A/N: I've enjoyed writing this story more than I ever thought possible. Thank you for making it worth the while, and I can assure you: this is the last chapter :) Keep reading, keep writing and stay healthy.

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Epilogue – His Oxygen

It was much, much later when Rose was sat on her own in her bedroom in the TARDIS. They were still on Satellite Five – the Doctor didn't have the heart to move it. He couldn't disturb Rose, not yet. She was perched, like a lonely statue, on the end of her made bed. The room was still and quiet. Her shoulders were slumped and her eyes stared forward in an empty stare as her hands clutched at a mug of tea nestled in between her knees. She didn't react when there was a knock at her door.

The door opened and the Doctor stared into the room towards his lonely companion. He leant against the doorframe lightly as he watched her. Then, he took a breath, and stepped forward into the room. They hadn't shared a word since he had tried to comfort her when they had first arrived back. She had cried until there were no more tears to cry, at which point, she had made herself a mug of tea and disappeared into the confinements of her bedroom. The Doctor had granted her her privacy and had let her get on with it. So much had happened to her; too much, perhaps. The events were still reeling in even his mind and, besides, he'd needed time to himself to sort it all out.

He had had a good fiddle with the TARDIS controls, properly this time – but he needn't have bothered. It was all just to find work for his hands, to keep his mind occupied, so that he wouldn't really have to think about anything. It seemed to work all right.

The Doctor walked solemnly forward and put the freshly made tea for Rose on her beside table. He then turned and looked down at her. She didn't even recognise his presence. He knelt down, very slowly in front of her, and unclasped her hands from the tea in her lap. It was stone cold. He then put the mug on the floor and took her hands gently in his, folding his warmth around her tiny, little hands for comfort. He stared up at her, but she didn't look at him. She didn't even move.

After a moment or two, he sat down next to her on the bed, keeping her hands in his, letting his thumb run over her delicate skin.

"I thought you might like some more tea," he said eventually after watching her for a while. Rose blinked slowly and, at last, turned her head to look at him. Her brown eyes were such an abyss of swirling pain that it was all the Doctor could to control himself from trying to comfort her in ways that would do neither of them any good. He missed his Rose. She hadn't really been the same since he had changed. Everything seemed to be an act, a barrier, and if things were to go back to the way they used to be – or at the very least, go anywhere at all – he had to get to the bottom of it.

"Thanks," she croaked. He felt her hands shake within his.

"You'll have to face the world sooner or later," he said gently, not taking his eyes off her for a minute. Rose's head turned back to gaze emptily ahead of her.

"I know."

The Doctor squeezed her hands gently.

"But you won't be alone. I'm still here."

She was grateful. She really was. But right now, all she wanted was to see the Ninth Doctor in front of her, laughing, smiling, coming up with another stupid plan to get them killed, or something to that effect. She hadn't been able to accept that what she had seen earlier was just the product of some sick game on Satellite Five. He was too real for that. Not even machines could generate what she had felt for him, and what she knew he had felt for her. It just wasn't possible. So why did she have this nagging, horrible doubt?

"He loved me," Rose said quietly after a while. "He loved me and I let him die. I killed him."

"No," the Doctor replied softly but sternly. "You could never kill anyone. Least of all him. And he still loves you, you know."

At this, she looked at the Doctor with that sort of slow solemnity that accompanies all grievers when they hear something they don't understand.

"How can he?" she almost laughed reproachfully. The Doctor took in a breath and looked down to their hands. Then, he pulled one of her hand to his chest and let it rest on where his hearts were. She felt life beating there, a rhythmic ba-bum ba-bum.

"Because I do," the Doctor replied quietly, looking into her eyes once more. He wasn't sure what he saw looking back at him. But at that point, he didn't care. She didn't seem to be able to say anything, so he continued. "I was there with you through all of it. I may look different now, and think differently, but I still went through everything with you. Every word I said when I meant it, I still mean it now." The Doctor paused and took a small sigh, looking away as he next spoke. "You gave up the world for me, Rose, without even a question. You left it all behind because you trusted me. And I... it breaks my heart to see you suffering because of it."

And then, the Doctor did something that he would never have even thought possible. He didn't want to even suggest it, for fear she might say yes. He didn't want that risk. But it wasn't what he wanted that was important – it was Rose. He looked at her carefully, questioningly, whilst she looked back at him, her face void of fear or suspense.

"The TARDIS has a device," he explained slowly, "That can erase memories. If you want... if this is too much... I can use it and take you back to London. You won't remember a thing, except for everything you already knew on earth. No TARDIS, no aliens, no pain. I can get rid of it all if you want. No catches."

He was surprised to hear Rose reply so quickly. That couldn't be good. His stomach did somersaults as his hearts fell.

"Except, there's one very big catch, Doctor," she sniffed, edging closer to him slightly.

He frowned. "What's that?"

"I won't remember you."

"That was... sort of the point," he replied with a wry smile. But Rose was shaking her head, her eyes intense. Their shoulders and knees were touching as she slid her arms up and around his neck, curling him into a hug. He didn't stop her.

Very quietly in his ear, through his mass of messy hair, she whispered, "You're worth the pain, Doctor. I'm not going anywhere."

He closed his eyes in ecstasy as he wrapped his arms around her, keeping her close, burying his face in her neck. It was dangerous how happy those words had made him. It was dangerous how the flutter of her fingers down his spine made his breath catch in his throat and his hearts race. It was dangerous that he positioned his head to hers and let their mouths pass over each other, gracefully and elegantly at first, like two young, fresh lovers. And it was far too dangerous – and also far too late, when he realised – when suddenly he found himself cupping Rose's face in his hand and kiss her gently and serenely on the mouth and feel her kiss him back.

The Doctor's free hand found its way to the small of Rose's back and exerted an expert amount of pressure – enough to make her curl into and towards him, turning their kiss into devastating passion. He felt her hands run through his hair and dance over his back, making him shudder. His tongue began to graze the tip of her mouth affectionately before he finally realised what it was he was actually doing, and pulled away. Rose's grip tightened around his shoulders and she looked up questioningly into his face. He looked down at her sombrely, his face serious. She didn't have to ask her question; he could see it on her face.

Carefully, the Doctor let his hands fall away from Rose and onto the bed beside him. His hearts were still rocketing with excitement and fear about what he had just done. He couldn't explain it.

Instead, his eyes bore into hers and, when he spoke, it was with so much serious that Rose couldn't ignore it.

"I can't," he said defiantly. The grip on his neck loosened, if only slightly.

Rose didn't understand. Of course she didn't, he knew that. To her, it was just a rush of feelings and coping with those feelings and that was that. She couldn't understand what a leap like that it would mean for him. Had already meant for him. He may already have gone too far.

"Why?" she questioned softly, her voice wavering with emotion. Despite himself, the Doctor reached for hips in his hands: it was only to hold her away from him, he told herself.

"It's not right," he replied, his brown eyes determined.

"Feels right," Rose reasoned gently, and the Doctor had to try very hard to control himself as her fingers began to play with the hair at the back of his neck.

"It's too dangerous," he murmured, feeling her lean into him. "It's too soon. Too stupid. Too everything." His face hardened. "I'm not the one for you."

"Says who?" Rose asked, and there was a hint of incredulity in her voice. "You can't say you don't want to, Doctor." There was almost daring in her voice.

The Doctor sighed, a little exasperatedly.

"Of course I want to," he admitted, with some embarrassment. "You know that already. I've wanted to since pretty much the first day I met you. But it doesn't change anything. I'm the Doctor, and I can't go – "

"Doctor this, and Doctor that," Rose replied sternly, mockingly, not taking her arms away from his back. She shook her head a little as she spoke. "Forget the cryptic name for a minute and listen to what you want."

"I want you to be safe. I want you to be happy."

"This makes me happy," Rose assured, pushing her body up closer to his. He took in a breath, but didn't move.

"So why, exactly, have you been shut up in here for the past few hours then?"

At this, Rose dropped her hands away from the Doctor as if he'd just stung her. Which, in a way, he had.

"That's not fair," she said bitterly.

"No," he agreed. "It's not. But, I'm not a very fair person. What you're going through... giving into temptation is not going to deal with it. In fact, it'll just make things worse."

Rose stood up off the bed, away from his reach. She folded her arms and faced the wall, away from him, before turning back with anger in her eyes.

"You're so busy analysing, Doctor, that you miss the things that are really important. You know that?"

"Yes," the Doctor replied, anger getting the better of him. He stood up, not caring that he knocked over the cold mug of tea as he went. "Yes, I do know that. But that's who I am. If saving the universe and making sure I don't make mistakes make me miss out on one or two things, then so be it. It's a small price to pay."

Rose flung her hands to her sides in annoyance. The Doctor was so frustrating! Couldn't he see that while he was cooped up in his own little world, he was letting the real world pass him by?

"You can't not make mistakes Doctor," Rose cried. "That's life. But is that all I am to you? A mistake?" The last word was almost spat with disgust.

The Doctor flinched. Of course Rose wasn't a mistake. She was anything – everything – but. It was precisely how un-mistake-like she was that made the entire situation far too unthinkable. He didn't deserve her, not in a million years, and he couldn't let her think that he was worth it. He wasn't, and he knew it. It was not Rose that was the mistake. It was him.

"You know I don't think that," the Doctor replied sternly.

"Do I?"

"I should hope so!" Oh, if only she knew just how much he had used to love her: she could never accuse him of thinking she were the mistake then. "I don't go gallivanting off around the universe with just anyone, you know. It takes someone special and strong enough who can deal with it. And you can, Rose Tyler; I've seen it in everything you do. And right now, it's late, and you need to get some sleep."

Rose folded her arms. The Doctor could see that she wouldn't be going to sleep any time soon. But he had to leave. He needed time to think about the idiotic thing he had done, the door he had opened that could never be closed. He began making his way around the bed towards the door. Nothing could stop him leaving.

"You know what your problem is, Doctor? You're scared."

Oh. Except that.

He whirled around with fury in his eyes, fury that he knew wasn't meant for her. It was meant for all the despicable, disgusting creatures of the universe, the ones who would murder thousands for their own personal gain, not caring who got in their way. It was meant for people like Van Statten, like the Slitheen, like the Daleks. But not for Rose.

Unfortunately, she was all there was.

"And I suppose you'd know all about fear, wouldn't you Rose? You've spent all of, what, four months maybe, cooped up with me in the TARDIS and you think you know everything about me. You think you know what makes me 'tick' and how to program me just to your liking. You think you know how I like my tea, what my favourite star is, my past, my future. You think you're the one who gets to share that with me. But you're not. And you never will be."

Oh crap – what the bloody hell had he just said all that for? It wasn't Rose's fault. None of it was. She'd just opened up a sore wound, and everything had come spilling out to hit the nearest target. He didn't mean any of it, not one single word. If there was anyone, anyone, on all the planets he could name, the only one he would want to share it with would be Rose. He wanted to show her so much about himself. He wanted her to be the one to share it with, so that he wouldn't be cold and alone.

"I'm sorry," he said almost immediately, darting over to her but not daring to attempt to hug her. "I didn't mean that. I didn't mean any of it."

"S'alright," she sniffed, though she was quite clearly hurt. He hoped it was fixable. Oh, God, how he hoped.

"No," he said, self-loathing clear in his voice. "It's not. You didn't deserve any of that. It wasn't meant for you."

"Even if it was," she replied, staring gently up into his face. "It wouldn't matter anyway. Because you're wrong, Doctor. You've shown me the world through your eyes and I love it too much to let it go. I don't think I know you at all. And that scares me. I want to know, Doctor. I really, really do. Even if you say I can't."

Marry her! his body screamed at him. He was only half joking. Amazing. He'd just said about the most hurtful thing he could have come up with, and still she was standing here in front of him offering all that she could towards him. He had been right before; he didn't deserve her.

"Rose," the Doctor said softly, fighting his fear and reaching down to take her hands in his. He would have pulled her into a hug, but he wanted to watch her face as he spoke. "My Rose. Rose Tyler. You are far too good for me and this TARDIS of mine. I don't know what you want or what you deserve. I know I'm probably not it. But," he added hastily as he saw her face fall as if she were about to protest. He pulled her close, his mouth just inches from hers. "I'd rather like to try."

She smiled as their foreheads knocked together affectionately.

"I'd like that, Doctor," she replied quietly, her eyes closed.

He grinned, before working his hand behind her back and bringing his mouth to hers as if she were his oxygen. Their arms wrapped around each other as they unfurled themselves to each other together. And this time, he did not stop himself. This time, he let his hearts take over and told his head to go and mind its own business.

They collapsed onto the bed together, Rose in quite a nervous fit of giggles. The Doctor had to let her calm down a little, and they lay for a while, the Doctor watching Rose while she laughed. His hand was grazing her waist affectionately as his eyes darted from her wild hair to her perfect face. She looked up to him eventually, her body edging closer towards his; she liked his warmth.

"Are you sure this is what you want?" he asked softly and meaningfully.

Rose hooked her legs so that they intertwined with his and let herself be brought closer to the man she loved. She reached up and kissed his neck tenderly before replying; "Shut up, you silly sod."

After that, he obeyed her, and they performed together like a harmonic ritual, each finally giving into their own desires, their own passions and even their own fears.

For the first time in what was probably a very long time, the Doctor had learned to feel. And Rose Tyler, nineteen-year-old earth-child – with no A-levels and a dead-end job – had been the one to teach him.

End