I threatened it, and here it is, my very first Doctor Who fanfic! Please read and review.
Of course he does.
Because I know what it's like; every time I look at her my heart flips over and my stomach clenches, and every time I do that she is looking at him, not me, with that same look, and their expressions are identical, that blazing, glowing expression of perfect love and devotion, closeness I can never come between.
Because every time I make a suggestion he barely glances in my direction, but when she says something, he stops tinkering with his ship, he stops running around, tearing his foofy brown hair out, babbling scientific gibberish, and looks her full in the face, considering her input, admiring her thoughts.
Because I am a man, so I can tell when he is checking my girl out, I can see that every time he grabs her hand it isn't as careless and automatic as he thinks it is, and he is always slightly nervous, slightly triumphant, and her face lights up. And every time she bends over, or turns away, or walks into the room, his eyes slide towards her, like she is the one beaming light into the universe.
Because he indulges her every whim. He never crosses on personal timelines; I've travelled with him, and he refused to go back on Reinette's timeline to warn her, or even to see her one last time. But with Rose, he didn't even hesitate, he took her not once, but twice, to see her dad, to try and save him. He would destroy worlds just to see her smile. If that isn't proof, I don't know what is.
Because the only time he's looked me in the eye, as Rose chatters away happily over her plate of chips in modern day London, he sees what I am thinking, and he's telling me with his eyes I know. And you are right. But it doesn't stop him. Because he is a man in love, and he can't give her up, even though we both know she would be better off at home, with me, where there are no monsters and no aliens, and no hovering threat of a broken heart.
And the thing is, the funny thing is, that neither of them realise. He thinks Rose is infatuated, half in love with time-travel, half with the wild adventures he pulls her into, and only taken with him for the amazing things he shows her. He can't see, like I can, that he is her universe, and that you could take it all away, the Daleks, the Slitheen, the endless maze of space and time, and her laughter and smiles would be unchanged, as long as he was there, by her side, the same as always. And she thinks that the Doctor keeps her as a pet, someone amusing, occasionally useful, the latest in a long line of companions he trades in a little further down the street for a new model, and she is afraid that one day her Doctor will leave her behind, and all she will have is the memory of a brighter time. She doesn't see the lonely man inside, longing to be loved, to be adored, longing for her loyalty and devotion, needing to show her the world so he can see it anew through her eyes, not because then it is new, and he can forget his loneliness for a split second, but because he loves the way she glances back at him, her face animated, as she gazes at a new world. And I've caught the look of sadness and of hope on his face as her gaze shifts back out the window. It says she may care about me, but it's this life that she loves.
They never will realise, either of them, because their insecurities are so huge, an insurmountable gap between them. Both of them so brilliant, but they neither of them notice that their easy companionship is a mask for their true feelings. How can they be willing to give up their lives for the other and not see something so blindingly clear? Even I, Mickey the Idiot, can see that of course he does, of course he loves her.
But you won't catch me telling them. Because I'm just a little bit too selfish for that.