It isn't until he fails to fit the stator to the pump for the third time and nearly rage-hurls the whole project at the wall that the Doctor realises how hungry he is. Hangry, Rose would call it. She'd force him to stop working and eat if she were awake.

He rolls his shoulders, stretches his neck. Maybe he had better force himself, then. Make her happy.

Nearly eight a.m, a glance at the microwave clock tells him. So his last real meal had been what, nearly twenty-four hours ago? No wonder he feels so rubbish. Taking off his glasses, the Doctor rubs his eyes, then drags himself to his feet and goes to open the fridge.

Pete had promised to order groceries for them, so it's unsurprisingly well-stocked. Fresh produce and sausages and deli meat and milk, amongst loads of other things. He and Rose could hide out in this cottage a week and not run out.

Once again filled with gratitude for the man's thoughtfulness and generosity, the Doctor pulls out butter and milk and a carton of eggs, and finds bread and jam in a cabinet. After clicking on the electric kettle he sets to work, whisking four eggs in a bowl with a little milk, which he manages to do almost silently even though it's difficult. The last thing he wants is to wake Rose this early. They hadn't gotten in until after three.

Not that he'd tell her this, but in his mind, one of the main purposes of him hiding her away like this is so she can get as much rest as possible. He wants to see less bruising beneath her eyes, more colour in her cheeks. Her state of health worries him.

Yet his remarkable Rose has lost none of her spirit. She's as determined and strong as ever, still as full of fun. A smile comes to the Doctor's lips as he stirs the eggs, thinking about their evening prior, how often she'd laughed, how genuine and joyous it was. Even the tears she'd cried had seemed restorative. Like a purging of poison.

The Doctor feels restored too, even though he's physically depleted. He almost hates thinking about it though, admitting it, because it makes him feel guilty. Heartache is what he deserves, not happiness.

I can't help it, thinks the Doctor almost defensively as he knifes a gob of butter into the skillet. It's impossible to be with Rose and not be happy. At least not while she's looking at him with those soft, dark eyes like he's the only being in the universe who matters. Which is exactly how he feels about her. They belong together, star-crossed or not. It's inarguable. He and Rose...they're like the eggs he's just scrambled; once whole on their own, but now a single entity. What's mixed can never be unmixed.

Snorting at his own stupid simile, the Doctor tilts the hot pan back and forth so the butter will grease it evenly. What good will it do anyway, dwelling on things like that? Being happy, being with Rose, it's all as temporary as a dream. So says his giant, genius head.

His hearts, though– they're hoping. As confused as he'd been by some of what Rose had said yesterday, one point had struck him like an arrow. She intends to go with him when this is all over. Just thinking about the prospect sends him into a joyful delirium. It would be so, so easy to let her. To just usher her aboard and never tell her what he did. Let her rejoice in being rid of Victor, never knowing she'd only swapped him for Victorious.

The Doctor shakes his head. He won't do it. If by some miracle, Rose comes with him at the end of all this, she will be open-eyed and willing. Knowing exactly what sort of man he is.

What's more likely, though, is he'll have what he truly deserves.

The loss of her love.

The butter is brown, sizzling and smoky. He sniffs, blinking back the tears that have sprung to his eyes, and rushes to pour the liquified eggs into the pan. Some of it drips onto the glass stovetop so he grabs the dishcloth, hoping to wipe up the spill before it can burn on.

After rubbing at it for a few seconds, he jerks away with a gasp when he burns his finger. Shaking his hand to dull the pain, the Doctor looks down and swears. There's a hole charred into the dishcloth.

He's just moved the pan of eggs to a different burner, allowing the other to fully cool before he attempts to clean it further when a startled little scream comes from Rose's bedroom.

In one quick motion, he twists the knob off and flies to her, plastic spatula at the ready, and his hearts pound hard as he bursts into her bedroom. Rose is sitting up in bed, blankets clutched at her chin. A hasty glance around tells him the room is otherwise empty. "Rose, what's wrong?"

Eyes wide with horror, she points to a corner of the ceiling, near the closet.

His gaze follows the line of her finger. "What?"

"How do you not see it? It's huge!"

Eyebrows drawn, the Doctor goes and peers up into the corner. A brown cupboard spider sits there, minding its own business. He turns to Rose in disbelief. "This is why you screamed?"

"It's huge! And disgusting!"

The Doctor stares at her, and then, as the hilarity of the situation creeps up on him, begins to grin. "Blimey, it's a good thing you never met the Racnoss," he says. "Is it more disgusting than a Slitheen?"

"Yes!"

"Scarier than a werewolf?"

"Yes!"

"A Dalek?"

Rose nods vehemently. "Will you please stop having a laugh and just kill it?"

Pursing his lips, the Doctor swivels back to inspect the tiny creature. "Wellll–"

"Doctor, if you call that thing 'beautiful', I will take that spatula from your hand and beat you with it."

"Okay, blimey, no need to threaten violence. I'll get rid of the spider for you." He tosses her the spatula. "But I'm not gonna murder it. I'll put it outside where it belongs."

Stretching on his tiptoes to reach for the spider, the Doctor is just about to cup it into his hands when another shriek makes him jump. "What was that for?" he exclaims, spinning back to Rose. "You nearly gave me a hearts attack!"

"You were gonna touch it!"

The Doctor sighs, but he can't be annoyed when Rose looks so genuinely, adorably upset. "Look, maybe it would be best if you go elsewhere, yeah? Then we can adopt a 'don't ask, don't tell' policy regarding how I choose to relocate the spider?"

Carefully, Rose gets out of bed, and the sight of her is one he will cherish forever. Barefoot, in her alien-print jimjams and sleep-mussed hair, brandishing a red plastic spatula, her gaze is glued to the spider as she tiptoes across the room, as if she's afraid it might fly at her. Once she's halfway to the door she makes a dash for it, and the Doctor cannot resist reaching out to poke a finger into her lower back, shouting "boo!" as spiderishly as he can. He is rewarded with another shriek.

"I will kill you!" Rose screeches, as soon as she's safely out of the room.

By the time the Doctor joins her in the kitchen five minutes later, spider rehomed (and his hands thoroughly washed), he's only just stopped laughing about it. Rose is at the stove, busily cooking his eggs, and he smells bread toasting.

"Did it bite you?" she asks hopefully as she glances over her shoulder at him.

The Doctor shrugs, grinning. "Don't ask, don't tell, remember?"

"Okay, fine. Let's talk about what happened to this, instead." She waves the burnt dishcloth at him.

The Doctor shrugs again. "A minor mishap. Very, very, very minor."

Rose snickers. "Aren't you supposed to be a physics genius or something?"

"That hardly means I'll never spill anything."

"True, but it should mean that you would know to wet the cloth before wiping a hot stove. You know, since wet things don't burn as easily."

"Oh, Rose Tyler, don't you try to turn this around on me. Ruining a dishrag is far from the dumbest thing that's been done in this cottage this morning, and you know it."

A noncommittal hum from Rose as she divides the scrambled eggs onto two plates. Her ring finger is wonderfully bare. "Come get your breakfast, genius."

"Thanks, I think I will." The Doctor snags a piece of toast from the toaster and sits at the table, shoving bits and bobs from his project out of the way. Rose hands him his plate of eggs, then sits across from him.

"So what's this mess all about?" she asks, buttering her bread while he slathers his with jam. It's such a familiar, homey feeling, having breakfast with her, as comfortable as ever; it's like a balm for his wounds. How could he possibly give this up again?

He bites his toast, chews and swallows. "I'd got to thinking about what you said; that I should visit the Shadow Proclamation myself and report the Tesi invasion, and you know, it's really a good idea. It's what I'd do if I ran into a similar issue back home. So I'm trying to build an energy converter for the TARDIS, to hopefully make travel possible here."

"Really?" Rose's eyes sparkle; she's delighted he liked her idea. "So once you get that thing built, we can go back to the TARDIS and swan off into space?"

"Yep." He grins.

Reaching out curiously, Rose taps the flat black metal box he's using as the converter's housing. "Is this...it is. It's an Xbox." She shifts it sideways, then laughs out loud when she spots the Arctic Monkeys sticker on its side. "Oh my god, this is Mickey's Xbox!"

"Well, it's not like he was using it anymore, was he?"

"No, I was just thinking of how chuffed he'll be if you manage to save the world with it."

We'll have to be sure to tell him, then. The Doctor comes so close to saying it but bites the words back. He shovels a forkful of eggs into his mouth.

"So how's it coming along?"

"Oh, slow but steady, I suppose."

A comfortable silence falls as they concentrate on their breakfast. After a minute, the Doctor looks up from his toast to find Rose eyeing him. "What?"

"Nothing, just... I've barely ever seen you with so much stubble."

Oh, right. He'd forgotten. The Doctor fingers his rough chin self-consciously. "Yeah, I think it's been three days since I last shaved. I...well, when I landed here, I'd just come straight from another...predicament, didn't really have time to regroup. Anyway, when I showered earlier this morning, I got to thinking that keeping a bit of facial hair might be a good idea. The less I look like His Royal Highness, the better."

"Yeah, good point." She's still staring at him.

"I don't like it, it's itchy," he complains, scratching his cheek. "Does it look bad?"

"No, not at all," she replies quickly, and smiles. "I was just thinking, the jeans and jumper look you've got going, it's not really that different, is it?"

The Doctor looks down at himself. "But I did change my jumper. Look, it's a blue one."

"No, I meant...you used to always wear them. With the leather jacket, even. I've missed it."

"Oh, you're talking about my last self," he says, pointing at her with his toast. "Well, enjoy it while it lasts, Rose Tyler, if you're going to go all nostalgic on me. But I won't be cutting my hair like his. That's the line."

"I wouldn't let you if you tried." Rose sets her fork on her plate and picks up her yellow teacup. "So, have you had the telly on since I went to bed? Are all the news stations going crazy over my abduction?"

He glances at the clock. "Think I last checked about an hour ago, and still nothing. It's so odd."

"Ominous, more like. Or maybe I ought to be insulted?"

"Can you think of any reason why he wouldn't want your disappearance to be public knowledge?"

"Well, I dunno. Maybe he thinks it will make him seem weak. Or he might worry that if people find out the rebel groups have pulled off something big, they'll get more support?"

Thinking that over, the Doctor sips his own tea. "That makes a lot of sense, actually."

Rose opens her mouth, like she's about to say something, and then changes her mind.

"What? What is it?"

She shakes her head, lips pressed tight. "This probably doesn't have anything to do with it, but… last night, when we were having dinner, Victor suddenly started pushing for us to get married soon. It came up out of nowhere."

The Doctor's fist clenches around his fork. "How soon?"

"Saturday," says Rose, on a long exhale.

"Saturday? As in the day after tomorrow?"

"Yep. So I guess it's good you showed up when you did, yeah?"

He gulps another swallow of tea, trying to hide his inward panic. Why would his other self suddenly want to marry Rose in such haste? Could he possibly know the Doctor is back in this world, so he intends to permanently link himself to Rose before the Doctor can prevent it?

"It's not because he's so in love with me," Rose says, picking up on his disquiet. "That's not why. I mean, he says he's tired of living alone, and that once I'm Queen we can spend more time together since I'll be given higher clearance, which I know is actually the opposite of what he wants. That's why it's so weird. I can't make sense of it."

The Doctor nods, not knowing what to say. Of everything he's seen and heard since he came here, this is the thing that endlessly perplexes him. How can any person who even slightly resembles the Doctor not love Rose? He might suspect Rose to be wrong about his double's lack of interest in her if the evidence didn't say otherwise. The man neglects her, lies to her, hurts her. Puts himself first at every turn.

However... is he, the Doctor, really any better? He's lied to Rose, too. Abandoned her more than once. Made decisions for her, disregarded her feelings.

And what was it Rose said to him yesterday? She 'knew' he felt nothing but friendship for her? He's been so confused by that statement. Even before he regenerated, he was certain she knew he loved her madly. It was obvious, even to Daleks. Wasn't it?

"Doctor? You alright?"

The Doctor blinks, gathering his scattered thoughts. "Yes, sorry. What were you saying?"

"Just that I don't know why he even proposed in the first place. At the time, I assumed it was because he thought I expected it or something. But lately, I don't know what he's getting from our relationship."

The question bursts from him, beyond his control. "Rose, why are you so sure he doesn't have feelings for you?"

He watches Rose carefully, sees her lips thin, her jaw tighten. "I will give you a pass for that question since you haven't been around him recently. Having my parents not believe me about him was bad enough, but you…" She trails off, gazing down at her plate.

"Right, I'm sorry. It's just...it would be the simplest explanation."

"Doctor, he has made it very clear that he does not need me. He's got more important things to focus on."

Oh, that one stings. Has he made Rose believe that's how he feels about her too? The Doctor swirls his mug, staring down into the tiny whirlpool. "Ehm. It makes me wonder if your marriage might, somehow, play into finalising the treaty between earth and Tesilene? Maybe one of the terms is that the King take a wife first?"

"Well, Victor says the treaty was finalised not long after the invasion. He says it's the only reason humans have any freedoms at all. But he could be lying, I suppose."

"I certainly hope he's lying. The Shadow Proclamation won't help us if there's been no breach of galactic law." The Doctor sighs as he gets up from his chair. "I'm going to make some more toast, want a slice?"

"Nah, m'good." She swivels in her chair to watch him. "Doctor, even if earth agreed to the Tesi occupation, surely the Tesi have broken some law? Victor says they're like the mob. Thugs. They just take over by force. Isn't that a good enough reason for the Shadow Proclamation to get involved?"

After pushing down the button on the toaster, he leans against the benchtop and folds his arms. "Not if they're thugs who cross all their t's and dot the i's. But like you keep saying, he might be lying. I wish there was some way we could know for sure."

"Well," says Rose, getting up to bring her dishes to the sink, "Is there a way we can test them out? See if they respect certain intergalactic laws?"

The Doctor brightens. "Oh, I think so. If your dad is willing to help us with it. He gave me a mobile yesterday; said if we need anything, I should send a message to his secure email."

"Okay, you do that. I'm gonna take a quick shower." Rose smooths a hand over her untidy hair. "Not that staying in my pyjamas for the day doesn't sound appealing."

The Doctor wishes she would. She looks so tired. "It's too bad you woke up so early."

"I usually get up before five. Waking at eight is like sleeping in."

His toast pops up, and he turns to grab it. "Right, but we were up late. Five hours of sleep isn't nearly enough."

"More than I usually get," the Doctor hears her mumble. "See ya in a few."

When Rose emerges about forty minutes later, dressed in jeans and one of her old hoodies, he's waiting by the big windows in the lounge, having washed up their few breakfast dishes.

"Look at you, already pacing like a caged tiger," she comments. "Too bad we can't go outside for a bit."

"I think it would be safe enough to walk on the beach if you don't mind a bit of drizzle." The Doctor glances at her left hand from the corner of his eye, and though he's not expecting to see the ring, he still rejoices in its continued absence. "I was just out there and it's deserted. We need to discuss what to do about Victor. He's an even bigger problem than the Tesi."

"Sure, just let me put on my trainers."

The wind is gusty but not cold, catching at the brim of the Doctor's baseball cap as he and Rose descend the rough, grassy hill toward the beach. The sky is thick and grey above a greyer sea, the crash of waves slow and rhythmic. Today, he likes this better than turquoise water and dazzling light. It's soothing.

The two of them trudge along in silence for a bit, damp sand coating their shoes like brown sugar. Absently clutching the finger he'd burnt, the Doctor takes in the sights, all white-capped seas and rocky cliffs.

Of course, Rose notices this. "What happened to your hand?"

"What? Oh, it's nothing." The Doctor shoves his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket, less to hide his injury, more to avoid reaching for Rose's hand out of habit and longing.

"You got bit, didn't you? By the spider. I knew you would!"

The Doctor sniffs. "All part of the plan."

"Sorry?"

"Pretty sure my new spidey senses are developing as we speak."

He expects a laugh for that or at least a derisive snort, but Rose only gives him a look. "You already have spidey senses, you don't need more."

"I do?"

"Compared to humans, yes."

"Like what?"

"Seriously? You are always touting your superior biology. Can I decipher the chemical makeup of things by licking them?"

"No, but that's a normal Time Lord thing. I can't climb walls or shoot webs from a gland on my wrist, though, and now that, that would be brilliant."

"Oh yeah, I can just see you now, swinging through the air like a big, gangly spider."

"Why does that sound like an insult?"

"Although, it would be nice if you could, like, scale the outside of Torchwood Tower and just wrap Victor up in your web."

"See, now you're getting it. My backup plan."

Rose is laughing now. "Tony would approve. Spiderman's his favourite superhero."

"Oh, nice, I suspected Tony and I might have a lot in common. And which superhero do you like best?"

"Ooh, lemme think." The wind blows mightily and Rose leans into it, wrapping her arms around herself for warmth. "Captain America. Then Superman, the one played by Henry Cavill. Oh, and Thor. Definitely Thor."

"But Captain America's your number one?"

"Sure."

"Rose Tyler. Of all the superpowers to choose from, you'd be happy with nothing more than enhanced human abilities?"

"Oh, I'm supposed to be choosing which power I'd want? I was just ranking the blokes in order of hotness."

The Doctor heaves an enormous sigh, kicking at the pebbly sand.

"Alright," giggles Rose, "calm down, I'll answer your question. If I could have a superpower...I think I'd like to be able to read minds." She glances at him sidelong, obviously curious to see how he'll react.

"Really?" The Doctor keeps his voice casual but fists his hands in his pockets. It's not that he minds discussing telepathy, but it's always been a tricky topic to navigate with Rose– the one person with whom a mental link could be quite intimate. "Or are you just saying that to prove to me that I don't deserve any more superpowers because I already have the best one?"

"Nah, I've always thought it would be cool, ever since I was a kid."

"But when you say 'read minds', what you really mean is you'd like to eavesdrop on someone's thoughts without them being aware of it, right? Because I can't do that either."

"I know, you've told me. You need to have permission. Would still be pretty cool, though, even just having a conversation with somebody in your head, or lettin' them see a memory." Rose's eyes watch the waves lapping at the shoreline. "Though I suppose for you, doing that all the time would be sort of awkward, what with having to put your fingers on the other person's head."

"Actually, touch wasn't necessary for my people to telepathically communicate," he corrects, and then his footsteps falter as it hits him– shouldn't Rose know this? His other self had proposed marriage without explaining how a telepathic bond works?

Rose pauses too, looking up at him with interest. "Why do you call yourself a touch telepath, then?"

"Well, it's because I am- suppose I should've said touch wasn't always necessary. If you want to share a quick thought with a stranger, you need touch. Family member or close friend, it depends on what's being shared. Mundane things, touch was unnecessary, but if it was private," he clears his throat, "or intimate…"

"Touch could keep it from being overheard, or something?"

"Something like that, yeah."

Rose's hair blows into her face, and she tries to brush it away. "Do you always need to touch the temples?"

"No. I only need to do that with non-telepaths, actually."

Obvious disappointment crosses her face, and it makes his hearts beat faster. "Too bad. Although, if we could converse privately in our heads while holding hands, I suppose you would've mentioned that, yeah? Would've come in handy."

She doesn't know what it means, she doesn't know, he chants to himself in his head, but he's breathing harder than their stroll would warrant. But why doesn't she know? He can't take it, he has to ask. "Hasn't my other self -Victor- explained any of this?"

Rose frowns. "Why would he?"

The Doctor breathes through flared nostrils, wondering if he ought to enlighten her. Rose should know the truth about Gallifreyan marriage, about the absolute permanence of the tele-empathic bond. How she'd be as telepathic as she ever wished, no touch necessary.

Wait, what is he thinking? Rose isn't actually going to marry the Other. It's not like he needs to...well, warn her of what she's getting into.

He wants to tell her, he realises with a jolt of insight. He's suddenly eager to talk about this because he wants it with her himself.

What an idiot he is.

Swallowing the urge, he plods onward. "Don't know; just thought it might've come up. Anyway, speaking of Victor, I've been trying to decide how best to get him out of the way once the Tesi are evicted. No prison cell will hold him, Rose. Not even Torchwood's."

"Can't we just hand him over to the Judoon? Since we're gonna get them involved anyway?"

"No. He's too clever, and I need to be sure he'll never escape. Since he's a Time Lord, I'm responsible for him. I don't really have any choice but to take him with me."

"What?" Rose looks horrified. "You can't just live with him on the TARDIS."

"I wouldn't live with him," he assures her. "I'd put him in a stasis pod. That's what I meant to do with–" He cuts off, shaking his head.

"With the Master?" ventures Rose, gently. "Victor told me about him," she explains, when she sees his surprise. "He told me about the Year that Never Was; about why Martha left, lots of things."

"He told you about Donna, too," he remembers aloud, staring off into the distance. So Victor hadn't told Rose a thing about telepathic bonding, but had shared about his past hurts and emotional struggles? Why would he be so vulnerable with her if he wasn't seeking connection?

"Yeah. I'm sorry all of that happened, Doctor."

The Doctor nods.

"I hope it doesn't make you uncomfortable, that I know all that stuff. Victor shouldn't have told me."

He looks at her then. "It's all his to share, as much as mine."

"No." Rose's tone is steely. "It wasn't. He was...gossiping."

Unsure what to think of that, he says nothing, and for the next couple of minutes, only the sound of wind and waves and footsteps fill the air between them.

"Anyway, Victor," says Rose at last. "How are you planning to get him into that stasis pod, exactly? Take a run at him, wrestle him to the ground?"

The Doctor snorts. "I bet you'd love to see that."

"I would, yeah. I really, really would."

"I have some injectable anesthetics that work on Time Lords, back on the TARDIS. I was thinking I'd use one to knock him out."

Now it's Rose's turn to snort. "So basically, you are gonna wrestle him to the ground, then. Cos that's the only way that'd work."

"Well, do you have a better idea?" he asks, rolling his eyes.

"Yep. He trusts me. I'll have no problem getting close to him. So how about this- when we're ready, I go back to him, and pretend I escaped from my captors or something. It'd be as easy as anything for me to stab a needle in his bum."

A laugh bursts from the Doctor. "Oh my god, and that's reason number two why you will not be in charge of that. You don't anaesthetise someone by jabbing them in the bum."

"And what's reason number one?"

He sniffs. "Because it's too dangerous."

"Oh, don't you dare start with that." Rose glares at him. "I've been in danger loads of times, it's part of getting important things done. Victor trusts me, I have access to him, therefore I am the best person for this job."

The Doctor's jaw tightens. "I'll think about it." And he does mean it, though he still hates the idea of her taking such a risk. Rose is indeed very capable. "But if I'm not right there when he goes down, Pete's got to give me his word that I get the final say on what happens to him. He's more Time Lord of Gallifrey than he is human of earth; so, like I said, my responsibility."

"I think Pete will be happy to be rid of him," says Rose.

Thunder rumbles in the distance. The overcast skies have darkened, and the wind is picking up. "Time to turn back," the Doctor decides. "I could use a cuppa, anyway."

And Rose could use a rest, he thinks but doesn't say. Her nose is red, her steps decidedly less brisk than when they'd left.

They're nearly back to the cottage before it begins raining in earnest. With a laugh, Rose pulls her hood over her head, and they take off running, feet slipping in the sand. The landscape swells high before them, the grassy hill that leads to the cottage, and they've just crested it when Rose suddenly grabs his arm. "What in the world?"

Next to his motorbike, there's a car parked in the drive of their little white bungalow.

But before the Doctor can tug Rose back down the hill and out of sight, a hunched, white-haired old man emerges from the front door and spots them. From the shelter of the front porch, he waves cheerily.

Cautiously, the Doctor waves back, pulls his cap low over his eyes, and then reaches for Rose's hand.

"Ello!" the man shouts into the wind, and there's nothing to be done but go to him. "I'm Harold, the caretaker," he explains, as the Doctor and Rose come up the creaky wooden steps. "Sorry for the intrusion. Nobody answered when I knocked, see, so I just dropped your package on the kitchen table."

"Package?" the Doctor asks casually, keeping his face downturned as he wipes his sandy shoes on the mat.

"Yessir, it's the supplements your wife phoned for. Think it's a sleep aid or summat?" The old man scratches his wispy white hair as he looks at Rose, who still has her hood pulled up. "Didn't you ask me to pick them up for you?"

A sigh comes from Rose. "No, but I reckon my mum did," she says and gives Harold a polite smile. "Thank you."

"I'll just be on my way, then. Have a lovely day!"

As he makes his way down the steps and into his car, the Doctor and Rose each sit in a chair on the porch, beginning to pry off their sandy shoes. "Do you really think your mum would risk phoning up the caretaker of this place just to have him deliver a sleep aid for you?" he asks.

"I wish I could say no to that," replies Rose, setting her trainers on the mat to dry. "But she constantly nags me about taking them. It's been a point of contention between her and Victor actually, cos he claims they're terrible for me. Anyway, Mum probably figured I wouldn't have any along, what with being kidnapped and all."

"Was she correct?"

"Only had time to grab my mobile, remember?" she says, as he follows her into the warmth of the house. "And you made me toss that."

In the kitchen, Rose picks up the small box that's been left on the cluttered table. It's a brand the Doctor recognises. Not a natural supplement at all, but rather a medication, Diphenhydramine. Potentially addictive. No wonder his other self didn't like the stuff. "Do I need to mention this to Pete? Let him know he needs to keep an eye on your mother?"

"You can if you want, but I doubt she'll do it again." Yawning, Rose pads over to the sink and begins filling the electric kettle with water.

Still uneasy, he flips on a light and glances around the room. Not a thing is out of place. The Doctor takes off his baseball cap and runs his fingers through his hair, telling himself he's being paranoid. If his other self had indeed discovered them, this place would be swarming with Tesi soldiers right now. He wouldn't send an old man to drop off a sleep aid.

He watches Rose breeze about the kitchen, gathering things for their tea. She's stripped off her hoodie, now clad in just a tee and the jeans he packed, which she's been hiking up continuously because they're too big for her. Her face is pale and her nose is still red.

The Doctor goes to her, taking the carton of milk out of her hand. "Let me get our cuppas ready," he says. "Why don't you go see if there's something decent on telly?"

"Telly?" Rose raises an amused eyebrow. "It's half past eleven. Isn't there something more important we should be doing?"

"Yes, I've got to work on that energy converter, but it'll be less boring if you can find us a film to watch whilst I'm doing it, yeah? And to be honest" –the Doctor stretches his arms out– "I'm a bit knackered. Been a rough few days."

"And you get on my case for not getting enough sleep," Rose teases him, tapping his stocking-clad foot with her own.

Once their cuppas are ready, the Doctor carries them into the lounge. Rose is on the sofa, and she smiles as he leans over her shoulder to hand her a mug. "Not much on telly but game shows, I'm afraid," she informs him. The Chase is playing on the tv. "It's not exactly prime time."

The Doctor settles into a corner of the sofa and puts his feet on the coffee table. Aside from the glow of the television, the room is rather dark. Cozy, with the rain beating against the windows. "When's the last time you sat down to watch tv at this time of day?"

"Gosh, probably before I met you." Rose shifts to face him, tucking her legs beneath her, and his pulse races as her knees press against his outer thigh. This sofa is small. More of a loveseat, really.

Sipping his tea, he fixes his gaze on the television and manages to relax a little. "Oh, I almost forgot to say, but Pete messaged back," he tells her a few minutes later. "He's got a few agents on the case already, testing the Tesi. Ooh, I like that, testing the Tesi."

Rose chuckles into her mug. "You also forgot about your project. All the bits are still on the kitchen table."

"Oi, it'll keep. Can't a bloke take a break for a mo', enjoy his tea?" The Doctor shakes his head. "Slave driver," he mutters, jokingly.

Another giggle from Rose, and then they go quiet, watching the quiz show, though the Doctor would be hard-pressed to say who's winning. Every bit of his focus is devoted to Rose; her sweet scent, her soft breathing, the heat of her leg against his.

When her head comes to rest against his shoulder, his bliss reaches new heights. The next thing he knows, another episode is beginning and he's drained his mug. And he's so, so tempted to give in to the temptation to stay put for a bit longer.

But that would be foolish for so many reasons.

Apology on his lips, he glances at Rose, only to discover she's fast asleep, dark eyelashes fanned against her cheeks. The Doctor rescues her mug from her hands, which is still half-full and at a precarious tilt. Gingerly, he sets it on the side table and wonders how he ought to handle this development.

Well. He doesn't wonder, he knows he should get up, slide a pillow beneath Rose's head and let her sleep while he works in the other room. Problem is, what he ought to do is at complete odds with what he wants to do.

He gazes at her peaceful face, his stomach suddenly gone shaky. His longing for her is at war with his guilt. Rose falling asleep on him is nothing new, but it's been a long time since he's had the privilege.

His stricken conscience knows it's a privilege he doesn't deserve. Not anymore.

That settles him. Dropping his feet to the floor, the Doctor carefully shifts Rose's weight off him, leaving her head pillowed against the sofa's back. But before he can fully extricate himself she stirs, blindly reaches a hand out, and exhales when she finds him again. Her head lolls back onto his shoulder.

The Doctor squeezes his eyes shut. Now what? He badly wants Rose to get some sleep, but he can't let himself be her comfort object.

Understanding engulfs him in a warm rush. He's her comfort object. After so many months of terrible stress, Rose finally feels safe enough to let go, to let herself be vulnerable. This is a display of her trust in him.

It's hardly a new realisation, but it wallops him all the same. He might not deserve her, but he's determined to deserve her trust. The Doctor knows he'd die before he'd let anything harm Rose.

In his absence, she had been harmed. Her life with the Other has been to her emotional and physical detriment. He'd seen it the instant he'd first laid eyes on her again.

Fierce protectiveness nearly overwhelms him, and the Doctor slides his arm behind Rose, cradling her against him comfortably as he props his feet back up on the coffee table. When he's done, it feels right. It won't hurt anything if he stays with her for a bit. After all that she's been through, Rose deserves a little bit of support and care.

Besides, if he's distant and standoffish, isn't he essentially lying about how he feels? Manipulating her by withholding essential information?

The Doctor sits with that one a bit. It stays solid.

If Rose doesn't go with him at the end of all this, it won't be because he's made her think he doesn't want her. Unlike his idiot double who somehow made her feel unwanted even after a marriage proposal.

It might not help his case either, but the Doctor feels determined to be honest. This time, Rose will make her own, fully informed decision. Even if it costs him everything.

"I have accomplished the task you assigned me, Your Highness," says Ghareem's flickering image, his deep voice as clear as if he were in the room with Victor. Tesi holographic technology was rather pitiful when compared to what the Time Lords had developed, but god, he'd take it any day over the earth's horrible video chat.

"Where did you hide the listening devices?"

"One is adhered beneath a kitchen cabinet. Another, within a potted plant near the sofa. I did not have time to place any in the bedrooms, unfortunately. Your betrothed returned sooner than expected."

Victor nearly chokes. "They saw you?"

"Do not be alarmed, my Lord, your perception device did its job properly. I even remembered to curve my back to appear smaller, as you suggested." Ghareem puffs his broad chest out proudly. "They believed me to be a feeble, aged human."

"Good, good. And it's fine about the bedrooms." They won't spend much time in either of those anyway, Victor thinks with a smirk.

"Sir?" Ghareem's hologram fidgets. "There is only one person holding her captive. It was a tall but thin man, built very like you. I sincerely believe no forces would need to be brought in to apprehend him. He is small. I could easily take him down myself and return Rose to you."

Victor sighs. He knew this issue would come up if Ghareem laid eyes on the Doctor. "I'm certain you could, Ghareem. But…" Putting a hand to his face, he feigns distress. "What I am about to say is private. Understand?"

"Of course, your majesty."

"I can't have you return Rose to me yet because...well, her loyalty is in question."

"Sir?" Ghareem is shocked.

"I fear she may be in love with another man. That man, the one she is with. I need to discover the truth."

Ghareem's blue eyes fill with sadness. "So that is why…but Miss Rose loves you. I am certain." Victor tries hard not to roll his eyes, unsurprised by this blind loyalty. The Tesi commander has never been able to see a single fault in Rose.

"You're probably right, but, well, perhaps you can give me a bit of insight? Were they, by chance...holding hands?"

At first, Ghareem stiffens, but then he says calmly, "Yes, but that may have been her captor preventing her escape."

"I hope you're right. Either way, I will soon know it all. Hold your post, Ghareem. I will contact you if I am in need of your services."

"Please, sir, wait." Ghareem stays Victor with a hand wave before he can ring off. "I'd like to request the use of the royal air cruiser. From this human cottage, I can see nor hear anything of Rose and her captor. It is a primitive hut, lacking the technology I am accustomed to. Surely I can do far more to help you if-"

"Why aren't you staying on your personal ship?"

"It has no cloaking, sir," replies Ghareem, and is there a bit of impatience in his voice? "I did mention-"

"Ah, right. Well, I'm sorry for you, but I can't spare the cruiser just now. Besides, you can stay in your ship once the sun's gone down, can't you? Just keep the lights off."

"After dark the ship's lights are automatic. It's an essential safety feature."

"Right, of course. Sorry. Guess you'll have to stay in the hut."

Holo-Ghareem mutters something Victor does not quite catch. Then he bows and disappears.

Relaxing back in his chair, Victor grins and tugs down his cuffs at his wrists. So far, so good. Ghareem might not have as steely a backbone as Omara, but the man isn't stupid. Victor can't risk him having eyes or ears on the Doctor and Rose, lest he overhear something that unravels Victor's story.

A chuckle escapes him, almost startlingly loud in his massive, empty office. How easily Ghareem had bought his yarn about testing Rose's loyalty. Well, there were elements of truth to it.

It had also been laughably easy to find the Doctor. The Tesi network of cameras and sensors stretched planetwide and if it was difficult to avert their facial recognition, averting the DNA scans was impossible- provided one had a blood sample.

One prick to his own finger had led him straight to his 'brother.' Holed-up in some cottage in Cornwall.

And he had Rose.

Having that particular suspicion confirmed had brought Victor nothing but satisfaction. The Doctor should have Rose, so he can experience the bitter agony of losing her again. Victor will get to see this, guaranteed. Because even if the Doctor gets his head out of his own backside and confesses his feelings to Rose, perhaps even forming a link with her before Victor gets a chance to, well, he'll just kill her.

That would be the less enjoyable option, though. Especially since he'd like Rose to live in agony too, now that she's betrayed him. Not that he ever bought her claims of loyalty. He's always known that if she got the chance, she'd go running back to the other Time Lord, the superior Time Lord, with no humanity coiled in his DNA.

Victor frowns as he mulls over her recent actions. Even after discovering Rose was with the Doctor, he had rather expected her to contact him, not wanting him to worry. So ridiculously compassionate, she was. The fact that she hasn't makes him wonder. Either the Doctor has realised who Victor truly is, and has convinced her...or, Rose somehow knew the truth all along and has been lying to him.

A flash of heat goes through him at the thought, and he can't tell if it's anger or attraction. Much as he would hate to have been outsmarted, however briefly, by a creature so beneath him, it makes the thought of winning her even more appealing.

Maybe being bonded to her won't be as boring as he thought.

Victor opens a window on his computer and clicks a button with the mouse. The speakers crackle, and he smirks as Rose's voice wafts out. "Gosh, probably before I met you."

In the background there's music, noise from some television show. How stupid is that? The Doctor is undoubtedly here to drive the Tesi away and usurp Victor's rulership, and he's wasting his time watching television?

"Pete messaged back," says a voice exactly like his own. "He's got a few agents on the case, testing the Tesi. Ooh, I like that. Testing the Tesi."

This time, the heat that pumps through Victor's veins is definitely anger. Of course he'd suspected as much, but having proof that Pete Tyler has betrayed him too...ugh. He dreads to think of all the negative emotions Rose will dump on him when he has the man executed. Just the thought of it makes him see red, and he truly hopes that Jackie isn't in on the little scheme too. Punishing her might really be more trouble than it's worth.

But no, Jackie loves him. She's too stupid to see through his veneer.

Nothing else important comes through the speakers immediately, so Victor turns down the volume and makes sure the computer is recording everything. He'll go through it later. For now, he's got things to do.

As he heads for Torchwood Tower's lift, Victor whistles a merry little tune. It's brilliant, feeling all this anticipation. How might the Doctor react, once he realises his return has done nothing but pave the way for Victor to achieve all his goals in one fell swoop?

He hits the button for the lobby and rubs his hands together, just for the fun of pretending he's a gleeful villain. All this time he'd thought himself stuck, nothing to do but rule this miserable planet for the next few years until he finally had his TARDIS, his escape. And now, there's a fully grown, mature one, just sitting on the street, his for the taking.

Ready to take him everywhere and everywhen, to worlds and peoples who've been waiting for him, the bringer of a better life.

Oh, what a beautiful universe this is. Already knowing him, acknowledging him as the victor. So eager to bow to his will.