"Why d'you call me that?"

Rose continued fiddling around with the device she was trying in vain to make actually work, her tongue sticking out the corner of her mouth slightly in concentration.

"Why do I what now?" she asked, distracted.

"Why d'you call me 'Doctor'?" he clarified.

Her heart rate increased and she looked up.

"I didn't," she replied. "I didn't say anythin'. I've just been mindin' my own business over here."

"Not just now," he said. "But I've got a big brain, me. I notice things. And one of those things is that you call me that all the time. It's got me thinking."

"That's always dangerous," she joked unsteadily in a weak attempt to fob him off. He didn't look particularly impressed by her efforts.

She rarely referred to him by name at all. He was always just 'he' or 'my partner'. It was easier that way, for she was less likely to slip up and forget herself when she was busy or otherwise distracted. Sometimes, though, she couldn't seem to help herself.

He wasn't the same man, but in some ways he really was, right down to the wide grin he so frequently bestowed only on her, as if she was the only thing that ever earned his unabashed delight. She supposed she'd made his workdays a little less dull from the time she arrived at Torchwood, but she didn't think that was the only reason he enjoyed her company so much. That closeness kept developing between them despite Rose's best intentions, and it only made it more difficult to remind herself of the reality.

He wasn't him, and the unspoken relationship between them wasn't quite the same, but how could she ever bring herself to call him any other name when it so easily could be?

When it became clear she had no intention of properly answering his, he muttered, "Yeah, didn't expect you to tell me anyway. Just another of your secrets."

"I'm sorry," she said.

He shook his head dismissively, then changed the topic. "So, Monday. You taking the promotion?"

That was just another question Rose didn't want to answer, though. She didn't even know the answer herself.

"Have you?" she asked.

He snorted. "It's an assignment, isn't it. Most of us have to go where we're told."

Rose narrowed her eyes. "Hey, don't be like that." She got accused of being the subject of favouritism often enough from other Torchwood employees; she didn't need it from him, of all people. "Anyways, I bet if you actually asked not to go, Director Tyler would react the same way he would if I asked to stay," Rose said tersely.

He shook his head. "It doesn't matter. I'm not about to test that theory. I hear the air in Paris is a lot cleaner than London anyway, and I've been stuck down here in the basement at Torchwood One cataloguing alien artefacts for too long to pass up a chance to move up a bit in the world. So there's no reason not to go, is there?"

He said it like a statement, but Rose could see that there was still a question in his eyes.

That was thing, wasn't it? Wasthere a reason he should stay? Or that she should go as well?

She couldn't help but remember the moments when his hand would close over hers to guide her fingers in sliding some piece of alien thingamajig into place (he was always the one who was good with the technical side of things, not to mention at pronouncing the names of them). His skin was always warmer than she expected, yet the touch of it never failed to make her shiver.

And then there was that time right there in the main lunchroom, in front of at least six other Torchwood staff, where they'd accidentally found themselves right up in each other's space, their bodies very nearly pressed flush against each other. He'd looked so much like he wanted to actually do something about it despite the awkward setting, and he hadn't seemed to understand why she'd sprung away as if she'd been scalded.

Rose was glad that, if talk of that moment had managed to travel the Torchwood gossip grapevine all the way up to Pete Tyler himself, at least he apparently hadn't passed it along to her Mum. It was just as well Pete had only met the Doctor after he'd regenerated, for he'd never have kept it to himself if he realised the truth, and then Rose would never have heard the end of it. Rose wondered if Pete would have assigned both Rose and her co-worker to help set up the new Torchwood base in Paris if he'd known. Maybe he would actually have encouraged their relationship, given how often her Mum nagged him to get involved in Rose's life. After all, he'd found relative happiness with someone who looked exactly like the person he'dloved.

It wasn't that easy for her, though. Pete's wife was dead, and clearly never coming back. The Doctor was still out there, just out of reach. Even though the project she was working on in every moment she could find to spare at Torchwood didn't seem to be going anywhere, packing off to Paris would mean giving up on ever getting back to him.

The thought of deciding to just move onmade her feel sick with guilt and sadness.

She couldn't. She just couldn't.

This wasn't where she wanted to stay, but she couldn't leave yet. Not with him.

"No," she said eventually with a sigh. "Guess there's nothin' keepin' you here after all."

She knew that he could see that she'd decided to stay without her having to specifically say it.

"Right then," he said bitterly.

"I'm –"

"Don't," he interrupted, not letting her get the word 'sorry' out a second time. He went back to his work and didn't so much as look at her for the rest of the day. Rose felt as though a pressure was building in her chest with every passing moment.

It was Friday evening, she thought with dismay as he walked out without acknowledging her at the end of the day. Pete had told her that she had to make her decision by Monday morning, for that was when the first zeppelin was leaving for Paris. He would be on board that ship. This would probably be the last time she'd see him for quite a while, possibly ever.

Were they really going to leave it this way? Wasn't he even going to say goodbye?

Wait, she thought as she watched him go. But she didn't call after him.

He wasn't the Doctor. He wasn't going to come back a second time trying to convince her to go with him. He was like the Doctor in so many ways, but he clearly wasn't thatman.

That was why it had to be this way.

She watched from the entrance of the Torchwood building as John Smith leaned against the shelter at the taxi rank, staring at the ground and looking dejected. When he slid into the cab that finally pulled up, she didn't try to stop him.

Her goodbye was silent.

~FIN~