I'm still alive!

This chapter is dedicated to whotookmycheese, who asked if we might get some insight from Rose concerning why she took to James so easily and trusted him so quickly.

**Side note: James McCrimmon is not the name is usually use when writing the human Doctor. I usually use John Smith or John Noble, which is why I'm sure a few of you have spotted discrepancies in his name. Once the story is done, I'll go through each of the chapters to make sure I'm using the right name, but I just don't have the time right now. But, so we're all on the same page - this is not a story in which the Doctor has had to use the Chameleon Arc. This is literally the Doctor as a human man.

Onwards!

He was here.

Rose felt tears gather in her eyes and her lips pulled into a tired smile when she looked at the man sleeping next to her on the small cot. She'd missed him desperately over the past few days – they hadn't known each other long – just a little over two weeks, but going several days without speaking to him had been more of a challenge than she'd anticipated.

Absence makes the heart grow fonder, she thought bitterly as she shuffled closer to him, draping one heavily bandaged arm across his torso. In his sleep, his arms snaked around her waist and her pulled her tight against him, making her smile again. She'd noticed he was a very cuddly sleeper, which was exactly what she'd expected from him but still made her lips tug upwards.

She wondered if he'd missed her as much she'd missed him. She inhaled his familiar smell, basking in the familiarity of his embrace, and wondered if he could feel the strange connection she felt with him. She was relatively sure he did – he seemed to seek out her company as actively as she sought his, and the way he looked at her sometimes…he made her feel like the only person in the world.

No one had ever looked at her quite like James did.

Since her emotionally abusive and destructive relationship with Jimmy Stone, Rose had essentially given up on relationships, though she'd never said as much. She'd buried herself in her work, which she loved, and climbed the ranks of Torchwood faster than anyone else, a testimony to her dedication and love for the job. At twenty-three, Rose had been the youngest captain on record, and now, at twenty-five, she took great pride in her title of Major Rose Tyler. She'd been absolutely content with her life – she had many friends at work, like Jack and Mickey – and was close with her parents, Jackie and Pete. She had a good life, a job she loved, a close-knit family…she didn't need a boyfriend.

Enter James.

Rose had never met anyone like James McCrimmon before in her life. The man seemed to take everything at a run, ready to jump into any situation, regardless of the risks or consequences. He was a man who didn't know how to tell a particularly pushy woman that he wasn't interested, who seemed to have absolutely no concept of personal space, and who was flatmates with Jack Harkness. He was a man who'd taken care of her after her disastrous week at work, making sure she slept and ate and remembered to smile and laugh. There were very few people – outside of her work – that Rose felt comfortable enough with to be herself, and somehow, after only having known him for two weeks, James had become one of those people.

She wondered what it was about him. Perhaps it was the way he read her like an open book, knowing exactly what it was she needed to hear, even she didn't know herself. Maybe it was the fact that he was so at ease with himself that there was never any hesitation – conversations with James were easy rather than calculated, they were jokes and teasing instead of the subtle manipulations and judgements she got from others when they learned her social status. It could be the fact that one their first date, they had made plans to see the universe – the Doctor and Rose Tyler (because James McCrimmon was a rubbish name and really, who would take it seriously? People would take the Doctor seriously, he'd insisted).

"Can't you just imagine it, Rose? 'Hello, I'm the Doctor!'"

"Doctor who?"

"Just the Doctor."

"'The Doctor'?"

"Hello!"

Maybe it was the fact that he already knew Martha, Mickey, and Jack. That being around James would never mean isolating herself from her friends because they shared their friends.

Maybe it was a mix of everything.

All in all, she wasn't sure what it was about James that made her feel like she could trust him, but there wasn't a doubt in her mind anymore. This strange man had become a part of her life – one she wasn't willing to give up – and she wasn't going to question it. He'd fit into a particular slot in her life she hadn't realized was empty, and she was more than happy to have him.

Her smile faded when she thought of the secrets she'd kept from him. She wasn't sure how much Jack had told him, though she assumed it was the basic "welcome to Torchwood – we fight aliens" – because if Jack had decided to follow procedure, James would have been sent home by now, and given an ale-and-retcon concoction before being tucked soundly into bed.

Instead, James was pressed against her, his arms wrapped protectively around her, in the manhole at Torchwood: Cardiff.

If she was being honest with herself, they should have sent him home. This…relationship…they had, however wonderful it felt, was too new. She'd only known him for a few weeks, and her common sense told her that she should wait until she was absolutely certain that she was going to be with someone for the rest of her life before letting them in on the government's worst kept secret – the existence of aliens.

(It absolutely did not matter than she was certain that James was who she planned to stick with for the rest of her life – she'd still only known him less than a month).

But.

He'd been flatmates with Jack for years, and, if anything, she was impressed with her friend's ability to keep his job a secret from James, who seemed to make it his business to be nosey and involved. He was good friends with Martha – good enough that Martha had called Rose up on a Saturday morning to rescue him from the clutches of a persistent female suitor – and obviously with Mickey as well. In fact, over the past few years Rose had heard her fair share of stories about the eccentric barista – everything from strange drinks he made to the one time he'd "fixed" the cream-dispenser, only to have it tear through a four-litre bag of cream when he'd excitedly showed Martha how he'd "improved" it.

Even Mickey seemed to only have kind words for the man, which was unusual. Not that Mickey wasn't kind, but he was fiercely protective of those he loved, and very few came off well when he described them.

So it was less a situation of not having any reason to trust James, and more one of not having any reason not to trust him.

And now, it seemed, she had no choice but to trust him.

Tomorrow, she vowed to herself, she would tell him everything. She'd answer the unavoidable tidal wave of questions that was undoubtedly headed her way, because she could and would trust him with this. With herself.

Her heart pounded heavily in fear – what if he thought she was crazy? What if he wanted nothing to do with any of this?

Stop, she told herself severely. She was being foolish. Surely if he wanted nothing to do with her he would have left rather than joined her in bed. He was willing to talk about it, that much was clear.

She hoped.

She squeezed let out a quiet groan of frustration, burrowing her face into the crook of his neck and sighing when his grip on her tightened again. She smiled tiredly – reassuring, even in his sleep. She wasn't used to such a tirade of emotions, having mastered compartmentalization at a young age. She was also very skilled at ignoring and pushing away emotions.

Or she had been, before this…whatever this was.

Stop it, she thought harshly, fed up with herself. With a sharp exhale she resettled so she was comfortable and cleared her thoughts, intent on getting more sleep before Jack inevitably barged in on them (and she just knew he would somehow time it at the worst possible moment. He seemed to have a knack for that).

Jack watched with his arms crossed over his chest as Owen finished up Mickey's stitches, his face unreadable. Martha hovered like the concerned wife she was, plus a bit of how could you be so stupid and if I have to drive down here one more time because you keep getting mauled by aliens, watching Owen work with rapt attention. She wasn't particularly fond of the snippy doctor, Jack knew, but Owen was the best and Martha knew better than to argue.

Most of the time, anyway.

He couldn't decide whether he was angry with her or grateful to her, at the moment.

On the one hand, it was a relief to finally be able to let James in on his secret job. Keeping it from him for four years had proved difficult, and while James was a kind, trustworthy man, he was also nosey and curious, and so Jack had had to be extra careful about what he took home from work.

On the other, there was a reason Torchwood kept its work secret. This kind of information couldn't be given out to just anyone – as proven by Adam Mitchell, not that Jack was comparing James to the snake – and was difficult to process to say the least. Jack loved his job – he loved fighting and learning about aliens, he loved his coworkers, and he loved that everyone he worked with loved their jobs. Being a Torchwood operative was not the job for the undecided or faint of heart.

Again, he wasn't calling James any of those things.

But it was still classified information, reserved for those with the highest security clearance (all Torchwood staff – not even the prime minister had clearance for all Torchwood files), and his flatmate, however good, was not Torchwood personnel. He was certain that if the director found out about James knowing, he'd flip.

But there was no doubt in Jack's mind that having James here would be good for Rose, who was exhausted and had missed him desperately, despite it only being a brief separation. If the texts he'd sent Jack were anything to go by, he'd missed her, too, and worried. Jack sighed, sorry that they'd had to hide from him and hoping that he would be understanding when everything was out in the open.

Rose woke again four hours later – she knew it was evening only because her alarm clock marked 6:02PM – there were no windows in the manhole that would allow her to see outside, so she couldn't see that the sun was throwing its last rays of sunshine out before setting.

"Rose?" James spoke softly, his voice barely above a whisper but still seeming loud in the small room. "You awake?"

She stretched, feeling her neck crack pleasantly and her skin pulled taught around her cuts and bruises. "Yeah," she muttered.

"You can go back to sleep, if you want," James said quietly, keeping his arms wrapped loosely around her waist.

Just as Rose opened her mouth to respond, her stomach growled loudly, indicating her hunger, and she felt her cheeks redden in embarrassment. James laughed, and pressed against him she felt the vibrations of his voice ripple through her. "Food first, then," he grinned down at her, and she nodded.

They untangled their limbs – Rose taking extra care as she moved not to jar her injuries too badly – and shuffled out of the small room. James made his way up the ladder first, throwing the manhole open and clambering out. He offered a hand to Rose as she climbed the final steps, which she took gratefully. She saw a shadow pass over his face when he saw her injuries in the light for the first time – she hadn't seen herself in a mirror yet, but she knew that there was probably more purple and blue than anything else. He locked his jaw and smiled tightly at her, and she sighed. "It's worse than it looks." She promised.

"Oh," Jack stopped in the doorway. "I didn't realize you guys had woken up."

Rose smiled tightly at him. "How's Mickey?" she asked, worry evident in her voice.

"I'm fine, boss," Mickey spoke from behind Jack.

Rose winced when she saw him. He was equally as bandaged and bruised as her, and it hurt to see her best friend so hurt because he'd been defending her. "You look like hell, Micks," she told him drily, hoping her worry wasn't written all over her face.

Mickey shrugged. "I look better than you," he smirked.

"Not possible," Rose scoffed.

The two stared at each other for a moment before wide grins spread on both their faces and they both moved forward, hugging each other tightly. "Thank you," Rose whispered into the hug.

"Any time." Mickey responded quietly. "My life would be so much easier if you stopped getting yourself into trouble, boss," he whined loudly, making Jack chuckle. Rose tensed for a moment, knowing in her heart that no matter how jokingly Mickey said it, it was incredibly true. Mickey pulled away and clapped her shoulder. "Owen wants to have another look at you," he informed her cheerfully, perhaps feeling her sudden guilt and wanting to distract her.

Rose nodded and turned to James, who was watching the exchange curiously. "I'm going to go get checked out and then you and I will talk, alright? I'm guessing you've got some questions for me," she smiled a lopsided grin. James nodded, smiling back in response, and Rose left the office, heading for the sealed-off medical area where Owen was undoubtedly impatiently waiting for her.

Owen examined Rose quickly and effectively, and Rose had a new appreciation for his quick and detached movements, already disliking being separated from James, who she assumed was with Jack. She tapped her fingers against the medical cot, earning herself a glare from the irritable doctor, which she pointedly ignored.

She was worried, there was no denying it. How would James handle her explanation? How in depth would she need to go? She didn't want to lie to him, not anymore, but if he asked about Mickey, her oldest friend in the world, should she tell him about Jimmy? Would he judge her? Would he look at her the same? She bit her lip nervously, feeling her heart speed up slightly as she let her worries run rampant.

That didn't even include the whole I basically hunt aliens but not to kill them situation. She wondered how much Jack had explained while she'd been sleeping, and how much of that James actually believed. She took a deep breath to calm herself, reminding herself that while it was still early in their relationship, she didn't want to lie to James, didn't want to hurt him, didn't want to shut him out of arguably the most important part of her life.

When she returned to Gwen's office, James was sitting in one of the armchairs, a disbelieving smile on his face and shaking his head slightly as Jack talked animatedly from Gwen's desk chair.

"…I swear, six feet tall and with tusks! It turns out the white things are tusks. And I mean tusks! And it's woken, and it's not happy, and we're standing there, fifteen of us, naked, and I'm like 'no, no, no, it's got nothing to do with me', and then it roars, and we are running. Oh, my god, we are running. And Brakovitch falls, so I turn to him and I say –"

"'I knew we should have turned left!'" Mickey jumped in at the last minute.

Rose leaned against the doorway, her arms crossed over her chest and shaking her head in disbelief as the three of them laughed uproariously.

"You know, I still don't believe that story. Not for a second," Rose said as she entered the room, smiling fondly at her friends.

James jumped up from his seat, watching her with worry in his eyes. "You alright?" he checked, looking her over quickly.

"Yeah," she replied with a smile before shooting pointed looks at Jack and Mickey, who took the point and left the office, not even bothering to come up with an excuse as the door closed quietly behind them.

Rose hesitantly took James's hand and guided him back to his seat, sitting in the armchair next to him rather than the chair that Jack had been occupying behind the desk. Once they were both sitting, Rose took a deep breath and ran her fingers through her hair, grimacing at its unkept state. "I don't know where to start," she admitted quietly.

"Begin at the beginning, and go on till you come to the end: then stop," James smirked at her, using the same quote she'd used only a week ago when they'd been watching Harry Potter.

She smiled at the memory. "How much did Jack tell you?" She asked him, wanting to know what he knew about the Institute before she delved into her own personal history.

James shrugged. "Basically, he told me that you, Mickey and him fight aliens," he quirked an eyebrow, as though hoping that Rose would laugh and offer a more reasonable explanation.

"Wow, okay. He could have gone into a little more detail," Rose laughed uncomfortably.

James swallowed visibly. "So he was telling the truth, then? Your job is to fight aliens."

Rose shook her head. "Not always. More often than not we try to negotiate and research. A lot of species are willing to trade information. Sometimes we encounter more violent types, though."

James let out a deep breath, processing what she was saying. "So how did you…start…with Torchwood?"

"It's pretty simple, actually," she said, leaning her elbows onto her thighs and wringing her hands together, keeping her eyes pointed downwards. "My dad is the director, so I'd been hearing stories about aliens form a very young age. I quit school when I was sixteen and…moved away from my parents…for a little less than a year. When I came back, my dad offered me a job at Torchwood so long as I got my A-levels, so I worked part-time and did some classes online. Got my A-levels when I was nineteen and started working full time at Torchwood. I was one of the youngest members on staff, and it wasn't a secret that I was the director's kid, so most people assumed it was just some cozy job for the Vitex Heiress." She grimaced. "I worked hard to earn their respect as a team member, and not just because I was Pete's daughter, but I was also quite good at my job," she smiled ruefully. "Torchwood is military, so we operate using military ranks. You come in as a cadet, then go through second lieutenant, then lieutenant, then captain, then major, lieutenant colonel, colonel, brigadier, and so on. I'm a captain," she gave a mock salute, her lips quirking into a half-smile. "So is Jack. Mickey is my lieutenant. My team is called Bad Wolf. That's me, Mickey, a tech named Tosh, and a medic named Rory. We've been a team for a few years now."

James frowned, confused. "Wait, if your medic is called Rory, who's Owen?"

"He's the medic for Torchwood Three. Rory is back home. Owen was actually with us at Torchwood One when this all started, which was a pain. You have no idea how frightening it is to hear that the rift is going crazy while the medic is out of town." Rose shuddered, remembering the jolt of fear that had ripped through her when she realized that Torchwood Three didn't have a medic on staff while dozens of weevils continued to pour out of the rift.

"Why?" James asked curiously.

Rose shrugged. "He was working on some project with Rory. I don't know. I usually just let them do their own thing. Not much I can do for them."

She watched him carefully, waiting for disbelief, accusations, anger…anything, but all she got was resigned curiosity. "And Jack?"

"What about Jack?"

"You know him through Torchwood?" James confirmed, as though it were important that he sort out exactly how she knew everyone.

Rose nodded. "Yeah. I was finishing up my term as lieutenant in team Toclafane when he joined, under a nasty piece of work named Harold Saxon. Jack got put on my squad and I got put in charge of him. He did his training under me, but he didn't stay on Saxon's team – the bloke was brutal. Very 'shoot first and ask questions later', and I didn't blame him for switching teams as soon as he was fully trained. Most of team Toclafane was killed about a year later when a few cybermen managed to break through the void somehow." She shivered. That had been a frightening few weeks; the cybermen, while contained at Torchwood due to lockdown, had killed several of her friends. "I was the only one from Toclafane who lived, so I decided to leave the name and start up a fresh new team. We don't operate like Saxon did, not anymore. Jack is more or less part of Bad Wolf, but because he's a captain, he doesn't technically work for me. I think he just likes the way I run my team."

"What's Toclafane? And cybermen?" James asked, watching her carefully.

"I don't know what Toclafane is. Some word Saxon made up, I guess. Cybermen are robot-like aliens hell-bent on converting everyone who isn't a cyberman into one and killing anyone who refuses. Nasty creatures."

He looked confused, but there must have been something in her expression that dissuaded further questioning. "And Mickey?"

Ah. The dreaded question.

She pursed her lips, thinking carefully about how to go about telling him how she knew Mickey. She wouldn't lie, not to him, but did she want James to know about the colossal mistake that had been Jimmy Stone? She might trust him, but she'd still only known him for a few weeks, and that part of her life had been carefully compartmentalized and tucked away in her mind. "No," she said slowly, looking around the room absent-mindedly, "no, I didn't meet Mickey at Torchwood."

Rose could tell James wanted to press for more information, and she sighed. "My relationship with Mickey is a question for another time." She told him quietly, knowing that he wouldn't be perfectly satisfied with her answer, but the promise of eventually hung in the air between the two of them.

They were silent for several moments before James spoke up. "So, now what?" He asked, looking at her with a somewhat worried expression that had her wondering. She'd expected disbelief at the very least, probably anger at having been lied to, perhaps disgust with them for the past few days, which had been spent killing alien after alien, but she certainly hadn't expected worry. What had Jack said to him?

Apparently, her confusion was evident on her face, because James spoke again. "Jack mentioned…something called retcon? I guess it makes you forget things?"

Rose snorted rudely. "You think we told you all this just to make you forget?" She questioned, looking at him directly for the first time since entering the office and raising her eyebrows.

"You're not going to?"

She sighed. "James…I love my job. I take a lot of pride in my job. Most of the rules we have at Torchwood, I had a hand in passing. Secrecy in particular is very important – usually only spouses can be informed about what Torchwood really is, and even then, they're not told everything. But Martha, Jack, and Mickey all trust you, and I trust them, so if you tell me that you're not going to go around telling everyone that we're alien-hunters," she smiled ruefully, "then you're safe."

James nodded slowly, as though processing this information. It was several minutes before he spoke. "You fight aliens. That's your job. Fighting aliens."

Rose's face contorted as she fought a smile. "That's…one way of seeing it."

James let out a heavy breath. "That's so cool," he chuckled, running his fingers through his hair and smiling at Rose, who felt relief and hope bubble in her core.

"Yeah?" She asked, her grin widening slowly.

"Yeah," James laughed.

They simply smiled at each other in silence for a few moments, and it was James who moved first, standing from his seat and slowly moving until he was crouched over Rose, whose eyes never strayed from his face. He leaned in, somewhat hesitantly, and gently pressed his lips to hers. Rose's heart leapt into her throat and her stomach dropped as she returned his kiss, her fingers weaving gently into his hair.

He pulled away and rested his forehead against hers so that he could meet her eyes, her warm hazel gaze shinning with warmth and affection and her cheeks slightly flushed pink from their kiss. "I'm so glad you're alright," he whispered, lightly stroking her cheek with his thumb. "I was so worried."

She covered his hand with hers. "I'm so glad you're here, James."

Not very exciting, I know, but these two needed get their business together!