Over the next few days, they spoke of the things the other had missed. The easy things, said with a faint smile of fond memories, the things that they laughed about. (Never the good-byes, never the scars.)
He spoke little about himself, fascinated by the life that Rose had been leading –creating the cannon, about Mickey and Jake and a slew of other names that held no face yet. She told him about the stories of the man in the blue box that she told to Tony when he should have been asleep. About the one time that Jackie found them.
"An' she just stood there, at the door, listening." Rose told him. "Told me off in the morning, though." She smiled at the Doctor, brushing a stray piece of blonde hair from in front of her eyes. "I started to run out of stories after a while. At least he doesn't mind repeats."
"Does have a favorite?" He asked, glancing towards the sky. A fleet of ships fashioned from heavy, dark clouds were gliding their way across the ocean of blue that was the sky.
She nodded, following his gaze. "Remember the werewolf?"
"Oh! Queen Victoria!" He grinned, tilting his head to look at Rose. "He has excellent taste." A pause. "But it wasn't a werewolf, strictly speaking."
Rose giggled, wrapping her arms around his and resting her head on his arm. (Anyone watching might think that they were normal. They didn't know their stories, nor could they see the haunted look that was held behind their eyes that held more years than their bodies.) "I know. But he's only six – I don't think he'd understand that."
"You never know."
"No…I guess you don't." Suddenly, the conversation wasn't about Tony or alien werewolves or Queen Victoria. Rose released his arm, the cold air filling the gap between them. "How…different are you?" She asked, her voice timid as she asked the question they both wanted to know the answer to.
The Doctor made a noncommittal sound, shrugging his shoulders. "I don't know, Rose. I really don't. One heart, like I said yesterday. My senses aren't quite as good as they used to be. Not as bad as yours, but not a Time Lord's…taste buds might have changed. I might like pears. Imagine that, me liking pears."
"Still like bananas?"
"Always." He confirmed, catching her fingers in his.
"But really, pears aren't that bad."
"Rose Tyler, you are not allowed anywhere near me if you have eaten pears recently."
Rose frowned, looking up at him. "How recent is recently?"
"A week." She stepped away, their hands creating a taught tether between them. "Where are you going?"
"Ate pears before I went to find the Doc- to find you." ( He pretended not to notice her stutter, but it twisted like a knife in his gut.)
"An hour, then." He finally said, the words coming out nearly too quickly as he tried to fill the space that his hesitation had created.
"We'll have to perform some experiments, then. Do things you used to be able to do and see if you can do them."
" That would be the reasonable course of action."
"Food wise, I don't have much. We could stop by the grocery before we head to my flat."
"Your flat…?"
"I mean, if you want to." She replied hastily. "I'm sure mum and Pete wouldn't mind if you stayed there for a bit. Or you can get a hotel room, if you want a bit more…space."
" What do you want me to do…?" (Would she even want him there? Or was her offer just obligatory, out of pity that he was stuck here with no-where else to do?)
"Whatever you feel most comfortable with."
"No, that's not what I meant."
"I know."
"Well?"
She dropped his hand, pulling her hands over her chest as she half-whispered her reply. "I'd like it if you stayed with me."
"Okay."
He stood in the living room of Rose's home, though it wasn't much of one. The furnishings were sparse – a cheap ceramic vase with plastic flowers that sat on the table at the end of the small couch was one of the most personal things in the room, the others being four small, framed pictures that hung on the walls. One was a child's crayon drawing of a blue box and two stick figures – pink and yellow and brown and blue (Him and Rose with the TARIDS, the Doctor realized with a faint smile.) Another was a picture was one that must have been taken at Torchwood. Mickey, Pete, Jake, and Rose, along with a few unfamiliar people, were grinning at the camera. The third picture was one of the Tyler family. The last one surprised the Doctor, as it was a picture that must have been taken back in the other universe, on Christmas Day. Pink crowns were perched on his and Rose's heads.
"How did you…" his question trailed off as Rose entered the room. She had seen were he had been looking.
"Mickey." She half-answered, shoving her own hands into the pockets of her sweatshirt, mimicking his stance. "He got it off my old cell."
"Ah."
They were quiet for what seemed to be ages. The silence was dull, like that of a sword that had been used too many times. ( But even dull swords can cause pain.)
Finally, Rose spoke. "What's your name?"
The confusion that her question brought must have played on his face. "The Doctor." He answered, a slight question pulling at the end. "I thought you…"
She smiled, a small, short laugh escaping from between her lips. "No, I mean, what name will you put on papers and things? I don't think that The Doctor will work."
It took him a second to answer. " John Smith, I guess. If that's alright."
She nodded, smiling a smile that wasn't quite the one he wanted to see. ( He hadn't see that smile – the tongue-out, wide smile, or one at least when her eyes smiled too.) "Should be fine."
Rose and the Doctor spoke little for the rest of the day after that, both trying to fully realize that they were therewith each other, just as they had started to believe it would never happen.
They slept with open doors that night, the sounds of their restless tossing and turning reminding the other that they were really there between the bouts of fitful sleep.