When she came back to herself he was gazing down at her, propped up on one elbow with his eyes soft and glittering, looking just a tad pleased with himself.

"Cup of tea?" He suggested, tensing slightly when at last she stirred from her languor, "Or... or... Um... How about a Kiwi banana milkshake?"

"Water, please," Rose replied, grinning and stretching and running her fingers through her tangled hair.

He reached out to help her stand and he seemed tentative, almost shy, as though he didn't know how to behave now that they had taken this step. She took his hand, smiling up at him warmly, radiating reassurance. And the two of them stood and padded into the corridor, flushed and naked, hand in hand, leaving a tangle of bedding and the thick scent of sex behind them.

He came to stand behind her and ghost a hand along the curve of her body, from breast to hip.

"Ai!" She squeaked.

He had startled her caused her to slosh icy water out of her glass.

She leaned back into him and set down the glass, as though she was custom made to fit against him. And perhaps she was. He hummed in soft approval at the contact and wrapped his arms snugly around her.

"You're so different now," she murmured, turning in his arms to face him. " This you, I mean. You're softer. Warmer. Sillier."

Sadder. Lonelier. More broken.

"You've changed a lot in two years, Rose," he replied, weariness creeping once again into his voice. "I've had 200."

She opened her mouth to speak again but he couldn't bear to hear any words of comfort, and so he silenced her with a desperate, almost violent kiss.

His mercurial mood swings didn't seem to faze her. If anything, her own passion seemed to grow with the harsh contact. She bit at his lips and pulled at his hair as he claimed her mouth with his own, and before long they had worked themselves into a frenzy of desperation.

Bent over the kitchen table he had his way with her again, pulling at her hair and driving fast and hard into her, drunk on Rose Tyler as she moaned and thrust her hips back into his and teased her own sex with her fingers until she whimpered and cried out again.

"Mine." He growled in her ear.

"Yours," she vowed, gasping as his hips jerked forward into hers.

The Doctor had never allowed himself to feel this way before, so utterly possessive of any living being.

Yes, he had known passion, even in this body. He came to each of his trysts with River with a sense of wonder, and delighted in how different they all were. He met her with awe and intrigue when she was the older one, tender patience when she was younger, and when their timelines matched up their passion was joyful, playful and exhilarating. He savored every one of the finite seconds they had to spend together. But River was not "his." he could no more conceive of possessing River than he could imagine putting a leash on the time vortex, or trapping light in a bottle. It was unthinkable, to try and rein in such a wild spirit, and he adored her for it.

But Rose... She was his, entirely and without hesitation, no matter what face he wore, no matter how much he tried to stay away, no matter how many reservations he expressed. And he wanted her. And he needed her. And a certain part of him would always be lost without her. And so with his body he tried to claim her, like an animal. Mark her thoroughly as his own, as though doing so could keep her with him longer. He knew it was futile, but he couldn't help himself.

And so he fucked her harder, and harder, and lost himself in the physicality, and when he came there was a supernova behind his eyelids. She called out for her Doctor and he was alarmed to realize that he didn't know in that second whether she was crying out in pleasure or pain.

"Are you okay?" He whispered hoarsely when he found his words.

She nodded, smiling blissfully. But when she moved to stand straight she winced, almost imperceptibly.

Both pleasure and pain, then, he thought. Makes sense. With us, isn't it always both?

He gathered her into his arms and kissed the top of her head.

"Oh Rose," he whispered. She sighed and wrapped her arms around him.

Then, beverages forgotten, he picked her up, carried her to a bathroom, turned on the shower and began to wash her as carefully and gently as if she were made of glass. He lathered her hair in shampoo and massaged her scalp with his fingers.

"You're so good at that," she sighed.

He chuckled. "Your hair is so much less snarly than-" he stopped abruptly.

"Than River's?" she asked knowingly.

He looked away. How could he be speaking of River at a time like this?

"You care a lot about her," Rose observed.

I do, he admitted to himself. She's the first one to make me feel alive since you.

Unable to say the words aloud, he nodded. He didn't look up until her silence stretched on and his curiosity made him glance at her face.

Rose was studying him in the steam of the bath, with eyes that were both happy and sad at once.

"Tell her thank you," she whispered.

He felt tears spring to his eyes at her words. No jealousy. No bile. Just the steady compassion she felt for another woman who knew all it meant to love the Doctor.

He didn't deserve either of them.

The Doctor climbed out of the shower, wrapped her in a thick, fluffy towel, sank to the ground with her in his arms, and held her for a long, long time.


"How long now?" She whispered as they sat outside with their backs against the TARDIS' door and gazed up at the stars.

"Three hours and twenty seven minutes," he whispered.

She stood and took his hand.

"Let's go for a walk."

"Where to?" He asked.

"Inside. Show me how she looks these days."

They roamed the halls and he took her through the corridors to secret rooms and tiny passageways, filling her ears with tales and trivia about a thousand planets and races and people.

Rose laughed and asked questions and sighed in awe, and as the Doctor looked at his long, tangled life through her wondrous eyes, he wished this night could last forever.

"What does that say?" Rose asked softly, pointing at a series of golden symbols written in high Gallifreyan on the ceiling of his favorite sitting room, where they had laid down on the carpet in front of the fire. It was, along with his bedroom, one of the only rooms that had never been affected by the TARDIS' "redecorating" whims.

He looked where she was pointing and felt a pang in his hearts.

"That says, 'Arkytior,'" he whispered into her hair, drawing her tighter against him.

"Hm? What's that mean?" she asked, sleepily, not raising her head from his chest.

"It's Gallifrean," he explained, "for 'rose.' Well... For a flower on Gallifrey that looked just like a rose."

She looked up and smiled broadly at him. "That's me."

He kissed the top of her head.

"So it is. But this room was here long before you, Rose Tyler. Arkytior was my granddaughter's name. Her real name, though she rarely used it. She was the first one to ever travel with me. We left Gallifrey together. She loved this room."

And she'd been the first to leave him. He'd left his dear Arkytior, his little Susan, hundreds and hundreds of years ago and a hundred years in the future, with the hope of a better life for a young woman in love, but he still felt the loss of her more keenly than most. He'd been better at Goodbyes then. Less bitter. Excited by the universe. Not like today. He sighed wearily.

He had seen her once, since then, and it had been as glorious as it was heartbreaking. Not unlike tonight.

In the years since their chance meeting he had avoided checking in on her, avoided going back to that war-torn moment on earth where she had once found love. She was probably lost to him forever; he knew she'd played her part in the Time War, same as all of them.

But he had never checked to be sure. As long as he didn't check, he could keep up the fantasy that she was still alive. And he didn't want to know the truth if it was different.

He was a coward. And he had already said that particular goodbye. Twice.

But what about today? How many times and in how many bodies was he supposed to endure telling this Rose, "Goodbye, forever"?

He suddenly felt too empty for tears.

"Please don't go away," she whispered, frowning at his remote expression. "Stay with me just a little while longer."

"Two hours and twelve minutes," he whispered, closing his eyes .

She ran her hands all over his body, causing his skin to tingle, and raked her nails delicately along the sensitized skin of his cock and balls until he felt it begin to swell again. Her hands moved slowly, languorously, but firmly, and despite all of their exertions earlier in the evening he soon found himself hard again under her attentions. She gripped his length tightly and he groaned. She hummed contentedly at the hard, hot weight of it in her hands, and in time she slowly moved on top of him.

His hands came up to grip her hips as she positioned herself over him. She paused and met his eyes, holding his gaze as she impaled herself and took him inside of her.

She moaned in pleasure as he filled her, and leaned forward to kiss him softly as she began to rock. They stayed there, rocking slowly against each other, foreheads almost touching, immersed in the sounds of their own breathing and the heady scent of sex that suffused the air around them.

"Rose, you spectacular creature," he whispered as she started to speed up her motions a tiny bit, and he suspected that she was creeping towards her orgasm, "you have no idea how beautiful you are to me."

She moaned and gripped his body with her legs as she sped up a little more, grinding against him and pulling his needy cock deeper into her. Oh, she was close.

"Shhhh, Rose. Don't rush it," he whispered, cupping her face with his hand and brushing her cheek with his thumb. "Wait for me. I want to come with you, Rose. Wait just a little while longer."

Her inner walls fluttered against him. He could tell she wanted to wait, but she was not sure she could hold out.

"I'll try," she whispered, looking down at him and biting her lip as she attempted to get her body under control. His cock grew even harder at that, at the sight of her squirming as she tried to comply. She would do anything he ever asked of her. Always.

He thrust up into her and she cried out, sitting up straight as he moved within her. She was glowing with sweat, pink and warm, and her hair was a tousled mess as she threw back her head and gasped for breath.

"Doctor, please," she begged.

"Please?" He asked, setting a sharp, fast pace as he gripped her hips hard enough to bruise her as he held her in place.

"Please. Need to come. Please."

Her begging caused the heat to pool in the pit of his belly. It wouldn't be long for him now.

"Not yet, my darling girl," he denied her.

And then he rolled his hips up into her, driving his cock deeper inside her and causing her to moan.

"Oh, God. Doctor. I can't..."

"Yes you can, Rose. Just a few minutes more. His own cock ached for release but he wanted to see how long he could make her wait.

But it was too much. She came, shuddering, as he moved beneath her, with a sort of strangled sob as she tried even then to hold back the floodgates of sensation.

And with that, the Doctor was overcome. One, two, three thrusts and he exploded inside of her, pulling her back down into his arms and holding her close against him as they both shook from the force of it.

"You are truly amazing, Rose Tyler," he whispered.

She held him tighter and, for a beautiful, shining moment in space and time, the Doctor was happy, loved, and completely at peace.

"How long?" She whispered.

"An hour and... Something," he replied drowsily.

She kissed him softly.

"Kip off for a moment then. I'm not quite done with you yet, Doctor. But you should take a few minutes and close your eyes. Old man like you, needs his rest."

He nodded his sleepy agreement and pulled her even closer, and drifted off to sleep.

When he woke up, he was alone.

Four hours, he realized suddenly. He had slept for four hours.

"Rose?" He called out, but he already knew she was gone.

Sitting up, he found the note on her pillow.

You're so beautiful when you sleep. So relaxed. Not weighed down like you are most of the time.

Thank you, Doctor. That was... Thank you.

It's rude to run off, I know. But this was the only way I don't have to tell you good bye. I don't think I'd ever be able to look at you in the eye and walk away. I hope you understand.

Please don't be mad at River. Tell her how much I appreciated this. And then please take care of yourself. Don't be alone. I worry when I think of you alone.

I love you. I really, really love you. And I really hope this isn't the first time I've told you so.

Yours,
Rose Tyler


Thanks for reading this far, folks. I hope you're enjoying it. :)

Just a note, the bit about Susan/Arkytior is actually canon, if you consider Doctor Who novels to be valid sources. Do you think it's purely coincidental that RTD picked the given name of the Doctor's original companion, for his first companion at the show's resurrection? Yeah, me either.

One more chapter coming after this, a sort of an epilogue.

Your feedback and reviews are always appreciated!

xo

OA