I'm new to this universe (Series 2, at the moment), but oh. Nine was fantastic. This is me hoping to do him justice.

Bit at the start there is from Issue #621 of A Softer World. I saw the text applied to Nine/Rose, and… just, yes. Yes.

i love the way your face lights up
when someone says
it might be dangerous

She's half-asleep and rumpled still, rubbing at her eyes when she comes shuffling into the main room.

"Well," the Doctor says, straightening from his control panel, propping his hands up on the sloped panels. "Where to, today?"

Rose drops into a chair, tosses her head back and laughs softly. And oh, but he has missed this, the familiarity and subtle domesticity of a companion, not just him and all this empty space and all the universe outside with no one to show it to.

"Anywhere," she says at last, her voice still sticky with sleep, her eyes half-closed and warm. "Anywhere."

"Good." He smiles and yanks a lever and the floor beneath them hums. "Hoped you'd say that."

"So where are we?" she asks, as they step out of the TARDIS and into the clear evening sunlight pooling on the shore. Then she goes very still, her fingers laced in his tightening almost imperceptibly, her bare feet curling in the sand and grounding her. And then: "Oh."

"Prettiest sunset in the universe!" he announces, beaming. He lets go of her to trot on out in front, standing against the skyline and spreading his arms. A nameless ocean washes up behind him, pulls at the sand under his feet, but he stands his ground and breathes deep in the salt air. "Or so I'm told. Maybe not, there's lots of sunsets. But this one is nice enough."

And it is. The sky is all sorts of colors, pink and red and streaked with orange, catching on the tips of waves and reflecting back prism-like, and Rose makes a breathy, disbelieving sound as she takes a tentative step or two forwards. It's several seconds before she speaks (seven, because he counts them).

"Wow."

"You like it?"

"Well," she says, with a huff of laughter, sinking down to sit on the sand with her legs stretched out, her head tipped back, "Obviously." The wind toys with her hair, picks it up off her shoulders and she closes her eyes to it and the evening sunlight plays into the corners of her smile.

And the Doctor doesn't know how to tell her, doesn't know how to say that in his messed-up, broken life this is what he still lives for: the wonder in his companions' eyes when he has so little left in himself, the enchanted smiles when his own are so hollow now. Alone he is vacant, cynical, scientific; a star is a flaming ball of gas and this sunset is just a trick of the light, but he can see something anew a thousand times over, vicariously, through the eyes of an audience.

He can't say any of that, so he says: "Good."

He sits down next to her, and she glances at him sidelong, leaning back on her elbows. She stretches her legs out in front of her, towards the waterline. "Why are we here?"

"I thought you liked it?"

"I do," she says. "But usually with you it's… monsters, and… and doomsday, and… trouble. Not sunsets."

"Not every day is trouble," he says indignantly, sitting up a bit. "You want to see the universe, I'm showing you. So here's the possibly-prettiest sunset."

"Oh."

"Okay?" he asks, lifting an eyebrow at her.

"Okay," she says. And smiles, wide and warm. "Yeah, okay."

"But some trouble in between," he clarifies, and her eyes roll, the smile lifting into the shape of a laugh.

"Well of course. It seems to follow you around, it does."

"Not everywhere," he retorts, looping his arms around his bent knees. "No trouble here. One hundred percent trouble-free, this place. Just you and me and the sunset and-"

A distant scream pierces the air, shrill and panicked. The Doctor cringes under Rose's stare.

"…Well," he says, sheepish. "Maybe a little bit of trouble."

Rose sighs and stands, dusting sand from her jeans. "Well, that was nice while it lasted. You coming?"

She runs under waves crested in frost, on a frozen sea, with frail moonlight in her hair.

Her fingers graze the sculpted swoops of water, trail along the edges where ribbons of seaweed hang suspended; the icy ocean stretches to the edges of the sky, and shore is just a faint line in the distance where they are, out among the massive waves. The tides are locked in place mid-fall, foam and all, and her bright eyes drink in each in turn-

And then it's off to another, her shoes skating over the slick surface of the ice. Sometimes she slips a little, gasping, her arms wind milling briefly in an effort to stabilize herself. She doesn't ever quite fall, though almost.

Careful, he thinks, and doesn't say. They are never careful.

"What d'you think?" he asks, stepping closer. Rose laughs, turns, grins at him in the starlight.

"This is… It's…"

"Fantastic," he finishes for her, beaming. "Isn't it?"

"Yes," she exclaims, and slumps back against the curve of a frozen wave, laughing still. "What happened here?"

And he tells her, about the storm and the sun and everything else, though he knows she won't really listen and his words are lost to frost on the cold night air. It's not about what happened, it's about what is. Right here, now.

When he's done she says, "Okay."

He grins. "Yeah."

"So it just… it froze," she says, wonderingly. She twirls once in the moonlight, pushing her hands above her head. Her breath drifts off in frozen wisps. "Middle of a storm, it just…"

"It froze," he confirms, and reaches for her. Her fingers tangle in his, both hands, smaller than his and slender and strong, and the echo of a dozen other hands is there in his palm but this is hers. Distinct and familiar and altogether Rose Tyler.

"What are we doing?" she asks, blinking up at him, though she doesn't pull away.

"Dancing," he replies, and guides her to an open stretch, a flat plane between the waves where the ice is solid and smooth. "I know how to dance, remember? World doesn't end when the Doctor dances."

"There's no music."

"Sure there is." He tucks a hand round the curve of her waist, holds the other up high, feels the light pressure of her fingers against his shoulder. The moonlight glints cold off the ice and throws frosty light into the air. "Listen."

She does, intently, going all still. Then she shakes her head. "I don't hear it."

"Don't you?" he asks, stepping smoothly into a slow dance. "It's the ocean. Birds. Waves. You can hear the echo, if you listen. It's not always been like this here. This is just a moment in time."

"You're full of it," Rose says, but she's smiling at him, letting him lead the slow, purposeful dance to the imaginary music.

"Sort of, yeah," he agrees, grinning.

She tilts up, presses her forehead against his briefly, her eyes bright and wide and shining against the dark. "Thank you," she says.

"For what?"

Her hand skates against his cropped hair, curls against the back of his head, and her lips ghost against his cheek. She waves a hand at the frozen storm as she pulls away. "For this."

"Better with two," he reminds her warmly and pulls her closer, letting her settle her forehead in the hollow above his collarbone, letting her fingers skim along the slope of his ribs beneath his jacket.

They stand in the dust, side by side, with faded sunlight in their eyes.

She says, faint and sad like she already knows, "Where are we?"

"Dead world."

"Dead… What d'you mean… What's that mean, 'dead'?"

"It means dead. Empty. Dried up. No more people. Just this."

"Oh."

They stand quiet for a moment, and she is sculptural in her severity, rigid lines carved into the pale wash of the desert.

"Who were they? What was this place?"

"Doesn't matter."

Her face twists. "Doesn't it? They were… they were people, they…"

"Are gone. Maybe they were tyrants. Maybe they were peaceful. What's it matter? Just dead and gone now. Dust in the wind."

"They were people. I mean, aliens, whatever, but people."

"Lots of people are people."

"What happened to them?"

"Some disaster, I'd guess. Happens to everyone eventually. Apocalypse. End of days. Invasion, famine, disaster, plague. Everything has it's time and everything-"

"-dies."

"Yes."

They stand in alien rubble, fallen buildings and broken bits of metal and piles of ash flurrying in the wind. Rose stoops to pick something up, something burnt and broken and twisted, something that might have been a child's toy. Her brows crease, and she throws it back, brushes her hands against each other almost frantically as if to cleanse them of this place.

"Why are we here?" she says, crossing her arms. She doesn't look at him.

"You want to see the galaxy."

"Well, yeah, but this…" Her jaw sets, the lines of her face unyielding planes, and he wants to say, you don't know, you don't even know.

This is all there is of Gallifrey, dust and ash and nothing, and he put it there. Burned it. Watched it burn.

"This is part of the picture," he says, and doesn't say anything else.

The canyons stretch deep and empty, beyond their range of sight, cracks in the ground massive and mortal.

"Wow," Rose says.

He grins. "I know."

"No, I mean… wow."

Her hand wraps automatically around his when he reaches for it, slides her fingers between his in the familiar alignment, natural as breathing now, automatic as the steady alternating rhythm of his hearts. "C'mere. Got somethin' to show you."

He takes her to the edge, and they glance down together, their toes on shifting earth right there where the break in the ground begins, and he hears the breath lodge in her throat, feels her singular heartbeat ringing in competing time with his through the flutter of a pulse at her wrist, but she stays next to him.

They look down together, into the cavernous depth, and the slanted sunlight hits the layers of rock and lights them up multicolor. Rose's breath leaves her in a wondering sigh.

"A whole planet," she says. "And it's just split open."

"Yep."

"Wonder if it ends. If it ever ends," Rose says, looking down in. She kicks a rock over the edge. It clatters against the edge and falls away, into oblivion, into darkness somewhere far away.

He thinks, everything ends.

He says, brightly, "Maybe not. Maybe it goes on forever."

There's beauty in not knowing.

"Come on," he says, tugging at her hand. "There's a waterfall near here, hundreds o' feet tall. You have to see it."

The blade slips, nicks his cheek.

He hisses through his teeth, and hears Rose sigh theatrically, dropping her head into her hands.

"If you would just use a mirror-"

"D'you know who uses mirrors?" He wheels around to look at her, scrubbing away welling blood on his cheek. "The Subspace Mantises of Deneb Four, that's who. Oh, they use mirrors. Have I told you about the time I thwarted a Subspace Mantis invasion?"

Rose glowers up at him through her lashes, curled fingers pressed against her cheekbones. "I got a feeling you're about to."

"Talking! That's it! Just talking! I talked them out of invading!" He jabs his razor at her, pacing back and forth. "If that isn't clever, I don't know what is. And then there were the… Oh, what were they… the Zygons, that's right, don't get me started on Zygons."

"Yes. I know. You're very clever." Rose sighs and stretches, hands reaching up and clasping above her head. "Good night."

"Oi! Hey! Where're you going?"

"Sorry," Rose says, throwing an exasperated smile over her shoulder. She steps closer suddenly, rises on her tip toes to kiss his good cheek. She lingers a moment, or maybe he's imagining that, the warmth of her breath on his skin. "I caught this in previews. I'm gonna get some sleep."

He tries for a wounded look, but she's headed for the door already, so he resumes scraping the razor over his jaw and tries not to feel the sudden absence of her in the space beside him.

"Humans, I'll tell you what," he mutters to the quiet TARDIS.

Trees. Hundreds of meters tall.

"Just when I think I've seen everything," she says, staring up at the towering branches, jaw slackening into a mesmerized smile, eyes wide.

(He'll never get tired of that look on her face.)

He grins. "You think this is everything? Oh, Rose. We're just getting started."

She smiles at that, hopeful and promising, but says only, "Can we climb them?"

He glances around. "Why not? No-one to tell us not to. No tree-climbing authorities 'round here, not last time I checked."

"Okay," she says, a little breathless, tilting up on her toes, peering up into the sun-streaked greenery. "Let's go, then, come on."

It's easy enough with the massive branches, and he follows quickly enough, though she's good at this and gets away from him a few times. He has to watch for that flash of blond hair, the sharp red of her shirt moving rapidly through the leafy foliage.

"Oi!" he calls, once, hoisting himself up onto another branch. "Slow it down a bit, would you?"

"Too fast for you, old man?" she tosses back, grinning down at him.

But she does slow down, and they settle down on a branch a couple of meters wide somewhere up the tree, stretch their legs out and lean back against the trunk.

"Trees," says Rose.

"Trees," he agrees.

"Wow."

"Yeah."

Their hands brush and tangle and tighten around each other, and she scoots closer on the branch, nudges him so he lifts his arm and lets it drop around her shoulders. She lays her head on his chest and he breathes in her scent, traces idle circles on her shoulder blade with the tip of one finger.

"Afraid of heights?" he asks, glancing briefly over the edge.

"Course not," she replies. She takes his free hand between her two, strokes the creases in a palm he is still getting used to. "Why, are you?"

"Course not," he echoes, indignant, and she grins at him.

"What, the big, bad Doctor can't possibly be afraid of things?" she asks, tilting her face up towards his so they are just barely apart. The dappled sunlight makes her eyes spark.

He thinks, yes he can.

He says, "You're a bit of a nuisance, you know that?"

"You love it," she replies, archly.

She isn't wrong.

There's a massive storm, lightning and thunder and a torrential downpour soaking the world, and they stand in it, laughing, shivering, in the shadow of the TARDIS on the slope above them.

"What's this, then?" Rose asks, pushing dripping hair out of her face and tilting her head towards the sky.

"What's what?"

"This." She gestures at the storm. "Aliens? Apocalypse? Rift in time?"

"Course not." He folds his arms. "This? Just a thunderstorm."

"Oh," she says.

"Is that okay?"

"Little disappointing," she says, squinting through the rain at him. "'Just a thunderstorm'."

"Not really. C'mere."

He grabs her hand, pulls her down with him to the grass, and she laughs and yelps as they land side-by-side on the muddy ground. "What are you doing?"

"Look," he says in place of an answer, pointing upwards, and the lightning blinks across the sky as vibrant as the sun, and the clouds roil and tangle and burn in the dark and Rose's breath hitches. She settles closer to him, rests her head on his shoulder. He left his jacket in the TARDIS, and through his wet jumper he can feel the warmth of her, in welcome contrast with the cold rain.

"Maybe not. Maybe not disappointing."

"You just weren't looking hard enough," he tells her softly.

The rain beats harder and water streams into his eyes, and when he blinks it away Rose is looking at him now, tucked up against his side with her arm curled round his. Without warning she leans over, tilts her head over his and presses her lips down against his mouth in a brief, rain-damp kiss.

His eyes flutter shut, then open, wide and unblinking and inches from hers.

"Why'd you do that for?" he asks, with a micro tilt of his head. Her hand is resting near his ear, her fingers stroking the stubble of his hair.

"Dunno," she says. "Just did."

"Okay," he says.

She leans down and kisses him again, longer. She is the first person these lips have kissed, but he remembers all the right steps, resting a hand against the small of her back, cradling the soft curve of her jaw in his other palm. Her mouth his warm, her fingers in his wet hair gentle, and when she finally pulls away he is startled by how intensely, how immediately, he misses the touch.

They lie under the stormy sky and watch the rain fall.

And here –

Here they are, spinning through time and space, with all of the universe spreading out around them in a spiderweb of alternate realities and timelines, as the TARDIS sings its song and space twists and tangles around them.

They've got a blanket spread out on the floor and sandwiches Rose's mother packed for them, a proper picnic (domestic, but he allows it), and more to see ahead of them.

Rose curls her arms around bent knees, staring up at the column of energy spinning up from the control panels. The light flickers back sharp off her face.

"This is nice."

He grins wide and bright as a star, and takes another bite of a sandwich.

Yes. Yes it is.

Disclaimer: None of it is mine. My own sandbox is still under construction, so I'm playing in this one for a bit.

Thanks for reading.