"I do love you," Rose spoke softly, her lips near his ear while he piloted the TARDIS. The ship shook and spun about, and Rose grasped his hips to steady herself. She didn't notice how tense his body was, that he was grunting and trying halfheartedly to shake her off of him. She didn't notice the expletives under his breath, or the panic in his eyes because she was busy clutching him, loving him, trying to stay upright...

"Rose! Get down!" And they crashed together, his body falling over hers, shielding her. Rose's head thumped against the grating twice, her mind suddenly swimming with haze and pain and fear. At her most basic level, on the floor under the Doctor with a pain sweeping through her back, her head, Rose realized something was wrong.

When she woke, Rose was on a sofa. No, a chaise lounge. No, what? In a house?

"Rose. How do you feel?" Her Doctor looked down at her, his face twisted and wrong looking. Pained. Worried. Sad.

"I'm...ouch. M'head hurts." He nodded at that and stroked her hand absently. He started rambling, filling her in on the odds and ends. Telling her about the crash, about the repair time the TARDIS needed, about the lonely countess that had offered them shelter. Rose tried to follow along, tried to nod her head, but found that hurt her head quite a bit. "So, we're stuck on the slow path for a bit?" She tried to smile at him, tried to ignore the headache that was clouding her vision just a bit. She expected him to smile back, to pat her hand again, but he only nodded, looking serious.

The bed was plush, silky, and completely over-sized for the two of them, but the countess had insisted it was the room her honored guests should share. Rose slept happily enough, her dreams of orange trees and chirping birds clouding over her like a shroud. The Doctor slipped from the bed, unease deep in his core. He walked the old carpets, let his fingers trail over the mahogany tabletops in the hallways, stared into the eyes of the people in the paintings.

When he found himself in the gardens, he allowed himself to sigh heavily and look up at the moon. He'd been looking at Earth's moon every night for four days and it still seemed so wrong. It hung in the sky in a way that he couldn't find himself appreciating, and the stars around it seemed too small, too far away for him. Hands thrust in the pockets of his trousers, the Doctor walked on further, the night air brisk and cool in his lungs, the dirt beneath his boots moist and springy. The more he walked, the darker his mood became. The fault wasn't hers, he was positive of that. She was completely innocent in his unhappiness.

And that's what it was, wasn't it? Unhappiness. Rose had just been telling him about how he was happy only...what? Three weeks ago? And now here he was, seeped in such a painful unhappiness that he found himself forcing his smiles, watching her from the corner of his eye, looking for some words or phrases or manuscripts that he could use to tell her what was happening to him. But he couldn't quite tell her if he wasn't sure himself. A nagging, festering feeling tugging at his subconscious, begging him to go further into space, into time. Away. Always away.

His boots covered in mud, the Doctor retreated back into the grand home, aware that Rose would be waking soon and looking for him, her doe eyes seeking information from him that he didn't think he could give her. He wanted so badly to be happy again. Get that feeling back that Rose had showed him, but... But what? But he was afraid? But he was feeling guilty? But he was feeling rushed? Excuses. There had to be something deeper, more meaningful causing all this.

He sat on the edge of the bed and removed his boots, slowly laying his body back down so that Rose would find him when she inevitably awoke. And she did. Her fingers found the lapels of his jacket and her eyes shot open, questions burning behind her eyes. He could see her confusion, could see the worry in those little creases he noticed on her forehead. She'd been looking at him that way every morning, dying to ask him why he was wearing his jacket in bed, why his skin was so cold when the room was toasty, why he wasn't sleeping anymore. But, bless her, Rose just closed her eyes again and didn't ask him.

Part of him begged her to ask. Something inside him wanted desperately for someone to notice what was happening to him, but he warred with himself. He didn't want to say it to her. He didn't want to transfer that pain into her. He closed his eyes and evened his breathing, forcing his body to relax and be what Rose needed. A warm body next to her. A man.

Rose carried the arm full of flowers through the house looking for a vase. She poked her head into a cabinet, stood on her tiptoes and looked on top of the cooler, but she found nothing. She looked down at the flowers and smiled. She loved the smell of daisies and lilies and rosemary, and she breathed the fragrances deep into her lungs.

When the Doctor entered, she tried to keep her attention on the flowers. She couldn't look at him, not right then. She knew he'd been leaving her in the nights, but she had no idea what he was doing while he was gone. No idea why he was leaving in the first place. The distance between them grew slowly at first.

On the first day stuck on the estate, Rose kissed him and held his hand and rested her head against his shoulder while they walked. On the second day, Rose looked for his hand while they hiked to the town, but came up disappointed. He'd thrust his hands into his trousers, avoiding her touch. On the third day she had tried to guide his hand up her chest while she pressed her lips into his, finding themselves in a hallway alone, but he'd pulled away from her, left her lips cold as he gave her a bit of a shrug and headed down the hall alone. On the fourth day, Rose let her imagination run away with her. She laid in bed long after he'd gone from the room, doing whatever it was he was going to do that day, and imagined what was wrong.

Maybe he missed the TARDIS. Maybe he missed the adventures. But were those enough reasons to pull away from her? After all, they had a plan. They'd be leaving soon enough, weren't stuck there for the rest of their lives or anything. Maybe he'd changed his mind...about her, about them, about everything. No matter how many times he had reassured her, Rose always held on to the suspicion that he might not love her the way he needed himself to. The way that she loved him, and the way she felt sure he loved her...well, that was okay with her. She could live with that, she didn't need him to go any further if he couldn't. But, she reasoned, he clearly wasn't okay with it.

He stepped tentatively into the room, careful not to look at her. Something terrible spoke to his hearts, telling him he wouldn't be able to stand the sight of her with flowers in her hands like that, with the sunshine on her golden hair from the window, with her cheeks glimmering just a bit from the tear he knew she'd shed a little while ago.

She spoke first, breaking the silence that seemed to stretch between them like a thread from her heart to his two.

"What're you up to today?" She turned her back to him, hoping that having his broad shoulders and strong jaw out of her vision would help her be brave. She needed to be brave. Needed to deal with this. Needed courage that bubbled inside her like a sickness.

"Just...you know. Nothing." She could hear him shift, imagined that his head was in his hands. His voice sounded resigned, unhappy.

"TARDIS'll be doin' alright soon enough, ya?"

"Oh, sure. Yeah. Right." She heard him drum his fingers on the table. Was he irritated with her? Rose suddenly felt so insecure. He was just humoring her, letting her prattle on like a dumb little human while he struggled with complicated things that he didn't even want to explain to her anymore. FOUR DAYS! It had only been four days and he was treating her like he hardly even liked her. Rose set the flowers on the counter top and turned, determined to face this.

"Doctor, what is it? What's going on with...us?" Seconds passed and the Doctor didn't move, just stared at the table. Rose counted to thirty, then fifty, then one hundred. She opened her mouth then, unsure about what to say, but unwilling to let him just ignore her, the problem, when he spoke.

"Rose, I don't know."

"Wha...you don't know what's going on between us?" She stumbled forward and sat at the table across from him, her eyes locked on his fingers. Those fingers that had done such incredible things to her. Those fingers that made love to her skin.

"I don't feel right here. We don't feel right here." He looked up at her and Rose tore her eyes from his hands and met his gaze. The sadness, the pain in his eyes took her by surprise. She'd seen the fake smiles, but somehow she wasn't prepared for what he'd look like when he stopped faking. "I was feeling sure, positive, ready, ya know? And then here. The slow path. Ground and sky and moon all the same every day. Rose..do you understand?"

"I know tha' we'll be in the TARDIS again soon, we're not stuck here forever, Doctor."

"Oh Rose. No, we're not. But...but I'm looking at you and I'm noticing things here. I'm seeing you age right before my eyes. I'm seeing you look at me with disappointment in those eyes." He stopped and ran his hand over his head, trying to push the emotion out of his voice.

"You...I'm aging? You're upset because I'm aging? 've always been aging! So 'ave you!" Rose reached her hand out to his, grasping his fingers, desperate to make him see that it was still her. She was still Rose. His Rose.

But it wasn't just that. He knew she'd always been aging, knew that he'd notice eventually, but this was so real, so in his face. And the way she had just fallen into this life, enjoyed walking the gardens and picking flowers and cooking and making beds and chatting by the fireplace... The Doctor found himself wondering if she belonged in this kind of life. He'd thought she was meant for the stars, like him, but...

"Don't you love it here, Rose? It seems like you love it here." He couldn't look at her again, studied the oval of her fingernail.

"Doctor, you're jumpin' all over the place. So what if I like this estate, the countess, wha's that to do with me aging?"

"You're so human. Time Lord, me. I can forget it most of the time, but here, my Rose Tyler fits in like a human and I wonder if I'm not supposed to be stealing you away from all that. If you're supposed to be here." There. Out there in the open. He pressed his boots into the floor, resisting his urge to run.

Rose stared at him, hurt evident on her face. "I am human, Doctor. Can't change that. But I made my choice. I love you. I choose you, ev'ry time." Drawing on the courage she barely knew she still had, Rose stood and crossed around the table, sitting down in his lap, forcing his attention to find her. He couldn't look at her, couldn't bare it, but his forehead pressed into her side, his fingers gripped her hip. "I thought we were passed all this, yeah?" She sighed, pressed her cheek down to the top of his head.

"I did, too." And his honesty hurts her, makes her feel like running, makes her want to curl up like a child and sob. Will it always come back, then? Will he always be thinking about this, always be about to change his mind? And worse, can she live with that? Can she live her life with a man who is always on the verge of regretting her?

"Doctor...Oh, my Doctor. Please." She lets her tears flow, wetting his hair, not caring.

"What, Rose?" he shifts her around, pushing his face into her collarbone, rubbing his nose along the bone.

"Just. I jus' want you to feel the same as me. I can't go on if you're gonna change your mind ev'ry time we sit still for a day or two." Her chest shook with tears, his face flush against her vibrating. "I thought we were good, Doctor. I really did."

"Just say it, Rose. Tell me and I'll take you home." He closed his eyes, let the feel of her skin on his face be the feeling her would remember forever.

"I don't want to, Doctor! I don't want you to take me home. I want you to stop wantin' to take me home!"

"I...I don't want to." He sighed into her skin, willing his mouth to fix this. Desperate to make his brain and his mouth and his hearts act like one cohesive unit for once in their bloody existence. "I nev'r want to let go of you. But...but it hurts, Rose. Lovin' you this much hurts like I nev'r knew it would."

Those words, out there, sort of. And then they were crying, two tears sliding down his cheek while Rose shook with abandon. "'m afraid of you dyin'. 'm afraid of you getting tired o' me and the stars and we won't be enough fo' you. And it hurts that you'll grow old without me." The words were a sad revery, a hopeless plea that they'd both thought a hundred times but had never been heard aloud til now. She wanted to comfort him, to tell him she'd never tire of him or the stars and that she would always feel young with him loving her, but she couldn't make words through her emotions, and settled for clutching at his neck desperately.

He carried her then, through the kitchen, up the stairs, down that hallway, into the room they were sharing. Into the bed he found himself leaving so often. Off with shoes, off with jackets, arms around each other. Facing each other in the bed, the Doctor moved his hand sadly over her wet cheeks, wiping the salty substance away and hoping with all that he could that she would speak soon. Until he came clean, admitted what was poisoning him, he didn't realize how much he needed her to comfort him. The Doctor, the Oncoming Storm, needed his human girl to soothe his worries.

"Tell me 'm wrong." He whispered against her nose, kissing it lightly before moving his forehead against hers. Rose clutched at his hips, pulled him closer.

"You're so wrong, Doctor," she sniffed.

"Ah, you love to say that, don't ya?" He smiled a small smile for her, moving his face again, desperate to feel her eyelashes brush his cheek.

"I love you. I love you, love you, love you." The words were small and quiet, but she said them anyway, willing them into his head, his hearts. Rose moved her body down, pressing her lips against his chest and repeated. "I love you, Doctor," and then to other side, again. "I love you, Doctor."

Cross legged on the bed, their bed, in their room, Rose waited. He'd come in eventually, he always did. Since moving in to his room, she'd spent many nights alone while he did whatever he needed, but he always came in eventually. Usually he came when he thought she was asleep and sat on the bed next to her back, stroked her hair and hummed.

Rose fiddled with the blanket between her fingers, the textile rough and scratchy and so very Doctor. The TARDIS had been fixed on the fifth day, and they'd thanked their hostess and made their departure, walking hand in hand down her cobblestone. She'd gone to the bedroom and he'd stayed in the console room, still uneasy, still broken somehow. Rose didn't have the right words anymore. She confessed her love again and again, tried to show him with her mouth, but he resisted. He still fought with himself, conflicted, pained. He wouldn't be her Doctor if he didn't seem broken, would he?

His footsteps were feather light, she knew he was trying to be quiet. He expected her to be asleep, he expected to be able to come seek her comfort without actually having to face her, and the surprise was there on his face when he found her sitting up.

"Still awake, eh?" He shrugged his jacket off, lingered near the dresser. Rearranged the line of perfumes again, this time by size of the bottle. Rose didn't speak, just waited for him. He turned then and thrust his hands into his pockets, looking like a guilty man, a sad man, a man. "Guess you're wonderin' what happens now, yeah?" He raised his eyebrows, trying to read her, trying to guess at her feelings. He was rubbish at this.

"I know what happens now, Doctor. We keep on livin', enjoyin' each other, helpin' people, or aliens, or whatever. We just keep goin', Doctor."

He had to give it to Rose Tyler. He thought she was waiting up for some long speech, another night of tears and commitments and admissions, but she was checking on him. She was waiting up because she was worried about him, not herself.

"Yeah, that sounds good." He smiled at her, and she quirked her eyebrow, patted the bed. The Doctor strode towards her, anxious now to have her in his arms, let his lips tell her what he wanted her to know. When he sat down, Rose popped up off the bed, immediately straddling him, her knees around his hips.

"Feelin' feisty, Rose?" He chucked lightly, and Rose answered him with a bite to his ear, a nip on his neck.

"'m thankful for you, ya know? I know you worry about things, always frettin' over somethin', but you gotta understand, Doctor." She kissed his Adam's apple, licked the prickly flesh under his chin. "I'm here. Not goin' anywhere." A bite to his lower lip, a kiss under his eye. "In all of time and space, I'm gonna be your constant, Doctor." Sucking on his upper lip, nails in his shoulder. "Always. Here. Always. Lovin'. You." She punctuated each word with a grind of her hips and a scrape of her teeth against his mouth.

His hands found her hips, pressed down on her, willing her to rub against his rising erection. Oh, he needed her. Five days stuck in one place, looking at the same stars, fighting with himself, worrying about her, looking at her slightly wrinkled forehead. He needed her so much. Rose lifted herself up then, stood in front of him and pulled on his jumper. He shed it quickly. Rose loosened his belt, undid his button, and he sat attentive, his lips aching to touch hers again.

Rose put her hands on her hips and slowly brought them up her body, running along her own ribs, her thin tank hitching up as she did so. He reached out for her, but Rose batted his hand away and turned her back to him. Sticking her bum out, Rose sat down against the Doctor's lap and moved herself seductively, rubbing against the bulging fabric of his trousers. The Doctor groaned and tried to put his hands on her hips, but she smacked them away again. She ground her hips down, rubbing right into him, her head tossed back against his shoulder. Seeing an opening, the Doctor moved his lips over her exposed throat, murmuring against it.

"My Rose."

"My Doctor." But then she's standing again, her back still to him, and she's pushing her soft pants down her hips, over her bum. She wiggled her behind a little, and the Doctor resists the urge to reach out and squeeze. Rose bent over, touching her toes as she gives the Doctor a little show, smiling as she hears his groan. Standing back up, Rose steps out of the pants and hooks her fingers in the black elastic of her knickers, shimmies her hips as she teases him, bringing them down ever so slowly.

"Rose..." He groans, and she hears him messing with his belt buckle, trying to finish undoing his pants.

"Take them off me." She speaks over her shoulder, looking at him. She sees the surprise in his eyes, the need. He reaches forward and covers her hands with his, slowly pushing them down, uncovering her flesh for him. When they are around her ankles, the Doctor brought his hands back up to her behind, gently cups her cheek. Rose sits back down on his lap, rubbing her now naked bum against him, letting him grip her hips and grind into his erection.

Standing up, Rose turned to face him, pulling her tank over her head, letting her breasts be bare to him. He groans again, and Rose nods at his pants, encouraging him to get them off. With renewed ambition, he quickly discards of them, his cock large and throbbing in his lap. Naked before him, Rose swayed her hips and runs her hands up and down her body, her nails leaving little red lines. Taking himself in his hand, the Doctor waits for her. He needs her to tell him what to do. Tell him how to keep this going. Rose understands. She always understands.

Coming towards him, Rose lifted her leg up, bending her knee, setting her foot on the bed next to the Doctor's thigh. She finds her hands on his shoulder and his eyes meet hers, though she can tell they desperately want to examine what she's showing him.

"Touch me." And he does, oh, he does. With one hand still wrapped around himself, the Doctor lets his other stroke her gently, rubbing that spot he loves, that she loves. Rose moans and the Doctor wants her to touch him, wants her hand to be the one wrapped around his cock, but he can't ask. Can't say it. She's in charge here, and he wants her to want it, to do it herself. He strokes himself and shoves two fingers roughly inside her, Rose's hips immediately grinding down to his palm. He leans forward and kisses her stomach, her navel. And then she's lowering herself down, her knees around his hips again, his cock pressing into her behind as she attacks his mouth. He keeps his arm around her, still pumping himself as she moves her hips gently, adding the rubbing of her behind to his ministrations.

The Doctor doesn't know what comes over him when he lifts her hips up and brings his erection to the front, the tip coasting over her opening as she hovers there. And he doesn't stop her when she lowers herself back down, the tip of his cock slick with her wetness, her thighs quivering as they hold her there in that delicate balance above him. He slid his hands up her back and then down, cupping her behind, and, resisting every urge in his body, slips his fingers back inside her and pumps hard, her hips bucking backwards to meet his hand, his cock throbbing as she moans and screams and then comes right over him.

Unable to resist any longer, the Doctor grabbed his cock and pounds his fist around himself, his body no longer his to control. Rose slips from his lap to her knees, sits in front of him with her hands on his thighs and watched, his cock slippery from her and so close to her face. He stares at her as he jerks, looks at those lips, those breasts, and pumps harder. With his free hand, the Doctor reaches out and threads his hand in her hair. And when he comes spurting everywhere, Rose only smiles.

His Rose. Smiling at something like that. Loving him despite the royal arse he's been. His Rose Tyler.

A/N: Thank you to each of you who have been reviewing. You're bright, happy spots in a pretty miserable week. And to my 'Guest' who always leaves such wonderful and kind words (you know who you are), thank you. I wish you'd consider getting an account so I could thank you properly.

More soon. xox Emmy