TWO MONTHS LATER

"I cannot believe you'd do that!"

The Doctor frowned as Rose stormed through the TARDIS control room. "What?"

"You don't even understand what you did, do you?" she asked.

"I understand that I saved those people's lives," he retorted.

"At the cost of what, Doctor?" she demanded. "Sometimes you act like it's all ok, fit everything into your neat little box. It doesn't always work that way! These are people you're dealing with, not wind-up toys! I'm not a wind-up toy!"

"Don't you think I know that?" he demanded harshly. "Do you think for one second this was easy for me? That it's EVER easy for me? It's not, Rose! Every time I've almost lost you I've…" his voice trailed off and he turned away.

"You've what?" she asked softly. When he didn't respond she moved behind him and put her hands on his shoulders. "You've what, Doctor?" she repeated.

He didn't answer. Rose could feel the tension there, like a rubber band about to snap. Without conscious thought, her hands began to move, kneading and pressing the muscles. After a few seconds, he moaned and she grinned.

"Long time no backrub?" she teased.

"If you stop I'll take you to Cardiff," he threatened.

"Guess I'd best sort you out, then," she deadpanned, and continued working on his shoulders.

After a few more minutes, when Rose could tell he was relaxed, she spoke again. "Doctor… I'm sorry. What I said wasn't fair."

"But it wasn't entirely untrue," he answered heavily. "At times I don't factor in the emotion equation. Feelings… intense feelings, at least, are still comparatively new to me."

Her hands stilled. "What do you mean?"

"Keep going, there," he said. As she resumed, he told her the story of his eighth incarnation and how human elements had been introduced into his regeneration, and how he'd changed as a result.

"So you used to be an unfeeling blowhard, is that what you're telling me?" she joked.

"Not… unfeeling," he clarified, "just… it was muffled. I was more detached. And I certainly did not feel anything…" his voice trailed off again.

"Anything what?"

"I can't explain it," he sighed.

Pull the other, Doctor, Rose thought. "I need for you to lie down for me to do your back properly," she told him.

She half expected him to make a sarcastic comment, but he simply headed for the library and lay down on the sofa. Rose was surprised by his sudden acquiescence.

It's just a backrub, she told herself. It's not like there's some great important decision involved.

Still, it struck her as different, though she made no comment as she worked on his sore muscles. Occasionally he sighed or moaned his appreciation and made her smile. She focused on making him feel better: the explanation she wanted and which he didn't seem able to give she pushed to the back of her mind. When she finally stopped, she expected him to jump up, and when he instead rolled over and looked into her eyes she wasn't prepared for the jolt of emotion she felt, or the force of his gaze.

"Love," he said quietly.

Now it was she who was goggling at him. "Sorry?"

"What I'd never understood before, not on a personal level, is love. I could get angry, or laugh, feel happiness… but to have someone as part of the core of my existence… I didn't have that feeling."

She blinked hard. "And… and do you now?" she asked.

"I did before I changed," he whispered. "And it hasn't gone away."

She almost jumped up, she was so taken aback by this open declaration: and probably would have if he hadn't put his arms around her waist and pulled her down beside him.

"Please don't run," he said.

"Doctor…"

"Do you still love me, Rose?" he asked earnestly. "Did you only love me for how I looked on the outside?"

"No!" she exclaimed. "I… it was part of who you were…are… but that's not why I loved…" her eyes blurred with tears as the sudden realization hit her.

"Love… you," she choked.

Now she began to sob; everything she'd felt the past few months crashed down on her, all the feelings she'd buried and denied rushed up and demanded recognition.

She loved who he'd been, and she loved who he was. He was different, yes. But he was still the Doctor; still a stubborn, smart, exasperating Time Lord. She wept for that other Doctor, for what they'd both hinted at, teased each other with but never followed through on: and she wept for this Doctor, for going through hell while he waited to see what her feelings for him were: and for herself, for not knowing and being afraid to find out.

He held her as she cried, saying nothing: stroking her hair and waiting patiently until her sobs subsided. When she stopped crying, he handed her a handkerchief. After she wiped her eyes and blew her nose, he said: "that wasn't so difficult, was it?"

She snorted and punched his arm lightly. "You think you've so clever."

"You mean I'm not?"

"Stuff it."

"Hey, go easy on me, Rose," he said. "I've been waiting to find out if I'd ever hear those words from you for two months now."

"Well now you've heard them," she said, a challenge flashing in her eyes. "So what do you have to say about it?"

He considered the question. "I say it's great!"

"Great," she echoed. "I just spilled my guts out to you, got your shirt sopping wet, ruined your handkerchief, and you say great."

"Well, isn't it?" he asked. "When two beings know they love each other, isn't that great?"

He smiled at her, and the childlike delight in his eyes and his smile made her want to weep all over again, but this time from happiness. Instead, she wrapped her arms around him and buried her face in his neck.

"Yeah," she said with a laugh, feeling truly free again for the first time since he'd regenerated. "Yes, Doctor. It's great."