A few days after, the cupboards seemed as if they had exploded - everything edible in the small flat sitting in an obscure circle around them. There was two definite piles - one full of things that The Doctor decided that he didn't like, which included but was not limited to: anchovies, frozen strawberries (fresh ones were perfectly alright,but not frozen,) asparagus, spinach and soy sauce. The other, much larger pile held everything that he did like - chocolate cake, jam, bananas, tea - and in front of him sat the one thing he loved, cross-legged in the middle of the slightly cramped kitchen. Rose. The image was tainted, however, by the fact that she was holding one of the things that he hated. A pear.
"Just a bite!" She pleaded, grinning a small, tongue-touched grin at the petulant child of a man in front of her. He shook his head. "You might like them this time," she prodded.
"No, I really don't think so. It's a matter of principle, anyway. I'm not going to try it."
Rose sighed, taking a bite of the pear and shrugging. "They taste different here."
"Still pears."
"Still stubborn." She replied, leaning closer to him. ( He could smell the offending fruit on her.)
(He couldn't bring himself to mind too terribly.)
"It's a constant."
"What?"
"Two things have become constants." He began to explain, amused expressions on both of their faces. "Hating pears, and loving you." There was a thin pause as he considered her words for a moment. " And - being stubborn. So, three things have become contents."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah." He confirmed with a nod of his head.
They fell into a content silence filled with hesitant smiles and curious glances that spoke no words but desperately wanted to. Eventually those words spilled over with a sigh.
"Can I ask you a question?" Rose asked softly, taking another bite of the pear.
The Doctor pulled a face at her action, smiling lightly as he nodded.
"After I-" She faltered here, for a moment, then barreled on. " - was trapped here - I began to dream. Of Bad Wolf. And - of what happened, on the Game Station."
Silence swept over them, filling the brief pause that followed her statement. (They had once again found the comfortable silence that they had once upon a time had.)
"You kissed me." (Contrary to what she had said, it wasn't a question but a statement.)
"Yeah. Had to, you understand."
"Oh." Her voice fell a bit, not hiding well at all the fact that she had hoped that it had meant something - that he had shared her feelings...that she was not romanticizing his saving of her life.
"Of course - could have just touched you." He added quickly, noticing. "Didn't really need to kiss you."
"But you did."
"Exactly."
"Why?"
He took a moment, grabbing a half-eaten apple and taking a bite of it before replying with a small shrug. "Because I wanted to."
"And - how long had you wanted to?"
He paused, thinking for a moment. "Charles Dickens." (It was only the tiniest bit a lie - he was sure that it was before then, but in the basement, surrounded by things that wanted to kill them ( A slightly disturbing trend that had begun) was the first time he distinctly remembered thinking that it might be someone that he would enjoy.)
"Why hadn't you?"
"I was an old, broken man. I couldn't - I didn't deserve you. Don't deserve you, even now. I'm still an old, broken man. But - you've helped."
She watched him, for a moment, and he watched back. His eyes were still haunted, as they always had been, from the day he had said run. Her eye's pained shadow was so much more fresh. Canary Wharf had been a wound that was just now healing, still raw and sore but better. (So very much better, now that they were together.)
She leaned closer, pressing her lips gently against his, nearly hesitantly, like the words they had said two mornings ago over tea and jam had just been a dream and he would pull away. (This was still something they were unfamiliar with, but they were learning.)
As the Doctor pulled Rose closer, he decided that he could put up with the taste of pears when they were mixed with Rose. ( But only when they were mixed with Rose, and not that he would ever tell her that. She would count it as a victory).