"So, you don't have Easter either, then. What happens at the spring festival?"

Rose and the Doctor lay in the grass that had seen them reveal their passion for one another a couple months ago, and the Doctor smiled, holding her hand. "It's a bit like your Valentine's Day," he sighed contentedly. "A festival of life, love, and generosity. I never had time to celebrate it, really. I was a bit busy in school. And by that I suppose I mean I was busy failing before I finally—barely—passed…" He grinned ruefully as Rose laughed, more than a little surprised. But he's so smart!

"What, no romances? No little behind-the-scenes action? Weren't you always this handsome?" Rose gave a sly smirk. "Come now, Doctor. No secrets."

"Ah, come on! You saw what I was like before I regenerated into… well, me." The Doctor smiled at Rose, a little embarrassed. "It's a bit random, really, whether I'm considered… attractive. This time, I just got lucky." He winked. "But yeah, I had a wife once. Kids. Three of them. Bit of a handful. And grandchildren! Only a few, though."

"Grandchildren? You?" Rose laughed. "Blimey, I'm dating an old codger."

"I like to think I look all right for my age!"

Rose laughed. Of course he did, but she wasn't about to tell him that.

They lay in agreeable silence for a few more minutes before she ventured another question: "So, you've regenerated… how many times, now?"

"Nine," he said promptly. "This is my tenth incarnation. Well, sort of…"

"And in these, what, ten lives, how many girls have fallen for you, exactly?"

"Ten. Not counting you."

"One for each life, then." Rose giggled. "Nice and even."

"No," he murmured. "Not one for each life. One in my first; two in my fourth; one in my eighth…" He trailed off, an alarmed look in his eyes as he realized what he would have to say. Rose did the math mentally.

"Four in your tenth!" exclaimed Rose, springing up. "But…"

"Relax," sighed the Doctor after a suspenseful pause, looking earnestly into her eyes. "You asked how many girls had fallen for me, not how many girls I'd fallen for." Rose understood and let her gaze drop, half-ashamed, half-hurt. It was a long time before she mustered up the courage to ask the next logical question. After all, Rose wasn't totally sure she wanted to know, and there was a warning in the Doctor's eyes.

"So… how—"

"Seven. Again, not including you."

"And the distribution of those would be…?" Rose raised an eyebrow.

"One in my first, two in my fourth, one in my eighth… and—"

"Three in your tenth!" exclaimed Rose furiously. "What, was it out-of-sight, out-of-mind with me, or what? I just—I never—" She was cut off by a deep, silent sadness in the Doctor's eyes and finished brokenly, "I'm sorry. Please explain."

"You were always the first one in my hearts," he said softly, so that Rose had to lean in to hear. "The first time, it was—Madame de Pompadour. Reinette. The girl in the fireplace."

"Yeah, I kind of got that one," realized Rose, remembering bitterly. "Right. The one you apparently loved enough, despite only just having met her, for you to abandon us in space for five and a half whole hours of thinking you would never come back. I saw you put the letters in that trunk…"

"One of them, I wasn't myself," continued the Doctor, ignoring everything she had just said, much to Rose's annoyance. "Literally, I wasn't me. I was trapped in the form of a human, but without any of my memories, so the human me—John Smith—fell in love with Joan Redfern, a nurse in the early twentieth century…" Something told her there was more to that, like maybe he remembered her but didn't know he loved her, but she decided not to torture herself more by asking.

"I suppose that's all right," muttered Rose eventually, "since you didn't remember me. And the third?"

"Astrid Peth," responded the Doctor, staring down at the grassy hillside. "She reminded me of you, and I was… lonely. But she died, saving me and the whole of London from a capsizing spaceship."

"Well, that was very nice of her," growled Rose, staring at the early afternoon sky. She glanced halfheartedly at the food beside them, since they were supposedly having a picnic, but she had lost her appetite. But, no matter how irrationally angry she was (Of course he had other people besides me! This is the same argument I had with Sarah Jane!) she couldn't flinch away from the Doctor's gentle hand in hers.

"I'm sorry," murmured the Doctor, looking into her eyes intently. "It was you in my head all along, and if you recall, we never really entered into any kind of a formal agree—"

"I know, I know," sighed Rose, interrupting, "but it still… I don't know… it's a bit unexpected." She gave him a half-smile. "In my life, it's been Mickey and you, and really, that's it. I guess I expected it would only have been me for you, too, since I've known you since you regenerated." Rose hesitated. "Are Time Lords polygamists?"

"No!" The Doctor seemed disturbed by the very idea. "Time Lords don't usually marry. Regeneration could leave you either male or female, you know—"

"What!" exclaimed Rose, wondering what it would have been like for her if the Doctor's ninth incarnation had regenerated into a girl. "How is that possible?"

"Regeneration logic," shrugged the Doctor. "Anyway, regeneration changes everything about you—usually—and therefore, it's not exactly advisable to connect yourself to someone like that. Might change at any time. Usually, marriages are arranged." He sighed. "Given me a bit of a disdain for the idea, since when I got married, it was because I was forced to. But I suppose, since I'm human, it'll be different now."

"Doctor?" Is this a proposal…?

The Doctor shrugged. "Anyway, none of that matters at the moment." He sighed in a way that suggested that yes, all the memories he had just shared meant the world to him. "Let's enjoy the here and now! Easter Sunday on Earth. Perfect day for a picnic. Did I ever tell you what the Crucifixion was like…?"

As Rose settled into another story about the Doctor's travels in time, she wondered somewhat sadly if the Time Lord Doctor would ever find someone else to replace her…

((The inevitable awkward prior-relationship queries. Poor Rose.))