The pressure of the metal turns her clenched hand white, a contrast to the flush of anger on her cheeks.

He's right here in public, literally frolicking down the path wearing that massive grin she loves so much, as if there's nothing wrong. But there is. There's something very wrong here. The girl whose hand he's holding isn't her, and this is hardly the first time she's seen them together. He keeps on rubbing it in her face, as if he isn't supposed to love her and stay with her for the rest of her life.

She can't take it anymore.

Her hands shake slightly and she tells herself it's just the chill of the autumn breeze. It's got nothing to do with fear. Her fury is too all-consuming for that sort of feeling to penetrate.

The two of them approach, stumbling almost like drunks as laughter overcomes them both and they lean against each other for support. He doesn't look up long enough from his own happiness to see her standing right there in the middle of the path, only a little ways away.

It spurs her into action. The heels of her shoes clack loudly against the concrete as she stalks towards them, sounding a kind of warning that he doesn't heed.

The other woman spies her first, caught up enough in him to practically look through her, though there's a spark of recognition in her eyes. She frowns, as if surprised to see her, but she still goes to look away regardless, as if wilfully dismissing her. The flash of metal as the gun is raised catches the other woman's attention at the last moment, though. Even from a relative distance, the widening of her eyes is still obvious.

Torchwood has taught her well. She knows how to use a gun. She's not afraid to do it, either.

Loose blond hair, remarkably similar to her own, fans through the air as the other girl swiftly turns and tries to shove him to the ground out of the way. He hits the ground just seconds after, but still too late.

A scream echoes from far across the park; some overreaction from a random person who's heard the gunshot. She couldn't care less about whoever they are. He's the only important thing.

Even from a relative distance, she can see how blood blackens the blue of his suit jacket and wets the grass beneath him before trembling hands cover it. The girl's shouting is unintelligible, and her fists press frantically against the wound.

The Doctor finally sees her down the length of the path, recognising her and seeming stunned that she would do a thing like this. He doesn't look guilty, though, nor particularly worried about himself. He's just surprised.

His frantic look only comes as she aims the gun again, this time at the woman leaning over him.

"Rose! No!" he shouts.

Twenty-four hours earlier...

The paperwork he's been glaring at, hoping it will just disappear so he won't have to actually fill it out, is suddenly covered by something he'd much rather be looking at, if he's honest.

"Hey you," Rose greets as she sits on the Doctor's desk, her backside perched on the edge of the wood just in front of the cursed documents. "You busy?"

"Not if I pretend all the forms in triplicate are just figments of my imagination," the Doctor says. "And in case you weren't sure, I'm very willing to do that. So willing, in point of fact, that I've already forgotten all about them. Forms? What forms?"

Rose raises an eyebrow. "Why didn't you get... what's that new girl called again? Christine, isn't it? Why didn't you get her to fill them out? That's why you even have an assistant; so's the rest of Torchwood doesn't have to chase you up every time you do somethin', since everyone knows you never do the clean up if left to your own devices. Where's she at this afternoon, anyways?"

The Doctor shifts uncomfortably in his seat. "Well..."

Rose sighs. "Don't tell me you've gone drivin' off another assistant. I thought Christine liked you more than enough to ignore all the crazy, at least for a while longer than this."

The Doctor shakes his head noncommittally.

Rose shrugs. "Whatever. We'll interview for another one if she doesn't show up. Anyways, the paperwork's part of why I'm here. I know you'd probably prefer a nice alien invasion to break up the monotony, but turns out they don't actually happen every day in London. Who knew? Anyways, I did what I could with the resources I had."

From behind her back, Rose produces a tray of iced chocolate cupcakes. She waves it in front of him temptingly.

"Rose Tyler," the Doctor says, "you always have the best timing. No better reason to take a break than cakes. Although..."

"I know, I know," says Rose. "But there's no edible ball bearings over this side, sorry."

The Doctor frowns. "What? No! What kind of mad universe did we get dumped in?"

Rose mock glares at him. "Ungrateful. Fine. I'll eat them all myself," she says. The Doctor snags one as she pulls the tray away and shoves the whole thing into his mouth. He looks smugly at her, or as much as he can with cake crumbs practically spilling past his lips.

She leans forward and licks some smeared icing off his lips. "Yeah, that's what I thought," she says. "C'mon. Tea break."

She takes his hand and leaps off the desk, dragging him out of his chair and all the way out of his office as well. He snags another cupcake as he goes.

"What was that about alien invasions not happening every day?" the Doctor shouts over the honking as the two of them, along with most of the rest of their Torchwood department, duck through the traffic.

"It must be tomorrow that we're due for a day off, then," Rose shoots back. "We should go on a picnic or somethin'. Take advantage."

"Brilliant! We've got cupcakes now and everything."

Rose's laughter is more like a pant of exertion as they round a corner at a sprint. "Yeah right. Who d'you think you're talkin' to? As if I'd believe for a second that any of them'll last 'til tomorrow."

The Doctor is saved from being caught pouting embarrassingly by a laser blast suddenly shattering a shop front window just half a block down the street.

The Doctor whips out his sonic screwdriver. He's glad to see that Rose leaves her gun firmly holstered, though. He hates it when she pulls it, even when she doesn't intend to actually use it. It always surprises him what traits have made it through the metacrisis. He can justify killing the whole Dalek species in one fell swoop, but he still hates guns. Even more, he hates the idea of her using one.

She doesn't need it, not even to face the kind of unknown alien invaders that are currently tossing London apart one building at a time. He'll do everything he can to make sure it stays that way.

As they duck behind a building to avoid the fallout of an explosion, whatever remains of his Time Lord senses tingle, as if he's being watched. He doesn't think it's just the hundreds of bystanders standing there in shock.

It's just the aliens keeping tabs on them, he thinks. Well, probably. Well...

He's not sure he wants to think of the other option. That would just be disturbing, given everything.

The massive explosions aren't quite enough distract him from that thought. It's only when Rose squeezes his hand that his full attention is diverted away. He smiles at her and they go back to running.

Rose stops dead in the doorway and looks over the flat, speechless.

She thinks for a second that she's walked into the wrong flat, but the Doctor's hovering right behind her in the stairwell, probably wondering why she's not moving out of the way to let him inside as well. She knows he'd have laughed at her obvious mistake by now if she's opened the wrong door. She knows he just can't stop himself when it comes to that kind of thing.

That's the thing, though. She knows him.

So while another woman entering her home to find every available surface covered in flowers, flowers, and more flowers would probably turn straight around and launch herself at her boyfriend, kissing him and thanking him for his thoughtfulness, she knows the Doctor wasn't the one who organised this. It's not his style. He doesn't really do romance, at least not like this. And that's never mattered to her. All she wants is for him to hold her hand and admit how much he loves her every now and then. She doesn't need flowers, let alone this many of them.

Which begs the question of how the heck all these got here, though.

The Doctor shuffles past her, sees the flowers, and says, "Huh." It sounds unruffled, but Rose can tell there's something behind his blank tone.

She sort of wonders whether the Doctor knows what's going on here, especially since she catches a sharp motion out of the corner of her eye. He snatches something off the side table and tucks it away quickly.

Rose strides over to the kitchen out of the Doctor's eye line so that he doesn't see her scowl.

He clears away the flowers without saying a word.

He slowly peels down her jeans and then presses a kiss to the bow on her underwear.

There's no way he's cheating on her, Rose tries to convince herself. She can't believe that, after all they've been through together, he'd ever touch anyone else like this.

He tells her he loves her all the time now, since becoming this almost-new man. He says it in whispers, and shouts it almost jokingly from rooftops, and conveys it silently through the way he treats her like her existence is the strange miracle. Surely he wouldn't do that if he doesn't mean it, or if he loves someone else.

He pulls down her underwear and places another kiss. She meets his gaze for a moment before her eyes fall shut and she gasps.

It's there in the look in his eyes.

She still trusts him. She always has.

But she can't help but remember just how many times he's reminded her that she shouldn't. She hopes there's not really anything to that.

Rose starts trotting down the staircase to meet the Doctor outside to head into work in the morning. She pauses, leaning against the banister, as she hears raised voices echoing up from just outside the building.

Once upon a time, back on the old Estate, she'd been used to that sort of thing. It wouldn't have even given her pause. This is a much different neighbourhood, though. Also, one of those voices belong to the Doctor, though she can only make out snippets of what he's saying.

"... I can't... She doesn't need to know... You can't do... Look, stop it... not leaving..."

The answering voice is just loud enough to make out that it's feminine, though not to make out any of what she's saying.

Rose feels bad for furtively listening in on his conversation like this. It's so dishonest. And yet...

She waits until the talking stops before finishing her descent of the stairs.

"Ready to go?" she asks overly cheerily as she exits the building. The Doctor's the only person in sight by now.

"Sure," he says distractedly.

"Everythin' all right?" she asks.

"You know me," the Doctor says. "I'm fine."

Rose frowns as the Doctor turns around to hail a cab.

Apparently she's not the only one being dishonest. That doesn't make her feel any better.

Rose watches the Doctor's assistant (who apparently hasn't been scared away by the Doctor's mad habits after all) twirl her hair around her finger and smile at the Doctor.

He has always had a thing for blondes, she recalls. And Rose being there as well hasn't always stopped him, at least in the early days. He's spent so long trying to convince her that he's the same man; she doesn't know what to do if he really is when it comes to this sort of thing.

She grips the edge of her desk and tries very hard not to be angry – she doesn't really knowanything, after all – but it's hard. She has to admit that she's always been the jealous type.

"C'mon," Rose says as she sweeps into his room. She grabs his hand, earning an annoyed look from Christine that only seems to her to confirm that something's going on.

"Where are we going?" the Doctor asks.

"Anywhere," Rose says. "I've got my phone and my gun. You've got your screwdriver and the psychic paper. They can call us if there's an emergency."

The Doctor, who claims he only stays working at Torchwood so he can be the first on the scene when the aliens show up and so he can spend every day with Rose (Rose hopes those are the actual reasons he stays, and not certain other acquaintances he's made at work), is only too glad to get away from the building for a while. He goes along with her without complaint.

His happiness is contagious enough that she figures she's just being paranoid. Maybe Torchwood's sending her just as stir-crazy as it does him. So she chooses to just let herself enjoy this, laughing and joking with him just as they always do.

She catches a glimpse of Christine across the park and wonders what the hell she's doing here. The next thing Rose knows, there's a gun being pointed at them and the Doctor is collapsing to the ground. Another shot goes off, but it doesn't hit either of them. She doesn't think of pulling her own gun. Rose is too focused on the Doctor to even look up at the bang. The eventual wail of ambulances doesn't make her look up either. Everything else at that moment, at least to Rose Tyler, is just peripheral.

Her hands are wet with the Doctor's blood, and he can't regenerate anymore. There's nothing more important than that.

"Hey there," she says with a watery smile when the Doctor looks up at her, looking stunned. "And you call mejeopardy friendly."

"I got shot," the Doctor rasps. Rose nods, tears trailing mascara down her face. "That's new," he says. "Well, new-ish."

"Mmm," Rose says. "That was a bit stupid of you. More than usual, anyways."

The Doctor tries to laugh, and ends up coughing instead.

"Don't die," Rose begs.

"'Course not," the Doctor replies weakly. "I promised you... a human lifetime... remember?"

"Yeah," Rose says. "You just better keep that promise, too, or I'll hunt you down."

He doesn't speak after that. Rose presses down on his wound as hard as she can and concentrates on the fact that the pumping of blood through the gaps of her fingers means his single heart is still stubbornly beating.

The Doctor groans piteously when he wakes, but that's not enough to make Rose pull her punches with him. She's been waiting hours for this, after all.

"You really could've mentioned that you'd picked up your very own psycho stalker girl," Rose says, annoyed.

The Doctor cracks an eye open. "Wha'? Rose? 's happening?"

"You got shot , and now you're in the hospital," Rose says. "Police have just been by, as well. Your assistant of just a week or so takes to hangin' outside the flat, givin' you roses and chocolates, claimin' you both love each other more than life, and all sorts of obsessive stuff – any of that ringin' a bell?"

"I'm sorry."

Rose hears those words out of his mouth often enough, but rarely directed at her. It sucks any amount of real anger she's been feeling out of her and leaves behind just a bit of exasperation.

"You could've avoided all this if you'd just told someone, you know," she says. "You just have to make a big production out of things though, don't you?"

"All the world's a stage," the Doctor murmurs. His lips twitch as if he can't quite form his usual smile. "I didn't want to concern you."

"Well that's just silly," Rose says. "Everythin' about you concerns me until you say otherwise."

"I never will," he promises.

Rose knows she's probably been being stupid to think otherwise. That's why she'll never tell him that she even has.

"Good," Rose says. "'Cause the doctors – the medical ones, I mean – say you're gonna be fine. Still got a long life ahead of you and all. Lucky a bit of near death is just another day at the office for us."

"Bet you weren't worried at all," the Doctor says.

"Nah," replies Rose. "Not even a little. I mean, I was worried you might make me miss Eastenders, but that's about it."

She's not sure the Doctor hears the half-hearted joke, he falls asleep so quickly. She leans down over his hospital bed and places a kiss on his cheek, and then lays her head lightly on her chest, far enough away from the bandages that she's fairly sure the slight weight isn't hurting him.

She listens to his heartbeat until she falls asleep herself.

She dreams of him, and of forever, and hopes he shares her dream.

~FIN~