A/N: This is the first half of the last chapter…unfortunately, the ending is being difficult, and real life is intruding on my writing time, but I thought you might want to be able to read this bit while you wait.

"You could have ended up floating through space!" he yelled. "You could have ended up in a star or a black hole or trapped in the Void. You could have ended up in the bloody Time Vortex, Rose!" He grabbed her shoulders, eyes wild.

"I don't have a choice!" she cried. "I have to risk it! And it's not even me taking the risk to save other people! It's everyone I'm trying to save—everyone, everywhere, do you understand? Me included!"

They stared at each other, his fingers biting into her shoulders.

"You're just gonna have to trust me, Doctor," she said quietly. "You do, don't you?" When he didn't answer, just tightened his grip, she lifted a hand to his chest. "Please."

The righteous anger seemed to drain out of him, enough so that Rose felt more confident in continuing. "And 'sides," she said, "at least we know I've got Bad Wolf keeping an eye on me."

The Doctor snorted. "Yes," he said sarcastically, "it's not like that's never almost gotten you killed before. I feel so much better." He turned away and leaned against the stone wall at his back.

They sat in awkward silence for a bit.

"So," said Rose at last, trying to change the subject to something a little less incendiary. "Martha seems nice." She said it in a casual sort of way. Maybe just a little too casually. Actually, as non-inflammatory conversation topics went, this probably didn't fit the bill.

"She is," said the Doctor lightly. Just a little too lightly. "Very nice. Absolutely brilliant, Martha. She saved the world, this past year."

"Can't argue with that," said Rose bracingly. "Defending the Earth. Cheers to Martha."

They were silent for a moment.

"Are you…" began Rose.

"Do you…" said the Doctor at the same moment.

They both stopped, and Rose ducked her head down.

"She, ah. It's possible that she might, um, fancy me," said the Doctor. "Martha, that is. Just a bit."

"Ah," said Rose, still looking down. "Well, naturally." She started tracing a design in the dust with the toe of her boot.

"It's my fault, really," said the Doctor, staring straight ahead. He was determined to make a full confession of the matter. "I sort of…kissed her."

"Of course you did," she murmured. "Wait." Rose's head suddenly snapped up. "She's not French, is she?"

"Um, no."

"Hmmm." She resumed making pictures in the dust.

"It wasn't a real kiss though," he assured her, turning toward her in the dark.

"'Course not," she agreed, perhaps a little too easily. She still wouldn't meet his eyes.

"I explained to her, very clearly, that it was a genetic transfer," he said quickly. "Just a genetic transfer, nothing more. I had to do it to distract the Judoon with traces of non-human DNA."

Rose's foot stopped moving. An odd silence settled over them.

"You, um," said Rose in a strange voice, "you told her it was a…genetic transfer?"

"Yes!" said the Doctor, nodding his head. "I was quite clear!" Then he paused, listening to the odd sounds coming from his companion. "Wait—are you laughing?"

"No," said Rose, but then another set of snickers escaped her. "M'sorry," she said, unable to contain it.

"Why are you laughing?" demanded the Doctor, completely perplexed.

His confusion just seemed to fuel Rose's amusement. She leaned back against the stone and laughed until tears rolled down her cheeks. "Sorry," she said again, sitting up and gasping a little. "It's just that…genetic transfer…" Another snort of laughter filled the air.

"What about it?" asked the Doctor, getting a bit annoyed.

"It's just that…it sorta sounds like…the universe's worst pick-up line!" Rose collapsed backwards again, still giggling.

"But…but…but…" stammered the Doctor.

Rose wiped her eyes. "Hey, baby," she said in a deep voice, "you wanna come back to my place for a little…genetic transfer?" She clutched at her stomach in her mirth. "Reminds me of that time on—what was it called?" She snapped her fingers. "Ooh! The Bradlin Space Station! Forty-eight Century! We were having those drinks, the ones with the weird fruit in them, remember? And you went to go pay the tab, and that creepy blue alien came up to me, waggled his eyestalks, and asked if I wanted to go back to his lab and run some tests to see if our DNA was biologically compatible," she snickered.

The Doctor went a bit red. "I didn't mean it like that," he muttered.

"'Course you didn't," said Rose good-naturedly. "You meant, 'hey, can I spit all over your face to distract some giant space rhinos?'" She shook her head. "Poor Martha," she chuckled. "What she must have to put up with."

The Doctor ran his thumb over the top of her hand. In the dark, he could just barely make out the contours of her face. "I miss you," he said quickly, a hurried confession. "I…I think about you all the time."

Rose stopped laughing. "Me too," she said softly. She raised a hand and lightly traced the side of his face with her fingertips. "Every day."

"And Martha's wonderful, but she doesn't replace you," he hastened to add.

"Of course not," she agreed, a smile lingering in her voice. "Just like all the tall, dark, and incredibly handsome men I work with everyday don't replace you. Not even," she said, tapping him lightly on the nose, "one little bit."

He jerked back, just a little, and let out an indignant splutter. "Oi! Well, that's just…"

She chuckled and leaned forward to press a quick, soft kiss to his lips to silence him. "I'm so glad you're not alone," she said seriously.

"Rose." He leaned forward until their foreheads touched, and they both closed their eyes because it was enough, in this moment, just to be together, occupying the same space and breathing the same air once again. He knew he was going to have to give her up and that this moment of peace would fade into oblivion, but he couldn't quite bring himself to care.

This is who I am, he heard a voice echo in his head. All that counts is here and now, and this is me.

He could get behind that sentiment.

Out loud, he said, "I don't want to let you go."

"You and me, spending eternity in a rock quarry," she agreed. "Mind, it's not the most comfortable of spots."

"Might get a bit dusty," he allowed.

"And noisy."

"And hot."

"And there'll probably be loads of workers come morning," she said with a grin. "They might object to us staying here."

"Fair point. So…we'll move."

She pulled back, and he thought she was going to protest, but she just looked into his eyes, replacing the touch of her skin with the intimacy of her gaze. "And where would we go, Doctor?" she asked softly.

"Anywhere," he said in a hushed, wondrous whisper. "Anywhere you want."

This time, she really did start to withdraw, and he clutched her tighter. "Or maybe just up there," he said, nodding toward a nearby grassy hill, just outside the bounds of the quarry. "Please, Rose."

She was silent for a long moment. "Rose," he begged, reaching up to cup her face.

And then, so quietly he almost didn't believe his ears: "Alright."

He leapt to his feet and pulled her up with him, ready to take off running before she changed her mind, but she stopped him and picked up her satchel, fishing out her torch. He winced as she shouldered it—it was a tangible reminder that she was leaving, and that was the last thing he wanted to think about.

They started walking, hand in hand, and the moment felt strangely solemn and heavy, and so very unlike them. The Doctor glanced over at Rose, just visible in the light of her torch. Was she all right with this? She glanced back at him, and a smile crept across her face. He smiled back, and she squeezed his hand.

Almost as one, their face lit up, as it occurred to both of them that they were, at long last, moving in the same direction, going somewhere together, and that…well, that was the best thing in the world.

"Rose," said the Doctor in a gleeful whisper. "Run!"