Author's Note: Even so long later, I can remember that this chapter was the most difficult to write. I'm still not sure I've done it correctly, or the way I want it, or even that it's in character. Regardless, it's what came out when I attempted to write it, so I hope you enjoy it. And thanks, everyone, for reviewing still. You guys blow me away (:

Interlude – Truth Will Out

It's been whirlwind, almost, their life. He sometimes finds it hard to believe that nearly two years have gone by. To a Time Lord it's barely a niche in the timeline, but he remembers with such clarity the way he took her hand and told her to run, as well as everything in between. It's all carved out into his memories, free for him to run through again and again when the time feels right.

And it's always strange, he finds, how time passes. He and Rose get into no end of trouble, always have, and it's always such a joy to run, hand in hand, laughing from the detritus left behind them. He wonders, sometimes, what life would be like without the running, and the fighting, and the kidnapping, and though he has often entertained the fantasy of being able to 'settle down' and live from day to day, he knows it's something that'll never happen. He's not bred for that.

He's standing out on the balcony in the growing dusk, musing these thoughts and chewing on his fingernails. The garden is one of his favourite rooms. Most places in the TARDIS are very ship-like, with metal walls that glimmer warmly in the light and no windows to speak of. Sometimes it's nice just to come here and get lost in thought, feeling like he's somewhere alien but knowing that he isn't. It's a strange kind of comfort.

"Penny for them," Rose says from his side, and he starts, unaware that she has joined him.

"Hello," he replies warmly, and his hand instantly finds hers. "Feel better?"

She's been complaining of a headache for the past couple of days, so he's been taking things easy.

She frowns. "Sort of. Head doesn't hurt any more. Just... feels a bit cloudy." She turns to him, the light from the corridor behind them illuminating her features. "It's like I've forgotten something, I know I have, and it's on the tip of my tongue but I just can't think what it is." She shakes her head, looking across the garden, and the Doctor shakes off a strange nagging feeling flitting at the corners of his mind.

Rose is dressed in a large, fluffy dressing gown, leftover from the shower he can smell on her, but she shivers in the air. Instinctively, the Doctor releases her hand and pulls her to him, almost drowning in the scents of her various shampoos, conditioners and moisturisers. She's nestled to his chest, perfectly content, and he suddenly wonders when personal space became a non-issue between them.

"How come you're out here?" she asks casually, but he gets the impression the question is anything but.

"Thinking," he muses quietly, eyes scanning the gardens. The quiet, pulsing hum of the TARDIS drifts through the air towards them, but the air here feels so fresh and clean. He breathes deeply, the smell of garden rain flooding his nostrils. Then he sneezes, and Rose laughs.

"About?" she prompts, once he's recovered.

He turns to her, squeezing her hip in jest. "Someone's nosey tonight," he comments gently with a smile. "I'd be perfectly within my rights to say it's none of your beeswax."

She raises an eyebrow. "And I'd be perfectly within my rights to say – " She bites off her sentence, literally, her teeth worrying her bottom lip as she suddenly looks away from him.

He swallows, his hand losing its grip slightly. "Rose?"

"It's nothing."

"No it's not."

She sighs, and her breath rises up into the air as the dusk clings tightly around them. "It's just..." She looks back to him, a mixture of confusion and hidden wisdom in her dark eyes. "It's like how I was saying, 'bout something I've forgotten. I keep wanting to say things, do things, that... I shouldn't be doing. It's like it's natural to – "

She stops again, shaking her head.

The Doctor tilts his chin upwards, looking out over the garden and listening to birds twitter in their branches. He's not even sure if they're real, or if it's the TARDIS in his mind.

His hand moves from her waist to her hand again and, silently, he turns from the balcony, tugging on Rose's hand as he leads her back inside.

"Doctor?" she questions. He looks up sincerely.

"Come with me," is all he says, knowing what he has to do – what he should have done weeks ago – and not liking the thought of it one little bit. He's tried to ignore this idea, this solution, because it means facing things he wants to run away from and owning up to things he's only recently forgiven himself for. Forgiveness is almost a sin in itself.

They walk back through the TARDIS, hand in hand, with nothing but the quiet sound of footsteps on metal echoing around them. He hears Rose take a breath when he stops outside a room – her room – and pushes the door open slightly with his free hand. He can sense questions on the tip of her tongue, but she doesn't ask, and he's grateful.

He leads her inside and they sit on the bed, hands held, knees touching. He looks at her knowing that there's fear in his eyes.

"Doctor," she questions softly, looking simply confused, "what's going on?"

He takes a breath for courage and looks at the door. "There's something..." he starts, but the words get stuck in his throat, poison to what little peace he's found. He can't possibly say, in words, what he wants to say. He feels more guilty now, with this option, than he ever did before. This guilt is different, though, it tears him apart because of what he knows, how he's changed.

He slept with Rose. He can accept that now. He's even accepted that he didn't take advantage of her, not really. What he can't forgive is what he did in the aftermath, because that's even less the man he wants to be than someone who steals her from her bed in the dead of night and takes her to magical worlds in far off places. A real Peter Pan he is, except that this isn't a fairytale. It's Rose, and right now she's all he has.

"I need to show you something," he admits, his gaze dropping to his shoes. He'll never understand why this regeneration likes Converse with pinstripes, but he won't question it now.

"I'm guessing from your expression you're not about to give me a kitten."

He looks up sharply, for a second, then swallows and moves his gaze from her once more.

"Okay, Rose," she says slowly to herself, evidently sensing his mood. "No jokes, then."

There's silence then, as she waits for him to do something – but he's not sure he can physically do what he wants to do. What if she leaves? That's his most terrifying thought. What if she can't forgive him and she leaves? Who could trust a man who hides things from her, steals her memories and pretends like everything's all right? Who could even lo–

"Doctor?"

There's a hand on his knee, comforting and warm. He looks at her, trying not to get lost because he needs to focus and he needs to get through this, otherwise he never ever will.

"You're scaring me. Are you... all right?"

He almost laughs at her compassion; he's about to show her exactly who he really is, what he's capable of, and she's asking him if he's all right. Typical.

"Yes, Rose," he chuckles, unable to hide the awe in his voice. "I'm all right."

He releases her hands, flexing his fingers, and he goes to place them on her temples. To his slight dismay, she leans back, away from him.

"What're you doing?"

He drops his hands to the covers, ashamed that he can sense fear in her voice. He opens his mouth to explain, but the only sound that comes out is a slightly strangled breath and he closes it again, his teeth clicking together as he does. What can he say that won't sound truly absurd?

'Here, let me give you back the piece of your brain I stole' probably won't go down that well. Although, no matter what he does, no matter how he handles it, she isn't going to like it and there is every, single, possibility that she will leave him. He would rather live with the guilt than lose her, but it's the guilt which gives him his conscience, and he can't ignore it for much longer.

"I did something," he admits quickly, silently imploring her to be kind even as he imagines her packing up her things with a tear-stained face and ordering him to take her home. "Something you're not going to like."

"Well, you've offended my mum enough times, and I'm still with you."

She's trying to make him feel better, smiling even, but it doesn't work: in fact, it makes him feel worse.

"Rose, I'm serious," he says with a hint of frustration. He runs a hand through his hair and chuckles wryly. "I've never been more serious about anything in my life. Not this life. Probably."

Her smile fades, and he even feels guilty for that. "Okay. Whatever it is..."

"Don't," he interrupts, running his palm across his face. "Don't say I have you, or you'll be with me. Just... don't say anything. If I don't do this now, I won't, and I have to, because it's driving me mad." She looks a bit scared, actually, and he can't really blame her. He stops, takes a breath. He wants to ask for her trust, but he doesn't really deserve it. "Before... I do – what I'm about to do. You have to know that I care for you, very much. And that..." Why is he asking forgiveness, before she even knows? He's not even sure he wants forgiveness, he just wants her to know. "Oh, never mind."

"Doctor," she says sternly, and he looks up. She looks startlingly like her mother, and that does nothing to help his courage. "Whatever you have to do... just do it."

He frowns with awe and hurt. "You don't even know what I'm going to do."

"No. But I trust you. And I've never seen you like this. So... just do it. Get it over with, yeah?"

His mouth goes suddenly dry and his vision becomes blurry, but he shakes his head and loosens his hands. Then, gently, he places them by her temples. He's close to her, so very close, and she's looking up at him with openness and warmth and he can't believe what he's about to do to her. He swallows his fear, and with it the tears welling in his eyes, and then he pushes into her mind and opens up everything he closed off from her.

She breathes, sharply, and her eyes slam closed, her face contorted into pain and misery, and he rests his forehead against hers trying to hold everything in as he gives back every last little thing he stole from her.

His thumbs rest on her cheeks and within only a few seconds they're wet with tears, his he hopes, and then she's whimpering with pain and time drags the slowest around him that he's ever felt before.

Eventually, with everything unlocked, with every secret told, he drops his hands and backs off from her, not even able to look at her. "I'm sorry," he whispers, meaning it, like every other time he says it. "I'm so sorry."

From the corner of his eye he sees a hand fly to her mouth, in shock or grief he doesn't know, but when he hears her quiet sobs he feels lower than he thought possible. Guilt was nothing to what he is feeling now, like he's just defaced every present given, like he's cackled at hardship and dished it out freely.

He wants to comfort her, wants to take her into his arms and help her, but he can't even move. Coward, every time.

Minutes go by, dragging like hours, and his shoulders pang with sore stiffness. Rose sniffs loudly and, finally, he looks at her. The expression she's wearing, something of horror and disgust, and tinged with sorrow, makes his insides turn. He did that. Him. No one else, just him. Perhaps he really is the monster he tried to convince himself he wasn't, after all.

"I don't..." she starts, but she hiccoughs and shakes her head, closing her eyes as tears dribble down her cheeks.

He wants to say something, anything, and though he knows that trying to explain will only make things worse, he does it anyway, because what else is he supposed to do? "I couldn't – there was nothing else I could do."

"Nothing else – " she starts to echo, anger all too present, but she shakes her head again. "You..."

"Yes."

"How? How could you?"

He looks away from her, unable to bear the blame in her eyes. He doesn't have an answer.

Rose breathes loudly, somewhere between a sigh and a sob, and her hand drops limply to the bed covers. "When?"

The tone in her voice is hard, cold, clinical almost, but it's nothing he doesn't deserve. He lifts his head, staring directly ahead to the door.

"About three months." He leaves a few weeks off, as though the amount of time since makes any difference.

"And we – three months ago, we...?"

She can't say it any more than he can bring himself to think about it, but he nods his head, closing his eyes. "Yes," he sighs, defeated.

The bed moves as she propels herself off it and this is it, he thinks. This is when she packs up and she leaves, and why not? After everything they've been through, everything they've done, it might as well end like this.

But nothing happens.

There's silence: no thundering around, no instant bag-packing, not even anything. Maybe it's worse, he doesn't know. He looks at her, and the expression on her face is impossible to read, she's completely closed off to him.

"Tell me," she threatens darkly. He can't help being surprised, even beyond everything else.

"What do you want to know?"

Her arms drop to her sides in exasperation. "I... I dunno!" she shouts. "How about why you'd... why we'd do something, like that, an then why you'd hide it from me. I mean, God, I know you're insecure, but..."

He frowns, then blinks. "I'm sorry?" he says meekly, wishing he could understand. "I – what?"

"You." She points at him vaguely, an emotionless laugh escaping her. "You're so... wrapped up in what's going on in here," she taps her head, "and what you should and shouldn't be doing, you forget everything else. Why couldn't you just...?" She's starting to cry again, it's in her voice and splashing down her cheeks, but she keeps going, a helpless tirade, and part of him loves her for that. "Why did you have to fiddle? Why not just... let things happen? On their own?"

Rose is breathing heavily, if erratically, and a stunned anger overcomes the Doctor. It's not rational or even deserved, but he's off the bed before he can help it and flinging his hand out to his side. "Let things happen?" he echoes in a roar. "Rose, I'm a Time Lord. I don't – I can't do things like that, I just can't. It's – "

"What?" she challenges back, and he's missed that fire in her eyes. "It's what? 'Beneath you', is that what it is? You'd rather go... erasing things, wiping your friend's brains? You'd rather have me as a puppet, something you can control, than have anything like that sort of relationship with me at all?"

He's hurt by her words, really and truly, like she's just slashed him through the chest. His anger abates like smoke from a fire. "I don't want that at all," he says quietly.

"Well, you do a bloody good job of pretending otherwise," she snaps. Then she looks at him honestly, if angrily, and despair seems to become her. "I thought I knew you."

"No, Rose." He's by her side in an instant, a hand on her arm, fingers rustling on the fabric of the dressing gown. "There's nothing I can say, I know that, but... what I did, I can't take it back, and I can be as sorry as I like and you still won't forgive me but that's not the point." He's babbling in an attempt to keep her, in a last attempt to make sure she doesn't leave him. But he doesn't want to manipulate her any more – he has had enough of that, and of everything else. "I was... scared." She searches her eyes with his, and – ever so slightly – he can feel her relax. He drops his hand, voice shaking. "I was so scared, Rose. I've never... I don't do that. And I don't know what it means, and I'm sorry. I..."

He has no more words, there's nothing he can say. She'll make her own judgements no matter what he tells her, so he closes his mouth and just stands there, looking at her, silently begging for forgiveness. He's laid his soul down at her feet and all he wants to do is put his head in her lap and have her tell him everything's all right.

She lifts her head and meets his eye defiantly. "D'you regret it?" she asks, her voice cold. "Is that why you hid it from me?"

He hesitates, taking in a slight breath. "I did." It's the most honest answer he can give. "But not... because of you," he adds quickly. "It wasn't right, I wasn't me. It was like I'd... tricked you. Like I was using you."

She turns away from him slightly, staring vaguely at the wall. "I remember..." she murmurs distantly. "I knew you. Then, I mean, when we were..." She looks up again, her eyes dark but quiet sincerity shining out of them. "I knew everything about you. I knew you hated yourself for it, and..." Tears well up in her again, and she looks down, away from him. "Why didn't you trust me? I'm not just some – some kid who doesn't know what she wants."

"I know. I just – "

"But you don't!" She's incredulous, her mood swinging back into anger again, and he knows he deserves it. "You think I just do what you tell me, that I'll go along with anything because that's what you say we should do. But right now, I'm better than you, because I trust you a hell of a lot more than you trust me. So you're gonna shut up and you're gonna listen." She jabs him in the chest, hard, but there's nothing in jest about it.

He nods obediently, waiting.

Rose, sighing, pushes past him and stands by the bed, her back to him as she breathes heavily. The Doctor licks his lips, watching her, but doesn't say anything.

"I'm not even... gonna pretend to understand why you did what you did," she starts, speaking slowly, but there's a strength in her voice he hasn't heard from her before. "But... I do know you. And I know that... you do stupid things without thinking 'cause you think it's the best thing to do. And you just hope that everything sorts itself out in the end, and you're lucky, 'cause most of the time it does. So... I guess what I'm saying is..." She sucks in a breath and turns around to face him, looking him dead in the eye. "It's okay. I mean, it's not okay, it was a terrible thing to do. But … we can get through it."

His gob is well and truly smacked. He, quite literally, doesn't know what to say. Her words don't quite formulate in his mind, and he takes a step towards her, then back again, a deer caught in headlights that have suddenly vanished.

"But. But I – I wiped – "

"Yeah, I know," she interrupts. "Got the memo on that, thanks. An' I'm not saying I'm over it, or that I'm happy with it, because I'm not, I'm really not, but... I need you to not be weird about it, like you are with everything else. It happened, yeah? And now we've gotta deal with it. Together."

He must look stupid, he thinks, standing here with his mouth hanging open as he tries, desperately, to think of something to say.

"I wanna trust you," she finishes quietly, stepping towards him almost nervously. "When I'm here, when I'm with you, you're all I've got. I need to know you're not gonna... lock me out any more." She's right in front of him now, looking up with pleading eyes. "Yeah?"

He nods. Perhaps it's about time he stopped running away. "Yes," he agrees fervently, willingly, and it's as honest as he can give. "I can... I can do that, yes." He knows the expression he's wearing is the most open she's ever seen him. Slowly, carefully, he reaches for her hand; she lets him take it, lets him hold her fingers to his palm and squeeze gently. "I'm going to lose you," he whispers, like it's a secret he's been hiding from her for years.

Rose shakes her head, the look in her eyes almost breaking his hearts. "Nah." Her voice disappears into shaking breaths, tears shining her eyes.

"I will," the Doctor says, and he takes a breath. "One day. But..." He meets her gaze, swallows. "I want..."

"Yeah?"

His hearts rocket somewhere in his ears, and this is quite possibly the most terrifying thing he's ever thought about. "I think it's about time I stopped running. Don't you?"

And he doesn't know who moves first or how it happens, but suddenly they're kissing, and it's not rough, or bruising, or healing. It just... is. His mouth presses against hers as his fingers drift to her jaw, his thumb caressing her cheek. And it's wonderful. The kiss is brief, sort of: he relaxes off her, pressing small, open-mouthed touches against her lips, before he stops and sighs heavily, his breath mingling with hers as they take a moment to themselves.

When he opens his eyes, she's already looking at him, and it occurs to him that her face becomes a different quality of beauty when it's this close. Her features blur together, creating something new, something different, and it leaves him slightly in awe. He didn't notice that, before.

"I'm sorry," he murmurs, brushing the back of his knuckles under her jaw.

She smiles weakly. "I know."

He pulls back from her, his hands falling to her waist almost on instinct. An almost horrifying thought makes its way to the front of his mind. "You know I – I'll never, ever, do anything to you like that again. You do know that?"

She shakes her head, and even though she's smiling still, says, "Yeah you will." They hurt, those words, and he starts to pull away, but she stops him. "But thanks for saying."

"Rose, I promise, I will never – "

She hushes him with a finger on his lips and, obediently, he quietens. "I don't want you to change," she murmurs sincerely. "And part of that not-changing means making those stupid decisions, without thinking. 'Cause that's who you are, and usually it's for the best. And when it's not... you fix it."

The smile forms without him being able to control it, and he leans forward, wrapping his arms around her and crushing her to his chest.

"Forget me," he almost laughs into her hair, "don't you change. Don't you ever change, Rose Tyler."

His eyes drift closed as he breathes in her scent, the smell of her just-showered hair and skin dizzying in the soft lamplight of her room. She feels so warm, so complete, pressed against him like this, and even though the doors he's opened may lead to heartbreak, it's a risk he feels, finally, he's willing to take.

It'll take him time, he knows that – and Rose does, too. There's a lot he needs to learn and relearn, and there are boundaries and issues still, but right now, he doesn't care enough to think about them.

So he kisses her, again, and when she smiles under his lips it's like he's been given everything he wanted but was too afraid to take.

"I know," he says, pulling back and smiling. "Why don't we pay Jackie a visit? I'm sure she'd love to see... well, you."

Rose looks sceptical, and slightly surprised. "You're actually... offering... to go and see my mum?"

He shrugs non-committally, glancing to the floor. "Well, if you don't want to..."

"No no, I do," she says, laughing and leaving his side. "Just let me pack."

The Doctor frowns, watching as she pulls a heavy, red rucksack from a shelf in her wardrobe. "Pack?" he echoes almost indignantly as she starts pulling clothes out of her washing basket. "Rose, that's – that's hardly packing."

She turns to him, hands on hip, with an expression as though he should know better. "I've got washing to take. I still haven't picked up the last lot!"

"You do know we have a washing machine, don't you?"

She pulls a face, throwing a t-shirt at him before she continues to pack up. He catches it, shaking his head, and just hopes that it's clean.

"Right. Well. I'll just go... set those coordinates, then. While you..." He raises an eyebrow, "pack."

He leaves her to it, pausing for a moment in the corridor outside. She's packing to leave, he thinks with an wry smile, and it's for totally different reasons than he imagined. She's given him what he never thought he deserved: a second chance. And though, no, it won't be easy, at least he can... They can give it a go. See where it leads. He might even be happy, he muses. And maybe, he hopes, just maybe, the universe will be kind: let him have his years of happiness.

If only he knew this visit to Jackie Tyler's would be his last.