Author's Note: Okay, here's the skinny. This story has been finished for about a year. The reason I have not updated it is because I have about a million ways in which to edit it and, to be honest, I just haven't been able to bring myself to do it. Because I am a Bad Author (shame on me). But I thought it was about time that everyone who's been following this got to see the end of it. There will be mistakes. There will be typos, misspelled words, run-on sentences and goodness knows what else. One day, I might come back and actually edit it. Or I might not. In the meantime, enjoy this folks. And I'm sorry it took me so long to get the balls to post it.

Part the Twelfth – Fear Her

It's night. It's the middle of the night, actually, and Rose has been asleep for approximately four hours and twenty-six minutes. There's only a single bed in this spare room, and the Doctor made sure Rose got it after Trish offered for them to stay the night. The house is silent and dark, another shadow in the world.

The Doctor stands silhouetted by the window, staring out into the thoroughly ordinary street below and wondering what's got them all so terrified. Anyone would think it was a police state rather than a neighbourhood involved with the 2012 Olympics.

He gazes through the gauze of the netted window, through the streetlights, and watches the horizon. He doesn't know what he's hoping for. Perhaps for some answers, or just for some peace.

He misses the TARDIS, and suddenly wishes Trish hadn't been so adamant about them staying. He wants the hum and the comfort. He wants the never-ending rooms and the domed walls and the funny smell in the fourth corridor on the right. Who knows how long he and Rose will be staying here?

Speaking of Rose, he hears her stir behind him. He turns, letting his eyes adjust to the darkness. He can see the figure of her, wrapped up in the duvet, thoroughly content, and he smiles. She brings him so much comfort. He doesn't know what he'd do without her.

"You gonna stand there all night?"

The Doctor starts slightly as her voice drifts out at him through the covers. Smiling and shaking his head, he walks over to the side of the bed and crouches down.

"I was considering it, yes," he admits jokingly, smiling at her. In the darkness he can see Rose's bleary smile, and she attempts to sit up. "I thought you were asleep."

"Was," she all but grunts, squinting. "What time is it?"

"About four." He lifts his head, glancing back over his shoulder longingly to the window. "The sun's about to rise," he says enticingly, looking back. He gives her a gentle smile. "Walk?"

Rose's face lights up in a beautiful grin, and two minutes later they're sneaking down the stairs, giggling in hushed tones, and trying not to wake anyone up.

-oOo-

Their footsteps echo on the pavement as they walk, without any purpose, down the street.

"I love dawn," Rose says earnestly, and squeezes the Doctor's fingers. He smiles.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. Always loved it when I woke up early and could watch the sun rise, back home."

The Doctor 'hmm's happily to himself, sliding his fingers tighter against Rose's. He loves the feel of her hand in his: up until recently he's taken it for granted, but for some reason, he's learning to appreciate the curve of her fingers, the feel of her skin, the warmth that radiates through him just by being close to her.

The walk turns into less of a walk and more of a 'sitting-around-in-a-grassy-park-watching-the-horizon'. There's no one else around them, and the Doctor flicks out his coat as a makeshift picnic rug. He sits down, extending his long legs out in front of him as he crosses his ankles, and pats the ground next to him. Rose laughs, snuggling easily against him. His arm moves around her of its own accord, leaving his hand resting at her waist as he leans back on his other.

The sun peeks out from behind the houses in the town, and the colours in the sky merge together like a healing bruise.

"I love this," Rose sighs happily, leaning her head back onto his shoulder. He looks at her, smiling. "I love this so much."

"Tell you what," he suggests, lying his head on hers as though it's the most natural thing in the world, "when we're all done here I'll take you to Dyzacroft. One of the best sunrises you'll ever see."

"Seriously?" she asks, and he can hear the excitement and awe in her voice. It excites him, too, because he's always wanted to go but has never found the right time.

"Yes. Bit chilly, though," he adds as an afterthought, frowning. "You'll have to wrap up."

"I'm sure we'll find ways to warm up," she says flirtatiously, and suddenly the atmosphere completely changes, drained of its easiness. She sits up, leaving his side, and turns to him, frowning. "Sorry," she mumbles apologetically, and her gaze drops to her fingernails. "Dunno why I said that."

His whole body has stiffened in a strange sense of fear, and he swallows nervously. He tries not to think about what he shouldn't know, what he shouldn't have done, but somehow his boundaries escape him and he starts to feel the tight coil of guilt constricting around him.

"Don't..." he starts, but his mouth is dry; it doesn't want to speak. He licks his lips, moves saliva around, and tries again. "Don't be sorry. It's nothing."

Rose shrugs, looking back to the horizon, where the sun has been creeping higher into the world. "Just felt like I shouldn't have said it."

His hand slides along the lining of his coat and finds hers, his fingers stroking the back of her hand gently. She turns to him again, and she looks oddly closed, like he's just rejected her.

"When has that ever bothered you?" he tries to joke, and though she smiles, it's empty. He pulls slightly on her hand, and nods in the direction of the sunrise. "Wouldn't want to miss this."

She gives in eventually, settling back into him, but it's with an entirely different air. He tries to think of something he can say, something that will keep the mood settled, but nothing comes to mind. Instead he sits there, arm around Rose and his breath blowing softly into her hair, and thinks of nothing as they watch the sun rise.

It's only when he notices the subtle rise and fall of her chest against him that the Doctor realises she's fallen asleep. He smiles to himself, overcome with a happiness he can't explain, and without cause or reason he presses a kiss to her temple. She mumbles something, and he nuzzles into her hair, sighing deeply and wishing he could pretend everything that's happened over the past couple of weeks hadn't happened.

Rose wakes slowly, but as soon as she realises she's been asleep, she sits up abruptly and attempts to pretend she was anything but. The Doctor gets to his feet, offering her a hand, which she takes obligingly. He shrugs on his jacket and they walk home in silence, their hands held and their shoulders brushing against each other all the way back.

At Trish's house, the Doctor's relieved that one of them had the sense to leave the front door on the latch. They tip-toe back upstairs to the spare room, and the Doctor remembers to avoid the step third from the top: it creaks.

He leans against the door, closing it shut gently, before turning back into the room, where soft sunlight is filtering in. Rose is already sitting on the bed. Removing his jacket and throwing it over a nearby chair, he joins her.

She smiles gently at him, and he realises they haven't said a word since the sunrise. He wants to comment on it, to jibe at them from an outsider's perspective and maybe tease them a little bit, but he can't bring himself to break the strange magic that's sparked between them – not when he's been without it for so long.

Rose kicks off her shoes, and the Doctor does the same. She shifts back on the bed, the bright orange duvet cover clashing with her yellow t-shirt and very blue denim. Without a word he lies down next to her, neck propped upright on the pillows behind them. She blinks at him, once or twice, and though the Doctor realises that this is the closest they have ever been, physically, the sense of fear it used to fill him with has completely dissipated.

He glances down to the small gap between them on the bed, and as Rose begins to settle down next to him, he slides an arm around her, the snugness between her body and the bed a welcome warmth. His other hand rests lazily over the dip of her waist and, as her breathing softens, he closes his eyes.

In a warm house, on a cool winter morning, the Doctor sleeps. And, outside their window, the world keeps turning.

-oOo-

It's over – mystery, solved. They look up, watching fireworks dance above them like flowers opening in bloom. The Doctor can feel Rose's warmth beside him, her shoulder resting against his. He's going to stand here looking up into the sky for as long as he can, to steal this moment like it's one he'll never ever get again.

Never say never ever.

Rose's hand tugs at his and, eventually, he takes his eyes off the exploding lights and looks at her. He smiles slightly: those lights are reflected in her eyes.

"Time to go home?" she asks quietly.

He has never felt such warmth towards her as he does now. Something powerful rises from his gut and winds him, so much so that he can't answer for a moment.

Instead he swallows and looks down the street, to the celebrations of the day. Rose made this happen, he thinks proudly. Without her he'd still be stuck in a drawing.

"Come along, Lewis," he chirps affectionately, nudging her shoulder with his. He takes a step down the road. "Home it is."

They've barely gone more than a few paces when a voice calls their names. They turn in unison, hands still held, and smile at Trish with warmth.

She's walking nervously towards them, arms wrapped around her torso. She glances up to the fireworks every now and then, sparing them a smile. She's the happiest the Doctor has seen her.

"And what can we do for you, Ms. Webber?" he asks politely as she approaches them. He catches Rose smirking and looking at him out of the corner of her eyes.

"I just wanted to say... thank you. Both of you." She nods emphatically, looking between them.

The Doctor and Rose share a look, their smiles wide. As though in victory the Doctor takes another mouthful of cake.

"Ooor Elchom," he says, voice muffled through sponge.

Trish gives a nervous laugh. "What?"

"I think," Rose cuts in, knocking the Doctor in his ribs with her elbow, "he means 'you're welcome'. Isn't that right, Doctor?"

He swallows his mouthful, beams, and nods. "Quite right, Lewis. Knew you could read me well." He winks at her. This feeling, this elated joy, is something he hasn't felt in a long, long time. He's missed it.

Trish regards them, seemingly not quite sure what to think. "You two – who are you?"

The Doctor sucks in a theatrical breath through his teeth. "Well, we could tell you; but then we'd have to kill you." Trish looks startled, and quickly he adds, "I'm joking. We don't do that. Killing... No, that's definitely something Rose and I don't do."

Rose lets out a snort of laughter, and the atmosphere is immediately light again.

"Are you... are you heading off, then?" Trish asks both of them, looking up again as another firework explodes in the night.

"Will be soon, I expect," the Doctor answers jovially, glancing at Rose. "Places to go, people to see and all that."

"Okay. Well, good luck."

She seems to have something to say still, and the Doctor looks at her expectantly, eyebrows raised so that wrinkles appear on his forehead.

As though sensing she can't get away with saying nothing, Trish looks to the floor and continues. "Chloe wants you... to have this."

She reaches into her pocket and takes out a folded piece of paper. She holds it out to the Doctor, who looks at her questioningly. She nods. Slowly he takes it from her, hands Rose the cake, and starts to open out the corners.

When he sees what's on it, his hearts each skip a beat. His mouth hovers open and, for once in his life, he's not quite sure what to say. His eyes roam the page slowly, languidly, taking in every detail.

"Doctor?" Rose asks quietly from his side, and she leans over. "What is it?"

He folds it over before she has a chance to look, then meets eyes with Trish. For a second, they're the only two people in the world. "Tell her... thank you," he says, and his voice suddenly feels very old. "It's..."

He doesn't have the words.

Trish nods, apparently his lack of words a thank you in itself. She turns without another word and walks back to her house.

Rose frowns beside him. "What was all that about? Doctor, what did Chloe do?"

He laughs, touched and overwhelmed. He looks down to the folded piece of paper in his hands, before reaching to his jacket and sliding it neatly into his pocket. There's quiet for a moment and he looks at Rose out of the corner of his eye. He suddenly becomes very aware that their hands are still held, and he smiles.

"I'll show you later," he says softly, and leads her down the street.

-oOo-

The TARDIS hums happily, evidently pleased to have them both return.

"Hello," the Doctor greets warmly, running a hand up the wall. "Miss us?"

The lights flicker and Rose giggles.

Suddenly he's catching her around the waist and swinging her around the console room, laughing with glee and dizzying himself with this new feeling that's been escaping him for weeks.

Rose laughs, too, clinging to him like he's the only hold she has, and he breathes her in, happy and nothing else. When he eventually puts her back on the floor, grinning like a loon, he doesn't stand by her side long enough for the repercussions of his actions. Instead he's bounding towards the console, pulling at levers and dials and taking them back into the vortex.

He feels Rose's eyes on him, and looks up. "What?"

She shakes her head, laughingly. "Nothing. Just... haven't seen you like this in a while."

"I... got a bit lost," he says, easily enough, because it's true.

Rose nods, walking towards him. "Yeah," she says, stopping by his side and looking up at him with quiet innocence. "Thought you did."

Their eyes linger on each other, but eventually the Doctor looks away. He doesn't feel like going anywhere else, not yet – he just wants to be, in the TARDIS, with Rose, and it's such a rarity he thinks it's cause for celebration.

He flicks a switch on the control unit and music begins to filter through the speakers. It's something Rose won't have heard before, something from 2012, but at least he can smile even if she doesn't get it. The beat is catchy and the rhythm is easier, so he taps his feet on the floor in time to the music and grabs her hands, pulling her in time with him.

He pulls her close and she laughs, flicking her head back as they move around the console, the music surrounding them like a spell. He spins her, watching as she moves gracefully in his arms, and suddenly the world doesn't seem such a bad place.

"Didn't know you could dance in this body, too," she comments, her eyebrows flicking upwards in a flirtatious fashion.

That comment should sting, he thinks, but it doesn't. It's like he's suddenly gained protection, like something is allowing him to be happy for reasons he can't fathom, and he's not going to question it. Not this time. He slides a hand to her hip, smiling broadly.

"Rose Tyler," he quips, spinning her in his arms as the room blurs around them, "there are lots of things about this body that you don't know."

It's evident she doesn't know how to take that and, laughing to himself, he suddenly releases her and switches off the music. His feet are itching once again, wanting to take them to new places he hasn't been before and old places he can show off. He's almost dazzled by the options he has. He hears Rose sniggering.

"I know that look," she says, pointing at him like he's crazy. "That's your 'I-just-thought-of-the-next-amazing-place-I-want-to-take-Rose' look."

He grins. "It's a good look, don't you think?"

She folds her arms, but she's smiling. "Usually means I end up getting kidnapped, or threatened, or both. I mean, you call me jeopardy friendly, but I swear it's you who causes all the trouble."

"That's not true," he argues indignantly. "I always make sure the places we go are very welcoming and hospitable." She raises an eyebrow. "Most of the time," he adds, his voice disappearing into nothing as he fiddles with a pointless switch.

Rose snorts. "Yeah, well, I'm starving, so you do your – " she waves a hand in his general direction " – whatever you're doing and I'm going to grab a bite to eat."

She starts to walk away, but the Doctor is by her side in a moment.

"What?" she asks, sounding annoyed, but the gleam in her eye gives her away.

"Nothing," he answers in a way which quite clearly means he wants something.

Sighing petulantly, Rose puts her hands on her hips, in a manner that shockingly resembles her mother.

The Doctor decides it's probably best not to comment on that.

"You want a sandwich, don't you?"

"What? No!" He pauses. "Well, maybe, but actually..." He hesitates, not quite sure why now feels like the right time but following his instinct nonetheless. "I just, I wanted to say, how utterly amazing you are. Really, yes, that was it, I think." He coughs, nodding. "Yes."

He can see the furious blush that steals Rose and hopes it isn't reflected in his own skin. "Well... thanks," she says awkwardly, and rather endearingly. "You too."

She disappears quickly down the corridor and he wonders if he's scared her, but he's too drunk on happiness to care. Something has happened to him, he realises, and it's something good. Something new.

He reaches into his coat pocket, his fingers closing around the piece of paper Trish gave him earlier. Its edges are already crumpled. Now that he's alone, he pulls it from the depths of his jacket, opening it out again like it's a treasure map.

It's a drawing, really, that's all it is. The colours are vibrant and the detail is sublime (he reckons the Isolus left Chloe with a parting gift of the talent to draw) but that's not really what takes his breath away. His fingers almost tremble as he reaches out to the paper, touching the coloured marking of two figures lying on a bed, in a house, in a strange little town. They look so settled and calm, asleep in each other's arms, and the picture is almost like a photograph in his mind. He's never seen what he looks like with Rose, not really, and though this is just a drawing, it evokes such a feeling quiet mirth within him that it's almost better than the real thing. He'll be happy if he thinks this is how everyone else feels when they see them together, because maybe, it doesn't make him so terrible after all.

He clears his throat and pockets the paper again, unsure whether Rose will ever see it. It feels like a secret, a message to him, and sharing it doesn't feel quite right. Not yet.

So instead, while Rose makes sandwiches (and she'd better be making one for him) he sets the co-ordinates for their next destination, looking forward to the adventures on the path before them. Sometimes, his life is difficult. But right now, it's the most precious thing he has.