"Tell me something new," the Doctor asked softly.
They often did this. In their post-coital snuggles, one would tell the other pieces of their lives either before they'd met or after they'd been separated.
She'd told him about friends and family she'd left behind. She'd told him of the spark of hope she'd kept in the weeks after Canary Wharf, and of the crippling grief after Bad Wolf Bay. She'd told him about working for Torchwood, and of the anger and frustration as the Dimension Cannon showed no signs of life. She'd told him about a man she'd met in a bar, and all of the regret that followed.
He'd told her about his previous companions, and about his granddaughter, whom he'd left behind. He'd told her about his first family, the one he'd lost on Gallifrey. He'd told her about all the adventures he'd had that had gone wrong; he'd told her about the Master and Midnight and his time as John Smith. He'd told her how he'd given up on her and on himself, and how he'd resigned himself never to see her again.
Night by night, piece by piece, they revealed themselves to each other. The Doctor wondered if one day he would learn all there was to know about Rose
But as she began speaking about how it felt to wake up beside him for the first time, the Doctor knew that would never happen. They had an entire lifetime to fill with new stories and new memories, and the Doctor knew that would never be enough.
But he would take it and be grateful, so grateful, because there were far worse places to be in the universe than beside the woman he loved.