They get longer. And sometimes more complicated. But hopefully, by the end, less confusing.

---------------------------

He hates lifts, especially when he's on his own. He's never really been one for waiting.

It's a cold, wet, cloudy day in London, and he doesn't see why Sarah Jane wouldn't let him whisk her off somewhere nicer. She refuses to set foot inside the tardis nowadays. She says she "doesn't want to offend the old girl, but she feels a bit more at home in her flat nowadays". He's given up even pretending to understand women. He might be an alien, but men, now men he understands. And he gets along perfectly well with children. But once girls reach about twelve, he thinks, morose, There's no bloody hope.

He looks in the mirror of the lift with detached interest. He's never been a big sleeper, but even for a Time Lord he's pushing the limits-there are bags under his eyes and dark circles that make him look even more gaunt than usual. In a weird way, he rather likes it.

The lift finally dings open at his floor and he steps out into a bright, naturally lit hallway. He hadn't really thought about how Sarah Jane had done for herself, and now he's reasonably impressed-earning enough to rent one of these flats is clearly rather hard to do, especially as a writer.

She's given him her flat number, and he's written it down... somewhere. He digs his hand into his coat pocket, damning it's gallifreyan structure-he can store pretty much anything, but it gets harder and harder to find what he wants. The piece of paper has to be in there somewhere, he remembers putting it in. If he could just...

And then he hears women's voices and freezes, his hands rammed awkwardly into his pockets. He knows who's coming but is somehow powerless to move, his limbs not obeying the frantic messages from his mind that tell him to hide, to move, move, move!

"Really, Rose, anytime, anything you want, whatever happens..."

The door directly in front of him opens and suddenly they're face to face, so close all he can see are her eyes, huge, hazel and red ringed, and still painfully familiar. She gasps, and he can almost feel the breath catching in her throat as it catches in his own. The blood rushes to his head and he feels like he's drowning, stuck.

And then she looks down sharply and the moment's broken. He's aware of something at the back of his mind, but there aren't actually any words he can recognise, just a muffled niggling that he knows he should listen to, if he can just stop staring at her and-

"Doctor? Doctor!"

He whips his head around so fast he's sure he'll have whiplash. Sarah Jane looks at him nervously, apologetically.

"Rose was just on her way out, weren't you, Rose?"

Rose doesn't look up, but gives a small, abashed nod that nearly makes his hearts break all over again. She coughs and tilts her head back towards the older woman, her hair falling into her eyes. She brushes it away swiftly, ashamed.

"Er, yeah. Thanks." Her hands shiver slightly and she tucks them into the sleeves of her black jumper dress. "I'll er... let you know about-"

"How everything goes?"

Rose nods again, then turns her face marginally towards the doctor, still not making eye contact. Never in the history of his being has he wanted someone to look into his eyes so much.

"See you Sarah Jane." She ducks around the Doctor and he fights the urge to turn and watch her walk away as she dashes down the stairs, choosing to forgo waiting for the lift. He closes his eyes and tries to steel himself. He doesn't trust himself to breathe as he listens to the fading echo of her rapidly retreating, uneven footsteps. Eventually he hears the door to the building slam shut and his heart sinks just a little more. Should he have told her? Was it his place? Was he supposed to? Was now the time to-

"Doctor?"

His eyes snap open and Sarah Jane looks at him worriedly. "Are you alright?"

He opens his mouth to answer her, to let her know he is alright, he's always alright, but somehow words fail him. He closes his mouth again and bites his lip. She gets the message.

---------------------------

"I'll be back in a minute. Don't steal my chips."

"Would I?"

"Do you want the honest answer or the sugar coated, I-love-my-Doctor version?"

"Oh, bugger off."

Rose rolls her eyes cheekily and heads towards the toilet, and the doctor smiles, enjoying the teasing. He watches her leave, her swaying hips even more accentuated than normal in her long silk strapless dress. He sighs happily, ruffles his hair and undoes his shirt's top button, leaving his bow tie precariously hanging around his neck. Today has been a good day, and apart from the small incident with a certain breed of cantankerous, party-loving plutonian, they have behaved almost like a themselves, not the old, grumbly married couple they seem to have been mentally inhabiting for the last couple of weeks.

He yawns, marvelling that he feels sleepy. His eyelids feel heavy. Tired, he can do. The Doctor knows tired better than anyone. But sleepy is a new one-

When he wakes up, there's no one left but him, Rose and a very bored looking waitress in the little caff. The lights have all been turned down and Rose is staring at him, her eyes huge and fearful. He shakes his head in surprise.

"How long have I been asleep?"

Rose doesn't answer, instead just looking at him, biting her lip so hard it's a wonder it isn't bleeding. He's suddenly wide awake.

"Rose, what's wrong?"

She shakes her head, tears in her eyes, her hair brushing against the bare, milky skin of her neck. He tries not to think about it.

"Rose, seriously, what's wrong?"

She keeps quiet for a second, then stands and grabs his hand, pulling him up from his seat and through the door, out into the little side streets of East London that by now they both know so well-the London of six months after Rose's own time is very similar to her own.

She is already shaking from the cold, but she doesn't feel it. It would have been intelligent to go back to the tardis and get a coat, but there isn't enough time, and the silk dress that trails behind her in the dirt will have to do.

The doctor stares at her back, desperately worried, letting himself be dragged, the greatest feeling of foreboding he has ever experienced creeping at his back like the grim reaper.

"Rose, please, just tell me. What's wrong? Where are we going?"

She still doesn't answer, just speeding up until she's practically running, her hand gripping the Doctor's so tightly it hurts.

Minutes pass, and he begins to wonder if she knows where she's going in such a hurry, or if they're just running away.

"Rose, for God's sake, just-"

She stops so abruptly he finds himself slamming into her, and the pair have to steady themselves. He looks up, the dark making it hard to see where they are.

"Where are we?"

Rose clears her throat.

"When I was in the bathroom I heard... some people," she practically whispers, her words so quiet he has to strain to hear. "One of them was talking about a funeral their mum went to today."

The doctor says nothing, not sure he'd know how to interrupt.

"She said that it was a small funeral, and that they'd had it in some big church a few minutes away. And that it was terribly sad, cause this woman, Jackie they said she was called, died suddenly, in a car crash, and that the bloke who hit her was her daughter's ex, and that he's a total waste of space."

His blood runs cold.

"And that the daughter was in some bar that they'd just been in, yelling at some bloke about leaving her."

The doctor's heart thuds against his ribs.

"Rose, there are plenty of Jackie-s in London."

Rose's eyes are widened. "That's why we're here."

He looks up, and finally realises that they're outside a church, and that they're standing next to the gate to a graveyard. Everything clicks into place.

"We aren't going in there. We can't."

She looks at him, innocent, curious, fearful. He doesn't want to be saying no to anything she asks. He just has to.

"There could be a massive... paradox. We can't look. We can't... see. We can't let ourselves..."

Her hand tightens in his and he can feel the cold skin of her arm as it brushes against the back of his hand. If it was anything else, anything at all, he's sure he'd already have given in. But if Rose is right, seeing what they so desperately don't want to see could ruin... everything, potentially, not least Rose's life. If he thinks back to what she says, in a weird way it already has.

He holds her gaze and moves his hands up to her shoulders, gripping onto her bare skin. They look at each other, and they're both scared, so scared.

"This will never be a good idea. So right now, we are going to walk away from here, back to the tardis, and we're going to forget this ever happened, you hear me Rose? Because what you're thinking does not bare thinking about."

He won't leave her. He won't leave her. He won't... won't leave...?

"Jackie Tyler was NOT buried today. Alright? I promise, Rose. Alright? You hear me? Especially not because of your ex."

Rose still wants to go, he can see it in her eyes. But she understands. Or, at least, he can see she's trying to understand, and that she wants to agree with him.

They turn, they leave, and they quietly walk back to the tardis.

---------------------------

The night air is impossibly crisp after the smoky bar. He soon catches sight of her, not far away, retreating back down the road, towards the tube station.

'Rose! Oi! Rose!" She doesn't turn, still walking down the dark street in her slightly overly glamorous funeral attire. A group of boys whistle at her and she doesn't so much as look.

"Rose, don't just walk away, we're not done! I'm not finished yet! Who took all their stuff without telling me? And what about Mickey? And Adam? And Jack, for that matter?" He rushes forward, gaining speed. "Everyone you picked up? Did I ever comment?"

She keeps going, but he just walks faster and shouts louder, too angry to give a damn that she's drunk and has just lost her mother in the weirdest, most distressing way possible.

"No, I didn't! Mickey made all his own choices, it wasn't my fault he left. I never wanted him there!"

Rose is slowing down, but he keeps going, catching up, not caring that the teenagers on the other side of the road are cat calling.

"You invited people into both our lives, you brought them along, into my life, my domain, even when I didn't..."

Rose finally turns and cuts him off, now walking backwards, shouting back. "Domain? Domain? You were keener to have Mickey there than I was!"

"Ah, yes, and why was that?"

"What?"

"Why didn't you want him there?"

Rose stops, and so does he, several metres from each other, watching each other defiantly in the dark.

"Why did you want him there?"

The street lamp above them cast shadows across his face that looking positively menacing as he frowns. He looks at Rose expectantly.

"I asked first."

She glares at him for a moment, and he almost thinks she's going to storm off again.

Then she tilts her face upwards, staring at the sky. He has no idea what she's going to say, or if she's going to answer the question. In a way, he hopes she won't. She looks back at him, frozen, livid, then her shoulders slump and she makes a sort of half smile.

"You know, people always make a big old fuss in London about the air pollution." She pauses, and he stares at her, incredulous. She sighs, slightly irritated he doesn't understand what she means. "No one seems to care they can't see the stars. When you... after I got back I used to go on the roof and try to pick out all the constellations you'd shown me, only I couldn't make any of them out, 'cause the lights made the stars so hard to see." She looks at him, some of the anger gone from her face. "Mum thought I was nuts, going up there. I think she thought I was trying to kill myself. But here I am." Her expression hardens. "Still going on, alone. Travelling with you changed me, Mum said. Made me stronger. You always had the will to survive, you know? So I thought I could do it alone, be alone." She looks at him, and he feels naked, like she's seeing all the way into his head by knowing what it feels like to be him. "But maybe not this alone. How do you stand it?" Her voice raises in pitch, close to breaking. "How do you bear being this alone?"

That's what this is about? Really?

She's almost crying, her eyes glistening with tears. He doesn't really know how to answer, and wishes he could hold her. He hasn't let himself miss her, but now it's finally coming through, bleeding through the cracks he had thought might have been healing over. He knows he can't do it, and tries to remain impassive.

"You live with it."

Rose nods, her breathing erratic, suddenly looking so small and vulnerable underneath the yellow light. He's seen her like this before, holding her father's hand as he died in 1987, staring at her mother's grave in a possible future, saying goodbye to the best friend she's ever had. He knows this woman. He's comforted this woman. She's coming apart, awkward and self-aware. And he finally feels guilty.

"Rose, I'm sorry." It comes out in a gush, speaking before he really understands the connotations of what he's saying. She gives a little sob, and he can't stop himself rushing forward to hug her. Still, she pushes him away. He tries not to look too much into it.

"I know you are."

"How? I didn't."

She gives a shaky laugh, stepping back a little bit. His hearts twinge as she withdraws.

"I'm a woman, we always know these things."

He clenches his jaw, fighting not to beg with her, to plead for her to come back with him. He's surprised at his willpower.

"An' you're a bloke. Even after 900 years you don't know everything about yourself."

She closes her eyes, and when she opens them again there's a new look of exhaustion that he's not sure he's ever seen before.

"Do you have any idea how tiring it is to know you? I am so, so, so so... tired."

Desperation breaks into his voice. "Imagine being me."

"I don't really want to."

He looks downwards and finds himself staring at their feet, hers in their black heels and his in his battered white converse. They always were the odd couple. No, not couple. Never couple. Even if in their current situation they do bare more than a passing resemblance to Bonnie and Clyde.

"Doctor, I can't just forgive you, no matter how hard I try, not with what's happened. And not when you don't understand what I'm talking about." She speaks so softly he barely hears her, but her words hit home spectacularly. He frowns and glances up at her.

"What makes you think I don't understand? I've lost people."

"Yeah, but not the same way. My dad dies and I don't remember him, then I almost have him back, then I lose him, then I almost have another one again and I lose him as well. And Mickey left. And you left. And then I lost mum an' all, even when you promised me it would be alright. Four most important people in my life are gone, if you can ever say I had Dad in the first place."

He doesn't need to think before he answers. "Yeah, but I'm back now."

She hardens. "For how long?"

He doesn't want to say it when he knows it isn't true, not for him, but if he can only get her back one way he'll have to.

"Forever. That's what we... what we said..."

"And look how well that worked out."

He rubs his temple, on edge once again. He doesn't think this is the place for this, with burly teenagers and Rose drunk and the first hint of rain splashing against his forehead.

"Is there any way, at all?"

She waits, considering, then shrugs. "Not now."

He doesn't understand. "Not yet? Not anymore?"

"Not now. Don't ask me now, because I don't know."

The rain starts coming down harder, and he just stares at her as she looks up to the sky, the raindrops trickling down her face like tears. The teenagers have skulked away somewhere and they're utterly alone in the road, the only sound the increasingly hard pit-pat of the rain and their breathing. He wonders how she doesn't hear his thumping heart as he watches her. She looks at him and smiles sympathetically, sadly, and he won't take another second, he can't take another moment of being with her like this, when he can't have her and he wants her so much it breaks him.

"Rose, please... just tell me when you know," he stutters, running a hand through his wet hair to hide the fact it's shaking. She nods honestly and he returns it, and then, though neither really feels like it, they both smile.

------------------------------

Can you tell what happened? What's going to happen? What the hell is going on in my head? Pray do tell, the blue button likes being pressed.

Okay, that came out really weirdly.