Part Two

It continued that way for months. Usually he would visit us every week or so, although occasionally it was more often and once almost three weeks passed between visits.

But even though it had been months for us, who knew how long it had been for him? He could have been visiting us every day from his perspective, or years could have passed.

Of course I couldn't be 100% sure that any of it was actually happening, that he was really there mentally and it wasn't all just a figment of my imagination. It wasn't like he said, "By the way, Rose and other me, I'm here with you right now while you're having sex; please carry on with what you're doing while I watch and take part telepathically."

Although for all I knew at the time he had had that conversation with my Doctor without me being aware of it. After all, how would I know? But I tended to doubt it.

And of course it wasn't like he was there every time we were dancing. Despite not being married, we were still basically in our honeymoon period, usually having sex multiple times a day, unless of course there was an alien crisis we had to attend to. (Although after those, things got really interesting. Well, we did have to burn off all that adrenalin…)

But even though I hadn't talked about it with my Doctor, over time I became more and more convinced I was right. Not only were things slightly different sexually, but sometimes afterwards I noticed my Doctor rubbing his right hand. His fully Time Lord hand. Now that could have been a coincidence as well; occasionally he was quite… vigorous… in manually stimulating me. It could have just been cramping on him. But he had told me once that when he had been on the receiving end of telepathic contact with him, the nerve endings of his Time Lord hand would be irritated. Something about being a touch telepath and his hand acting as sort of a receiver for their link across universes. And the more the other was projecting, the more upset he was, the more his hand would hurt.

Oddly, he didn't seem to notice when he was kneading the muscles of his hand. Sometimes he did it in his sleep as well. Sometimes I'd wake up in the middle of the night only to hear him muttering in his sleep, rubbing his hand or cradling his arm as he tossed and turned. I could always get him to quiet by holding him or spooning him from behind. I didn't often ask him about his dreams, because he usually was evasive, telling me he didn't remember them when I knew he did. I couldn't call him on it though, because I was having a few bad dreams of my own and wasn't sharing them with him.

But that's another story entirely.

~oOo~

"Rose, Rose. Time to wake up."

He was sitting on the edge of the bed, gently shaking my shoulder. I groaned, barely conscious and not wanting to remain so. Last night had been long and difficult, trying to negotiate a peace treaty between the Leonine Rasakoths and the Canidine Rosikans, two longstanding enemies from adjacent planets on the far side of the galaxy. For some reason we didn't quite understand, they had decided Earth was the only suitable neutral territory for their negotiations, but instead of working through what Torchwood considered proper channels, their ambassadors got drunk in a dodgy pub and it came to blows.

My Doctor and I stepped in, barely avoiding thrown punches, and somehow arranged a treaty between them, using his language skills and my ability to flirt. Maybe his ability to flirt as well; I hadn't been quite clear on that since our drinking with them was one of the requirements of the treaty. Then we had been up even later burning off adrenalin, first in the storage cupboard in the pub, then in bed at home.

"Go 'way," I muttered crossly. " 'M tired. And hung over." I pulled whatever covers I could reach completely over my head.

"It's your own fault," he replied. "You shouldn't have had that shot of – " He said something that I couldn't understand, couldn't even hear all the syllables to, but I knew what he meant. One of the ambassadors, the one that resembled a lion I think, had pulled a bottle of some sort of fluorescent turquoise liquid out of his pocket and insisted we all take a swig. "Humans can't metabolize it properly."

I pulled the covers down off my face and glared at him. "I had to drink it. It was part of the treaty," I retorted, and then winced. "Besides, you drank it too. And got drunk."

"Still part Time Lord," he said smugly, and I wanted to hit him with something. As a part human, he could get drunk now, but as he was still part Time Lord, he didn't stay that way long. And had no hangovers. Sometimes I hated him.

I pulled the covers back over my head, and he pulled them off. He handed me a small orange pill and a full glass of water. The pill was a hangover remedy, developed by Torchwood and Doctor-improved. The only problem with it was it required an hour of sleep to work, so I usually avoided it. But I needed to be functional today so this time I took it. Afterwards, I dropped my head back down on my pillow.

"Go back to sleep," he urged, touching my temple lightly with his fingertips. "I'll shower first. Then by the time I'm done, you should feel better."

I began to drift off again, wondering vaguely if he had given me a telepathic suggestion to sleep. Again. If he keeps doing this, I'm gonna have to kill him, I thought, and then fell sound asleep.

When I awoke, the shower was off and I could hear him in the en suite. I was feeling much, much better and decidedly in the mood. Grinning with anticipation, I got up and joined him in the bathroom.

"Are you going to be in here all day?" I asked in mock-seriousness.

He turned to me, only to quickly glance away. Which was odd. Odd because I was wearing one of his favorite outfits, an off-white lacy vest and matching knickers, and he usually stared at me in it. And drooled.

"Just finishing up," he told me.

"I have to get ready, too, you know," I said, "and I haven't even showered yet. Although…" I gave him a cheeky grin and continued seductively, "You could join me."

"I've already showered," he answered, still not looking at me.

"So? It wouldn't be the first time you showered twice."

How dense could he be? I crossed over to him, rested my chin on his shoulder and gave him the look. The one that never, ever failed me. The one that made him always cave in to whatever I wanted. He had once laughingly called it my superpower, able to stop a Time Lord with a single glance, but I knew that there was a lot of truth to that. I didn't use it often—that wouldn't be fair to him and could potentially lessen its impact—but I thought that since what I wanted was what he always wanted, it would be fine to use it this time.

"You could scrub my back, and I could scrub yours. Not to mention anything else you wanted me to… scrub."

His reaction was weird. He looked down at the counter and began to put toothpaste on his toothbrush.

"Maybe later," he said.

Definitely weird. Not only had the look not worked, but he had turned me down. He had never turned down a blow job in the shower before. In fact, he had never turned down a blow job before.

"Alright," I said, both disappointed and puzzled. I began to pull off my top.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

"I'm gonna take a shower," I said slowly. Honestly, for a self-proclaimed genius, sometimes he could really be slow on the uptake.

"But I'm still in here," he said.

I stared at him. "So?" I began to pull off my top again, and he stopped me.

"Wait," he said quickly. "Before you do that, would you mind making us some tea? By the time you finish, I'll be done in here."

"Alright," I agreed grudgingly. "But you'd better be. I don't want to be late again because you couldn't decide what to do with your hair."

"Rose Tyler, we never were late because…" He turned back to me and realized I was teasing him. He rolled his eyes. "I'll be down in a minute."

I gave him a quick kiss and left, stopping in the bedroom to pull on a short dressing gown before heading to the kitchen. I was halfway down the stairs when I heard his voice. I stopped, trying to listen just in case he was calling me back, but I couldn't make out what he was saying. I inwardly shrugged. He talked to himself a lot; it was just as well, since he was the only person who could understand what he was talking about half the time.

I had just gotten down to the kitchen when he began to yell and then cry out in pain. I rushed back, calling out to him.

"Doctor? Doctor, are you alright?"

"Yes," he answered as soon as I appeared in the doorway. "Why do you ask?"

He gave me a wide grin that wouldn't fool anyone. "I heard you yell all the way from the kitchen," I said.

"Oh!" He shook his head. "That was nothing. Wasn't looking where I was going and hit my head on the door." He rubbed at a spot on the side of his head. "Just a bit startled by it is all."

"Didn't sound like you were just a bit startled. Let me see." I stood on my tiptoes while he bent down to let me look. "I don't see anything…"

"That's because I'm fine. Honestly. Absolutely fine."

I frowned. "Are you sure? That was an awfully loud yell."

"Rose. Really, completely, one hundred percent fit as a fiddle. Now why don't you head back downstairs and I'll meet you there just as soon as I've finished shaving."

"Alright, but don't be too long or the tea's gonna be cold."

Once back downstairs, I plugged in the kettle. As the water heated, I set the table and pulled out things for breakfast: fruit, muffins, sugar. The kettle began to boil, and I decided for a change of pace I'd actually make tea, not just use tea bags, since the Doctor had always liked it better that way. I warmed the tea pot and the mugs by filling them with hot water from the tap, dumped it out, then filled the pot with the water heated almost to boiling in the kettle, measured out the correct amount of tea leaves, and let it brew.

I had just about finished with everything and was pulling the milk jug out of the refrigerator when I heard him enter the room.

I turned and gave him a bright smile.

And he grinned back.

He crossed the room to stand at my side, took the milk out of my hands, and set it on the counter. He pulled me into a tight hug, and I hugged him back, closing my eyes and inhaling deeply his clean, Doctor-y smell, the smell I liked best in the universe. Any universe.

He buried his face in my hair. "I missed you," he whispered, so softly I almost didn't hear him.

And then I knew. This wasn't my Doctor. It was him.