’s palm and fixed him a glass of water, particles of a vitamin C drink mix sparkling and swirling in the clear liquid when she stirred it up. 

“Just be lucky that it’s not pear flavored,” she told him firmly when he made a face over the water.

“Should make a banana kind,” he grumbled, chugging the glass with a wrinkled nose.

Even with (or maybe because of) all the sleep in the last couple of days, Rose found herself absolutely knackered by the time all the groceries were put away. She dumped some cans of soup into a pot to heat up for their dinner, then collapsed onto the couch next to the Doctor, who’d returned to his glazed perusing of this universe’s TV channels. 

“Oh!” she exclaimed suddenly, eye catching on the shopping bad she’d slung over a chair and forgotten about. “I got you some clothes.”

“Probably a good call, that,” the Doctor agreed with a slight wince, looking down at his long over-worn undershirt. “Might have to save the fashion show for when my hair has perked back up a bit.”

“You’re so vain,” Rose snorted. “But yeah, sure. And really, if you hate all of it, you can just return it. It might not even fit. I kept the receipts. I just figured-“

When he rested a hand on top of hers, she realized she’d been babbling, spiraling a little. “I’m sure they will be perfect, Rose,” he said. 

Rose wasn’t sure about that, but his faith in her, even in small things like clothing, warmed her. She scooted closer and put her head on his shoulder.

W / T \ Y

On the fourth day after, her mother makes him cry.

Rose had made the difficult decision to sleep on the couch instead of her bed on night three. It was horribly hard to fall asleep; she could hear the Doctor coughing and sniffling and making all manner of flu-related-noises in the room over, but even worse than that, she’d somehow already become accustomed to the feeling of him holding her while she slept. All night long she was plagued by hazy dreams of her time hopping between universes, seeking him out again and again and again only to be let down each time. She recalled waking to an empty bed and a hollow feeling in her gut after dreaming of him, of running like a mad woman into a busy street thinking she heard the sound of the TARDIS, of moments during work at Torchwood when it would all become too much and she’d have to excuse herself from a meeting to cry in the bathroom. Memory bled into dreams bled into reality, and when Rose awoke she was disoriented and her stomach was knotted with anxiety.

It was still very early, judging by the low levels of light coming in through her blinds. Rose sat up on the couch, stood stiffly, and tiptoed to her bedroom. 

The sight of the Doctor fast asleep in her bed loosened the tension in her body a little. His head was titled back, mouth open so he could breathe with his nose still stuffed up. He didn’t look quite as flushed as the day before, though there wasn’t enough light to say for sure, and Rose hoped that his illness would pass quickly. There would be little more frustrating to a man so used to bodily control than one of those seemingly never-ending illnesses that struck every so often. 

She wanted desperately to pull the covers back and slip in beside him. But Rose knew how rundown she was. She’d be lucky to escape getting sick just with the amount of germs floating around her flat as it was; sharing a bed with the germ-generator himself would be seriously dumb. 

So she took a mental image of her Doctor and crept back to the couch, pulling her blanket over her body and curling up tight. She had slept many nights by herself—heck, even when they were traveling together each night in the TARDIS had been spent alone save for the night after she’d almost been sucked into a black hole, when fear and emotions and recent-separation had been more in control than their usual logic, and she’d walked, almost ashamed, to the Doctor’s room to ask if she could spend the night with him.

Rose flipped onto her back, remembering that night. The Doctor hadn’t been sleeping, but he’d been in bed reading, glasses perched a little crooked on his nose. She’d felt like a little kid, hovering in the doorway asking if she could sleep in his room that night, but the day had taken its toll. When her voice had cracked and she’d just barely been able to hold back from tears, the Doctor had immediately jumped up and grabbed her hands, guiding her to his bed himself. He’d put down his book, held open the covers for her, and done everything possible to keep her comfortable and safe.

She’d wondered, after the fact, if it would cause a shift in their relationship—which was, to be fair, seeming to constantly be shifting, both of them right on the edge of falling. But nothing had come of it. The Doctor hadn’t been there when she’d woken up, and he’d been more reserved for a day or two until he’d realized that she was, albeit begrudgingly, going to follow his lead in sweeping everything under the rug. Then it had been back to the flirting and the hugging and the bantering and the impossibly deep connection they’d shared since the moment they’d met. 

Now, in retrospect, Rose wondered how it had taken so long for them to get to where she and her Doctor were now. Things had been consistently so close to snowballing into a kiss or a confession, but she’d been afraid of forcing him into a relationship that could make him upset or uncomfortable, and he-

Well. Rose supposed she wouldn’t ever really know why he hadn’t made a move. Probably something to do with how humans “withered and died” and all of that. 

Rose pulled the blanket over her head and let it muffle her groan. This was so like her, to get resentful or angry instead of sad. The Doctor in the TARDIS had done what he had so that she and her Doctor could be together. He’d loved her, and he’d let her go, so that the other version of him would have a chance to have a long, happy life with her in the way that he never could.

She considered that angle, head throbbing with exhaustion. It was possible that no matter how long she traveled with him, even if she had somehow managed to stay with him for her forever, that their relationship would have remained in that same stasis that it had been for years. There was no guarantee that a certain amount of time with her would finally convince the Doctor that the pain of losing her was worth the joy of openly loving her. 

Rose could have spent her entire life with him, just waiting. And now, instead, she had this: a hope for the future with the man she loved. 

Good grief, why did there have to be such an absurdly wide range of emotions wrapped up in this whole mess? 

She lowered the blanket when the air grew too stuffy, gaze drifting back towards her bedroom door. Rose weighed the pros and cons, legitimately starting to consider whether curling up with the Doctor right now was worth almost certainly getting sick. They had nothing to do, nowhere to be, and she could very well get sick anyway…

Making up her mind, Rose rolled out of bed again and trudged into her bedroom. She tried to stay silent, loath to wake the Doctor when she knew how long it had taken him to drop off, but the moment she pulled back the blankets the Doctor sniffed and jerked upright.

“Rose?” he mumbled, eyes heavy lidded. “Wha?”

“Sorry,” she winced, pulling the blankets up and curling into a ball facing him. “Go back to sleep.”

“What’s wrong? What’s happened?” Still sitting, he looked down at her in concern. 

“Nothin’, nothin’,” Rose tried to assure him. This had been a horribly selfish idea, but she couldn’t regret it with the way her anxiety was being soothed just by his presence again. “Sorry.”

He rested a warm hand on her face, gently stroking the skin of her cheekbone. “Don’t apologize, Rose. Just tell me what’s happened.”

“Nothin’, really,” Rose insisted. “I just… I just needed to be close to you.”

His gaze softened, and he lowered himself back to the mountain of pillows they’d piled up to try and help ease his sinus pressure. “Right, then. If you’re sure you don’t mind getting sick.”

She shrugged. “There are worse things.”

Worse things. Like being on that couch all alone. Like being in this universe all alone.

Rose shivered a little and moved into his body heat. They wrapped their arms around each other, heads and shoulders and knees tucked in to all the usual spaces. She should probably be concerned about this codependency, but she thought she deserved it after everything they’d been through. 

With her head cradled against the Doctor’s chest, she was asleep in mere minutes. She woke up a few hours later, sticky with his feverish body heat and with the telltale ache in the back of her throat that signaled she was getting sick. Ah well. Even in retrospect, it was still entirely worth it.

She needed the loo, so she squirmed out of the Doctor’s arms and slogged to the bathroom. The Doctor must have been dead to the world, because he didn’t stir even when she tripped on a stray pair of pants and bumped into the dresser. 

When she made it to the bathroom, she winced at her reflection. She was pale and baggy-eyed, her hair limp and greasy. The possibility of going back to sleep was already disappearing, so Rose flicked on the shower and stood in it for a good soak. 

When she wandered into the kitchen to find some toast, she almost jumped out of her skin to see Jackie Tyler sitting at her kitchen counter. 

“Mum!” Rose exclaimed, glad she’d gotten dressed instead of just wandering out in her towel like she often did when she was living alone. “When did you get here?”

“Oh, that’s a way to say ‘hello,’ “ Jackie scoffed, rising and giving her daughter a hug. She tapped her cheek. “You look like you’re comin’ down with something, sweetheart.”

Rose winced and nodded her chin at her bedroom. “Caught it from him,” she said. “S’alright, though. More excuse to laze around.”

She grinned a little, going to her cupboard where she’d stored the loaf of bread bought the day before. “Thanks for the chicken pot pie. We were out for a right two days.”

“Can’t say I blame you,” Jackie huffed, regaining her seat at the counter. “You making tea?”

She was now. 

“So…” Rose tried to figure out a way to phrase the next statement without sounding rude or it being taken the wrong way. “Are you-? Did you-?”

“You want to know why I’m here?” Jackie guessed, raising an eyebrow. “Well, Rose, when your daughter basically drops off the face of the Earth for four days after quite a bit of intergalactic drama, a mother just wants to make sure she’s doin’ all right.”

Rose smiled, fiddling with the handle of the electric tea kettle. “I’m fine, Mum. We’re just recovering. There’s been… a lot to process.”

“So you-“ Jackie hesitated, glancing over her shoulder at the bedroom. “So you two are…? Even though…?”

Rose heard the question her mother couldn’t bring herself to say. She let her hand drop to the counter and inhaled deeply. “It’s definitely complicated,” she admitted. “But it’s still him. Really. With every word out of his mouth, I’m more sure of it. But now he’s, well…” She squeezed the countertop. “It’s what you always wanted for me, isn’t it? He’s here, he’s here to stay. We can be together but here, on Earth, growin’ old together. Really, it’s… in a way, it’s sorta the best thing that could’ve happened.”

She risked a glance at Jackie, who had a muddle of emotions flicking over her face. “But what about… him?” she asked eventually, jaw tightening. “What about the him that’s still wizzing about in the big blue box? What’s he gonna do?”

Her mother’s concern for the other Doctor sent tears stinging to Rose’s eyes. She gazed at Jackie and shrugged helplessly.

Jackie jumped up and hurried around the counter, pulling her into a hug. “Oh sweetheart,” she whispered. “Oh, I’m so sorry.”

“It’s all right,” Rose repeated, and it really was, in its way. “It’s- I’ve had a lot of time to think about it, and there was- there was no way-“ She shook her head, still pressed into Jackie’s shoulder. “He never would have…”

“I know, I know. There, there,” Jackie murmured, rubbing her back. 

Rose lifted her chin to rest it on her mom’s shoulder, and her gaze caught on her bedroom door. The Doctor, wearing the new, somewhat poorly-fitting pajamas she’d bought for him, was hovering in the doorway, watching the scene with an unreadable expression.

Rose gently pulled away from Jackie, nudging her mother so she realized that the Doctor was standing there. Jackie spun, startled, then let out a sharp breath. “Ah. You.”

“Me…” the Doctor agreed warily, still in the doorway. 

“Mum…” Rose warned, unsure of what Jackie was about to say, but her mother held up a hand.

“My Rose has always deserved great things,” Jackie said, taking a firm step towards the Doctor. “Not great like being knighted by Queen Victoria or being the guest of honor at that ball on planet whatitsname. Great as in real. Great as in loyal and loving and true.”

The Doctor nodded, swallowing. His cheeks were still unnaturally flushed, fever not quite gone. “I couldn’t agree more,” he whispered.

“And you- that other you… you didn’t always give her great,” Jackie continued. “You loved her an’ you took care of her, that was true. But you also hurt her. And as a mother, watchin’ that for my Rose was real hard.”

Neither Rose or the Doctor spoke when Jackie paused, this time.

“But you, this you, right here-“ Jackie waved her arm. “You’ve given up the entirely of time and space to stay in a rundown flat with my daughter. You’ve promised to love an’ cherish her in a way you never did before. And I- I-“ her voice caught a little, but she cleared it stubbornly. “Well, a mother would be hard pressed not to be grateful to you for that. So, well… I know you’ve left a lot behind. Mostly everything, really, a whole universe. But you’ve gained this.” She gestured between herself and Rose. “You’ve got yourself my daughter, an’ as long as you have, you, Doctor, have got yourself me. The Tylers will stand by you.”

Her words hung in the silent kitchen. Rose was gripping the counter again, so tight her fingers had gone numb. She wanted to say something, some expression of gratitude, but her chest was so tight with emotion she couldn’t get a word out.

The Doctor seemed to be similarly speechless. He fidgeted with the sleeves of his pajama shirt, mouth working, before he turned his head sharply and hid his face.

“Oh, not you, too,” Jackie groaned, lumbering forward and grabbing the Doctor in a hug. 

It took him a moment, but he wrapped his arms around her, chin on her shoulder and eyes squeezed tight. Jackie rocked him gently when a very un-Doctor-like whimper broke from his throat. 

“Ohh, you,” she murmured, patting at his back. “It’s been a while since you’ve had a mum, hasn’t it?”

The Doctor inhaled shakily, straightening up and wiping at his face. “Thank you,” he said quietly, making eye contact with Rose across the kitchen. The water was finished boiling, but Rose still darted around the kitchen table and moved close enough to take his hand. 

Jackie frowned, scanning the Doctor’s face. Her hand shot out and the back of it connected with his forehead, then temple. “Hm,” she grunted. “Runnin’ a temperature.”

“Has been since yesterday,” Rose said, squeezing the Doctor’s hand when he leaned tiredly against the doorframe. 

“It will run its course,” the Doctor said. “Apologies if I’ve passed it on to Rose.”

“Oh, she’s always had a strong immune system.” Jackie waved her hand and made her way over to the kettle. “Now let’s have some tea and toast and maybe talk about what’s in the plans for you two.”

Rose frowned a little, unsure of what exactly she meant, but drifted over to the counter with the Doctor following close behind. They were soon all settled at the table with plates of toast and tea—the Doctor had an extra-large helping of jam on his, so Jackie must have been paying attention to his tastes in some capacity over the years—and Jackie looked at them both expectantly.

“So, first thing I wanna know is whether you two plan to stay here,” she said, drumming her fingers on the table.

Rose pursed her lips. “Mum, we don’t have the TARDIS anymore. What choice do we have?”

Jackie rolled her eyes in the Doctor’s direction. “My daughter forgets that there are about eight billion people on this planet who manage to get around just fine without a big blocky space ship. I meant whether you’d be staying in this flat.”

“Oh.” Rose glanced around, taking in the interior, this time through her mother’s eyes. Jackie had never liked her flat very much, and she’d hated even more how impersonal and lifeless it was. She’d kept insisting that Rose move in with her and Pete and Tony, but even though the house was certainly big enough for all of them, Rose didn’t feel like intruding on their life. That hadn’t changed with the addition of the Doctor—in fact, the sentiment had gotten stronger.

The Doctor took a large bite of his toast then spoke through the mouthful of jam. Red coated his teeth like he’d been punched in the mouth. “Well, I’m not too shabby at interior decorating,” he declared. “Remodeled my TARDIS quite a few times over the centuries.”

“Centuries,” Jackie scoffed. “And most old people try to hide their age.”

The Doctor grinned a little cheekily at her but didn’t respond directly. “I think this place has some potential with a thorough trip to the shops,” he said, shrugging and taking another big bite. His toast was already two-thirds gone, and Rose was pleased to find his appetite returning.  

Jackie nodded. “Well, I’ve been telling Rose for months that she can come stay with Pete and I at any time.”

“And I’ve been telling Mum for months that I need my own place,” Rose countered, staring Jackie down. “The Doctor’s right. All this flat needs is a little love. Or even just someone spending some time in it. I basically just came here to sleep in between shifts at Torchwood.”

The Doctor’s gaze shuttered a little, so Rose reached out and put her hand on his knee, trying to wordlessly signal him that, no, she hadn’t been all right, but all of that was over now.

“Speaking of Torchwood,” Jackie segued. “You need to think about a job. You gonna be going back?”

Rose hesitated, the bite of toast she’d just taken growing dry in her mouth. She swallowed roughly and used her free hand to fiddle with the handle of her mug. “I dunno. I mean, they probably need us, right? We could give 'em all sorts of information. But it’s just…”

She glanced at the Doctor to find him watching her with concerned, attentive eyes.

“Well, Torchwood doesn’t hold the best memories. For either of us.”

“S’pose not,” Jackie allowed. “But they could use you. An’ I know you two.” She narrowed her eyes and poked a finger at them. “You keep carrying on like this, just lazing around this flat all the time, and you’ll be bored to tears in a week. You’ll go off an’ find trouble whether you work for Torchwood or not. Might as well put your knowledge to good use.”

Unease squirmed in Rose’s stomach. That thought had been drifting around in her head, too, mostly hidden behind the million others she’d given precedence. Would they get bored? More importantly: would the Doctor get bored? Would he get tired of this slow, human life? He’d always resisted the idea of domestics. Rose knew he’d been joking about his horror of getting a mortgage, but underneath that lighthearted attitude there was a real aversion there. He was the antithesis of static, of steady, of putting down roots. And that’s what the goal of most human lives was.

“Well,” the Doctor said, and Rose quickly looked over at him, trying to gauge his expression. He smiled gently at her, easing some of her fears with just a glance. “Perhaps let’s get to the end of the week and evaluate from there, yeah?”

Rose nodded, smiling hesitantly back.

“Well, there.” Jackie huffed a little. “I can get a message. Me and my advice can properly sod off.”

“Mum,” Rose groaned, rolling her eyes. Most of the lingering gratitude for her mother vanished. “You know that’s not what we meant.”

But Jackie just waved her hand, smirking. “Just teasing, me. But really, I should leave you two to…” she waved her hand again, though this one was more of a flap. “Do whateva’ you’ve been doing, I suppose.”

She rose to her feet, sucking down the last of her tea and placing the mug in the sink. “You know,” she said thoughtfully as she got her coat and headed for the door. “If ya need some furniture, Pete’s got this big ol’ basement storage. Last Jackie liked to redecorate, so they just kept gettin’ new things.” She rolled her eyes. “Seems a bit ridiculous to me. Nothing wrong with the same chair for twenty years. Still, could be useful. ‘Specially since you-” she jabbed a finger at the Doctor- “don’t have any money.”

The Doctor winced. “If I could make another sonic, we could have all the money we wanted,” he muttered, and Rose shook her head at him.

Jackie squinted, not having caught what he said, but she let it drop and walked further into the entry hall. “Come for dinner when you’re not all made of germs,” she instructed, reaching for the door. “Call if ya need anything.”

“Thank you, mum, I love you,” Rose said. The front door shut close behind Jackie and she let out a breath. “Well.”

“Well.”

They stared at each other a moment. Rose didn’t know what to say, what to suggest, if she needed to suggest anything. Her mom’s claim that they’d get bored fluttered back into her brain, and she hurriedly forced a grin. “So… tele?”

The Doctor wrinkled his nose. “Not sure how much more of that brain rot I can stomach,” he admitted, rubbing his eyes. “Sort of feel like it… melts my eyeballs.”

Rose shrugged. Before him she’d spent a lot of time watching television with her mom. She had a pretty high tolerance. But she could understand wanting to switch things up. “Books, then?”

“That’s the problem, though.” The Doctor made a face, annoyance smeared across every pore. “My brain is all… gooey. Don’t think I could take anything in if I tried.”

“Then… I could read to ya?” Rose offered, clearing her throat. It was still stinging, though the tea had helped a bit, and she wasn’t sure if reading aloud was the best choice for her. But anything, really anything, was better than feeling like the Doctor was bored. 

The Doctor’s gaze softened. “Maybe we could just…” he shrugged a little and reached for her hands. “Talk?”

Rose’s eyes widened a little. She intertwined their fingers. “Oh. About…?”

“I want to hear about what you’ve been doing, what you’ve seen, the conversations you’ve had, oh- what you ate for dinner.” The Doctor’s eyes zipped over her face, a smiling blooming on his mouth. “I missed so many years with you.”

“Don’t think I can remember what I ate for dinner every night for 3 years.”

He grinned wider. “Maybe not.”

She stood up, leading him to the couch. “Besides, I think your stories are probably a bit more exciting.” Rose knew she was being a bit evasive, but she wasn’t sure she was ready to talk about Torchwood. It hadn’t exactly been a pleasant time. Sure, the team was all right, the universe-hopping had been interesting, but what she remembered was the constant feeling of loss. She’d been so focused on getting back to the Doctor that she hadn’t even remotely moved on. The grief of being apart from him hadn’t wavered, not for a day. It had left her so empty, with all these emotions and desires left impossible to fulfill. 

He raised an eyebrow, but truth be told the Doctor was always willing to talk. “Well…” he hesitated, gaze distant. “There was quite a bit. The dark side of New New Earth. Agatha Christie. Shakespeare. A platoon of Judoon on the moon.” 

Rose huffed a laugh. “Convenient rhyme.”

A flash of a grin, but it faded quickly. “There was… another Time Lord.”

Rose’s mouth fell open a little, her own amusement immediately gone. “What? Another Time Lord survived?”

Grief was woven in every fiber of his being. “Not anymore. He’s gone now.”

“But-“

The Doctor shook his head. “He’s gone, Rose. I’m still the last. Especially here.” He made a face. “Well, not even really a Time Lord, anymore. Time-Lord-Human. First and last, me.”

She reached for something to say. With each new word out of his mouth, she felt more and more like she’d just missed so much. He could tell her about his journeys all he liked, but it still wouldn’t change the fact that she hadn’t been there. 

The Doctor’s voice broke her out of her thoughts. “It was…” He drew a breath. “It was hard without you.”

“But you had Martha and Donna,” Rose said. She still wasn’t sure how she felt about him accumulating other companions in her absence. Most of her was just glad that he hadn’t been alone, just him in that endlessly large blue box, but a petty part of her felt like he’d replaced her awfully quickly. That part of her was speaking now. “Couldn’t have been too bad.”

He raised his eyebrows at her. “Rose,” he said firmly, letting go of her hands to cup her face. “I thought of you. Ever hour. Of every day. I thought of you.”

Her mouth was very dry.

“When I first met Donna, she appeared in the TARDIS right after I closed the gap between the universes for good.” At her curious head-tilt, he waved his hand. “Complicated, that. Huon particles, giant Earth-destroying Racnoss. Anyway. Sure, it was nice to have something to focus on other than the fact that I’d just seen you for the very last time, but I… I wanted the world to burn. The Racnoss- I-“ He broke off, jaw tightening. “I blew up her children.”

“What?” Rose breathed, staring at him uncomprehendingly. 

The Doctor let go of her face and scrubbed at her hair. “No, that’s not quite- well, I did, but-“ He let out a sigh. “My point is that I needed you. I need you. Those first few months, especially. Starting to travel with Martha, having her ask so many questions about you and our time together… you just kept popping up everywhere. The Carrionite, in London—she could read my mind, she knew your name. And when I first realized the Daleks were back, I-“

He shook his head again, jaw screwing tight. “It was so unfair,” he breathed, leaning forward and pressing his forehead into his hands. “You were my best friend and I loved you and to lose you- and we barely had any time together, too, it just wasn’t-“

Rose wrapped an arm around his back, pressing her face into his shoulder. She understood his pain; she could feel it radiating off of him but she also felt it, had felt it, deeply and personally. Working at Torchwood had meant that there were little stabbing reminders of her time with the Doctor everywhere. Not so much physical mementos from their journeys—she was in a different universe after all—but everyone there knew who she was, who she’d been with, and either they overtly tried to avoid talking about it or assumed it was their business and grilled her mercilessly about the Doctor. 

But even without the reminders, he was on her mind constantly. Obsessively, unhealthily, even. Her mum had hated it. All she’d wanted was for Rose to move on. But she just… 

The Doctor turned in her grasp. Rose had no idea how long it had been, how fast her thoughts had been flying. She held him tighter as he wrapped his arms around her waist, buried his face into her neck. His lips brushed her collarbone, pressing a lingering kiss against her skin. Rose shivered and gripped onto him with all her might. 

“You missed me too?” he asked. The phrasing was more statement-like but he sounded so uncertain.

Her throat was too tight to talk, and he couldn’t see her if she nodded, so she just let out a strained, “mhm,” and inhaled shakily and she knew he got the picture. 

Her head ached with tears she wouldn’t let herself cry. She was so tired, still, somehow, and his body was warm and heavy. The couch was comfortable, her eyelids were sinking…

She drifted off to the feeling of his hand rubbing up and down her spin, his breath ghosting over her throat. 

W / T \ Y

On the fifth day after, they leave the house together.

Rose was surprised to wake up and find that she wasn’t ill. Even if the flat was germ-infested, really all she’d done the day before was sleep and dig up some books on CD that Mickey had given her for Christmas (she used to have quite the collection). The Doctor had found a sketchpad and doodled, and Rose had lain with her head in his lap, eyes shut, drifting in and out of consciousness as the audiobook washed around her. Later, after a mid-day meal that wasn’t really breakfast or dinner, just food, the Doctor had tried on a couple of the outfits she’d gotten him. She’d been… pretty off on the sizing, though he tried to hide it.

“I like the color!” he’d protested.

She raised her eyebrow. “It’s brown.”

“I like brown!”

That, at least, was something she’d been able to count on. 

Rose rolled over and startled a little to find the Doctor already awake, propped up on one elbow and watching her. The pajama shirt she’d found for him had really been too small so he’d taken it off entirely to sleep the night before. She wasn’t complaining, though being pressed up against his bare muscles did sort of the opposite of calming her down. 

“How ya feelin’?” Rose queried, reaching out to touch his forehead. It felt pretty normal. He looked pretty normal.

“Better,” the Doctor said with a quick smile. “And you?”

Rose took stock. A bit stuffy, a bit stiff, but really… “ ‘M good,” she confirmed, nodding in satisfaction. “Guess we’re tougher than some old flu.”

“Oh, but we knew that already,” the Doctor teased. 

He was so mesmerizing like this, available to her in a way that he’d never been before. His hair was mussed on the side, a bit limper than usual, he looked a little haggard but also soft and flushed from sleep. Rose leaned forward and kissed him, taking her sweet time, exploring his mouth and then pulling away to press kisses to his cheeks, his jaw, his forehead. The Doctor had his eyes shut, just letting her languish this attention on him. 

“I love you,” Rose whispered, pressing her forehead to his. 

“I love you too,” the Doctor responded, barely opening his mouth. 

They remained like that for a long while, wrapped up in soft kisses and low-voiced, inconsequential conversation as the little patch of sunlight from the crack in the curtains Rose had hastily shut the night before crept across the floor. Rose thought that she might be able to stay there forever. 

Her bladder disagreed.

“Okay…” she sighed finally, making a move to roll out of bed. The Doctor let out an offended little sound, hilarious to hear coming from him of all people, and grabbed onto her. 

Rose gently smacked at his arm. “I have to pee, you git,” she laughed, succeeding in wiggling out of his arms and tromping for the door to the loo. 

When she emerged, the Doctor was gone from the bathroom and had moved to the kitchen instead. He stood behind the counter holding a recipe book from Jackie that Rose had hardly touched, squinting heavily. 

“Wotcha,” Rose greeted, grinning with her tongue poking out a little. It made her glow with happiness to walk out of her bathroom and see him here like this, in a shirt a bit too big and pants a bit too short. They really needed to get him better clothes. “What’re ya doin’?”

“Trying to read,” the Doctor grumbled. “One pair of glasses and I left them with the other me. He’s got all of time and space to find a new pair! Why did he get to keep them?”

Rose laughed. For the first time since Bad Wolf Bay, a mention of the other Doctor didn’t send a tidal wave of grief and emotion washing over her. There was a splash, still, like the spray from a jump in a puddle, but it was manageable enough that she could still keep the smile on her face.

She walked around the kitchen table and nudged him with her hip, taking the recipe from him. “We don’t have these ingredients,” she told him, looking at the list of pancake ingredients. “We can make french toast, though.”

He acquiesced with a nod, beginning to open cupboard doors at random to try and find the loaf of bread she’d bought the other day. 

As the slices of bread soaked and sizzled, Rose returned to the conversation from before. “If you need new glasses… maybe we should go out today?” she suggested. “We could get you some real clothes, stuff for pancakes, maybe some decor?”

The Doctor’s face lit up and he grinned widely. “I would love to,” he said, with so much vehemence that Rose had to keep herself from wincing. It was normal. It was so normal that someone who’d been cooped up doing nothing for five days would want to leave the house—particularly someone like the Doctor who had such a vagabond spirit. He probably hadn’t been this long in one place since he was in the womb (did Time Lords even have wombs?). This wasn’t a sign that he was getting bored of her and their little fledgling life already. It wasn’t.

It wasn’t.

Rose nodded quickly, turning back to the stove and flipping the french toast before it was ready. “Great! We can pop out after breakfast. Maybe get lunch out.”

He nudged her. “Chips?”

Rose smiled down at the pan, though her heart ached a little thinking of her previous Doctor, with the leather and big ears, who felt even more lost to her now. “Redo our first date,” she offered. 

“Maybe make it a real date,” the Doctor said. 

Rose glanced up at him, swallowing thickly. He smiled down at her with his eyes soft around the corners. “You want that?” she asked hesitantly. Even though they’d been kissing and bed-sharing, even though he’d said he wanted to spend the rest of his life with her, she still somehow felt a little unsure.

The Doctor shuffled his feet and broke eye contact, bashful. “I think that Earth dating customs could be… quite nice,” he said. “Perhaps, in reality, it won’t be too different than our usual outings, but… well.”

“Welllll….” Rose crawled her fingers up his chest, grinning with her tongue touching her teeth again. “There is one thing we could do that would make it a bit different.”

He waggled his eyebrows, leaning in. “Isn’t that supposed to come at the end of the date?”

“Dessert before dinner?” she suggested, and pulled him in for a long snog. 

Their shopping was largely successful. They wandered about, munching on chips. The Doctor found some suitable clothes, they loaded about six shopping bags full with tasteful decor items (or, tasteful to the Doctor’s standards… Rose wasn’t exactly sure how she felt about the globular lamps he claimed were necessary). Still, Rose once again found herself waiting for something. For someone to shoot at them or a group of alien rebels to crash-land or for a dinosaur to show up or something. It didn’t feel right to call a cab at the end of their shopping and make their way back home.

The Doctor was quiet on the car ride back. Rose fidgeted beside him, sneaking quick glimpse of his face to try and gauge his expression. He didn’t seem moody or upset, just… quiet. Contemplative. Peaceful, even. 

“Did you… have a nice time?” she asked tentatively as they stepped out of the car and paid the cabbie. 

The Doctor slung their shopping bags over his arms, straps all the way up to his elbow, and bounded up the steps of her flat. “Mm, yes, quite,” he said with a placid smile, stepping aside so she could unlock the door. 

Still no signs of discontent. No signs of boredom. So why did Rose feel like it was all a giant act?

Perhaps because the Doctor was categorically good at hiding his emotions. He was never—had never—been honest with her about how he was feeling. He loved his protective walls more than Jackie loved her reality shows on the tele. If he was bored, or discontent, or whatever… he wouldn’t tell her. 

Rose gnawed on her lip. She needed space to think about all of this, to try and figure out what to do. But they’d just gone out, and she couldn’t think of a single place she could go where he wouldn’t join her. 

Except one.

“ ‘M just gonna take a shower,” she excused herself, hanging up her jacket and hurrying to the bedroom to get her things. 

The Doctor hummed in reply, already setting up with his reorganizing. He seemed very consumed by the task. Usually when he was consumed by tasks, it meant that he didn’t want to look her in the face. It meant he was hiding something.

Rose stripped and got into the shower. It was still too cold but she’d been unable to wait a moment longer before hot tears were spilling down her cheeks. She curled up on the floor of the tub, back wrenching in sobs she tried to muffle in her knees. How long did they have? How long until the Doctor realized that life here, human life, wasn’t what he wanted? On that first night he’d welcomed her into the TARDIS, he’d done so with a certain expectation of lifestyle: of saving the world, traveling, having non-stop adventure and adrenaline highs.

This was nothing, compared to that. This was crisps in front of brain-rot TV and domestic shopping and getting jobs and perhaps a real house and mortgage, and the Doctor had never wanted that. If this him was the real him—which Rose now knew indubitably that it was—he wouldn’t want that. 

She knew she was doing a poor job of muffling her sobs, but she still wasn’t expecting the Doctor to knock on the door. “Rose?” he queried, worry in his tone. “Rose, are you all right?”

“Yep, fine,” Rose said hurriedly, scrambling to her feet and starting to shampoo her hair even though he couldn’t see her. Soap stung into her eyes but they honestly couldn’t tear much more than they already were. 

“Rose…”

She gnawed on her lip so hard she tasted blood, fighting the next several waves of emotion threatening to pull her under, and didn’t reply.

The Doctor was quiet for so long she thought he might have left. This wouldn’t be the first time he’d overheard her crying in the shower and come to investigate; in their first few months traveling together, before Rose was more desensitized, sometimes everything just got to be too much. Leery of showing human weakness in front of her gruff, more insensitive Doctor, she’d hide in the bathroom shower until the tears had left her system. The TARDIS was always worried about her, though, and the Doctor would inevitably pass by the door and make an attempt to get through to her. Rose never let him, and by the time she left the bathroom there was a mutual understanding between them to not discuss what had happened. Eventually, the TARDIS understood that Rose’s emotions in that moment were private, and she’d helped Rose hide instead of trying to bring her comfort. 

There was no TARDIS now, though, just Rose’s immobile, definitely not bigger-on-the-inside flat. And as Rose used up the last of her hot water, she heard the Doctor finally speak again: “I’m just outside, when you need me.”

Rose’s lips wobbled. She got out of the shower and toweled off, pulling on a sweatpants and a t-shirt. With those words, all she wanted to do was lay all her fears bare, but what if that honesty pushed the Doctor away even faster? She could lie. Pretend that nothing was the matter and claim tiredness or lingering overwhelming emotions or even PMSing. But masking took so, so much energy, and Rose just wanted to curl up in the Doctor’s arms and feel safe and held and secure again. 

She opened the door with a small creak and blinked to find the Doctor sitting on the floor across from the bathroom, head resting against the wall and eyes staring into nothing. He shot upwards when she stepped in the hall, swallowing and eyes searching hers.

She could hide nothing from this man. There was no use even trying.

Rose nodded her head towards the bedroom and led the way inside. Her hair was still dripping a little and so she squeezed it in a towel as the Doctor sank onto the mattress, waiting silently. 

“I’m sorry,” Rose began quietly, still not facing him. She hung the damp towel over the back of a chair and adjusted the shoulders of her shirt.

“Have I done something?” the Doctor asked and Rose turned to see him watching her with eyes so dark with sadness and concern and self-loathing it made her breath catch. 

“No, of course not,” Rose breathed, rushing over and sitting next to him. “I’m just… Doctor, I know this isn’t what you signed up for. All those years ago, with me. You’re a Time Lord, you had all of time and space at your fingertips and now… now you’ve just got a dinky old flat in a different universe and a normal, dull, human life.”

Before she could stop herself she was crying again, arms wrapping around herself in a hug. “ ‘M just s-so scared that- that you’re gonna wake up one day an’- and realize that you’re bored to death and that you’re gonna- gonna-“

The Doctor pulled her into a hug, hauling her all the way into his lap so he could fully cradle her, hold her tighter than tight. Rose wrapped herself around him, hiccuping out sobs. 

“And here I was afraid that you would get bored.”

The sentence, said wryly and almost bemusedly, made Rose stop crying for a moment. She pulled back, blinking into his face, and the Doctor smiled sadly at her. He wiped a thumb across her cheekbone. “Rose, there’s a version of me that once offered you the entirety of the universe. Anywhere, any time, that’s what he could give you. Me? I’ve got… nothing.” 

Rose’s face crumpled again, but this time it was grief for him, for how he saw himself. She pulled him close again and weaved her fingers into his hair. “Doctor, I didn’t stay on the TARDIS for the travel,” she mumbled against his neck. “I didn’t fight through hundreds of dead-end alternate universes and drive myself to the brink at Torchwood for the travel.”

He cradled the back of her head, thumb stroking right underneath her ear. “Oh, Rose.”

“I did it for you,” she said with another sob. His neck was slick with her tears. “All I’ve ever wanted was just you.”

“Then you’ve got me,” the Doctor said simply. 

It took awhile, but eventually Rose’s tears slowed. The two relaxed down the length of the bed, cradled together. 

“Let me tell you something, Rose,” the Doctor said quietly, one hand running up and down her back. “When I was traveling with Martha, there was this… well, we ended up in serious danger. I had to hide myself away completely, disguise that I was a Time Lord.”

“How’d you do that?” Rose asked drowsily, her voice thick with snot and crying.

“There’s this thing on the Tardis called the Chameleon Arch. It can basically rewrite your DNA, turn you into any species you want. I… I turned myself human.”

For just a moment, Rose felt a sting of disbelief and hurt. All this time, all those moments he’d told her of the tragedy of being a Time Lord, the curse and burden he forever had to carry… and he could have just chosen to make himself human? 

“Now, don’t go getting carried away in that head of yours,” the Doctor told her firmly, giving her a quick squeeze. “It’s not like, zap! same person, different species. It’s like… it’s like the opposite of a regeneration, actually. Same body, different man.”

“All right…” Rose studied his profile from her angle tucked against his shoulder. “So what happened? Why’re you tellin’ me this?”

The Doctor inhaled deeply, then let it go. “Because I became human. Completely new man. Called himself John Smith. And John Smith had a life, had a personality, he was an entire, completely whole human being. And he, well…” he hesitated, wrinkling his nose a bit. “He fell in love.”

Rose raised her eyebrows. “Oh.”

“Now-“ the Doctor repeated, looking peevishly down at her. He shook his head and pressed a quick, firm kiss to her lips. “Hold on, just a moment. In my defense, it wasn’t me.”

Rose rolled her eyes fondly and patted his chest. “Calm down, ‘m not gonna tell you off.”

“Okay. Good.” The Doctor sniffed slightly, rearranging his hold on her. “Well, anyway. I don’t remember quite everything about being John Smith, especially now that… well, now that my brain has shrunk, rather, down to human-sized.”

“Git,” she mumbled, trying to hide a grin.

He ignored her. “But what I do remember was the moment before John Smith had to go back to being the Doctor. He was… he didn’t want to do it. He really didn’t want to do it. He saw the Doctor as a loveless, terrifying, abysmal, tortured being, lonely and empty inside. So empty that he hadn’t even considered that his human alternate might fall in love. Which, might I add, I’ve got a good excuse for—I knew even then that I had space in my hearts only for you, Rose Tyler, alternate universe aside.” 

Rose let her grin out, now, pressing her face into his chest. “Go on…” she urged, a little teasing.

“I guess the point to all of this is that John Smith was content. He was in love. He so desperately wanted to keep hold of the life that he could have as a human: growing old, raising a family, dying peacefully in his sleep with all his loved ones beside him. And he knew the Doctor couldn’t have that.”

Even through the warm rush this story was giving her, Rose could feel an ache. There was still a Doctor out there in the multiverse that couldn’t have that. Whose dreams and longings were the same as the Doctor here, with her. It wasn’t fair. It just wasn’t fair.

“John Smith wasn’t me,” the Doctor admitted, brushing his hand down Rose’s hair. “But there was a part of me in him. The longing, I think. That longing was mine. A longing I tried to ignore for so long, because it was so very impossible. But now it’s not.”

Rose gnawed on her lip, staying silent. The Doctor shifted down the pillows so they were face to face, his arm draped over her hip. “I guess what I’m saying, Rose, is that this life that you see as so mundane, as so apt to bore me… it’s the one adventure I never thought I’d have. And it’s something that I’ve longed for, deeply longed for. And to get to do it with you…” 

He trailed off, shaking his head like just the thought of it amazed him past articulation. 

“So, don’t worry,” he finished, offering her a small grin. “I guess that’s what I was trying to say. I made my choice a long time ago, and I am never going to leave you.”

Hearing her own words from so many years ago echoed back to her, a fresh wave of tears sprung into Rose’s eyes. She shot forward, burying herself in his arms. 

“And, hey,” the Doctor said after a moment, pressed a kiss to her temples. “Just because we’re human doesn’t mean the adventures need to stop. Bet you could get Pete to forge me a passport.”

“We could go to Barcelona,” Rose said, grinning against his neck. “Dogs with noses.”

“Barcelona,” he rolled the word around his mouth. “Ah, yes. Barcelona. Japan. Maine—I’ve always wanted to see Maine. Great big Sequoias in California. And the Cave of Crystals in Chihuahua! Jervis Bay—now that’s otherworldly—that river, uh, what is it… Rainbow River! Colombia.”

Rose laughed and leaned up to kiss him, knowing he’d go on forever if she didn’t shut him up. “That’s a lot of places.”

“Oh, there are so many places,” he replied with relish, bumping his nose against hers. “So very many. But we’ve got our whole lives.”

Rose inhaled shakily, a wave of emotion washing her from head to foot. She nodded, throat tight. “Forever.”