With all the brainstorming and thinking I've been doing on mental bonds for Shades of Blue this little fic popped up and I thought I'd go ahead and write it. In the beginning, Rose doesn't know about the bond, so I suppose I should put a bit of a dub-con warning on this, although it all works out in the end.

Enjoy and thanks for the support!

Looking back, he realized it had started in Cardiff. Really started, that is. Because, if he was honest with himself (and he nearly never was), it had probably actually begun at the sparkling electricity of "Run!", as his deadened psychic pathways unexpectedly brushed up against the mystifying, star-kissed brilliance of her. Or perhaps it had been at the shining compassion of "There's me" as the shimmering gold of her intoxicatingly beautiful, untouched potential flickered just on the outskirts of his darkened psyche.

Her mind shouldn't have been like that, silly little human mind that it was, but Time didn't seem to see her mortality or her transience as it danced in her wake, caressing her every movement. No, it saw a sparkling goddess, showing its love for her by covering her in more time traces than he'd seen on some of his own people, back when there had been others, back before he'd been a completely broken man, back when he hadn't been the sole survivor of a War he'd never wanted to fight. Something, someday was going to happen to Rose Tyler and it was going to affect everyone. Including him.

Back then she'd shocked him and fascinated him and he'd wanted nothing more than to peer into her timestream and find out what made her tick, what made her special and maybe, just maybe, try to siphon off a little of her brilliance for his own darkened psyche...but he didn't deserve that. Didn't deserve to even be in the presence of one such as her, with her human innocence and her sharp wit and her unyielding compassion. And so, in both of those surprising, terrifying, soul-shattering moments, as words, silly little sounds really, fell from either his lips or hers, the Doctor did what the Doctor does best...and he ran.

Ran and ran and ran from Little Red (or was she the Big Bad Wolf? It's never seemed clear to him) until the shimmering creature had cornered him in a dank, squalid cellar with the ghosts of the past and the wraiths of the future warring for his life and hers, a warm hand grasped his and well, fine, he'd given in.

He couldn'tve helped it, really.

Just a little touch, he'd thought. Just one little touch before he was gone, long past his self-approved expiration date, a filthy cellar the final resting place for the universe's kicking post. Just one little touch of her brilliance before he managed to snuff out her beautiful, aurelian light before she'd even been born. Just one small moment where he didn't have to be desolate and deserted, alone and unloved. Just one minute moment of connection in a world so barren to him now. His mind was so dark, so dead, so completely and devastatingly lonely and hers shone in the darkness, vulnerable and unprotected, brighter than a supernova, vivid and pulsing and so, so alive.

And so, he reached out...just a little. It was easy, so very, very easy to slip past her almost non-existent barriers. Just a tiny tendril of thought, a little sip of her splendor, that's all he'd wanted. She would never know and then he wouldn't have to die alone with the barren, utter silence that had been slowly driving him out of his solitary mind. The other Time Lords would have disapproved, were there still other Time Lords to disapprove, would have been appalled, in fact. And not just because she was a human. Entering her unprotected mind for no reason other than his own selfishness? On Gallifrey he would have been...well, it didn't matter. There were no other Time Lords, there was no Gallifrey, there was only him and her and for once he was going to take what he wanted and damn all the consequences.

And what he wanted was her. The TARDIS sang, time flickered and nothing and no one stood forward to keep him from doing it. He'd taken her hand, and he'd stared, icy blue eyes into warm hazel, and then he had told her the truth, the most truthful truth he'd told of late, perhaps the most truthful truth he'd ever spoken.

"I'm so glad I met you."

Taking a deep breath, he'd edged forward and let her comforting presence wash over him. Her warmth, her compassion and the nearly endless, intoxicating dance of golden time around her had nearly caused his knees to buckle. She was...she was everything and in that instant his greedy mind grabbed hold, determined to never, ever let her go. She was his, she would be his, she had always been his and he was never, ever letting her go.

She'd felt something, he knew she had. Her wide eyes had turned to look at him, to look into him, away from the terrifying consequences of his arrogant, guilt-ridden mistake on the other side of the bars, and the terrifying, golden spike of time around her had flared again, taking his breath away. She didn't understand, she couldn't understand, but still she'd welcomed him, still she'd held his hand, still she'd reached for him.

"Me too."

Oh, if only she'd known..

Then old Charley-boy had come charging down the stairs with all the indomitable brilliance and bravery of his species and then they'd been flung back into the TARDIS, back into the a glorious cycle of running and chasing and adventuring that was his life (their life) and he'd found he quite simply could not let her go. Would not let her go? He wasn't sure anymore.

Every moment, every adventure, he could feel her there. As his physical awareness of her grew, so too did his mental awareness. He could catalogue her moods by her scent, her health by the temperature of her ever-present hand in his and her attitude by the cant of her shoulders. And each time he reached out and strengthened the ties of their bond...because he was frightened (I could save the world but lose you) or desperate (I thought you were dead) or smug (That's him gone, then) or flat-out jealous (He's not really a captain, Rose)...he drew more of her into him, wrapped her Timeline more tightly around his metaphorical fist and she still remained unaware, blissfully his and yet not, not quite. They ran on, over dictatorships and through revolutions, and each and every day he dug himself further and further into her soul as she continued to give him everything he needed.

Well, not quite everything.

But how could he ask that of her? He told himself he could be happy with what they had. It was more than most other Time Lords would ever have done, even if it wasn't a full mental bond and even if he had never claimed her body as he was slowly claiming her mind.

Rassilon, he longed to take her, taste her, draw her to him and claim her in every way he possibly could, body, mind and soul but he couldn't do that. Couldn't take that step because once he did, there was no going back. She would know what he'd done, what he'd been doing since he had known her for less than two Earth days, she would reject him ("Your machine gets inside my head. It gets inside and changes my mind, and you didn't even ask?") and he would die from the loss of her.

How could he have begun this? How could he have started them onto this path that could only lead to heart and heartsbreak? He couldn't fathom even the smallest flickering potential that it might work out for them. Things never worked out for him. He carved out a small happy place in the universe and then the fates came along and crushed it. That was his life, his penance, his sentence.

He could quite easily, if rather ashamedly, track the history of the bond he'd been developing with her. Starting in that cellar, he'd reached out to her, his initial contact a conduit, an exploratory gesture that, done properly on Gallifrey (including the inordinate amount of inevitable paperwork involved), if accepted, would have been seen as the first stage of courting. A school boy's quest to hold a pretty girl's hand (mentally, anyway) with sufficient supervision from both Houses.

Rose, in her shining compassion and fantastic humanity, ("Me too"), had enthusiastically accepted his query, even if he hadn't properly asked.

Or, ok. Asked at all.

He'd sternly told himself he could be happy with that. A surface connection to her and, really, it was for her own safety. If he concentrated, he could track her faint mental signature whenever she (inevitably) wandered off and his slightly increased awareness of her only served for him to be able to monitor her and make sure she was receiving what she needed to be happy and healthy. (Although the TARDIS seemed more than happy to provide any and everything Rose wanted, the Timeship's desire to please Rose greater than he'd ever seen before with a companion except perhaps Susan).

Then Downing Street had come barreling in on them and, frightened of losing her when they'd only just begun, he'd reached out again, deeper this time asking her, in Gallifreyan, of course (he was, after all, a coward), in ways she could not possibly understand, to strengthen the bond, to make their connection deeper than that of two people just casually courting.

He had waited with bated breath for her reply, for some indication of acceptance from her, and it had come, first across the table, as heavy words and heavier looks were exchanged and she declared more faith in him than he could ever possibly deserve. Then she'd clung to his jumper in that ridiculous cupboard, impossibly close to him, and her declaration combined with the intoxicating smell of her adrenaline mixing in with her pheromones translated to him a human 'yes', good enough. She'd embraced him, mentally and physically, and he'd sunk himself just a little bit deeper into her soul.

Anyway, he could protect her better this way, right? They were a proper couple now, in his eyes and his society, anyway, even if they weren't probably by her standards. Others with telepathic awareness would see their connection and know Rose was unavailable. He felt the acute shifts in her mind now, so very, very in tune with her and, though he tried to stay out of her thoughts, it was becoming increasingly difficult not to take more. He wanted a more permanent connection, he wanted them to be unbreakable.

It continued, each adventure bringing a new terror, a new excuse to bind her a little closer to him, to claim her in the ways of his people, if not hers. He lived on the constant edge of wanting more and fearing she would discover what he'd done, more often than not his temper flaring at her when he'd much rather it been his passion. They were coming to a crossroads soon, he could tell, and he was desperately afraid of which way the forks would branch.

Would she stay? Would she go?

And then, that blighter Jack Harkness had come along and threatened everything. Even halfway across war-torn London, the Doctor had felt his connection to Rose suddenly pulled taut and strained as he desperately sought her and the threat to their link. She'd been in danger and he would have torn apart the whole of London to save her, but then the danger and her fear waned and something else began subtly tearing the edges of the bond. He'd not had to worry about this, not really, not even with the stupid head-hole boy and the idiot she'd left back in 2005 hadn't borne his consideration in nearly a year (it's been a while since he took her home, after all). They'd been no match for him in Rose's affections and he knew it. But this...this whoever-he-was currently across London with Rose seemed to be a legitimate contender for her affections.

Had Rose accepted Harkness' (blatantly offered) services, the cords of their connection would have snapped and the Doctor would not have been held responsible for his actions against the conman.

(All right, so he'd peaked at her memories of that incident. "Barrage balloon. You were hanging from a barrage balloon." He'd had to make sure the Captain hadn't done anything untoward to her, hadn't he?)

As it was, Rose's attraction to Jack weakened the unfinished bond, making the Time Lord both more irritable and more audacious than he might normally have been, accepting dance positions and making vague references to activities he may or may not be able to explore with her.

Allowing the Captain through the doors of the TARDIS and within meters of Rose again had been one of the most difficult things he'd done of late and he'd just managed to save the entire human race from utter oblivion.

Again.

Anyway, this time, everybody had lived! Impressive, to say the least!

Rose should have been beside him, pressed against him up in his personal space, laughing and reliving the day with him and planning their next big adventure. But instead, she had been flirting with the newcomer, eyeing the git up right in front of him, the bond tugging painfully at the Time Lord's mind, urging him to remind his almost-mate to whom she belonged.

She didn't know, she didn't understand how much it was hurting him (how could she, after all?) but she was hurting him nonetheless and she wasn't supposed to hurt him. He hid his pain behind his manic glee, and oh, that wasn't too hard because days like this didn't come along very often, not days when everybodyeverybody! lived.

But Rose...he had to figure out how to solve this problem with Rose.

And so, the first opportunity he had, he'd strengthened the bond even further, further than he'd ever meant to go, further than he'd ever let himself go before, pressing tight up against her, dancing in the console room once the American menace had gone to bed, daring to show her a glimpse of the satisfaction he could bring her physically, daring to show her that she needn't seek solace elsewhere, daring to show her that he, too, danced.

Dance turned into dance, Miller to Dorsey to Basie and the Doctor found he was not quite ready to let Rose and this evening go. Surely it wouldn't hurt to hang on just a bit longer. The TARDIS had dimmed the lights and changed the music, their soundtrack now a slow, sensuous melody that rang of smoky halls and forgotten loves and a small piece of him wondered at the ship's apparent approval. Never before had she done anything like this, in fact, he could have sworn that she'd actively blocked some of his early, clumsy attempts at his perception of romance in his younger days. Of course, never before had he been involved in something quite like this before.

It was long process, a Gallifreyan courtship, that was the only thing saving him at the moment. Rose wanted (he could smell it, taste it in the air, hear it in the increase of her single, lousy heart every time his hands lingered too long or he failed to bank the desire in his gaze) and, oh, he wanted, too. There were times when the scent of her desire was so strong he could barely focus on anything else, times when he was practically forced to retreat to the solitude of his bedroom and the slick, harsh slide of his own fist, imagining her there in front of him, under him, over him, beating off on his own just to keep himself from taking everything, taking her, fucking her, loving her, always.

Most of his mental control at the moment was currently devoted to keeping the bond in check and every single bit of his biological control not focused on life-sustaining processes had been corralled into keeping a certain part of his anatomy seemingly disinterested in her. It was a strange compulsion, this immense physical need for another being, one that had been growing ever since he met Rose, one that he was not used to feeling, especially not so strongly and so uncontrollably, this sheer, all-encompassing, desperate want.

(Bodies entwined, sweat mingling, the taste of her on his tongue, the sound of his name falling from her lips, the smell of him covering every inch of her)

Perhaps it was timing; he couldn't ignore that he was the last of his kind and life, if anything, sought to continue, but he was still sterile, he'd checked in the biolab just yesterday, just in case.

(Tongues and teeth colliding, finding new ways to draw out pleasure, to lick and suck and mark and be marked.)

Perhaps it was that he had never let anyone this far in before, never let himself get so dependent on another, never let himself need anyone so much.

(Writhing in sweat-soaked sheets, hands fisted in duvets and blonde hair, nails scraping, hips pumping, names screamed)

Or perhaps it was just merely her. Rose Tyler. Time shimmered and danced around her, the TARDIS rejoicing in her even more than he did. And in this time after the War, when he was nothing and no one but a madman in a blue box, she had become the center of his universe, a little Time-soaked pixie who beckoned to him more invitingly than a thousand stars.

(Sated, relaxed and content, limbs mingled, sighs drawn, dreams pleasant)

As the final notes of the last song faded away, he walked Rose down the corridor back to her room, something he'd rarely ever done before, but neither of them seemed to want to let the intimacy of their evening go quite yet. Plus, he needed to make sure she made it there all right, she'd had a long day, after all, barrage balloons and gas-mask zombies and irritating Americans and nanogenes. And if he happened to also be ensuring that a certain (temporary) new resident to the TARDIS was keeping his filthy Time Agent hands away from her, well that was just an added bonus.

Anyway, Rose didn't seem to be objecting to his presence beside her. Their hands were still intertwined and she leaned heavily into his shoulder as they walked, her cheek pressed against the soft leather of his jacket where he could feel her human heat seeping through, warming him. Her mind hummed against his across the bond, happy, safe and content, seeming to revel in his nearness and his undivided attention. There was a delicious, tangy edge of arousal in the air around her, seemingly constant when she was around him (and didn't a male part of him he wasn't supposed to have preen at that?) but it wasn't overwhelming at the moment.

They reached their destination and Rose shifted slightly to lean against her door, one hand still linked with his, the other moving to fiddle with the bottom of her ridiculous shirt.

He would quite like to do that for her, take that bottom hem, pull it up over her head and remove the tantalizing bra he'd felt pressed against his chest all evening to reveal her pert breasts to his eager mouth and leave those garments and his jumper lying in the hallway for the Captain to find later, cementing that Rose belonged to him and no other.

Instead, he leaned down and met her forehead with his, sighing happily as the bond pulsed, her closeness a balm to his ragged soul. Yet he was desperate for more, for his temple to connect with hers, for them to deepen this bond into something that could never be reversed, that would make her unequivocally his forever. He settled instead for sharing the air between them, her sweet breath caressing his lips, one of her hands resting on the back his neck, caressing the course hair at his neckline. Concentrating on memorizing the feel of this moment, physically and mentally, he missed the fleeting intention that flew through Rose's mind until the split second before she did it.

Her lips pressed forward to meet his and the hand on his neck tightened, a stunning combination of timid and determined, innocent and sensual, everything and not nearly enough - much like Rose herself. Stunned, he stood, motionless, feeling her delicate, delicious mouth move over his in a dance more erotic than he had ever felt in his thousand-plus years.

The hand that had been holding his dropped and fumbled to the handle of her door and, despite being blown away by the taste of her on his tongue and the incredible, golden surge of her in his mind, he did catch her next action. She was panicking, moving to protect herself, going to flee from his seeming disinterest(No, Rose, no! I was just shocked is all. Idiot here, me, and a bit out of practice.), lock the door in his face (Don't shut me out, precious girl, not when I need you so badly), have a good cry (No crying, not over me, not when I…when I would turn the universe wrongside up just to make you happy) and then take a nice warm shower with her memories of the evening (Oh, Rassilon. Me too, Rose. Me too. I'm tired of pretending and I just)...

He wanted.

And so, just like in that basement cellar months and months ago, the dam and the Doctor broke.

He surged forward, one hand moving to the small of her back and the other darting up to protect her head as he all but slammed her against the door in his passion. Something primal and male smirked in satisfaction as she went limp and compliant in his arms, letting him dominate, his mouth moving wetly against hers, his hands clutching her tight enough to bruise, his instant-to-attention hardness grinding into her stomach. Her shock and disbelief radiated to him across the link and he growled, quite literally growled, and then thrust his tongue into her mouth, determined to prove his desire to her. The feel of his tongue against hers seemed to jolt her from her stupor and suddenly he was overwhelmed by the red fire of her lust. Rose suddenly shifted to wrap her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist (oh, the friction there, just there, brilliant girl. He was hot and hard and aching and if she didn't stop that, this was going to be over before it began.)

Tearing his mouth from hers to allow her a gasping breath, he moved his lips to the junction of her neck and shoulder, breathing in deeply to take in the scent of her arousal mingled with his own, just a tantalizing precursor to what it was going to be like shortly when she was tangled up in him, sweaty, wet, wanton andhis. That's where they were headed, that's where they had always been headed. And he couldn't wait.

His clever nose, however, suddenly picked up another jarring, dissonant smell that clashed with the potent cocktail of him and Rose. The Doctor whipped his head to the side, pressing against Rose to distract her, searching for the source. There, standing several meters away at the end of the hall, gaping at them open-mouthed, his hand already in his trousers, was their newest guest.

Smelling the arousal of another male so close to his aroused almost-mate nearly blinded the Doctor with possessiveness and rage. He would mark her and claim her and bind her to him and she would only ever be his, fuck all the consequences. His hand went to the door handle, pushing it open and stumbling in, locking it behind him with Rose still clinging to him and crying out as his teeth sunk into her shoulder. A few breathless moments and one marked-Rose later, he heard the Captain try the handle on the other side of the door and he snarled at the TARDIS not to let them be disturbed. To his immense satisfaction, the door disappeared altogether and Rose whimpered in his arms for him. With his perceived rival on the other side of a transdimensional wall, the Doctor's frantic, possessive incoherence dissolved a bit, melting into pressing, overpowering need once again, spurred on by Rose's own red-hot desire across the link.

He moved them toward the bed, pausing only to help Rose get his jacket off his shoulders, lowering her to the mattress with his body following close behind. He sacrificed his lips on hers for a moment, just long enough to rip her shirt, bra and his jumper off before pouncing back on her again. Her warm skin meeting his cool chest nearly drove him over the brink into insanity again and he treasured the way her soft curves pressed up into the hard planes of his body. She was making the most delicious sounds, moans and whimpers of encouragement and filth, shifting up against him, frantically wanting him just as desperately as he wanted her. Her hands moved to the waistband of his jeans, making him suck in a surprised breath, but before she could touch him, he pulled them back and pinned them above her head with one of his large, cool hands.

The Doctor had already decided that he was not wasting his first climax from her on the unappreciative inside of his pants and if she touched him, that was exactly what was going to happen. Rose writhed and struggled underneath him as he held her down and his mouth sought her warm breasts, his eyes darkened, pupils blown wide with desire, reacting to both her show and the wicked gleam in her eyes She knew exactly what she was doing, cheeky minx. Her tongue went to the corner of her mouth and her mind sent him images of all the delightful things she'd like to do to him to make him come in her bed and holy Rassilon, he was so caught up in the idea of them he missed the fact that she shouldn't have been able to do that in the first place.

With a stern, commanding look, he released her hands and moved to undo the button on her jeans, dragging down her trousers and knickers together. She smirked at him but kept her hands above her head, her expression changing to one of heat and want as he then stood beside the bed to shuck his own trousers and pants. Making a noise of great relief, he released the catch of his jeans and lowered his zip with Rose's eyes fixed on his long, nimble fingers which stuttered a moment as she licked her lips. He knelt to undo his boots, grunting at the uncomfortable pressure on his groin and then stood and shoved his clothes down off his narrow hips, his entire focus still on Rose.

Lips parted slightly, eyes wide and pupils huge and dark, she was a picture of wanton brilliance lying there propped up on her elbows, hair messy from his hands, cheeks flushed. The aroused look she gave him only increased as he ran a hand over his tight stomach to take hold and stroke himself in response to a particularly hefty spike of lust from her across the bond. He closed his eyes a moment, enjoying the slick feel of his own hand and the heat of Rose's gaze when suddenly he was bombarded with images of other men from Rose. Three other men, specifically and though he didn't really catch faces as that's not what Rose's memory was focused on at the moment, one of them was definitely Mickey the Idiot. She was comparing his equipment to previous lovers, which was probably a completely normal human reaction and one he might normally have been able to handle (if not gloat over) but in this moment, swamped as he was by the blinding, overpowering need of the bond, all he could see was red.

She was his. She was always his. She would always be his. She was never going to desire another man for the rest of her life and no other man would ever touch her again.

He was back on the bed in an instant, flipping a surprised Rose over onto her stomach and then drawing her hips up and back toward him, pressing his hot and heavy hardness into her arse as he leaned over her, one hand reaching for her temple and the other moving up the inside of her thigh and slipping easily into her sodden entrance. She was dripping wet for him, her body calling out for him and her voice whimpering and begging him to take her. His fingers withdrew from her and she moaned in disappointment until she felt him lining up his tip, just at her folds, his other hand at her ear, both nearly the places he wanted to be.

"Mine," he growled lowly, speaking for the first time since any of this had begun and with that, he surged forward, his entire steel hard length buried into her to the hilt, his fingers pressed against her temple and his mind pouring into hers, filling every millimeter of her with him. She cried out in surprise and pleasure and he grunted back, repeating his claim. Then he pulled back and shoved in again, the force rocking Rose's bed, the two of them crying out together once more. Both his hands went to her hips, holding her still at first and then helping her move with him as they furiously sought release. He was hilting into her with as much force as he could and she pushed back to meet him with every thrust. This wasn't making love, this wasn't tender, this was claiming and it was going to be hard and fast for both of them. She was his and he was proving it. His mind continued to cascade through hers, wrapping her up in him tighter and tighter until they were so intertwined it was nearly impossible to tell where he ended and she began. He felt his release welling up inside him as the speed of his thrusts increased, a great torrent of passion breaking over him as he felt Rose clench tightly around him, their hoarse cries echoing through the room in unison.

Their Timelines snapped together, cementing his need for her in the very foundations of his being and he felt a number of potential futures crumble and disappear, new ones forming in their place. Colours, smells and textures bombarded him through not one but two sources, overwhelming and dizzying him as connection like he'd never imagined sang at him from every corner of his mind and hers. It was brilliant (he could feel just what it was like to have his cock buried deep with in her walls, how his solid chest felt pressed down into her back and how much she'd wanted him, always and forever) but it was also overwhelming. And if it was this confusing for him, what could Rose possibly be experiencing? His eyes flew open and the tumultuous world in his mind tipped, focusing him back on this singular moment, where he was still inside Rose, where they were sweaty and sticky and clothes were strewn haphazardly about everywhere. His throat felt raw and scratchy, there were bruises on Rose's hips shaped like his hands and her mind buzzed alongside his, as much a part of him as his own two hearts.

Oh, Rassilon...what has he done?

He scrambled back from her, tripping in his haste to get off the bed and away from his actions, slamming up every mental barrier he could possibly find even if it nearly burned his mind apart with the pain of separation from her. Rose, who had turned toward him at the sound of his sudden retreat, suddenly cringed and curled up in a ball, her hands on her head. He was caught between reaching to comfort her and retreating further from her, knowing he was the source of her distress. Mostly he just wanted to run away, but the TARDIS still hadn't replaced the door and was scolding him. There was no running from this, not anymore.

"Doctor, what're you doing?" Rose's muffled voice came from her hands. He stood, immobile, unable to figure out what he was supposed to say or what he was supposed to do now. How could he have done this? The Time Lords, what would they think? No, they were gone, weren't even important in this. What would Rose think? There was no way out of this, no way around it, no way to undo it and despite his horror, there was still some stubborn, gloating part inside of him that was rejoicing in the connection to his precious golden girl.

She was his now, after all.

"Why're you -" Rose gasped, willing herself up into a sitting position, hand still clutching her head. "Why're you blocking the bond? That hurts, Doctor. Doesn't it hurt you? No, don't answer that, I know it hurts you 'cause it hurts me."

What was she talking about? Could she know -? Confused words tripped over themselves to get out of his brain and to his mouth so fast that none of them made it aloud, although some must have seeped through the bond because Rose's fiery eyes suddenly shot up to meet his. "Yes, I know about it and don't look so surprised. Now quit doing whatever you're doing because it bloody well hurts."

His eyes widened and he released a few of the frenetic walls he'd thrown up, both of them sighing as the pain across the bond receded to just a very uncomfortable itch.

Rose lowered her hands, settling them in her lap and pulling the sheet up and wrapping it around her. "S'a bit better. Now, are we finally going to talk about this like adults or are you just going to keep standing there and staring at me like I'm a Slitheen?"

That finally seemed to snap him out of his stupor and he stumbled over his words. "Rose, you're not, you don't look like, I'd never," he stopped again. Sounded like a blithering idiot, he did.

"It's kind of cute when you get flustered and babble like that. Especially when you're naked," Rose laughed, tilting her head to the side and looking for all the world like the two of them chatting naked together in her bedroom was a normal thing. "C'mon, then. Budge!" she said, patting the bed beside her and, if it wasn't for the flicker of uncertainty he could feel from the edge of her mind in his, he might have been completely fooled by her bravado.

The TARDIS offered an olive branch to each of them as two dressing gowns materialized on the chair beside Rose's bed. He tossed the pink one to her and self-consciously pulled the blue one on himself, moving closer and finally perching on the edge of her bed. The physical proximity of each other made the bond flare a moment, urging them both to close the distance and connect skin to skin again. The Doctor opened his mouth to speak but before he could, Rose held up a finger.

"Before we say anything else, I first want to say that what we just did was completely brilliant and I have absolutely no regrets about it," she said, watching him carefully.

"Really?" he asked, his uncertainty prickling in his mind.

"Really," she confirmed, nodding her head firmly. "Except maybe next time, I'd like to be on top," she added and his eyes opened wide at both arousing suggestion and the allusion that she wanted to do it again. Rose simply widened her grin at him. "Ok, then, ask away."

"You know about the bond?" he asked, incredulously and guiltily.

"Yes," replied Rose, succinctly.

He gaped at her, open mouthed. "How?"

"The TARDIS mostly," Rose answered, looking up at the ceiling and the lights flashed affectionately. "She dropped a book on my head, literally, one day not too long after Downing Street. It explained the gist of everything. I reckon she didn't think I should be dating you without my knowledge." She raised an eyebrow at him and he flinched.

"Rose, I'm sorry, I'm so -"

"No, no, don't do that," she said, quickly. "I told you I don't have any regrets about us and I don't have any regrets about the bond. After 10 Downing, I was aware of you strengthening it every time it happened. And I think even before then I knew, kind of. Even in that cellar, I knew something was happening."

"And you're just...ok with all of this? Rose, you can't possibly understand what we've done and I don't understand how -" he began, looking frustrated. She didn't have any idea what she was talking about, she couldn't or she'd have run screaming from him long ago.

"It's like you said before, Doctor, it's a different culture. You're a different species from me, you've got different rules and traditions about dating and stuff. It was a bit weird for me at first but I figured when you were ready to talk about it, we'd talk about it. Admittedly, I didn't think it would go quite this far without the talking but I hoped it'd be before we were Time-Lord married, at least," she said, joking a bit but sobering at his still-stern expression. "The fundamentals are the same, we just have to figure out how to translate it to each other. Humans take each other places, hold hands and talk about their lives. You and I do that. Anyway, you wouldn't have been able to do it without my permission, yeah? That's what the TARDIS told me. I gave it to you, even back then."

"I don't know, Rose," he replied, honestly. That was a question he'd been guiltily asking himself since their first meeting. "Time Lords are very powerful touch-telepaths and with all the,er, hand-holding we do, I could have been influencing you all along, even without meaning to. I could have planted the idea way back that first time I touched your hand in Henrick's."

"I don't think so," Rose answered after considering his response a moment. "I've been practicing with the TARDIS and she seems to think it'd be pretty hard for you to get me to do anything I didn't want. Something about the future, I don't know. She won't tell me."

He just sat there a moment, marvelling at both his wonderful ship and his wonderful girl. "What do you mean you've been practicing with her? Practicing what?" the Doctor asked, frowning once again.

"The telepathic communication," Rose answered, tipping her head to the side. "I had to understand what you were asking me each time so we could move forward. S'a lot like learning a new language...except quieter, I suppose. I'm getting better. Didn't you get those images I sent you earlier? About all my plans?" she continued, grinning at him.

Thinking back through those memories, he did remember now her sending him those images, along with the unwanted ones later. "That's not the only thing I got," he growled, frowning again and explaining to her the other issue.

Rose flushed bright red and looked duly horrified. "I'm so sorry, Doctor! I didn't do that on purpose, I swear. I'm still not that good at it and I was a bit distracted and...I'm sorry," she repeated. How that must have made him feel...she looked down at her hands and fiddled with the bottom of her dressing gown.

"It's ok, Rose," he said, sighing heavily and scrubbing a hand over his face. She had been so remarkable about the cultural differences in their romantic life, he could be too. "Just, just try not to do it again. There is one other thing, though," he said. Actually, there were about a million other things, but this one they needed to talk about immediately.

"Yeah? What is it?"

"It's Jack," he said flatly and Rose looked surprised and a bit guilty.

"What about Jack?"

"Earlier today when you...when you were interested in him...it hurt me, Rose," he said, holding up a hand to stop her when she started to speak. "It tears at the bond and it hurts. If I did the same thing to you, it'd hurt you, too."

Rose looked chastened again. "I'm sorry. I wasn't really that interested in him, you know. I was trying to get a rise out of you. That's a human thing, I suppose, the jealousy. I thought maybe if I flirted with him enough then you'd make a move. A physical move," she clarified.

"Well, it worked," he grumbled. "Might not have been the best way to go about it, though."

Rose raised an eyebrow at him. "M'sorry for hurting you, Doctor. But would you have made a move otherwise? Because it seemed to me like we were in a holding pattern and I...I needed more."

"I -" he trailed off, frustrated again. "I don't know. Eventually? Maybe?" Honestly, the bond probably would have eventually become overwhelming enough that he would have had to. He sighed, again. "We'll figure it out, Rose. You're right, cross-species relationships are always a bit hard."

"But worth it?" she asked, tentatively, peering up at him through a curtain of blonde hair. He could feel her insecurity and fear pulsing across the bond, afraid he would reject her.

"Of course," he answered, reaching up and cupping her cheek, touching her for the first time. They both closed their eyes as the contact amplified their connection, soothing away hurt edges and calming nerves. The Doctor let a few more of his barricades fall, easing the bond back a little bit fuller between them.

"Will it always be as...overwhelming as it was before?" Rose asked when she finally opened her eyes.

"I can teach you how to control it," he replied, still so grateful that she was even giving him a chance. "Although the TARDIS seems to have done quite a good job teaching you so far, cheeky old girl." The TARDIS blew the mental equivalent of a raspberry at him and Rose giggled.

"You know, you can touch my mind, too," he said, slowly, leaning toward her. "I know so far it's only been me reaching for you, but I think you might be able to initiate the contact. D'you...d'you want to try?"

"I'd love to," Rose said, smiling at him and reaching over to wrap her arms around his torso as he leaned toward her. "Just one more thing…"

"Yeah?" the Doctor said, tentatively, letting his lips linger near hers and shivering as the bond tingled with anticipation.

"Told you..." she growled, hooking her leg around his and flipping the surprised Doctor over so she was straddling his waist, her pink dressing gown gaping open and her tongue poised in the corner of her mischievous smile. "This time I get to be on top."