The Doctor had passed out at some point during their dreadful journey from the remains of his home-world. Rose was grateful, in a dull kind of way, it made things easier. Steam was venting from the control panel, warning lights flashing on and off. After checking the life support systems were still functioning, she turned away from the battered TARDIS. Repairs could wait for a time when she wasn't clinging to consciousness through a haze of pain.

She set off in the direction of the infirmary, ignoring the pang of guilt at leaving the Doctor lying on the floor. She couldn't drag him with only one arm. The most sensible thing to do was to go and repair her own injuries before attempting to heal his.

Knowing this didn't make walking away from him any easier, however.

The Doctor had a machine for mending broken bones. It took less than three minutes to slot her awkwardly angled limb into the device and feel her bones knit together once more, the pain gradually fading. There were other cuts and bruises that speckled her body, but they could wait. The Doctor's wounds needed her attention.

Firstly, she had to get him to the infirmary, a task easier said than done. In spite of his emaciated state he was still too heavy for her to easily carry, or even drag. In the end, she used the anti-gravity stretcher, designed for two people to operate and decidedly awkward for one human being to manage. Once safely within the clean, white walls of the medical room, she set to work.

It took the best part of three hours to identify, clean and heal all of his injuries. Any doubt she had felt about his identity was erased as she was forced to remove the tattered remnants of his trousers, revealing more lacerations on his legs. She recognised the trousers. They were the ones the Doctor had been wearing on their last day together.

He was talking in his sleep as she worked, his skin decidedly warmer to the touch than she had ever felt before. She suspected he had a fever of some kind; although the wounds on his back were slowly disappearing as she worked with the dermal regenerator, they had been filthy and undoubtably infected.

She had almost finished when his long fingers wrapped gently around her wrist. "Rose," he breathed, his eyelids fluttering, "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," she said, "'Ow are you feeling?"

"Better," he replied, "I'm sorry." His eyes opened and met her own. The rest of his body had changed beyond recognition but her earlier feeling of familiarity when she met his gaze had not faded. There was something about his eyes that had not changed, and for that she was immensely grateful.

"Don't worry about it," she said, smiling weakly at him. She was mortally tired, too tired to deal with the consequences of regeneration at this moment. Somewhere deep inside a switch had been tripped and she felt numb. Maybe later her emotions would return, and she could grieve for the Doctor she'd lost, and celebrate the return of his new form. Right now, she just wanted to sleep.

"How did you know it was me?" he asked. He still hadn't let go of her wrist.

"I locked the TARDIS door before I went to bed. Only you have another key, or the persuasive powers to make 'er open up."

"Oh." He sounded almost disappointed.

"I thought you might be coming back..." she hesitated, struggling to find the right word, "Different. I read about regeneration in the library. New body, new personality, same memories, yeah?"

"Yeah,"he agreed. He sat up. "Although the memories take a while to come back."

She nodded. "Right. Okay. I'm... I'm gonna go and get some sleep..." She gestured with her thumb in the vague direction of her room.

"Right. I'll–I'll see you in a bit then?"

"Yeah."

She felt his eyes on her as she left the infirmary and retreated to the relative sanctuary of her room, felt that there was something missing, that there should have been something more... She'd not dared to dream he might return to her, and yet she still felt disappointed, as if the dreams undreamed had been left unfulfilled.

She crawled into bed and gratefully closed her eyes.

She was awoken by someone swearing loudly. A couple of muffled clanks followed the expletive and then she heard someone yell over the hissss of escaping steam. She smiled to herself. The Doctor had obviously decided to repair some of the damage he had caused the TARDIS on their trip too close to the remains of Gallifrey, and by the sounds of it he was as ineffective at doing so quietly as he had been in his previous form.

She got out of bed and winced, the bruises and pulled muscles caused by being bounced from ceiling to floor making their presence felt. She headed for the shower, certain that half an hour spent under pounding hot water would make her feel better.

Nearly an hour later she slipped into the control room, fully dressed in jeans and a tee shirt, her still-wet hair held off her neck in a high ponytail. The Doctor was buried in the innards of the TARDIS's control systems.

"Are you winning?" she asked.

He jumped with shock, knocking his head on the panel above, and swore. She hadn't really registered it before, but the way he spoke had changed. Glaswegian was a good accent to be annoyed in, she mused, as more obscenities tumbled out of his mouth.

He scrambled out and gave her a look somewhere between annoyance and amusement at his own misfortune. "Just about. How are you feeling?"

"Fine," she answered, "I'm hungry though, and there's nothing in the kitchen. D'you fancy chips?"

He grinned. "Chips sound fantastic... What?"

"Just... oh, never-mind." She crossed to the control panel, offering her hand unthinkingly to help him up.

He stood, and suddenly he was far too close to her. He was wearing his old clothes, leather jacket, a v-necked jumper and jeans. He smelt the same, she realised, and then felt ashamed at herself that she should have gotten so acquainted with the scent of Doctor.

He was still holding her hand. She tugged it gently out of his grip and gave him a small, tight smile, worried by the penetrating aspect of his stare.

"Rose..." he said, frowning, "I-I hate to have to ask you this... but... were we– I mean, what I mean is... were you and I...?"

"No," she replied quickly. "No. There was... there was nothing like that."

He nodded slowly, as if confused. "You sure...?... I mean, don't not tell me the truth because you don't want to make things awkward. Or anything like that."

She chuckled. "Why would I do a thing like that? We were just friends, Doctor. Good friends."

"Right. Okay." He sounded a little relieved and she instantly buried the pain his tone caused. "Chips it is then."

"Chips it is," she agreed.

He hesitated a moment, hands hovering over the controls of the TARDIS. "Er..."

A genuine smile spread out across her face for the first time since he had returned. "Budge over," she said, bumping him with her hip. She inputted the co-ordinates and pressed the button that sent the TARDIS on its way, winging across the galaxy.

She turned to him, still grinning. His expression was odd, a mixture of petulance and pride. "I'm not the only one that's changed, am I?"

She shrugged. "I've been looking after 'er for two months."

He laughed, suddenly; it was a pleasant laugh. "I hope the shops haven't closed when we get there. I need some new clothes, and you, Rose Tyler, can shop for Earth. This I remember clearly."

She goggled at him. "You want me to take you shopping?"

"Well, look at me," he said, spreading his hands and looking down at his outfit. "I mean, the jacket's okay but what's with these jumpers? My whole wardrobe's full of them... what? What are you laughing at?"

Incapacitated with laughter and far too breathless to speak, Rose was saved from having to explain her amusement: the TARDIS had landed. Still chuckling, she followed him to the double doors. He stared at her, still confused. "Shopping first?"

"Okay," she said.

He hesitated for a moment, as if trying to remember something.

"Money?" she suggested, raising an eyebrow.

He gave her a scornful look, and patted his pockets. "Got plenty, thanks."

His expression cleared as he apparently remembered whatever it was that he had forgotten.

He held out his hand.

She stared at the proffered limb, a question on her lips, her brow furrowed.

"This is right, isn't it? This is what we do?" He seemed almost nervous, as if he thought he had done something wrong.

She laughed again, the happy smile extending across her features once more. She placed her hand in his, pleased to find their fingers knit together in exactly the same way. His own smile appeared to mirror hers.

"Yep," she replied, "This is what we do."