Conversation #4

Rose was sure that part of him wanted to scream. He was handling it well, though, gazing intently at the little square of paper and tapping his biro against the table. She had seen him there half an hour ago, chin in hand, and here he still was, staring at the thing like it held the secrets of the universe. Or like he watching his doom. She had resisted ruffling his hair this long, but finally, on her fourth pass round the table, she gave in and combed his fluffy brown hair with her fingers.

"What is it?" she asked, unable to contain her curiosity any longer. She bent down to murmur into his ear. "Are you going to marry it? Kill it? Poke it and see if it moves?"

"It's a badge," he said solemnly. "Like you have. With your name and things."

She straightened up and peered over his head. So it was, a Torchwood badge like the rest of them had clipped to their jackets. "What, for you?" That was a strange thought, the Doctor with a pass. She had the feeling he didn't believe in them.

He nodded and sighed. "They wouldn't let me in to see you." His voice was barely a whisper.

So that was the reason he was contemplating the badge. She had been unconscious during the episode that had hurt him so deeply, stuck in a hospital bed with a minor concussion. When she had awakened, he was there, clutching her hand, but his eyes were red-rimmed.

"What's the matter?" she asked groggily. "I feel fine, really I do. Just a bit…" She raised her free hand and gingerly probed the back of her skull. "Ow. A bit sore. Ask me how many fingers you're holding up. Go on, I know I'll get it right." Her smile faded under the anguished look on his face.

"They wouldn't let me in," he said hoarsely. "The nurses and the guards… I didn't have any identification, they said. So I couldn't come in." He dropped his head to rest beside their joined hands. "I had to wait for Cordelia to arrive. She let me in, and you were still asleep, but…"

"Hush," she said quietly. "You're here now. My Doctor." He glanced up, and she smiled. With her free hand, she wiped the lingering dampness from his cheeks and drew him close.

She dropped a kiss on his temple. "So what're you going to be, then? 'The Doctor'?" Her lips twitched in a smile. "I'd like to see that. 'The Doctor – Torchwood.'"

"Nah, that might not go over well at the hospital. Might be a little confusing." She was glad to hear a touch of lightness in his voice again. "Probably go with 'John Smith'. It's the name I use when you humans demand something with a surname."

She laughed. "It's so generic, though, isn't it? Bit bland. John Smith. Bet there are thousands of those running around London."

He turned to look up at her with a wounded look on his face. "Oi, watch it! I happen to like that name."

She giggled. "Better than 'Ford Prefect,' I suppose, as far as alien names go. Go on then, Mr. Smith, I…" Her voice faded as a horrifying thought struck her. The blood drained from her face.

"Rose, what's wrong?" He peered closely at her.

She grabbed the top of his chair for support. "Doctor, you know what that means, don't you?"

He looked at her blankly.

"Well, you know how Mum's always hinting around about… making things official…. you know?"

He nodded slowly, still not catching her meaning. She swallowed and took a deep breath. "And it's traditional, er, for women to… when they make things official, if they want to…"

His eyes popped. "Oh right, I hadn't quite… oh you're right."

"Mrs. Smith," she breathed. "Oh God. He was a good bloke, and Mum quite liked him after she realized he hadn't murdered me, but…" She shook her head.

They were silent for a moment, lost in contemplation. "Well," the Doctor finally said, "Do you want to? Make it official, I mean?"

She stared. "Er. Dunno."

He frowned. "What do you mean, you don't know?" He looked so confused that Rose had to laugh.

"We're a bit rubbish at this, aren't we?" She grinned. "That might be the worst proposal ever, Doctor. Course I want to. I mean… but you need paperwork, and I know how you feel about forms. It'd be more than just a badge." She pulled a nearby chair over and sat down as close to him as she could. Leaning in close, she stroked his cheek with her thumb. "What I mean is, I don't need any of that. We don't need any of that. It's all Mum's daft idea, anyway. She just wants to see me in a froofy gown."

He smiled. "I wouldn't mind seeing you in a froofy gown myself."

Rose's grin turned wicked. "Bet you'd be more interested in the taking-off part, after. Imagine it. We could take a whole month and do nothing but shag until we dropped dead of exhaustion." Her fingers danced around his collar, plucking at his top button.

Abruptly, he stood and tugged her up beside him. "Dunno about a month," he declared, glancing at his watch. Without a further word of warning, he wrapped one arm around her back, bent down, and swept her into his arms. "We got thirteen hours until the morning shift. Do you wager we could drop dead of exhaustion in thirteen hours?"

Rose giggled. "Only one way to find out." Skinny as he was, the Doctor had a surprising, wiry strength. She'd been treated to this before.

"As you command, Mrs. Smith."

She swatted him. "Clark! How about 'Clark'? Or 'Baker'?"

"I rather like the sound of 'Smith'. Good morning, Mrs. Smith. Lovely day, isn't it? Why yes, Mrs. Smith, I'd love a bit of toast."

She kicked futilely. "Watch it, mister, I'll give you a bit of toast!"

"Oooh, is that what they're calling it these days?"

He deposited her unceremoniously on the bed, but after he went to shut the bedroom door, he turned to find her standing behind him with a gleeful look in her eyes and one of his ties in her hands. "Now then," she purred, "I believe we were… negotiating?"