When they reach the airport, the Doctor wakes up as suddenly and smoothly as he fell asleep. He turns immediately to look at Rose and she meets his eyes steadily, having wiped away all traces of her earlier tears. Neither of them smile, but the gaze has a warmth that lingers until Jackie groans and Rose turns away to help her from the car.

A plane is waiting for them, one of many perks of having a billionaire as part of the family, and while Rose spends the entire walk across the tarmac arguing with her mother about her decision to use the dimension cannon despite it's known risks and Rose explicitly telling her not to, she makes sure to reach out and grab the Doctor's hand again.

It's an odd feeling, to be the one leading the way while the Doctor is the one who looks a little bewildered and follows complacently behind. Still, his hand feels as utterly right as ever closed around hers, and she lets that thought take precedent in her mind over any thoughts of differences.

Once on the plane, Jackie calls Pete one more time then falls asleep again in a seat near the back. Rose and the Doctor sit more towards the middle, still holding hands, their extreme proximity in the large empty space feeling ridiculous and yet reminiscent of the way they used to always be in their travels.

"You're shivering," the Doctor murmurs, speaking for the first time since the beach.

"What?" Rose is caught off-guard and blushes, realising she has been staring intently at the Doctor as though he is a specimen, mentally cataloguing all the things she notices are different about him.

"You're shivering," the Doctor repeats, half-raising his hands towards his shoulders before letting them fall limply back in his lap. "Oh," he says, his voice no longer soft but strangely flat. "I don't have my coat. I was going to offer it you."

Rose shifts a little in her seat, his sudden closed-off expression making her uncomfortable as she senses it's a result of much more than just not having his coat. She thinks if she has to deal with any more tension right now she'll explode into a million pieces, and though it may be selfish, she attempts a joke,

"Would you offer me the leather one or the big brown one?"

The Doctor looks at her and the spark of light in his eyes makes Rose think maybe it's not so selfish after all. "Either," he says, the first hint of a smile on his thin— but soft, they were very soft— lips. "Both. Or maybe a big brown one made of leather. D'you reckon I could pull that off?"

"Big brown leather coat in this society?" There's a hint of laughter to her voice that just might be free of tears. She doesn't want to test him, it's not fair to test him, but she can't suppress a certain tentativeness as she continues, "You'd be better off in a bin bag."

The Doctor laughs, startlingly loud and wonderfully happy. Rose has dreamt of this sound, heard it so often in her best memories, the ones she clung to in order to keep the worst ones at bay, and for a moment she's sure she'll burst into tears again, utterly overwhelmed. Instead, she finds herself laughing too, and the two of them shake and clutch at each other, giggles shooting towards hysterics until a voice from the back of the plane croaks,

"Bloody mad, both of you."

They sober as best they can and turn together to find Jackie managing a pretty impressive glare given that she has only one eye cracked open.

"Sorry, Mum," Rose whispers abashed but with a grin still tugging wildly at her lips. "Didn't mean to wake you."

Jackie rolls her single talented eye, the slips back into sleep, muttering as she goes. The Doctor and Rose meet each other's gaze, still half-laughing, and for a moment everything is easy and right between them, just like it's supposed to be.

***

Pete is waiting at the door for them when they finally arrive at the recently reconstructed Tyler Mansion several hours later. He hugs Jackie first, then Rose, frantic relief evident on his face. Yet ever the business man, he gets straight to the point.

"Tony's asleep," he tells his wife, slipping an arm around her shoulders. "And you should be too, you must be exhausted. Your beds are ready for you and Rose, though I wasn't sure—"

For a moment he breaks composure, glancing at the Doctor, and Rose can see he is longing to question him, to have the situation explained. But, displaying the intuitive sensitivity he seems to possess in any universe, he simply clears his throat and continues smoothly,

"There are plenty of guest rooms, if you need one. Pick any you like."

More grateful than she can express, Rose gives her dad another quick hug, then kisses her mother on the cheek and takes the Doctor by the hand a final time that night, leading him upstairs and towards the far wing of the house where she has her bedroom.

The room is dark and cool, and Rose doesn't turn on the lights after she leads the Doctor inside.

"You can have a guest room if you'd like," she tells him, releasing his hand and turning away to kick off her shoes. "There's one right next door, with it's own bathroom, if you don't want—"

"I do want," the Doctor interrupts her, speaking in a low rush. "I mean, only if you don't—"

"No, I don't," Rose answers just as quickly, turning to face him and glad of the darkness as she feels her cheeks flush. "Mind, I mean. I don't mind, I do want…"

"Okay, good." The Doctor eyes shine even in the shadowy room as he looks at her, and she remembers a similar stuttering conversation from what feels like lifetimes ago when those eyes were still new to her.

"I'm going to go brush my teeth," she says mostly because they're the first words that come to mind. "If you want to use the bathroom next door, there may be some of Mickey's things you can—"

She stops, the name like acid on her tongue, the burn all the more powerful for its slight delay. The Doctor is no longer looking at her and she practically flees into the bathroom without another word. There she takes much longer than necessary to wash her face clean of make-up and tear residue, brush her teeth and hair, and change into a tank-top and loose drawstring trousers. She stares at her face in the mirror, noting the redness rimming her eyes, the dark bruise-like shadows above her cheeks.

She can't take any more heartbreak tonight. She can't think about Mickey, or Jack, or Donna, she just doesn't have the energy or the tears left. She needs sleep, and if she's being honest, she needs the Doctor. The rest of her grief will have to wait until morning.

He's sitting on the bed when she emerges from the bathroom, his jacket, trainers and socks removed and placed neatly on the chair in the corner. He leaps to his feet when he spots her like they're at a fancy restaurant in a movie, then proceeds to shift his weight back and forth until she pulls back the covers of the bed. Once she gets into bed he climbs in next to her and they lay very still without touching and without speaking, breathing into the heavy darkness.

"He said you were dangerous." Rose has no idea what makes her say those words, but the moment she does they hang in the air above them, sharp and thick. Worse still, she can't stop herself from adding more. "He said you were angry and like, violent. But—" The realisation comes to her slowly, like a bandage being peeled from a wound. "You're not, are you?"

"I committed genocide." The Doctor's voice is deliberately blank, and he seems almost to be speaking to the darkness in the room rather than her. "I wiped out the entire Dalek race."

"You had to do it." Rose is also finding it easier to speak to the darkness; she's had many years practice now of talking to the emptiness of the night, but this is the first time the answers coming back in that voice aren't just imagined in her head. "That's what the Time War was for— it should have ended there." She rolls away from him, a faint memory pulsing at the back of her head, too inconstant and discomforting to grasp. "I would have done the same thing."

There is silence for a moment and Rose tucks in on herself, another thought rising like oil to the surface of her mind.

"He made it sound like he was punishing you," she says in a small voice to her pillow. "Like leaving you here with me, that was your punishment."

Again there is silence and Rose thinks the Doctor isn't going to answer this either; she hunches even tighter, wondering if it might be better if he sleeps in the guest room after all. Then the silence is broken by the soft whisper of the bedclothes as the Doctor rolls over and slides his arms around Rose.

"How can you say that?" he asks, his voice sounding slightly choked. Rose feels a lump in her own throat as she settles into his embrace. She's longed for this almost more than anything else during their separation, the easy way the held each other as though they just fit.

"How can you possibly think this is a punishment for me?" the Doctor continues, and she can feel every word against the skin of her neck, warm and real. "You are and always have been the greatest thing to happen to me, Rose. He was trying to tell you that. For him, that was the only way to say it."

"But not for you," Rose murmurs. The Doctor tightens his grip around her, curving his body to surround hers in that way only he can. It's the same way they've lain together before and yet it's different too, because it's more, more needy and more desperate and more wonderful for both of them.

"Not for me," he confirms, lips brushing her cheek in a chaste kiss that holds almost more emotion than their first one on the beach earlier that day.

Rose winds her fingers through his and closes her eyes, surrendering at last to the exhaustion dragging on her bones, feeling warm and secure in the Doctor's hold as he whispers, "I love you," again in her ear.