Mum is well and healthy and returned home from hospital Monday. Here's what I've had a chance to write recently. As I am both working full-time and attending graduate school full-time, I can't write or post as often as I'd like, but trust me when I say I want to and I will do my best.

Disclaimer: I don't own anything, CE is handcuffed to my bed, etc etc.

Now it was Rose Tyler's turn to break his heart. He'd been working up to it for days, returning to his ship while she was at work, always, always home before she got home from work.

He spent his days running his calculations, figuring out not only the best path of action, but that tickling voice in the back of his head kept telling him to tell her…but he never could.

One day he'd spent nearly all of his time in his ship working up ways to tell her, envisioning the hurt and betrayal in her expressive molten eyes.

Of course, he'd chickened out. He always chickened out.

Tough Jack Harkness, former Time Agent and conman-turned-good guy. He'd been through the final battle of the Time War and apparently lived to tell about it.

And he couldn't even be honest with one small girl.

Until, one not so special day, he was out of time. There was nothing else he could do. Any calculations, any numbers he ran, any maps he read now only served as a means of procrastination.

Christmas was three days away. Part of him, the majority of him, wanted to stay with her and her family through the holiday. Her mother had invited him, albeit warily, as if he was going to scoop her off and take her planet-skipping again.

When he'd gotten home that night, and shrugged out of his denim jacket, hanging it over the rack by the door, a strange sound greeted him. A weird thump twinged his heart and he walked hurriedly into the kitchen.

The sight that greeted him surprised him, because the strange smells that usually wafted out of her kitchen didn't accompany the sight. When she turned, spun on her heel, he literally felt his heart stop.

A huge grin crossed her thin face as she greeted him hello.

Oh no, Jack thought. Oh no…

Why now?

Why had Rose, his Rose, decided to come back?

Captain Jack Harkness contemplated many things after his escape from Rose's flat. He walked around the city, aimlessly, thoughts bouncing against the inside of his brain in their reckless attempts to get out and breathe.

Why had she returned on the day he'd finally gathered the courage to tell her he was leaving? One of those wide-lipped smiles of hers, ones he hadn't even realized he'd missed until he saw it, one of those that lit up her entire face had broken his resolve and he was once again a messy puddle of uncertain goo.

But, he thought, it wasn't to say she hadn't been there the entire time he had—he just hadn't liked that one very much.

It never occurred to him he was being selfish.

He trudged up the stairs to her flat, frowning as he stopped outside the wooden door, hand on the knob.

Rose Tyler, Version 1.0, was back and in fullforce, if he could tell anything from the off-key, ear-splitting racket leaking through the door.

He dug his key from the pocket of his denim jacket and opened the door. It looked like a Christmas elf had puked.

Decorations hung everywhere: paper snowflakes, tinsel, garland, Christmas lights—everywhere. It hurt his eyes.

Rose was dancing through the room, singing along with Burl Ives about having a holly, jolly Christmas, fighting gravity to tack up a shimmering strand of purple garland.

Her chocolate-colored hair shined in the twinkling lights, bouncing around the shoulders of her bright red hoodie.

Thankfully, when she turned and screamed upon catching sight of him quietly watching her, Mr. Ives was able to drown her out, preventing any of her neighbors from running to her rescue.

Not that they would have anyway.

He listened calmly as she worked her way through a tirade before he spoke up.

The ache in his chest spread as she chattered on, heading into the kitchen to fix him a cup of tea. As much as he loved to see her so happy, it made his heart ache to know what his leaving might do to her.

Oh, he wouldn't fool himself that losing him would cause her to fall so far as the Doctor had, but he knew on the precarious ledge of happiness she now walked upon, the slightest push would send her tumbling back into a deep pit of despair.

After she handed him the steaming mug of tea, he retreated quietly to his room.

He felt every year of his age at this moment, weighing him down with every step. Cracking the door, he left the light off and he sat on the edge of the bed, listening to her cheerful voice.

He would have to approach it carefully, he knew. He set his mug on the night table and untied his boots, toeing them off and kicking them toward the corner. Shutting his bedroom door quietly and stripping off the rest of his clothes, making his way toward his bathroom. Turning on the water as hot as he could stand it, he stepped under the spray.

There was no way he could be cocky about it, not if he hoped to maintain some sort of relationship with her in the future.

If there was a future, he amended.

He could royally fuck up Earth's plans of continued existence if he didn't pay attention.

Stepping out of the shower and toweling off, he listened with half an ear as she bounced around the flat, mentally building his plans for his departure.

In all likelihood, he'd stay until the day after Christmas…just in case.

The idea was sketchy at best. Part Two, Operation: Find the Doctor hinged entirely on Part One, Operation: Find the TARDIS.

The few details he'd managed to scrape from Rose's raw, bleeding soul were 1) the TARDIS had left London and 2) She hadn't faded mechanically; as Rose put it, the TARDIS had been forgotten—or unnoticed, as who would forget the TARDIS once you'd seen inside?—and ceased to exist, as the Doctor had predicted.

But there had to be somewhere she still existed. Somewhere. It hadn't been long enough for something so heavily material to disintegrate. So she was in the ether, and Jack was pretty sure he'd figured out a way to find her. He frowned.

Or destroy her.

Or his ship.

And him, too, as he thought of it. He put his head in his hands, the biggest decision in his life was looming before him.

Fuck.

This was how Rose found him.

His black hair was glistening in the dim light, drops of water still beaded on his wide shoulders, the weight of the world—several worlds, she amended—causing those gorgeous shoulders to droop.

"What is it?"

His head shot up. The look in his eyes was so intense she swore she could feel her skin melt. He blinked and the heat was replaced with sorrow. She sat gingerly on the edge of the bed next to him and remained silent.

A moment later, his chest heaved with a huge sigh and he straightened, reaching over to take her hand.

"What is it, Jack?" She bit her lip. "You can tell me."

"Nothing, I—" he paused, looking away and she frowned. "Was just thinking about our last Christmas together." Rose felt the wave of sadness crash over him and swamp her. Taking a deep breath, she replied,

"That was the last time I decorated. Or even thought of it."

"You've been so sad, haven't you?" Jack murmured. He looked down at her hand, tracing his fingers over hers.

"Empty, more like. You ever hear that phrase, 'you don't realize what you got 'til it's gone'?"

"Corny, but true?"

"I didn't realize I loved him until he took that choice away from me. Maybe that makes me stupid—"

"It doesn't. I could tell he loved you the first moment I saw him with you." She nudged his shoulder with hers.

"Coulda told me," she said softly.

"I loved you, too." Rose's heart broke a little more. "I still love you."

"I still love you, too, Jack." He let go of her hand and his hand slid around her waist and across her back to land on the bed behind her, palm down. She leaned her head against his shoulder and sighed.

"But you don't love me the way you love him," Jack prompted.

"No. I'm sorry. No."

"Honestly, didn't expect different." She still detected a sour note in his deep voice. He leaned over and kissed her temple.

"Jack?" She asked, unable to keep the hesitant note from creeping into her voice. He was silent for a moment before he answered.

"Yeah, Rose?"

"How did you survive? Did you get away?"

"The last thing I remember," he started slowly, "is hearing a Dalek say 'exterminate'—I felt this…this…ripping feeling. Like someone had reached inside, grabbed my guts and yanked them out. Then I remember waking up…you know how you feel when you have a chest cold? That sharp, relentless pressure?" She nodded mutely, keeping her eyes on his face, but he wouldn't meet her gaze. "That's how my chest felt I'll never forget it."

What about the Doctor, her mind screamed, tears clawing their way out.

"I got up—there were no Daleks, no people. You and the TARDIS were gone. And so was the Doctor."

His cheek rested against the top of her head. He didn't mentioned, didn't want to mention that he'd spent nearly two days sifting through dust, bodies and debris looking for the two of them, for shards of wood and mechanical bits, looking for the TARDIS—

"How did you get off?" He cleaned his throat and straightened a little, but she leaned closer, unconsciously seeking warmth.

"It was just a matter of setting off an emergency beacon and waiting for a ship to come out to inspect. Hitched a ride back to Earth, procured a ship and went home."

"Home?"

"My home. My flat. First time back in nearly a year. Then I started working on finding both of you."

"You found me," Rose said, a small smile on her face.

"I did. I'm glad." He kissed her cheek lightly and she leaned into it a little. She turned her head and his lips came down gently on hers. She broke away, looking up at him.

"Jack…" His hand came up to cup her cheek.

"Shh…" And he kissed her again.