Rose stood beneath the hot water, letting it stream over her face and shoulders. She still felt numb and cold, but awareness was returning to her in stages.
She knew that the Doctor was standing outside the shower; he was worried about her. She should say something to him. But she needed a little time to process what had happened. It had all been so fast, almost a blur, and when he'd bent to whisper in her ear, to utter those three words she'd waited so, so long to hear, she'd felt that her heart would burst.
She'd kissed him without thinking; it had been an automatic reaction. It had felt natural, and he'd responded as though they'd never been apart. So she hadn't allowed herself to think about it too much, to consider what she'd lost, because she'd gained something—someone—too.
She understood intellectually that he wasn't precisely the same person, even though he carried the memories and the emotions of his twin. He was half-human now, with a single heart, and that was very, very different. Yet already she'd seen the effects of that difference. She could read emotion, true human emotion, on his face, and his love for her radiated with each smile and every glance he gave her.
A part of Rose wanted to think about it and think hard, because she knew that this man, this human, wasn't really her Doctor. But he was so close, and she'd missed him so, so much…
"Rose," he called softly through the steam and glass. "You all right?" His voice carried concern.
She took a step back, away from the water, and opened the door. "You're cold, too," she said, extending her hand out into the cool air beyond the steamy sanctuary.
She waited for several seconds, then he took her hand. When he dropped it again she stepped back under the stream, her gaze focused on the blank whiteness of the tiled wall. She heard the door open and felt a rush of momentary cold, then the door clicked shut and the Doctor moved to stand behind her.
Water was rushing over her face again. His hands were on her crown, brushing the wet strands back, smoothing the hair away from her eyes and cheeks and mouth. She knew that he was close to her, but aside from his hands he did not attempt to touch her. She tilted her head back to rest upon his shoulder, moving back until she felt his chest against her shoulder blades.
The hand that rested over her brow was warm; he'd never felt like this before. His touch had always been cool, and even though she'd quickly grown accustomed to his lower body temperature, it had always seemed just a bit foreign to her. But this man, this human whose lean, spare chest and stomach were now shielding her back, wasn't cold at all. The gentle kiss he pressed to her temple was delivered with warm, soft lips.
"Rose," he whispered against her ear, his voice husky and reverent. "I love you."
Her hand moved up to cradle his cheek. "I know." They were barely words, more of an extended exhalation, but he heard her.
His arms lowered to cross lightly over her ribs, his hands settling gently against her belly. His rested his chin over her crown, and she wondered for a moment at how perfectly they fit together when they were standing like this.
Neither spoke for some time as the water flowed over their bodies. Finally his hand opened to splay over her flank. "You're warmer," he told her.
"You too," she replied.
"Yes."
She reached for the handle on the wall and turned off the water. He stepped out of the stall, and by the time she'd turned around he'd hung a towel over the door. She took it and wrapped it around herself.
The small room was empty when she left the stall, but a robe hung behind the door. Her clothes and his still lay in a soggy pile on the floor. Rose took a minute to hang them over the radiator, then she blotted the water from her hair. She slipped on the robe.
The Doctor was sitting on the bed, legs stretched out before him, his own robe tied about his waist. He smiled at her and patted the mattress. She returned the smile as she padded toward him. She sank down beside him and lifted her legs to the bed so that she could snuggle under his waiting arm. However, this motion brought a thrum of pain to her knee, and she winced.
He frowned as he saw the evidence of pain upon her face. His eyes moved down to her leg. The robe covered her knee partially. He pulled it aside to expose the injury. She was rather sorry to lose the comfort of his arm and shoulder as he shifted around to sit beside her legs.
"Hurts?" he asked as his fingers delicately traced the outer edge of the raw, ragged scrapes. He shook his head before she could reply. "'Course it does. Sorry."
His hand moved gently over her knee, pressing lightly in various spots. Rose bit at her lower lip, determined not to cry out, but the wound was really quite painful, and his prodding was not helping. She must have twisted something or hit the rock harder than she'd realized. She tried to focus upon the warmth of the Doctor's skin and the softness of his touch.
"Well," he said after what felt like an hour but was probably closer to half a minute, "you haven't torn your vastus medialis or injured your patella—"
"You still remember all that stuff?" Rose asked.
He glanced up and nodded. "I have all the same memories, all the same knowledge." Returning his attention to her knee, he said, "This needs to be cleaned and bandaged. I'll run down to reception and see if they have a first aid kit."
He hopped to his feet and began walking toward the door.
"Um, Doctor," Rose began, a grin spreading over her face.
"Hmm?" He turned back.
She gestured toward his bare calves and slender, pale feet. "Plannin' on goin' down like that?"
He glanced down. "What? I'm decent, aren't I? All my bits are covered."
She giggled. "Yeah, s'pose they are. But people don't usually go runnin' around hotels in their robes, unless they're goin' to the pool or beach."
He gave her a mock pout. "Fine. I'll just call the desk, then, and see if they can send it up."
As he was speaking with the hotel manager, Rose's gaze wandered to the clock. They were supposed to meet her mum for dinner, but she'd completely lost track of the time. When the Doctor was finished with his call, she reached for the phone.
"D'you know what room Mum's in?" she asked him.
"Thirteen—easy number to remember for her." He quirked an eyebrow playfully.
"Oi! That's m'mum you're talking about! She came a long way to help you." She gave his arm a light slap.
"Yes," he said, his tone much softer now, "she did." He rested his palm over her hand.
"An' we're s'posed to meet her for dinner, only I've lost track of the time. How long's it been since we came up here?"
"Fifty-three minutes and nineteen seconds," he replied immediately.
Now it was her turn to arch a well-shaped brow in his direction. He'd always had an infallible sense of time—the other Him. This man possessed that, too, apparently in spades. "Right."
She punched in her mother's room number and waited a few rings for Jackie to answer.
"Rose? What is it, sweetheart? Is somethin' wrong?"
"No, everything's fine. But our clothes're still wet. I don't think they'll be dry 'til morning."
"Same here. I was thinkin' of just orderin' room service. D'you mind?"
Somewhat relieved, Rose replied, "No, that's a good idea. We'll do the same thing."
"Are you really all right?"
Rose thought for a few moments before she answered. Her eyes moved to the Doctor. He was watching her with a gentle, affectionate expression, one she'd seen repeatedly in the scant hours since they'd left the beach. Oh, she'd seen that look before, but never so frequently, and never so openly. Finally, she said, "Yeah, I think I am."
"That's good, sweatheart. I'm gonna call Tony an' tell him a bedtime story—"
"Tell him his big sis sends a big kiss."
"I will. You call me if you need me, or come to my room if… well, if you want."
"Thanks, Mum. Love you."
"Love you, too."
Rose hung up just as they heard the knock at the door. The Doctor answered it and accepted the first aid kit from the manager.
"Is there anything else I can get you, sir?" he asked. "I can call a doctor if it's serious."
"No, no need for that. But we could use some dinner—something hearty and hot."
The manager nodded. "I'll take care of it."
The Doctor sat down beside Rose again and opened the kit. He rummaged around for a bit then removed several packaged antiseptic wipes. He spent some time cleaning the wound, his motions gentle yet assiduous. Rose sat as stoically as possible, but once or twice she made a little squeak of pain.
He looked up, his expression close to stricken. "I'm sorry—"
"It's all right," she reassured him, terribly touched by his depth of emotion.
He placed a large square of gauze over the injury and solicitously taped it in place. "There. How's that feel?"
"Better." Really, it did. "Thanks."
He smiled softly. "You're welcome."
He was hungry: really, truly hungry. It was something he had not experienced in a very long time. Oh, he remembered that his Time Lord's body had required some sustenance, and he'd enjoyed certain foods for their tastes, textures, and nutrients. But this was different.
The Doctor found the salmon soup delectable and polished off the entire bowl in about a minute and a half. He loved the dark, thick bread, particularly with lingonberry jam slathered over it. He might have eaten five slices, but who was counting? The pork roulade was flavorful and nearly succeeded in filling his belly, but he still found room for the sweet, syrupy apple dessert.
He'd been so focused on his own plates that he failed to notice Rose's. However, as he was debating whether to pick up his dessert bowl and lick out every last drop of syrup, he glanced at her dish, hoping for a few leftover morsels. Her dessert was nearly untouched, as were her soup and pork. The bread basket was empty, but he suspected that was his doing alone.
He set his bowl aside and regarded her with concern. "You barely touched your food. Aren't you hungry?"
Her gaze flicked to the plates. "Looks like you ate enough for both of us."
"It tasted really good."
She smiled. "I'm glad you enjoyed it."
"I think I'm going to enjoy eating a lot of things from now on."
A faint blush crept over her cheeks, and he wondered if she was running a fever. He reached over to press his palm against her brow.
"What're you doin'?" she asked, but she didn't pull away.
"Temperature's normal." He removed his hand and felt his own forehead. "Mine, too. Well, 98.4, a bit lower than the average human body temperature, but I think that'll be normal for me now."
"Yeah, s'pose so."
She had a curious expression on her face, one that he found difficult to interpret. But he recognized that something was troubling her. He took her hand in his.
"What's the matter?" he asked gently.
She shook her head and blinked, and he realized that she had tears in her eyes. "It's just… I waited so long, an' now you're here, but it's you, an' that's good, I know it is, but…" She swallowed back a sob.
"But I'm not him," he finished. He lifted his hands to cup her cheeks. "Thing is, Rose, I am him. We have the same cells, nearly identical DNA, the same hair and hands and feet, and even the same teeth. But what's most important, what's best about everything we share, are the memories of you. I know I wasn't there physically, at least not in this form, but I still remember. And really, a part of me was there, because I came from him."
The tears spilled from her eyes. "You really do remember? Before, you said you'd have to get a mortgage—"
"Just as you did on Krop Tor, in the shadow of that black hole." He paused for a moment. "But there is a difference."
She sniffed. "What's that?"
"When you said that to me then, I couldn't imagine it, didn't even want to consider what it would mean if I couldn't get the TARDIS back. But now I want to think about it. I still feel the urge to travel, to explore, but the idea of staying in one place doesn't really bother me, as long as it's with you."
He enveloped her in his arms as she wept softly. His hand stroked her hair, and he whispered soothing words in her ear. Finally she looked up at him, lifting a hand to his face.
"So, what d'you think you'll do now?" she asked as her fingers traced his cheekbones and ears.
A funny, tingling sensation was spreading throughout his body. He took a breath. "Erm, I'm not really sure. The whole mortgage thing… how's that work?"
Rose smiled. "You won't need a mortgage. I have a place in the city—a townhouse. It's plenty big enough for two."
"Well, that's one thing taken care of then."
"Yep."
After a few seconds of thought, he said, "Suppose I'll need a job. Something to keep me busy—"
"Keep you out of trouble's more like it," she teased.
He captured her wandering hand gently and kissed her palm. "Wouldn't mind being in trouble with you."
"Hmm. I'm sure I can get you a job at Torchwood. We get into loads of messes there."
He leaned forward. "Maybe." He kissed her softly, just at the edge of her mouth. "We'll see."
Her hands moved into his hair as her lips sought his. He offered absolutely no resistance.
To be continued...
