Oo...I forgot all about posting the little epilogue to this one! Here it is, sorry about the delay! Might return to this 'verse some day to explore the bits inbetween (and possibly the shaggings in between) =) if there's interest.

"Doctor! Earth to the Doctor!" comes a familiar, well-loved voice, snapping him out of his daze.

"Sorry, love," he answers, smiling over at her, the woman of his dreams, the woman he never thought he would find, the woman he almost never had.

"What had you so far away?" Rose asks, her keen eyes watching him with a sliver of concern. She can read him so, so well and his heart clenches, brought back once more to his previous thoughts.

Something in his expression must show his feelings because Rose is around the table in a moment, sitting in his lap and linking her arms around his neck. "Hey, it's all right. I'm here."

"A year ago today, Rose," he mumbles, burying his face in the crook of her shoulder and inhaling, deeply. His arms have wound around her tightly, as if he can erase those horrid, blood-soaked memories by merging his skin with hers, the clothing between them be damned. "I was just thinking about it and remembering…" he breaks off a moment, shuddering. Rose still wakes up in a cold sweat, thrashing and calling out for her lost team members, the jagged scar marring her stomach a physical reminder of that day. "I thought I'd lost you."

"You're stuck with me," Rose says softly, her arms clenching around him, one hand moving up into his soft hair, a reassurance to him and her both.

"Forever?" he asks, quietly, their familiar game a comfort.

"Forever," she answers. He sighs and pulls her lips to his. The kiss is not frantic as he expected it might be with the terrors of blaring alarms and sterile halls and dark-eyed worry, but soft and comforting, which quickly deepens into stirring and hot.

Speaking of stirring, his pyjama trousers are providing an interesting sort of friction against Rose's lovely bum but he'd really like to get them out of the way in favour of friction of a different sort.

To his surprise, Rose pulls away just as things start to get good (oh, who is he kidding? It's always good. Even the fumbling, giggling, no-to-the-left-a-bit, no-no-other-left parts are brilliant and just - them). "Nu-uh, Mister. No distractions this morning. You - sir - promised to help with this," she says, waggling a finger at him as she stands up and moves (disappointingly) to the other side of the table.

"But I was helping, Rose," he whines, not-so-subtly adjusting himself and sighing at the gentle pressure. "You know it's difficult to make decisions while stressed. I was merely trying to help you relax -"

Rose makes a very unladylike snort at him. "Mm-hmm," she laughs and then adds, "I'll make it up to you later," accompanied by a filthy look that causes his anatomy to hop-skip-and-jump right back to where it had been a moment again. "Besides, I think you'll like this part anyway."

"Fine, fine," he says, mock-sighing heavily. He's only pretending to be put upon because, really, he would steal the stars from the sky if she asked him to. Reaching across the table, he picks up his brainy specs and places them on the bridge of his nose. They drive her wild and maybe he can distract her into giving him his reward early. "What universe-shattering decisions are we making today?"

At first, he doesn't look closely at the papers Rose slides across the table, too busy appreciating the sensual looks she's throwing his glasses. Finally, his gaze flickers down and he lets out an indignant noise, all thoughts of table-shagging momentarily displaced by the horror in front of him, to the giggling amusement of Rose.

"ROSE TYLER! How could you even consider having pear jelly at our wedding?"