CHARACTERS: Rose/Ten
SETTING: Takes place very close to "Army of Ghosts" (2x12), and immediately following the chapter "Trust (Part 1)" of this story.

CHAPTER SUMMARY: Trust takes many forms, and one of them is a lack of fanfare.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: While in terms of timeline we've nearly reached the end of their story, there are many "gaps" in the canon left to explore, so please "follow" to see more. Reviews are appreciated.


Twelve hours later they'd gotten it all sorted and they were back in the TARDIS. Rose was simultaneously flushed with exhaustion and high on adrenaline, keeping pace with him as they both talked a mile a minute.

Already well fed by the grateful locals who'd been extremely apologetic about their earlier incarceration, Rose skipped off to prepare for bed while the Doctor dealt with the TARDIS and then went to freshen up himself before making his way to her room.

The door to her en suite - an unsolicited gift of the TARDIS awhile back - was open, steam pouring out from the shower, and he could hear her singing loudly. He leaned against the door frame. "An infinite amount of hot water doesn't mean you need to be in there for an infinite period of time, you know."

She poked her head out and grinned, tongue in teeth. "Just trying to help you work on your patience, Doctor," she told him sweetly, ducking back inside. She resumed her singing, but picked up the pace now that she knew he was waiting for her.

10 minutes later, she emerged to find him him stretched out on her bed - shoes and jacket off, tie loosened, blue shirt mostly unbuttoned to reveal the white tee underneath, spectacles atop his head in preparation for reading the book waiting beside him, ankles crossed and hands folded across his stomach. The picture of nonchalance. "Took you long enough. You going to be able to keep awake for even a chapter?" He couldn't tell if she was refusing to answer him or completely ignoring the question as she sat down beside him, facing away with her bare feet on the floor, trying to comb a knot out of her hair. She looked comfortable in cut-off sweats and a tank top. "You can dry your hair if you'd like. I can wait."

That caught her attention, apparently. "Ah, so my lessons in patience are paying off," she teased. "Nah, s'alright. I'm just gonna braid it." And as she started in on the left side he sat up and matched her movements on the right, pulling an elastic from her wrist to finish the job.

"So are we reading?" he asked neutrally. "It's okay if you're too tired."

"Actually, I was thinking..."

"Heaven help us."

"Oh, shut up, you." She gave him a playful shove which propelled him back onto the bed, and she crawled over him, settling heavily onto her pillow. They both rolled to face each other, mirroring their position from hours ago despite the fact that the bed was much bigger and their closeness was now by choice. "I was just thinking that maybe we could go round two."

"Yeah, I expected you might," he admitted. "Though it's really not meant to be recreational."

"And I don't mean it to be," she told him with a more than a hint of defensiveness. "I'm not asking like it's a parlour trick. There's actually something I want to remember. And I'm wondering why you didn't offer before."

The Doctor knew immediately what she was referring to. "I didn't think to offer, frankly. It's not something that needs remembering."

"You mean it's not something you WANT me remembering," she accused.

"Same thing." It was strange to him that she seemed reluctant to look at him, as though afraid to reveal something. "It's still bothering you, then. The missing time. You haven't mentioned it in a long while."

"Well, I didn't figure it was worth mentioning, since I didn't think mentioning it would change anything."

The series of events that had led up to the Doctor's regeneration into his current form had been shared with her, at least in the abstract. Once things had "died down" she'd demanded an explanation more credible than "I sang a song and the Daleks ran away". But his version of the account was sanitized by his care for her and the fact that he couldn't have a complete understanding of what she had experienced from her perspective. And apparently while she seemed to have come to terms with the consequences (or at least seemed able to will herself to forget), the actual feeling of having a chunk of time missing from her head continued to trouble her.

"Rose, I don't know that it would be safe," he began.

"I get that." Her hand was fiddling nervously with his tie. "And I'm not looking to relive it. Maybe rather than helping me remember, you can just show me what you saw. I reckon that couldn't do any harm..." Now she met his eye. "Could it?"

He looked at her rather sadly. "No, I suppose not. Not PHYSICALLY, anyway."

She already knew it was her emotions he was trying to guard. "I already feel it. And I'd rather have these feelings about what actually happened than about the way I imagine it. Does that make sense?"

In answer he tilted his head forward; he didn't have far to move because they were already laying so close to one another. She met him in the middle, and as their foreheads touched she sighed a "thank you".

He took it slow this time, walking through it with her like he was telling a story, letting her see it through his eyes though being careful, so careful.

Which apparently she sensed. "I know what you're doing."

"Rose..."

"Just... do it like before, yeah?"

The Doctor eased the connection then so he could address her properly. "Absolutely not," he said firmly, drawing back to look at her.

"No, come on." She made a frustrated noise and pushed her forehead against his, one of her hands sliding around the back of his neck to hold him there. "Don't stop. Just... at least let me feel it."

What she was asking, and what he knew she was asking, was to feel what he had felt. And maybe that's what she'd really been seeking all along. The death of the Daleks at her hand, the power she possessed to make it happen, was a reality too broad and nebulous for her to even relate to herself. But the way that this reality had effected him, his feelings about being forced to regenerate because of the choices she had made, these were things they never talked about and that haunted her imagination more than anything else.

"Why is it so important to you?" It should have felt strange to be having a conversation literally nose-to-nose, but perhaps she'd been right before about the intimacy between them.

"Because... because some things don't need saying. And some things do."

"So then let me say them."

"No offence, Doctor, but you are bloody brilliant at so very many things. Yet despite your gob, you are rubbish at saying how you feel. Even more rubbish than when you were all ears and leather."

"'Ears and leather'. Thanks for that. What a lovely way to sum a bloke up." He tried to pull back but she wouldn't let him, holding their foreheads firmly together, willing him to proceed. "'Hair and suit' now, I suppose."

The hand on the back of his neck took a quick detour upwards to run through his soft hair affectionately. "'Hair and stalling'," she corrected him with a chuckle. Then she was serious again. "I don't know what you're so afraid of."

"I'm not afraid," he immediately insisted.

"See? I told you you're rubbish at sayin' it." She scooted her body towards him a few inches until she was flush against him, hips pressed together and feet tangled, as though closing the final gap would make it impossible for him to escape. "If you're not afraid, get on with it, then," she challenged.

And then before she could even take a deep breath he was back in her head like he had something to prove.

Moments later, the deed was done and the connection broken. But it took a bit longer for her to return to herself and for her eyes to finally flutter open.

The Doctor hadn't moved. "Hello," he ventured, nudging her nose with his own. "Still with us, then?"

"More or less." She was still processing everything she'd just learned, putting the pieces in order, sifting through them. Emotional processing would need to come later. "That was some kiss, yeah?"

The Doctor couldn't help but chuckle. Leave it to her to latch onto that small detail. "I'd say. Made a new man of me."

"Oi, very "punny"." She drew her face back from his so they could talk properly, though the rest of her still pressed against him. As far as intimacy went, after what she'd just experienced laying here with him was nothing in comparison. Nor was finally asking some of the big questions. "When you...changed... did it change how you felt about me?"

"Your mother asked me that once."

"Really." This was news to Rose. "And what did you tell her?"

"The truth," he answered matter-of-factly.

She gave him a moment to expand on that response, but it only took that moment to realize he never would. And didn't have to. "Some things don't need sayin'?"

The hand that had found her waist some time earlier slid down, fingers curling over her hip. "The motto of a very good friend of mine. I've decided to adopt it."

"Coward," she teased, letting him off the hook. He'd already shared more with her than she'd thought he ever would, after all. "Who's pink and yellow now?"

"I see what you did there. Still clever even when you can barely keep your eyes open." This wasn't a figure of speech. Rose's mind was racing and overwhelmed, but her body was fading fast. "I know you feel like you want to stay awake to think about it all, but I promise if you sleep your brain will have it all sorted by morning." Not giving her the opportunity to protest, he pulled away from her and helped her slip under her covers. "I can stay if you'd like," he offered.

"That's alright," she replied automatically.

"No, really. I'd be happy to. Least 'til you nod off."

Rose didn't really need any convincing. She patted the place beside her and the Doctor sat leaning against the headboard. He tugged her pillow onto his lap and she curled into him, her fingers resting lightly on his thigh. One of his hands played at her hairline, the other caressing the bare skin of her arm, making her shiver.

Some time passed, and while her eyes were closed and her breathing even the Doctor could tell she was fighting sleep and her mind was working overtime. "Want me to read to you?"

"Mmm, would you?"

He adjusted the light level so he could see without straining and retrieved "The Deathly Hallows."

"The two men appeared out of nowhere, a few yards apart in the narrow, moonlit lane..." he read in a low voice.

They were beginning the seventh and last book of the series. It was hard to believe that after all this time, they were nearing the end.