A.N. This chapter is a little bit shorter than normal but that's because the entire section was a little bit too glaringly huge for one chapter so I broke it up into two. Second half coming next week!

When Rose was finally capable of wiping the tears from her eyes and had settled down her laughter, she found the Doctor staring moodily into the fire. The taut line of his shoulders, and the jutting of his jaw told Rose that she needed to soothe his badly ruffled ego.

Unfolding herself from the comfy armchair, Rose crept up behind him. Had it just been the two of them, like it once was, Rose would have wrapped her arms around his waist and pressed her cheek against his back. But things weren't like that anymore and she really didn't think River would appreciate it.

So instead, Rose went with their time honored tradition. She slipped her hand in with his and squeezed. "I like your wife," she said teasingly.

The Doctor huffed in reply, his shoulders jerking forward then back.

"And the pair of you managed to cleanly avoid all that domestic nonsense." She swung their hands back and forth.

He leaned into her side. "I did the washing up, you know, put the mugs back where I thought they should go, not that ridiculous cabinet you choose that's too tall for you by far."

Rose's eyes twinkled, but she held back her laugh. "How very mature of you."

"Knew you'd think so."

"Did River aid in the development of said maturity?"

There was another huff. "Mrs. Robinson."

Rose lifted an eyebrow but decided that it was probably in her best interest if she didn't ask. Besides, after stepping all over River's personal life, she felt it was high time to tread on someone else's.

"I'm worried about you," she said quietly, her eyes on the fire, the way it danced as it destroyed.

"Me?" The Doctor jerked back a step to look down at her, the fire serving as a backlight, framing his features in shadows. As the fire burned, the shadows leapt across the contours of the Doctor's face, highlighting him in a far more sinister nature than Rose had ever envisioned him looking.

"Yes, you."

"But – but – why? Rose, I don't quite – Is this about Bad Wolf?" He stuttered his way through conclusions, discarding each as highly improbably. What could Rose possibly have to be worried over him for? She was the one with an unidentified energy source burning through her –

"It's about the story of River Song," Rose started, her hand squeezing his once before falling away to her side.

"River?" The Doctor's barely-there eyebrows shot upwards before an alarmingly look of smug understanding lit his eyes.

Rose did not like that look. Rose did not trust that look. Rose was completely right about what that look meant.

"Now, Rose. You've been living in Pete's World with Handsy and it's been two hundred years on my end so of course -"

Before this smugness could find any new ways to make Rose want to pull out her hair, she slapped her hand over the Doctor's mouth. His words continued to come, muffled by the barrier and sounding a lot like smug mumbles, but Rose was having none of it.

"River is an absolutely lovely woman who is both brilliant and incredible. I am not jealous of her – well, any more than would be natural. But!" She pressed her hand harder against his lips, her face bearing up on his, the Doctor's eyes almost comically wide now that some of the smugness had been removed.

"But that is not at all what I am talking about. I am talking about the story of River Song. Of how it is at all possible that you didn't tell Amy she was: a, quite probably not the real Amy, and b, quite probably pregnant! Doctor, what were you thinking?"

Rose waited a moment before removing her hand, warning with her eyes that this was a serious question and not the time for Timey-Wimey-ness. Oh, yes, she'd heard of that phrase from Ten and a Half and while she definitely delighted in it, now was not the time.

"Rose," the Doctor said slowly, his hands coming up to run over each other and gesture outwardly from his body. "She would have been scared, confused."

A hiked eyebrow was her only reply.

"I needed to protect her, Rose, I needed to find a way to save her before I told her what was going on."

This earned a narrowed gaze bordering on a glare and the Doctor felt this didn't particularly bode well. They had been doing so well! With him impressing her with the dish washing and now they were talk about . . . about things he didn't like talking about.

"You don't seriously think, Doctor, that Amy would have been worse off knowing the truth? That it mightn't have helped her figure out her own rescue?"

"Rose!" The Doctor shook his head, both hands coming forward in a gesture of pleading. "I let her get taken, Rose. I let that happen. I had to fix it."

"Doctor," she sighed, one hand raising to take his, then just hovering the space between them because he wasn't her Doctor and it really shouldn't have been her comforting him, it should have been River.

The Doctor saw her uncertainty and hurried to connect their palms, weave their fingers together, draw her closer with a simple tug of his wrist. "You understand, don't you, Rose? That I had to be the one to figure it out?"

He was pleading with her. If she hadn't known him so well, she might not have realized it, but she did know him. He was looking at her with infinitely sad eyes, with a slight pressure on her hand, willing her to say it was okay, that what he had done was okay. But it wasn't.

"Doctor, you don't always have to save us, you know? We, your companions, we've been known to get ourselves out of a tough spot once or twice."

"Yes, of course, Rose," he agreed quickly, but it sounded a lot more like placating.

Maybe now wasn't the time to get into this. Maybe he would understand her better if she had her Doctor explain it to him, remind him of the way he should treat his companions. Maybe she would be able to handle this better when he was here with her, safe, sound, picking apart this new Doctor just to make sure Rose didn't like him too much.

So, taking a breath, Rose asked, "Why would you come here?"

Her question startled the Doctor. He lowered his face so they were eye to eye, a habit none of his former selves had, as if this Doctor felt it was imperative to see exactly what the other person saw. "I came to help you, Rose. I'm worried about you. Bad Wolf . . . it shouldn't still be here."

The corner of her mouth quirked down. "Funny, I'm worried about you too. Both of you. But that wasn't what I meant."

The Doctor waved this away with a jerky movement that was so natural for this body. "What did I say about Bad Wolf? What did I tell you?" He was more than happy to switch topics. That's what was so great about Rose, she knew when to push and when to back off. If only he could get River to do the same thing, to not grate at him until he snapped at her, he was sure they would both prefer it.

Rose swung their hands again before tugging him after her toward the corner of the room, away from the sparking warmth of the fireplace.

It had taken months before the TARDIS was properly ready to fly, but the TARDIS had been ready to arrange itself before then. So, during the downtime, the Doctor and Rose had decorated each room, as it appeared, with the TARDIS's help. The corner Rose led him to harbored two sets of bean bags, one blue, one pink, just like the arm chairs.

The Doctor grinned. "Bean bags? I love a bean bag!" Releasing Rose's hand, he plopped himself readily down on the blue one.

"Glad you approve." Rose smiled, her tongue caught between her teeth. She sat down with less enthusiasm than his plop, a simple fall backward that landed her squarely in the center of her bean bag.

Across from one another, the Doctor fixed her with his grim face of determination so she would know he was serious. Rose had the audacity to laugh. "You look like you just ate a pear!"

He grimaced. "That is not something to joke about, Rose!"

"Well," she giggled, pointing to his features, "you do."

The Doctor raked a hand through his hair. "Rose, I'm trying to be serious, why is Bad Wolf still with you?"