Entr'acte: Forever

After the incident with the "not blue" bucket, the Doctor told Rose he'd take her somewhere quiet as an apology for yelling. She had laughed at him, saying that if she was owed a holiday for every time he yelled, they'd have to book rather a lot of leisure travel. The Doctor had just grinned cheekily at her before launching them into space and time.

Now, they stood on a rocky plain, watching flying creatures that looked like stingrays the size of cruise ships soar through an orange and golden sky, weaving through stone arcs like an ancient crumbling cathedral inhabited by giants.

"So what's this planet called, then?" Rose asked after her usual exclamations over the beauty of the scene stretching before her.

"Technically speaking, in doesn't have one," the Doctor said, gazing outward and upward. "Well, not in the traditional sense. Those creatures up there," he said, pointing up at the stingray-like beings, "are the only ones living on this planet, and they don't have a developed spoken language, per se. They communicate through those screeches you're hearing, but only the most rudimentary of ideas. I suppose if they were going to refer to the planet, they would say…" and here the Doctor let out a terrifying screeching noise, causing Rose to slap her hands over her ears and look at him with indignation. "Roughly translated, means 'down there,'" the Doctor continued as though nothing unusual had just happened.

Rose rolled her eyes and dropped her hands back to her sides. "You're a complete nutter, you know that?" she told him fondly.

"You love it," the Doctor answered with that toothy, boyish grin that made Rose's insides melt, a twinkle in his eye. She could never stop herself from returning that smile, with interest.

"I do," Rose answered. She couldn't help the softened tone of her voice; a tone that implied things that she still hadn't managed to say aloud. It was a tone that said it wasn't only his eccentricities that she loved. The Doctor's smile softened, and he held her gaze for a moment, eyes full of something Rose couldn't quite put a name to, before turning back outward, looking at the sky and not her face. He seemed to see and not see the glowing sky all at once. They were quiet for a time.

"How long are you going to stay with me?" the Doctor asked eventually, breaking the silence and glancing back over at Rose, hands in his pockets as they often were when he was trying to exude an air of casual indifference. Rose had long ago realized that this was part of a carefully crafted facade; a gesture designed to belie the seriousness of a situation.

With another soft smile, Rose answered him in the simplest, truest way she could:

"Forever."

That night, they made love slowly and gently, moving together with the grace of unbreaking waves undulating on the surface of a deep, fathomless sea. No words interrupted their gasps and sighs, but every movement was filled with promises and declarations. Each rock of their hips declared their devotion; each brush of lips against skin promised a thousand thousand more to come. Skin slid against skin, and every touch affirmed their love. They didn't speak the words, but they knew.