"I'm sick of orange juice," complained Rose when the Doctor returned from the bar.

"I got you crisps," he said, dropping the placatory gift in front of her as he sat down with a pint of John Smith's.

"They're not low-fat."

The Doctor stared at her, incredulous. "Rose, you have a small human inside you. One packet of crisps is not going to make all the difference." A thought struck him. "I'm not saying you're fat."

Rose glowered at him and opened her crisps.

"You're not fat," he said. "Well, you are, but only by comparison with how thin you used to be. Besides, it's not a bad thing. Not that you're shallow or anything like that. I don't think I'd love you if you were shallow, and I do, so you can't be." He realised he was floundering a bit. "I want to stop talking and I can't. Words keep coming out of my mouth and I have no control over it."

Shareen leaned across the table and patted Rose on the shoulder. "You're not fat. You're just pregnant. It's a completely different thing. Anyway," she added, "not long now and it'll be out."

Rose took a sip of her drink. "I had a dream that it just stayed there forever, getting bigger and bigger until it burst out of me like that thing in Alien."

Shareen stole a crisp. "Nah, it comes out the same way it got in. So you're alright as long as you haven't shagged an alien."

Rose choked on her orange juice.

The Doctor patted her on the back. "Are you okay?"

"It just went down the wrong way," she managed.

"You should make sure they give you lots of drugs," said Shareen, oblivious. "My sister was in labour for two days with her first one. She punched Aravinder in the face at one point and they had to take him to the A&E. He needed stitches and everything." She looked at the Doctor. "I'm sure Rose won't do that."

"I've known a few violent women in my time," he said. "Not in the Biblical sense," he added.

Shareen stared at him blankly.

"He didn't shag them," said Rose.

"Oh, right. I thought he meant he hadn't read about them in books."

The Doctor quite admired Shareen's willingness to admit when she didn't know things, but thought better of mentioning it to her.

Rose looked at her watch. "We should go home before people start arriving for the football."

"I think it might be cancelled," said the Doctor, who had noticed something on the over-sized TV above the bar. He slipped his glasses on and watched the screen intently.

Rose looked up to see news footage of something she was experienced enough to recognise as an extra-terrestrial spacecraft. Or most of one, at least.

"We've got some unexpected visitors."

"I hate aliens," said Shareen.

"Still," said the Doctor, "no concern of ours, is it?" He put his specs in his pocket and settled down to finish his pint.

--

Rose didn't say anything until they got back. She wasn't sure what to make of the Doctor's sudden lack of interest in the unusual, or even if he'd simply put it on for appearances' sake. On the way home he'd walked at a perfectly calm pace, had not tried to go the way that would take them past the TARDIS, and had talked about the difficulties of deciding whether they should put the baby in yellow on principle or if it was easier just to go with pink so that people would know what sort it was without having to ask.

She thought he might say something about it when they got back to the flat. After all, there were some things it was best not to mention in public. So when they got back she sat down at the kitchen table and waited.

"I was thinking we could have lasagne," he said, rummaging around in the cupboard.

"That was an alien spaceship," she said, in case he'd missed this fact. "From another planet."

"They usually are, yes." He held up the Italian Seasoning. "Last of the Thyme Lords?" He caught her expression and turned apologetic. "Sorry, that wasn't very funny, was it?"

"You don't need to lie about it," she said. "I know you're interested. I know you want to go and have a look. I do as well, and I don't need you pretending that there's nothing weird going on when there is." She relented a bit. "It's quite sweet, though."

"I'm not going to get involved," he said. "Steven Foreman does not go looking for aliens."

"You could watch it on the telly," she suggested, keen for a compromise in an abnormal situation.

"I'm not sure that'd be such a good idea," he said, carefully. "You should, though. Since you're interested. Go and put your feet up."

Rose looked at him and saw all the things he was trying to hide from her. All the energy and the curiosity and the need to keep moving. Things she loved and feared at the same time. Things that she didn't really want to think about either.

"I'll go and watch a film," she said.

--

She went to see her mum most days, because she didn't want to feel anchored to the flat by the weight of her own child. They didn't talk about the aliens, aside from a shared sigh of relief that it didn't look like the planet was about to be pulled out from underneath them.

On the way back she went to see the TARDIS, convinced that it would somehow have changed since its distant cousin smashed into the Lake District and died. She wasn't sure how it would know, but she still dreamt dim memories of places she'd never been, remnants of the day she opened it up and made a wish. There was something in there, not quite living, and the Doctor had just left it.

Sometimes she wondered if it felt jealous.

It looked the way it always did: a tall blue box tucked away in a corner, collecting the names of the kids who wrote on it, the walls a growing list of love and loss and feuds and friendships.

She realised she'd been scared it wouldn't be there anymore.

When she touched the door, it was cold and still under her hand. She wondered if he did this sometimes, wondered about the key he kept on a chain around his neck. It wasn't going to open itself to anyone, not unless it was to get him back.

She wondered how long it would take until it finally died.

"What's inside you?" she whispered, and her words echoed back from the box.

--

When she got home there were voices in the living-room. The Doctor was deep in conversation with an old man she'd never seen before.

"Ah, there she is," said the Doctor, beckoning her over to the sofa. "This is Alistair Lethbridge-Stewart. He used to work for UNIT. We go way back."

She could see, immediately, the reason for the visit. Emotional blackmail was rearing its head and she wondered for a moment if she would fall back on the same methods herself if it came to it. She wondered if she already had.

"You must be Rose," said Alistair. "He's been telling me all about you. Although he did leave a few things out," he added, taking in her current proportions. There was something buried in his gaze that was almost an accusation, a thought not entirely hidden about creating situations people couldn't escape from.

The Doctor put an arm round her, smothering the suspicion he probably didn't even know about. "Well, we're not sure if it's a baby or a very large tapeworm. We're hoping it's a baby, though."

"It's a girl," said Rose. She wasn't going to let them avoid the subject she knew they'd been discussing before she arrived. "You're here about that spaceship, aren't you? You want him to have a look at it for you." She knew she seemed defensive and she didn't care.

"Miss Tyler, you have to understand that the Doctor-"

"Steven. His name's Steven." Because he was. He was hers and no one had any right to take him away from her.

"Steven has a lot of information in that rather bizarre head of his that would be very useful for our inquiries. I'm not here in any sort of official capacity, but I admit to having an interest in the matter."

"And I've been steering the conversation onto all sorts of fascinating yet unrelated topics," said the Doctor. He seemed quite proud of that, and Rose was pleased.

"They're digging up fossils to get you back," said Alistair.

"If they send round the late Mrs Thatcher I'm not letting her in."

"They only want to give you your old job back."

"I'm not the old me," said the Doctor in a tone Rose hadn't heard for a long time. It gave the statement an element of deception she didn't want to hear.

"It's your decision," said Alistair, diplomatically.

"Yes, it is, isn't it?"

Rose closed her eyes. "Stop it. I'm tired and I don't need people sniping at each other." What she wanted was something to reassure her, and didn't want to hear this pass that point and move into words that would just bring the worry back to her again.

The Doctor kissed her forehead. "Sorry." He put a hand on her belly. "Your parasite's on the move again."

Rose disentangled herself and stood up with some difficulty. "You two go out or something. I'm going to have a lie down."

--

"I feel like a spy," said the Doctor, cheerfully. "Walking round a park talking about secret government conspiracies. That's like being a spy. Or like that bit in Good Omens."

"UNIT is not a conspiracy," said Alistair, mildly but firmly.

"It sort of is. It has elements of conspiracy. And a sort of Cold War retro feel to it all."

"I thought we agreed never to talk politics unless it was essential to the future of the planet?"

"Did we?" The Doctor was slightly concerned by this possibility, since that seemed to leave very little to talk about. Possibly it left toast, but that wasn't the most interesting of topics.

"We did," said Alistair. "And now I expect you're thinking that this leaves nothing to talk about."

The Doctor laughed at that. "You know me far too well. "

"Do I though?" Alistair stopped walking and sat down on a bench. "I didn't expect to see you settle down. You always hated staying in one place."

The Doctor sat next to him and watched a duck waddle past. "I made a choice. I like choices." He'd made a decision, and the decisions that spawned from that one had been simple to go along with. He could be quite determined when he wanted something.

"You're actually going to stay here, work in a supermarket, live one day at a time — in sequence - and then die?" Alistair sounded incredulous and the Doctor couldn't blame him for that.

"I like to think of it in less morbid terms but yes. Why not?"

"Something happened," said Alistair, "and you won't tell me what it is, but it changed you."

He shrugged it off. "Lot of things happened. Wars. Death. Turmoil. Same as always, really. Maybe it's a midlife crisis. Maybe I'm just sick of it. Maybe I just got bored."

"And who's going to save the universe every week while you're off being Steven Foreman, defender of the Tesco Metro?"

"Alistair," he sighed, "the universe managed fine before I was even a twinkle in my mother's eye. Not that I like to think of my parents having sex, but I have to admit that they must have done it on a minimum of one occasion."

"That's another change, you never mentioned parents before. I wasn't sure if you even had any."

"Of course I had parents. Did you think I was grown in a vat or something?"

"It was always a possibility."

"Well I wasn't." The Doctor paused briefly and then said, "This is the point at which you say 'speaking of parents' and broach the subject you've been trying to find a subtle way of getting onto." One thing that had changed in him was a greater willingness to accept the inevitable. He wasn't sure if that was mere biology or the equally human inability to change the world when it wasn't turning out the way one wanted it to.

"Speaking of parents," breezed Alistair, "I still haven't the faintest idea how to put certain things diplomatically."

"A man with your vocabulary?"

"Alright then. Why her?"

"Why not her? Why you and Doris?"

"I didn't retire for Doris. Besides, we're not talking about me."

The Doctor leaned back and thought for a moment. "I don't know, really. Either it's incredibly complicated or it's incredibly simple. She's interesting? She's compassionate? She's really good in bed? She's intelligent? But so are lots of people." He scratched the back of his neck absently. "She's... well, she makes me feel less old. She's got warmth and passion and charm. There, that's quite a good list, isn't it?" He was aware that the list was probably not the one he would have come up with before, but he'd never made one to compare it to.

Alistair laughed.

"What?"

"I just wanted to know how hopeless the situation was."

"Oh, thanks." The Doctor felt a strange flinch inside him at the word 'hopeless'. It wasn't really a word he'd spent much time with before. Hopeless had been the state things were in when he arrived somewhere, not a description of one into which he'd placed himself. But then that assumed that this whole thing had not been in some way — that word again — inevitable.

"And now there's a baby on the way. Have you thought of a name yet?"

"I always thought Serendipity would be a lovely name for a child," said the Doctor.

"Until it found out what that meant."

"You'd have a few years of grace until that happened."

"Never underestimate the importance of long term planning. Don't you at least have a shortlist?"

The Doctor shrugged. "Rose thinks we should just wait and see what she looks like, but that won't work because we'll have to name her while she's still a baby and babies look like Winston Churchill. You can't call a girl Winston."

"Winifred."

"Ah, your replacement. How is she these days?" He found that he was quite relieved that the conversation had changed trajectory, as he suspected that it had been heading in directions that mentioned the reliability of contraception. There was a place at the back of his mind he wanted to avoid which occasionally posed questions about carelessness and whether he really did, on some subconscious level, worry that Rose alone wouldn't be enough to keep him here.

"Doing splendidly. Should be at the very top in a few years."

The Doctor nodded thoughtfully. "Winifred. Old English, 'friend of peace'. It's a good name."

"I'm sure General Bambera would be pleased to hear that. She was never really sure about you."

The Doctor felt rather offended. "I stopped someone blowing her up with a nuclear missile! Her own nuclear missile, at that."

"I think she found the whole thing rather embarrassing. Still, she did get a husband out of it."

The Doctor watched a woman walk past with a pram. "Rose's boyfriend died," he said. "Well, they weren't really together anymore, but she cared about him."

"Ah."

"It wasn't my fault. Except it was. It was sort of complicated. And things were weird after that. I don't think Rose had realised that could happen." He rubbed his eyes. "I don't think I had, really. Sometimes you just forget how fragile they are."

"I hope this isn't some attempt at penance."

"It's not. But I think that's when she started wanting to go back home. Back here. And then I had to make a choice. And I'm glad I did, I really am. I've got a family now. I've got a home. I've got lots of things I never really thought I wanted."

Alistair nodded. "I thought there was something troubling you."

"And Gallifrey's gone." He hadn't expected to say it, not to someone who'd know what it meant.

"The whole planet?" Alistair looked shocked.

"All of it. Everyone. I'm the last. Was the last. Not much point being the last of something, is there? It sounds romantic, but it's horrible. I hated it. And I'm the one that did it. I blew it up. 'Damage limitation' I think was the phrase. Like bombing the French at Mers-El-Kebir."

"I'm sorry," said Alistair. He winced. "I hate it when people say that."

"I got over it."

"No you didn't."

"No, you're right." He was silent for a moment. "Do you ever feel really old?"

"All the bloody time," said Alistair.