First off, I hope you all have joyous Christmas and wish you the best for the holiday season (and New Year). I hope you get to spend this time with your loved ones.

Secondly, I am very sorry for the delay. I got a bit sick and then had some personal – lawyer issues to deal with which set me back for a bit.

A hundred-thousand thanks goes out to my beta for all her hard work this year, her wonderful help and her critical analysis and view on my chapters which has been a monumental aid in getting the characters right. Thank you, The Clever Doctor, you are brilliant and simply fantastic and don't you ever forget it!

Also a big thank you to all my reviewers. I half-expected a lot of people to drop off after my last chapter; instead you guys did what I hadn't anticipated – more people reached out in outrage at the plot twist and the coming hardships for our beloved Rose (and our Doctor). I'm really grateful for everyone's enthusiasm and I had definitely not intended this originally, but because of you all, I've decided to add a bit of Christmas cheer to this chapter: Smoochies between our Time Lord Doctor and Rose. I hope you enjoy it; I've never written anything quite so graphic before so I hope you enjoy it.

Warning: Scenes of a graphic nature (sort of; it's still just kissing, technically) and intoxication.

Helpless.

She'd travelled through to many worlds, too many dimensions to count and yet her time in them had been limited from the start and in so many of them, she'd been helpless, doomed from the start to fail as her time ran out before she could help anyone.

Rose hated it, that feeling of failure, of being responsible for all these dimensions and yet continuously proving just in how many ways she wasn't good enough, not enough like the Doctor, not clever, quick or experienced enough to suss out their issues and resolve them before she was pulled back into Pete's world.

Her mum didn't know and neither did Pete or Jake, but Mickey had seen it, had recognised it, tried to tell her that she wasn't responsible, that her only mission was to find the Doctor, that no one expected her to save these other dimensions.

But he was wrong.

Rose did, she expected it, and so would the Doctor. None of his companions would just abandon people who needed their help and yet that's precisely what she'd done, continuously, over and over again. The few she'd helped could not be counted against the billions and billions she'd left behind, the ones she'd either killed herself or abandoned to their death.

It hadn't occurred to her then that she'd never get the chance to atone for all her crimes, that she'd be forced back into Pete's world, yet again, with no other choice; only this time it was to her own execution rather than someone else's. She would've liked to say she was altruistic enough to prefer her own death to someone else's – and if there was someone in front of her, Rose knew that she'd always choose their survival over her own, but right here, right now, it was an abstract concept and though her guilt weighed on her, she couldn't help but want to stay, couldn't help but search through every timeline, despite the Tardis' words, for an alternative, any alternative, anything that suggested that she may yet survive inspite of all the odds.

Unfortunately, though there still were several thousand timelines, several thousand ways she could go about it, ultimately they all had one of four endings.

One, she stayed in this universe. No matter how she went about it, the universe would unravel, reapers would descend and the Doctor, the Tardis, everyone she knew and loved as well as billions upon billions of people would die.

Choice two, she left through Pete's world. Either she died right away or she held on for a bit, but in the end, that universe would erase her. Choices three and four ended up with her in Pete's world and escaping; however, most of the time she'd couldn't hold out for long enough, ending up either insane or withering away into nothingness. But there was one, one timeline in thousands, where she survived. One chance to get it right, to get it all right. Rose knew if she wanted to follow that timeline she would have to stay strong, determined, for longer than ever before, she'd have to fight not others but herself, cling onto all that she was, if she wanted to have any hope of finding him again, of getting back to the right universe. The odds were not in her favour, were, in fact, stacked astronomically against her but despite how infinitesimally small it was, it was still a chance, it was still hope and it was more than she'd had just five minutes ago.

But it wouldn't be easy, it would be a struggle, it would be hard, it would break her even further than she already was and for a moment, Rose hesitated, wondering if she could even find the strength to fight anymore, if she could still do it, this, continue struggling with everyone else against her, with nothing but the faintest hope that someday she would be reunited with him, with her Doctor. That maybe he'd forgive her or if not forgive, that he'd help her. Could she really do this? Another endless struggle? Face the horrors she'd seen along that timeline, glimpsed really, for the barest second, felt the terrifying panic? Could she go through it? Most timelines had her failing, had her struggling along until finally she succumbed, until she no longer had the strength to keep going, until all hope had abandoned her yet again and her will to live was drained.

Rose felt the wetness on her cheeks and knew she'd been crying, her hands trembling slightly as the Tardis hummed mournfully in her head. In all likelihood, she wouldn't make it. This was their last goodbye, a last hurrah to their time together and her anger at her friend abated.

It was foolishness that had made her blame the ship at first, or at least she thought it was. It was a perfect time loop, a fixed point in time that even the Tardis could not have avoided; because this Tardis, the one she was currently in, had not yet reached out to Rose yet – but just as she did, the ship knew that's what would have to happen, that she would have to contact Rose in that moment when their Time Lord was about to regenerate, because the Rose that was with her now and had told her that she would. A loop in time. A self-fulfilling prophecy. It would happen because in many ways, it already had, even if the Tardis and the Doctor both had not yet lived through it.

Rose stroked the console, giving a mute apology to her friend for the anger she'd felt, the insults she'd hurled at the ship where only the Tardis' rather empathic reprimand had reminded her that no matter how often she was tempted to categorise their relationship – and in turn the ship – as her friend, her sister, her mother, none of those terms fit because the Tardis was everything all at once. She saw everything and everyone, saw all that was and all that could be; her knowledge was unfathomable, her power incomparable as she monitored all of time and space, searching out places which needed the Doctor's help most urgently.

And yet, despite all that, despite the fact that her attentions should have been wholly taken up by far more important matters, the Tardis always looked after her, consoled her, helped her, bolstered her strength and her courage where she wanted to falter, wanted to sulk and cry and let the world run its course and just give in, let it take her and leave the Doctor because she couldn't anymore, didn't want to anymore, didn't see the point of fighting anymore.

The Tardis reminded her, helped her, allowed her to see her Doctor as he grew and changed, as yet another man took his place; his face ever-changing with each timeline and yet still notably him, her Doctor, the man she loved – always running, always helping ... and always alone.

And she remembered why she'd wanted to be with him. Because he didn't have to be alone – and neither did she.

Rose found she didn't have to fake her cheer anymore, her laughter turning more genuine and her actions less guilt-ridden, less tearful with each message she recorded for him, for a future him. The Tardis had provided her with the three most likely future timelines, helped her seek out the moments where he was attempting to find out more and Rose found herself just slightly happier as she recorded the messages for him, alternating between scolding, pleading and cajoling him to drop the matter, hoping that this way, at least, even if she never did find her way back, she'd at least stopped him from looking any deeper, from searching out what, in the end, would only hurt him more. He must never know, not unless she in that one-in-a-million shot made her way back to him; something Rose was sincerely doubting now, her good humour and her strength flagging and waning, regretting all the things she'd never get to see, to live through and experience, all the things she'd wanted to tell him, share with him, all the moments they'd never had and most likely never would have.

Once the last message was done, she closed her eyes, leaning against the closest coral, enjoying the flood of warmth and sympathy from the ship. When she opened them, she nearly laughed at the sight of the hypervodka and two tumblers courtesy of the ship; but her humour refused to surface as the pending conversation made her heart ache and her eyes tear up. It was one she'd never wanted or imagined she'd ever have to have. How could she ever tell her mother that her daughter was dying – and, more importantly, that Jackie was supposed to stand by and let it happen?

Donna's mind was awhirl with information; so much knowledge and so many memories. The Doctor suddenly made sense in ways he never had before; his behaviour, his actions, his thoughts and she couldn't help but feel for him. That first time they'd met – he had offered her the world, no, the universe, and she'd rejected him, had told him that he scared her. She hadn't intended anything malicious by it, hadn't even realised just how much pain she'd caused him by those simple words – not until now, anyway, now that she could remember exactly how her words had affected him.

After a day where her fiancé had turned out to be a spider-lovin' bastard – and consequently died – a day where she found out aliens existed and the world was so much larger than she'd ever dared to imagine and she'd been faced with the potential death of her planet and found herself dangling from only a spider's web above a hole which would threatened to make her fall straight to a race of aliens intent on devouring her; and yet she had told the Doctor that he was the one who scared her.

Now, having seen him, all of him, she couldn't help but regret it. Though she couldn't have known it at the time, there was little else she could have said that would have hurt him worse.

And god, her head hurt. Her mind felt as though it was continually expanding and yet collapsing in on itself, burning, always burning, until she felt like screaming and her thoughts felt muddled. And then it was okay again, she was Donna again with additional memories and thoughts, yes, but still Donna all-around and the pain was gone as if it had never been there.

She knew what was happening though she refused to admit to it. She liked being the Doctor-Donna. For once, she mattered. She really was important – though now she could see that the Doctor had never doubted it, had always thought of her this way. But now, for the first time, she actually felt it. It was glorious, marvellous, splendiferous and simply fantastic.

Donna-Doctor Noble was brilliant and she could finally see it, could see how with all his thoughts, all his memories, she could improve upon his ideas and plans, could see how much fun, how exciting it would be. Travelling the universe, saving planets and civilisations; the world had just been waiting for her. The universe needed her and she needed it, needed to run, the itch almost physical as every part of her longed to run, run and never, ever stop.

But the burning continued, fraying the edges of all that made Donna, Donna, trying to push her out, erase her, for a human consciousness was never meant to contain this much thought, this much processing, this many memories. And there was no way out. No one else could handle it, it couldn't be transferred to anyone else, leaving her with the Doctor's only other option – though neither had touched upon the topic, not daring to even mention it never mind discussing it.

But Donna knew; they would have to be hidden, carefully, inside her and thereby erasing every trace of him in her life, of their travels, of everything she'd seen, everything she'd learned about herself and about the world at large. It would all be gone. She knew that but she refused to acknowledge it, fought it, determined to pretend until the very last second that she really would get to travel with the Doctor, that she would get to see everything she'd always imagined.

Her strong, fierce personality was what had allowed her to hold on this long and she knew that her time was limited but she hadn't been able to help herself, her brilliant mind running through one scenario after another, searching desperately for a solution when the incredibly hot Captain – and god, she would prefer by far to let her mind wander along far more interesting paths, all of which revolved around that delectable, perfect specimen of masculinity in front of her – brought up the one subject she didn't know what to feel about.

Donna Noble had only met Rose once, for a few moments, had helped her carry the Doctor and seen the clear affection between the two. The blonde woman had seemed heartbroken, a bit jaded and very emotional; but that was about all she'd been able to glean from her. Donna hadn't yet had time to grow any kind of fondness or affection for the blonde, barely even acknowledging her as more than an acquaintance in her own emotions because the only times the Doctor had ever talked about her, it had been about the hole she'd left in his life, missing her, never anything to truly give her an insight into just who Rose Tyler really was; which had not been a problem up until now.

Unfortunately, now that she had both the Doctor's and her own thoughts, memories and feelings to contend with, it was becoming rather difficult to discern what her own feelings for the woman in question were.

She could hear it, in her thoughts, his voice as he stood in front of what every instinct told her looked like the Devil – horns, fire, taller than most skyscrapers and inducing her with an almost instinctual fear that reverberated through every part of her, told her to flee, to run, to forget. And yet the Doctor had stood there, had challenged him, fought him – and she could feel it, a dull echo of his emotions in that moment and yet overwhelming to her, a depth and magnitude to his feelings she'd never before experienced.

"I've seen a lot of this universe. I've seen fake gods and bad gods and demi-gods and would-be gods, and out of all that, out of that whole pantheon, if I believe in one thing, just one thing... I believe in her."

There had been fear – but no doubt, never any doubt, not in Rose. Donna had never believed in god – there were just too many things which didn't fit the facts – but she wondered if any priest held even the smallest quantum of this unyielding, unbreakable faith the Doctor had in Rose Tyler. Even when the woman been locked away in an alternate universe, he'd still held onto it, had still believed despite the facts, despite everything he knew; his belief in that one woman in all of creation had never faltered.

It was hard to fathom how he could even hold all this inside of him, how he could not let it leak to the outside world, not let her know every minute of every day just how much she meant to him. She'd known the Doctor had two hearts, but she'd never thought it would carry over into the metaphysical hearts, his emotions having deepened and strengthened by the centuries of experience, both harrowing and joyous, each feeling strong enough to bring her to her knees and make her weep though they weren't even her own.

Donna couldn't help but feel glad she'd never ended up getting married – and not just for who Lance had turned out to be in the end, but for the simple fact that back then she had been willing to succumb to pressure, had just wanted someone, anyone, who would lend her his support, his strength, would encourage her when her mother sought to subdue her. She had been looking for a friend – not even a best friend, just a friend would have been enough.

She had learned when she was very young that she wasn't the epitome of a girl or a woman as society seemed to want them. Donna wasn't one to spend hours in front of a mirror primping endlessly, had long since grown accustomed to being outshone by Nerys who was blonde, slender and petite where Donna had a stronger build – though more curvaceous – and was at the same height as most men. For a brief time as a teenager she'd attempted to conform, had tried to join the cliques and giggle and gossip with the best of them, to act shy and mysterious in front of boys to 'lure them in'.

Except that wasn't her. She loved to gossip and enjoyed girly things true enough, but Donna had never been one to sit there quietly, never been the princess who would faint at the first sign of danger or wait for a knight to find and rescue her. She preferred by far to be the one doing the rescuing, to run headlong into adventure and – since she met the Doctor – also into danger; the rush was incomparable. Donna had long ago realised that she was too vivacious, too headstrong and stubborn, too loud-mouthed and too honest for most men. Up until now she'd thought she'd be happy to settle for someone who would be her friend, even if they didn't love her, didn't understand her, didn't understand her need to explore the world outwith the confines of the town and land she grew up in, her yearning for the stars her grandfather had told her about since she was a child, the need for adventures rooted too deeply within for her to ever be able to completely give it up.

She had never found anyone aside from her grandfather – and, indeed, had started to think she may never find anyone – who could accept her as an equal until she met him. Though the Doctor was from a species which had evolved so far beyond humans, though his mind was something she hadn't had a hope of matching before the metacrisis, he had treated her as an equal, had allowed her to tease him and retorted in kind, behaving more like siblings and friends rather than a teacher or an acquaintance as she had half-expected.

But he had welcomed her into his life, had accepted her bossy nature and never-ending questions and allowed her to flourish even as she grew to understand just how terrible and lonely his existence truly was. But Rose... the Doctor loved Rose; he loved her with abandon – passionately, fiercely, an emotion so strong it stole her breath... and Donna wanted it. Not with the Doctor – she could never see him that way – but that love, she wanted someone who loved her like that, someone who held her opinion above everyone else's, someone who understood her, who would support her and have her back, someone she didn't have to doubt but a love and relationship based on mutual acceptance and equality, on love and friendship.

She could see it all, could feel it all, everything he'd thought and never said, all the tumultuous emotions, his wants, his desires – the ones he hid and tried not to dwell on; she could see it all. And it was beautiful.

But it was the Doctor's feelings towards Rose, towards the woman he loved; it was not how Donna felt about her but as her own emotions had been ambiguous at best towards the blonde and very faint – especially when compared to the strength of the Doctor's feelings – she found it surprisingly difficult to distinguish between them. The only clear emotion she'd had was one of protectiveness – because she'd seen what had happened to the Doctor when he was without her – and it echoed the Time Lord's own need to protect Rose Tyler from anything – and anyone – who might seek to cause her harm.

Before she knew what had happened, his emotions had melded with her own until they were indistinguishable from one another. Though she knew he'd never let it get that far, a part of her couldn't help but wonder if that's what would happen to her – his emotions, his thoughts overwhelming her, bit by bit until she could no longer tell her own from his. She had felt protective towards the blonde, wanted Rose to stay with the Doctor, to make him happy and to help her as she had a vague understanding that Rose had been through a lot during their separation as well. Only that feeling had resonated with the Doctor's own, his protectiveness giving rise to her own as she saw how often he'd been close to tying her to him so the blonde wouldn't succumb to the temptation to explore on her own – and, inevitably, land in danger – his fear of her death strangling him every waking moment.

And as her own protective feelings had surged up, his had seamlessly integrated with her own and she hadn't even realised it at first – not until Jack had mentioned her name, had started questioning Jackie.

She'd nearly gasped at the feeling rising up inside of her, threatening to drown her, and it took all she had not to interrogate both Jack and Jackie herself, to find out whether any harm had come to Rose. It was hard to reconciliate the emotion and thoughts inside of her with the realisation that she'd only known the other woman for a few minutes at best; and that's when she began to understand the feelings weren't entirely her own.

Then the blue Dumbo came in and obviously discerned with just a glance what Jack had been up to – not that the Captain was putting any particular effort into hiding it – and the sight of him jolted something in her; there was something in his eyes, something that reminded her of... something.

Something in her hand, wound across her fingers; a sense of awe, despair, sorrow, loss, love... none of it made any sense. Frowning, Donna dropped her gaze, staring at her hand but it was until she glimpsed Jackie out of the corner of her eyes, her blonde hair, that the pieces fell into place.

A memory. A single strand of hair, dyed blonde, curled around the Doctor's hand. A biological extraction. A child – part human, part Time Lord. Jenny. A perfect balance between the Doctor and Rose... and their child.

Donna's head shot up with a gasp, her heart aching as her eyes found him, the Doctor, and realised just why he'd rejected her for so long, why he had been so devastated by her loss; not only had he lost his child, but he'd lost their child, his last connection to Rose.

"Donna...?"

His almost comical expression as he defended himself to Jackie faded, replaced by concern. Concern for her, how ironic. She was grieving for all he had lost, and he was just standing there, oblivious to her inner feelings, her knowledge. All thoughts of the Captain disappeared.

She needed to talk to him. She'd never forced him to confront it, never thought he needed to; but he did now. Because Rose was back and, sooner or later, he'd have to tell her.

"C'mmon, Dumbo," she used the moniker half-affectionately, half-exasperatedly as she forced her arm through his elbow, pulling the unwilling half Time Lord with her. "Time for us to have a chat."

"Wha-?" The Doctor looked torn between thanking her for helping him escape Jackie's tender mercies and dreading what he suspected was yet to come.

"I think she's breaking up with you, Doc," Jack commented with teasing grin though his eyes were inquisitive, assessing her, trying to discern her motives undoubtedly; and failing. An immortal, her memories told her; how interesting. She wondered just how much he'd learned about woman – if even half his innuendos and stories were true, she'd be willing to bet a lot. Shame, she didn't have time to take him up on it just now – and he was obviously in a relationship with Ianto, the man she'd seen on the monitor. Flirting only, no touching.

Oh well, Donna admitted with an inviting grin in the Captain's direction, she could definitely handle that. His eyebrows quirked up and a slight smirk formed in response before she dragged the Doctor out of the room, not giving him time to retort. The Tardis provided them with a room only a few feet from the kitchen, the door opening invitingly to give way to a small coffee table and two couches – judging by the Doctor's faint frown of disgust, she doubted this one had been his idea.

"We need to talk," she announced the moment the doors closed.

"Yes, you mentioned that."

His eyes were dark, hooded, hiding his thoughts and emotions even though they both knew it was futile. She had his memories, his feelings; she could tell what he was thinking even in moments like these, when he didn't want her to. A part of her wondered if he even vaguely suspected what she'd come to him about – though she doubted it. He was far more likely to attribute her need for conversation to something else; like her impending memory loss. But there was no way she was discussing that. It was enough to know it was coming; she refused to spend any more thought than necessary on it. So far she hadn't shown many – if any – outside signs of just how badly this was affecting her and if she didn't want her memories gone before they had to be, that's the way it would have to stay.

"Sooo...," he started leadingly, his eyes searching out hers, "what did you want to talk about?"

The Tardis closed the doors, locking them behind them at Donna's behest and she silently thanked the ship; this was something between him and Rose – and her, now – no one else had any right to know about Jenny before the mother. A rather interesting conundrum; how do you tell the mother – Rose – that she'd had a child without ever having sex or going through pregnancy?

"Jenny," Donna said firmly and the Doctor's eyes – which had been on the closed door – snapped back to her and she could see a million thoughts and ideas being formed right behind his eyes and being discarded in that very same nanosecond. No use fooling someone who knew everything you were thinking.

"There's nothing to talk about," he finally said, eyes shuttered and dark as he sought to hide his emotions.

Except she knew just how badly it hurt him; even just hearing the name spoken tore at his one, singular heart and though the redhead regretted bringing it up, regretted being the one to make him remember all the heartache, she knew it had to be done and done now, before he sequestered himself away with Rose, before he convinced himself to never speak of it to her, before she lost any ability to confront him along with her memories.

"Oh, don't pretend, spaceman. You may have fooled me if I didn't have all your memories – and even that's debatable – but now you haven't got a hope in hell. And you are going to talk about it."

He needed to be pushed, challenged, right now or he would shut himself down, would divert her attentions, aggravate her until she would forget what her original intentions had been; as much as she wanted to approach the topic more carefully, it wouldn't do either of them any good if she did. He needed to open up.

"There's nothing to talk about," he retorted, voice lowered to a hiss, his entire body tensed in anger, "because she is dead."

"Yes, she is. And that's bad enough, but you pretend she never existed. You never even mention her!"

Donna almost flinched at the icy glare the Doctor's metacrisis gave her, but she didn't back down. Within moments she saw the guilt, the regret and grief rise up in him and she felt for him, she really did; she knew better than anyone just how much Jenny's loss had hurt him, after all, now that she had his memories. And she knew her words had reminded him of Rose, of the fact that Jenny was her daughter too – and that Rose had always been afraid of being forgotten, of being unremarked in her life as in her death. And that's exactly what he'd done with their daughter.

"...You wouldn't understand," he finally said, tired acceptance written in his face.

Donna snorted, hardening herself. Pushing him was good, she reminded herself silently; it would help him, help them. He needed someone to do it and she suspected from her memories and Jack's comments that Rose was the one who needed comfort right now rather than to be giving it.

"Really? I wouldn't understand? That's what you're going with? Wanna try that again, spaceman?"

"You don't know what it's like – you've never lost a child!"

He was agitated now, shouting, pacing the length of the room, his body fairly vibrating with emotions, with anger, and he didn't even look at her anymore, his brown eyes darkened with sorrow, pain and an aimless rage at a universe that took and took and never gave back. Except it would, Donna reminded herself, just this once. He'd lose so much, but he'd gain even more. He'd have Rose. And no matter how much he denied it, that had always been enough, more than enough even.

And she wanted to remain compassionate, sympathetic even, wanted her focus to remain on him and him alone – but he'd managed it. Her own grief was subdued by a flood of anger; in a short time, she'd lose it all, all her memories, everything she was, all she'd become and the people she'd met, places she'd seen... and she'd lose her family and would never know it, would never remember why there was a hole in her heart, why she ached for something her memories would tell her she'd never had.

Blue eyes narrowed and her hands clenched impotently at her side as she stepped in his path, forcing him to look at her again, forcing him to realise what he'd said, how much he'd hurt her and she could see it, the realisation dawning on him as his eyes met hers; but it was too little, too late, her own anger and grief mingling as she shouted back. She'd never intended to provoke a shouting match, had, in fact, intended to be the rational one, the calm one.

"I wouldn't understand? Is that what you're saying? That I've never lost anyone? I know you weren't there and it wasn't real, but in that library... I had a family. I had a husband and I had children, two of them. And I lost them. I loved them, and they were taken from me, disappeared, their entire existence erased! ... You at least knew Jenny was real. There's a civilisation out there who was built on the man who never would and his daughter, who sacrificed herself to end the war between two races. Jenny was real, she was your daughter... and she was Rose's. And she was beautiful. You should be proud of her, not hiding her away like some dirty secret. Rose deserves to know that she had a daughter and Jenny deserves to be mourned, to be remembered. I know you lost her, but you forget that Rose lost her, too, even if she doesn't know it yet. And she should know, she should be told. By you," Donna paused for a moment, her anger abating, eyes softening slightly as she continued, "and you deserve that, too. Someone else who knows, who understands, what you've lost, what you've missed out on... Someone to grieve with."

She could see him working through what she said, his teeth clenched tightly as he undoubtedly struggled with himself, stopping himself from lashing out at her, knowing that despite her initial anger, she had nothing but his best interests at heart. Finally, she saw him weakening, his resolve giving way and his anger evaporating.

"She does," he admitted tiredly. "They both do... deserve it, I mean." He breathed out again, releasing a sigh of both frustration and exasperation; she knew it galled him – he was used to being able to hide from people, but now the Tardis was full of people who could read him, knew him too well to fall for his ploys.

He sat down again, refusing to meet her eyes but he didn't need to. There was defeat in his posture and she knew he wouldn't throw up his barriers again, wouldn't try to keep her out again; not that he could've, had he tried.

"I want to tell her," he finally confessed, his voice low and quiet as he opened himself to her, disclosed his thoughts and Donna knew how much it had cost him to admit even that much.

"I know." She gave him a smile, sinking down into the couch, trying to will away her sudden headache. "But you would've found a million reasons which you would've used to stop yourself from doing just that; that it would hurt Rose to know or that she'd never get to meet Jenny anyway. Even when you know they're nothing but excuses, you would've pretended. Trust me, I know. I feel it too, that urge to run and never stop. To pretend. To forget..."

His head lifted slowly, brown eyes searching hers and she knew he could read it in her.

"You know," he breathed, eyes wide in astonishment and sympathy.

"Yeah," Donna found herself admitting, eyes closing as she rubbed her forehead, a sharp burst of pain going through her heart and her mind urging her to run from the conversation... but she was tired of running, of evading and pretending when they both so clearly knew her fate, knew what had to come.

"...I'm sorry."

His eyes had darkened as his hand found hers, trying to give her strength and comfort – but she found none. In a few hours she wouldn't remember this, wouldn't remember him. She'd take all this pain and more if only it meant she could remember that first time she met him and the Thames had spilled out around her and he had stood there, aloof and distant, like a vengeful god. Or that time she'd reminded him and they'd rescued one family at least from Pompeii, watching the volcano erupt and spill out over the city, dry, burning ash raining from the sky, everything covered in a fiery red glow and dark blackness, the very sky and stars obscured beneath its murky clouds, stealing the very air around them. Or meeting Agatha Christie and running from a human-sized bee and their impromptu game of charades as he had been poisoned. She wanted to remember it; every laugh, every tear, every heartache and every joy. She wanted to remember who she'd become, who she was, now. She didn't want to turn back into the oblivious and so-very-human Donna Noble who was still desperately searching for her place in this world.

She'd found it. After all this time, she'd found it. It wasn't on her planet or, indeed, any other planet. It was here. With the Doctor. In the Tardis. Running. Forever. This was her world, her place, where she belonged.

And it would all be taken from her, would disappear just like her children and Lee, her husband. Forgotten.

"I know," she said again. There wasn't anything else to say, nothing to be done. The future would come, drawing ever closer, and everything that had shaped her, had turned her into the person she was now, would be locked away. Soon. But not now.

They didn't need to talk. They had both been born in that same instant in many respects; the moment the Doctor had regenerated. Both were part Donna and part Doctor, never truly fully one or the other anymore.

And, sometimes, silence was best of all. They both knew what was to come, for both of them and they both knew what they stood to lose. Nothing more needed to be said. There would never be another moment like this, for either of them; a moment where you knew the other person so completely and utterly because they were a part of you.

So they remained, quiet, consoling and drawing strength from the other's presence without saying a word, adrift in their own memories and thoughts, knowing this rare moment of peace would soon draw to a close.

What neither of them had, however, expected, was the red lighting flashing in their room and loud tolling sound of the cloister bells echoing around the ship.

"WHAT?"

Flabbergasted, they both took a look at each other before scrambling to their feet and running to the console room; they had been fairly certain they had just averted the end of the universe – how was it the Tardis thought it was still coming?

Rose sighed, rubbing her head, hoping she didn't look quite as dreadful as she felt. Her mother had found a room aboard the Tardis; the ship had, she knew, in an attempt at comforting them both through the coming discussion, provided her with an exact replica of their flat on the Powell estate.

"Mum?"

The bottle of hypervodka was clenched tightly under her arm, the two tumblers stacked in her right hand as she gently knocked on the door again.

"How does it to this?"

Eyebrows raised, Rose watched the door for another moment before shrugging slightly and accepting the question as an unspoken invitation. With everything precariously balanced under her right arm, she threw open the door and stepped in, placing the tumblers and the alcohol on the coffee table to follow her mother out towards the kitchen.

"What do you mean?" Rose finally asked.

Jackie didn't even turn, her eyes still transfixed on the scenery out the window, simply waving an expansive hand; until she followed, she didn't fully comprehend but as she took in the view, her mother's puzzlement finally made sense. It was one thing Rose had always enjoyed; the views their apartment had provided them with over London; the small playground with the occasional graffiti just below, spreading out into houses and more houses and skyscrapers until you saw the very centre of London well off into the distance. Nevertheless, it had been a view she'd loved, watching as thousands of people followed their own business; from children to elderly people; you could watch it all from here, from a safe distance, watch the world turn and life take place without ever participating.

"It's the Tardis," she explained, voice soft, soaking in the sight she had forgotten about in the decades hence. "Stands for Time and Relative Dimension In Space. And 'it' is a 'she'. She's sentient, mum. And she put this here because she knew you'd be upset."

Unfortunately, her mother had always been quick to pick up on any small mistakes, even more so since their time in Pete's world, where Rose had tried to hide the reality of what was happening to her from everyone.

"Not was, but would, huh?" Jackie questioned, pulling away from the window and fixing Rose with firm eyes, searching her, ignoring her words about the ship for the moment.

She floundered for a moment, wondering if she should deny or admit to what her mother was asking, but finally decided to give in. They didn't have much time either way.

"Need to talk, mum."

"If it's about you staying here with himself, then I've already figured that out," her mother said dryly, but her gaze was too discerning, too aware of who she'd become, knowing only too well that she would not have come to her with what they would both consider a trifle matter, something to be expected, not discussed.

Rose motioned for her mother to follow her before making her way back to the couch and coffee table, spreading the two tumblers and easily filling them with the burning liquid.

"Quick word of warning, mum. Hypervodka is really, really strong. Drink it slowly."

Contrary to her own advice, Rose quickly drowned her glass and refilled it, eyes watering, throat burning and heart clenching for one spectacular moment before a pleasant warmth suffused her. She needed it, right now. Needed to distance herself, to forget, needed the false strength of the alcohol to lend her courage for the coming talk.

Her mother grimaced after she emptied her first shot, almost automatically, before giving Rose a concerned glance as she refilled her tumbler for the third time, though she intended to consume it at a much slower pace this time.

"What's this?"

Rose laughed softly.

"'s called Hypervodka. Jack brought it on board, once,... 's strong enough even the Doctor can get drunk on it. He said, sometimes you need to forget, even if it's just for one night..." Rose shrugged carelessly, the warmth in her bordering on the edge of painful, of burning her from the inside out, but still pleasant enough to give her a slight buzz. "Well, he wasn't wrong."

Jackie remained quiet, having long ago learned that with this new Rose, pushing and prodding would only make her withdraw instead of opening up. Good on her, Rose thought. But this would hurt; her mother had battled with the fear of losing her so long and so often, had come so close to losing her, and now she would ask her to step back and accept just that. She would've felt sympathy, but her heart was still too broken, too torn, aching at the knowledge of her death that she could spare none for her mother.

"'m not gonna stay here, mum. 'm gonna come back with you."

Jackie stared for a moment. The sentence... it didn't make sense.

"What?" she found herself asking, though she knew she'd heard her well enough the first time. But it simply made no sense. Rose, however much she'd gone through, however much she'd changed, had always devoted herself to people, her entire life. When she'd been young it was her, then that bastard Jimmy Stone and, finally, the Doctor. And she'd never stopped, not once, no matter what happened to her, no matter how much she'd changed, she always seemed to orientate herself towards that alien man. So why would she ever...?

"I've gotta go back with you, mum."

That... didn't explain anything. Their world, their universe, had not tolerated Rose. No matter how much her daughter had pretended, she, Pete, Mickey and Jake had seen just how close it came to destroying her, though none of them had dared to raise the topic with her.

"But that's gonna kill you," Jackie found herself saying flatly in an absurd twist of fate, her emotions still in havoc but overruled by confusion as she stared at the blonde teen in the blue leatherjacket beside her – though she knew her daughter was older than her, her mind had trouble accepting it, even now, even here when there were suddenly clones and mind transfers and insanity. Just two years ago, she would've scoffed at the idea, would've laughed at her ever being in space or fighting real, live aliens. Yet here she was. And though it had come with aliens and space and losing her daughter to this man, this Doctor, she had gained a son and her Pete back in return. It wasn't a fair bargain, but it would have still left her daughter happy in the end – or so she'd thought.

Her daughter's smile was rueful, her amber eyes dark as she nearly swallowed half the tumbler again in what Jackie recognised only too well as an attempt at drowning out her own thoughts and memories. She'd done the same when she had just lost Pete back when Rose had been still crying and needy.

Her heart clenched and, eyes unseeing, Jackie drowned her own tumbler, ignoring the burning, dismissing the water in her eyes as a consequence of the alcohol rather than allowing herself to dwell on what remained unsaid. It took another full shot, meaning she'd swallowed three whole glasses before Jackie even allowed herself to think about what Rose had mutely confirmed without ever saying the words.

"Why?" she finally asked, her throat dry and scratchy – from the alcohol, Jackie told herself again, ignoring the wet tracks on her cheeks, the burning in her eyes and the agony as her heart twisted violently. She'd thought losing Pete was bad, but it was nothing compared to having your own child confess her impending death.

She wanted to shake her, rattle her, remind her that she couldn't die, that she wasn't allowed to die and certainly not before Jackie herself was well dead and buried and not there to see it. But Rose was older now and no matter how much she sought to forget that fact, every glance in those dark eyes reminded her, every time her daughter barely flinched at the pain, every time her daughter's eyes were found wandering the room again and again as if anticipating an attack any second. And she knew that no matter what Rose had gone through, she would not abandon him, the Doctor – her Doctor – without a pretty damn good reason. ... Either of them, Jackie corrected herself, remembering that cloning – pardon, metacrisis – business. She didn't understand – not that she had put any effort into it – why there were two of him with the exception of wondering what that meant for her daughter.

"'s complicated," Rose said at length and for the first time, Jackie felt a slight stirring of anger. She'd been patient, quiet, hadn't pushed, but enough was enough.

"Then simplify it," she instructed sharply, eyes narrowed and hands clenched tightly around the alcohol in her hand, hoping it would give her the strength not to hit her daughter over the head – or tie her to the Tardis.

Rose gave a barking laugh in response, all sharp and edges and Jackie finally saw what she'd refused to see until then – how close her daughter was to breaking, to falling apart, to giving up once and for all.

"Oh, Rose," she started, her heart going out to her. This was not right, not the way it was meant to be. She was meant to console her over heartbreak, hold her hand when she got proposed to, plan her wedding and give her away to another life; not a single part of her life was meant to be spent on understanding her death or, even worse, preparing herself for it. It wasn't fair and it wasn't right, but then again, Jackie had learned a very long time ago that life was neither of those, had learned it when she buried her husband such a short time after they had started their life together, when she was forced to raise her daughter all by herself in a hostile world without support and without the man she loved.

"'s okay, mum. You're right. I should – need to, really – explain it."

Moments like these reminded her again just how alike they really were, her and Rose, in so many ways. The careful guarding of herself, hunching in on herself, both hands around the alcohol in her hands as if it were her salvation, her eyes dark and veiled, betraying none of her feelings as if they would be a weakness to anyone else. Jackie longed to tell her that she had never met anyone stronger.

"Remember I told you once I saw dad? Met him? That blonde woman at his side? I changed it. Changed time. When I grew up, as long as I can remember, you told me he died alone. I saved him, that first time and the universe nearly died. Just one man and yet his life would've changed the world. He knew. The Doctor knew what I'd done and he would rather die himself – would rather let the entire world die – before being forced to tell me that my father had to die. Again."

A breath, a tired smile that spoke of affection and longing, and Rose continued.

"There are events all across time, events which have to happen, must always happen. People which are so important or their decisions or words are, that if anyone were to change it, they would rip time itself apart and monsters would descend onto the universe, destroying and erasing all of existence. There's one coming up; for me it's already happened but the Doctor and the Tardis have not yet done it. He's gonna... he's gonna change his face, just like last time. 's like dying for him... and he's gonna come and find me and say goodbye. In 2005 on New Year's eve. I remember it, remember him there now. But he hasn't done it yet and he needs to. But it means I can't be in this universe, not in the future or past, because no matter where I hid, he'd find me, he'd contact that me and he wouldn't say goodbye. So I need to go back with you. He's going to send me there. With his other self – his metacrisis. That him is more human and will age and die... and he thinks he can give me his happy ending with that at least. A life with him, one him, even if it's not this him. And I will die the moment the gaps close. And – and this is very, very important – I need you to pull him away from me the moment the Tardis starts disappearing."

Her hands shook badly enough to spill the alcohol but Jackie remained unaware of the liquid soaking her trousers even as Rose leaned over and took the tumbler out of her hands, setting it back on the coffee table. She felt lost, adrift, didn't know what to think, to feel, except for horror and a terrorising kind of fear and endless heartbreak and pain. Her world was shattering, splintering, bit by agonising bit, and she just didn't understand. They got the bad guy, hadn't they? Rose was with the Doctor, two of him. They'd done the impossible and saved not just this universe but every single other parallel world out there. So how was this possible? How was this right?

"I'm sorry, mum, so sorry. But you need to take him with you, need to pull him away. If he touches me, I will kill him..."

A question burned on her tongue, the slightest inkling of hope and yet dread and she hated that Rose could see it, knew what she was asking even if she dared not ever voice it, hated herself for even thinking it, no, contemplating it. He was her friend, too, but... Rose was her daughter.

"No, mum, touching him wouldn't save me," her voice was soft, understanding, but Jackie felt the bile at the back of her throat, truly scared for the first time of herself and at seeing just how far she would be willing to go for her child. "Even if I drained him fully, it would give me a few more months at best, never a year or any more. And even if it did, I wouldn't do it."

Rose's voice had grown firmer towards the end, but Jackie couldn't fault her for it. For a moment she had actually wondered, had contemplated the Doctor dying for her daughter; after all, it was only a copy. There was another him out there, wasn't there? So it was okay, wasn't it? Only she knew no matter how much she tried to rationalise it, there was no way of putting reason to murder, never mind the murder of a friend as close as the Doctor had become to their family. Any version of him.

"There has to be a way," she found herself saying, desperate as her throat tightened until she could scarcely breathe past the constriction, her heart throbbing painfully with every beat, unable to control – or stop – the tears running down her face.

"We just saved the universe, all the parallel worlds – we dragged a planet across the entire universe. You can't tell me-" Jackie choked, a pained gasp dragged out of her as another jolt of sheer agony ran through her as the words faded and she found herself unable to even speak of Rose's death, avoiding the words even as they burned themselves into her heart. "Please, there has to be something, anything, he can do."

She found her own sorrow mirrored in her daughter's eyes.

"He can't ever know," Rose said softly but no less firmly before giving her a shaky half-smile, pressing the alcohol back into her hands. Jackie gulped the hypervodka down in one fell swoop; but the burning sensation was absent as was the warmth and the buzz. There was nothing but icy coldness inside of her, coldness and pain. Alcohol always seemed to fail when you needed it most. Eyes dark, Jackie wondered how much more she needed to drink to fall unconscious, to forget.

"If he knew," her daughter continued, her smile turning into something a bit more genuine and affectionate as she thought of the Doctor, "he wouldn't care. I'm half certain he'd let this universe burn and die before sending me back."

And rightly so, Jackie thought grimly. At least then she wouldn't be forgotten. It seemed impossible now, but she'd had no reason to doubt her daughter before now, not in matters like these, so she knew that she would forget her, forget all the precious memories of their life together, their struggles and fights as well as she shared laughter and celebrations. And a life without her – even if Pete and Tony were in it – seemed dreadful and lonely and yet to ask her to give up one for the other seemed unbearable.

"He still needs to know – or that Donna person – so he can find a solution. I won't accept-"

"There is none," Rose interrupted her before she could descend into a full-out rant.

"You go on and on about how clever he is," Jackie found herself saying dismissively though she knew it was fear speaking, not anger. She'd never before felt so afraid in her entire life, not even when she had been faced with the Daleks or people being annihilated, literally. Nothing – nothing – compared to this breathtaking, heart-wrenching fear. "You can't always do everythin' yourself. I have taught you that, haven't I? Anyway, it's time for himself to help you. If he's even half as clever as you say, he'll find a way."

"Mum, you're not listening to me."

It was true. She wasn't. She didn't want to hear anymore, know anymore. Wasn't this already more than enough? Had her heart not been sufficiently shattered?

"There is no way. See, the Tardis can see it, all of time, every possible future. It's not going to happen, mum. I might hold out for a few days, but in none of the future scenarios will you ever remember me and in none of those scenarios do I survive."

"But- But if you tell him, he-"

"No, mum. If I tell him, everyone dies. And I would still die. I couldn't bear that, mum. Don't ask me to."

Another full tumbler of hypervodka but still her hands refused to stop trembling. There was the sharp sound of glass hitting the floor, shattering, and an odd keening sound; it took a few moments before Jackie realised that it had been her glass and her making that sound, that she was sobbing uncontrollably now, her entire body shaking with forceful expelling of her grief and the world around her dissolved as she clutched onto her daughter, begging, pleading with any and every deity in existence not to take her from her, not to rip her little girl away from her and yet accepting that it was what would happen. She would never remember the horrendous loss she still had yet to experience, would never remember just how happy Rose had made her, would never get to mourn her loss as she should. Ripped, taken, a part of her heart that she would never know was missing.

Her mum had finally fallen asleep and Rose rubbed her eyes tiredly, swaying slightly from the alcohol – either that, or the corridor was moving. With the Tardis, you never knew. She had managed to wrangle the promise from her mother to make the Doctor run away, to run away from her, to not listen to her cries of pain because Rose knew that no matter how hard she tried, she would unable to not give voice to it at some point. And they needed to keep running, away from her so the Doctor wouldn't touch her, wouldn't be able to help her. She didn't want him to die, not ever but even less so to give her a few months of agony in a universe she didn't belong in – and without him. She had deemed it less painless to tell her mother that there was no chance of survival than to offer any kind of hope; besides, as far as Jackie was concerned, she would be dead for she would retain no memory of her.

"Rose...?"

Oh, not good. Definitely not good. She'd thought they were all in bed, sleeping off their exhaustion. Glassy-eyed she squinted at corridor ahead of her, trying to bring the world into focus but it was unfortunately rather persistent, swirling and moving until she felt nauseous. And when had she started leaning against the wall? Though she had to admit the wall was good. It was a nice wall. All... stable-like. Non-moving. Maybe.

Rose frowned. Or was it moving? Maybe it was moving her and the corridor was still? Nasty wall. She gave it a look of disgust, pushing herself off and stumbling forward. How did that work again? Left foot, right foot. For the first time she understood her younger brother Tony's trouble with it. It really hadn't seemed that complicated before. But then again, she didn't have four feet before... or six? She dismissed the unnerving thought of five; rather seeing double than losing one.

Her focus was on her feet, trying to tell them to move – all of them – and hoping that it would somehow narrow down into only two feet but alas, the world was not quite that kind. She made what she was sure looked like a rather comical stumble – judging by the snort of laughter from the person down the corridor – as she attempted to move with both feet at once, her arms flapping wildly as she tried to regain her balance. If only she knew where her balance was. Okay, so maybe it hadn't been the wall's fault after all.

There was a cool hand on her waist that provided that wonderful stable feeling she'd been looking for and simultaneously raced across her skin and for the first time she didn't feel like she was burning anymore. In an attempt at casualness she glanced at her arm to check if it really had been burning – she wouldn't be too surprised – but they all looked relatively normal... as far as she could see, anyway. She smacked her lips together, trying to moisten her mouth and get rid of that heavy tongue but it was ridiculously difficult to focus enough to form a full sentence.

"Rose... are you drunk?"

There was incredulousness in his voice mixed with laughter and concern and she wanted to tell him desperately that she wasn't drunk, just slightly tipsy, but the world was spinning and everything burnt – everything except his touch.

It seemed only sensible then, she thought, to touch him more. She leaned against him and the burning abated, somewhat, but the clothing obstructed the wonderful chill of his skin. Only reasonable then, she told herself again and before he could figure out what she was doing, her hands had pulled his shirt out and slipped beneath it, giving a sigh of pure relief when she made contact with his cool back.

She ignored his squeak of surprise, the way his body stiffened as if unused to the touch and burrowed her face in his neck with a quiet, satisfied hum. He settled her, calmed her and her entire world centred on him, stopped spinning and duplicating. Then his arms enfolded her, closing around her and tugging her against him and for a moment, Rose thought she couldn't have been happier. Until he pressed a gentle kiss to her head, then she knew what would make her happier.

So she did what made sense; after all, why didn't she want to be happy? There was something in the back of her mind that warned her, asked her to stop, but she ignored it. It seemed foolish to have happy things right there, after all, and not do them. Rising up on her toes, Rose noticed that her Doctor's eyes were widening with panic but she just smiled at him warmly and then pressed her lips on his. He went slack beneath her for a moment before tightening fractionally around her and she felt the barest hint of movement on her lips before he pushed her away. She blinked. Well, that was not nice. Why did he stop?

"I think," he said, hastily clearing his voice when he realised how husky it was, before continuing, "you- ah, need to sober up before, er, doing... that..."

He was fidgeting, tugging on his earlobe, eyes avoiding hers studiously, a slight tinge of pink on his cheek. She pouted and watched his lips quirk up in a reluctant half-smile and that was all the invitation she needed. With what she hoped was a seductive grin, she leaned forward and pressed her lips against him again.

Definitely not her imagination; a slight groan from him, his arms involuntarily tensing, drawing her closer, cool lips against her own for a moment, responding beautifully, before he pushed her away yet again. He shouldn't be pushing her away, Rose silently reprimanded. Why not do what made them both so happy?

A hand drove through his messy hair – hair which was oddly captivating. She wanted to slide her hands through it – the hallmark of a good kiss, in Rose's opinion – wanted to tug at it, wanted to mess it up even further and use it to draw him in further, kiss him harder. But the man attached to that hair, the man with those beautiful brown eyes, was being oddly reticent, pushing her away and yet pulling her in every time she kissed him.

"Rose, we shouldn't- I mean, you're clearly drunk-"

"Tipsy," she corrected him and those delicious lips curved up yet again into a smile that was more of a smirk and for the first time she thought he might be silently laughing at her.

Well, that just wasn't fair. Brows furrowed, she took a step back, her voice trembling as she asked, "do you not want me?"

He looked utterly surprised, eyes wide and mouth open for a moment at her abrupt change in mood and subject, looking slightly panicked at the question before he gathered himself.

"I- You-" A frustrated sigh, another jerky motion through his hair and a muttered curse.

"You know I do," he finally admitted with a slightly irritated hand motion. "But this is neither the time nor the place. Especially not when you're not fully sober."

Her brain sluggishly attempted to find a fault in his logic and Rose bemoaned his use of the word sober as she had no way of throwing a tantrum now, of getting him to kiss her. But she wanted to kiss. And sober it was so much harder to remember this courage and yet every minute in his presence she could already feel herself growing ever more clear-headed. She didn't want clear-headed. Clear-headed Rose didn't get kisses like that one and she wanted them, lots of them, wanted to drown in them, to forget.

Suddenly she stumbled again and this time her stomach lurched with it and she knew what was coming next.

"Doctor... I don't feel so good."

It was a weak whisper but he'd undoubtedly noticed the clamminess of her skin, the green tinge to her face as she rushed past him to the nearest door, the Tardis easily opening up to a bathroom and Rose squeezed her eyes shut as she threw up, her stomach heaving and violently rejecting the copious quantities of alcohol she'd imbibed – along with the fishsticks and vanilla sauce which, funnily enough, never tasted as good coming back up as they did going down.

And that thought had her heaving again. And god, she wished for unconsciousness when she found a cool hand on the back of her neck beneath her hair and another one holding her hair from her face. This wasn't the first time they were in this position – her throwing up, him caring for her unflinchingly. There had been times she'd eaten the wrong food, times where he had even forced her to throw up because he suspected poison or drugs in their meals, but this was the first time she had been drunk in front of him and made herself sick. And now she not only felt pitiful – and disgusting; really, what must he think of humans? – but also revolting.

"Feel better?" There was sympathy in his voice but also amusement and if she didn't think she might throw up in his face – not the best way to thank him for helping her – she might've shown him her affront by hitting him. As it stood, her stomach still felt rather sensitive and so Rose only groaned slightly in response.

The Tardis allowed all the vomit in the toilet to drain away – she had never been able to think of anything but trains where a hole opened up and couldn't help but wonder for the millionth time, if it was left to float around space somewhere. The ship hummed in amusement but didn't respond and Rose had never felt interested enough to push for an answer. The Doctor was kneeling by her side now, one hand on her forehead, mumbling to himself until she, curious even now, pried one of her eyes open to glance at him.

"Whatcha doin'?"

He blinked, seemingly surprised to hear her voice – she longed to tell him that so was she; she'd been half-sure that her throat wouldn't allow her to make any sounds at all.

"Sorry, just checking your temperature and making sure your system is in tip-top shape," he gave her a wide grin but now she could see the concern shining in his eyes, obviously wondering what had happened to make her drink – or, even worse, wondering if she'd become a closet drunk in her absence.

"I don't usually do this," she found herself saying, bursting out with the words before she could stop herself.

And the amusement was back, glinting in his eyes and reflected in the slightly wicked grin forming on his face.

"Never thought you did," he reassured her nonetheless. She wanted to look at him suspiciously, but she felt tired, exhausted even, and weak from the muscle contractions, the forceful expelling of all her food. Never, ever drinking again. Then came the sobering realisation that, most likely, she wouldn't even have the time to drink again.

"Rose...?"

He had seen it, she knew, the hopelessness, the darkness, that had suddenly gripped her, the desolate longing for all the things that could never be.

"'m gonna have a shower," she said instead, knowing that he would feel compelled to go into the next room, to give her the privacy she needed to deal with herself, get herself back under control enough not to slip up again in front of him.

His eyes were searching and she realised they both knew it was a diversion, but he didn't call her out on it, instead giving her a tissue to wipe her mouth and his arm to help her stand. Not for the first time she felt a slight flutter in her chest and could not help but be impressed with the sheer strength he held inside him, the ease with which he propelled her up.

"I have to say," he finally said, grinning teasingly at her and obviously needing to lift the tension between them before he left her, "this is the first time my kiss has made someone throw up. Maybe that's what I should've done with all my enemies," he added, tone mockingly thoughtful and Rose laughed lightly, ever aware of keeping her face turned away from him so he wouldn't smell what she could taste on her breath.

He obviously read her much better than she gave him credit for, rolling his eyes at her clear avoidance and pressing a gentle kiss to the top of her head.

"I don't care," he told her yet again, as he did every time but Rose just shook her head, shooing him out with a gesture and he complied with a sigh – but only after making sure she was stable now on her own two feet.

As he stepped out, she noted that the door didn't open into the corridor anymore but rather into her bedroom. Casually, as he had done most times she took a shower, he flopped down on the bed, eyes towards the ceiling and started rambling on about anything at all that floated through his mind; sometimes it was other races, customs or planets. But sometimes, rarely, it was about him or his past. She knew he needed it, the ability to talk to her, knowing she could hear him but wouldn't respond, the ability to just let go and share anything that came to mind without fear of interruption.

Drunk, huh? His lips curled up, he stared at the ceiling. This was the first time he had seen her fully drunk – and yes, okay, he could've done without the vomiting, but nevertheless he had been incredibly amused by his favourite blonde. Up until then he had been engulfed in his dark thoughts, in trying to figure out if he could ever bring himself to leave her behind – even if it was to a supposedly better – and safer – life. Losing her, losing Rose, was definitely not a pleasant thought. Giving her up of his own free will torturous and seemed impossible. How could anyone – especially another version of him – ever ask him to do that?

But then she'd been there, stumbling and glaring and seemingly having arguments with either the Tardis or the wall and floor. It was... unexpectedly charming. He had noted the slight clumsiness in her movements, the hard stare she gave her feet as if ordering them to move... and he had wanted nothing more than to sweep her up and kiss her. And then seemingly read his mind, for that was nearly precisely what she'd done, minus the sweeping bit.

Though before that she'd put her hands on his bare back and the sensation still made him shiver lightly. He had been rather surprised at feeling her hands under his shirt; sometimes, at night, Rose sought out his touch, his skin, in more places than just his hands but this was the first time she had done so while conscious and under his shirt no less – though, arguably, she had not been entirely aware of her actions.

He was somewhat concerned by hopelessness that had flitted across her eyes for a moment but had been forced to dismiss it; after all she didn't yet know she'd leave him – as far as Rose was concerned, she had made her way back, her mother was here, there shouldn't be anything to inspire that look in her, right?

Rose had never rejected him, had always understood his need to be in her presence sometimes – as well as his occasional need to be away from her and bury himself in Tardis parts. Even when he really should've drawn the line – like staying in her room when she had a shower next door. But Rose had never reprimanded him, had, in fact, never so much as mentioned it and just accepted it as what she undoubtedly thought of as one of his quirks, unaware that she was the only one he had never been able to control himself around.

So despite the occasional prods of his conscience, he remained but a room away from her, the door between open slightly to allow for easy communication between the two. The Tardis could've easily installed other ways for them to talk, he knew, but Rose had never asked and he'd never offered. He couldn't see – would never dare to look, his eyes steadfast on the ceiling – but it was still crossing a line that he would've never even contemplated crossing with any other companion.

"Remember I told you once that I'd been married, had children? Well, when I first started travelling, it was with my granddaughter. She wanted to go to school on Earth. Couldn't understand why, me. Think last me, but older and much, much grumpier and more condescending. Come to think of it, I was a lot more like the rest; rebellious – as always – but not like now. More Time Lord-y." He grinned slightly at the word, eyes still on the ceiling.

"What was her name?" Rose's question was soft, warm, and he smiled though she couldn't see it, his hearts filled with the memory of the child who had seen and understood well before him just how fantastic humans were.

"Susan. Susan Foreman. Or at least that's what she went by when we were here. Her name on Gallifrey was," he hesitated for a moment, but eventually it came out naturally, inflected with a soft, paternal love he'd always had for the granddaughter – far more than for his own child, "Arkytior."

There was hesitancy in the silence that followed and he could feel his eyebrows rising in curiosity though he still dared not look in the direction of the door.

"You think of me as your granddaughter?" she ventured tentatively and he couldn't help but laugh at the genuine dread in her voice.

"Rassilon, no," he said quickly. "And definitely not in any other kind of parental role."

The memories of both kisses in the hallway were remarkably vivid, the taste of her stronger than even the hypervodka she'd consumed, her lips soft and her body pliant and languid against his, the alcohol relaxing her muscles. The second time she'd leaned forward he hadn't been as surprised and though he really should've, he hadn't stopped her; and once her lips had been on his, her mouth fitting so perfectly over his own, he had lost, just for a moment, that tiniest thread of control he'd held onto for so long, responding though he'd known she was intoxicated.

He had longed for it for so long, had wished it, dreamt it, and yet none could compare to reality. For the first time, he had gotten to taste her, to taste Rose Tyler and it was addictive, his body, his lips, burning for her, needing, craving more of her, to explore every inch of her skin and discover if she tasted the same everywhere, to find out if he could ever be sated, if he could ever have enough of her.

He heard her sigh lightly in relief and found himself grinning mischievously, trying to suppress his mind's wanderings.

"Why? What did you think I thought of you?" There was a hint of laughter in his voice giving away to her that he was amused rather than serious and he could almost see Rose blush in his mind and sticking her tongue out at him – temptingly, to him and he wished he had thought to deepen the kiss. It was unlikely, after all, that he would he get another chance to find out?

"Shut up," came her embarrassed reply before his overactive mind could supply him with more details on everything he wanted to find out before she left – though he still wasn't sure; would that make her departure harder or easier? And did it matter? In the end, no matter how much more difficult it would be to part from her, he still wanted to at least have that memory to hold onto.

"Okay, I won't tell you about Susan then. How about I tell you about Del'g'ard instead? It's a planet with only amphibians on it."

He laughed at her frustrated noise, knowing very well that she wanted to know more about his past. The Time Lord choked abruptly, his voice having deserted him, when he heard the telltale sound of cloth sliding against skin; Rose was undressing.

"Right..."

His voice was too high, far too high! It needed to be lower, he reminded himself – and quickly so as to not be suspicious.

"So, Susan." Susan. That's right. Safe topic. Susan. His hearts calmed down, his hands were less frantic and it wasn't a struggle anymore to keep his eyes off that thrice-damned door separating from a naked Rose Tyler.

He swallowed hard, having once again forgotten what it was he had intended to talk about as his mind taunted him with the bits of her skin he'd seen before, had felt. Would it all be that soft?

"Right..." His voice was softer and he tried, desperately, to recollect what it was he had been talking about. At least it wasn't high-pitched anymore. That was good, right?

"Susan, Doctor?" Rose prodded him and he swallowed quickly, closing his eyes tightly and wishing he could do the same to his ears as he heard her unsnap her bra. It was torture, every time, and yet exquisite and he loved that she trusted him enough to bare herself in every sense of the word without hesitation, trusting him to respect her. And that's what it always came back to, what made it so much easier. She wasn't his to see, not yet, and he would never willingly betray her trust.

"Susan, yes." His voice was firm and the tension had left his body. "You'd have loved her."

And with the familiar sound of water hitting skin and running down in rivulets to the floor, the sound of skin on skin and the quiet noises of shampoo in her hair – and conditioner – he explained his first adventure to her, the way he'd abducted Ian and Barbara, Susan's teachers and, unwilling to admit he'd never been the best at piloting a Tardis, had ended up in one mad scramble after another. He loved to hear her laughing and alternatively scolding him gently for his behaviour. It was like a balm, soothing, something he hadn't even known he'd missed. He'd forgotten how easy it was to tell her everything, to know that no matter what he'd done, she'd always forgive him, would never judge him based on his past sins.

The door opened and his eyes flicked over automatically before he could process it and his voice cut off in a strangled gasp, forcing himself to focus on the ceiling again, hands clenched in the duvet.

"Relax. 'Sides, 's not like I'm naked. You've seen me in less."

And he had; in his old body Rose had occasionally managed to coerce him to bring her to a beach. So yes, he had seen her in what was tantamount to underwear – a bikini. Yet there was something incredibly alluring and personal about seeing her clad in only a towel, hair and skin glistening still with wet waterdrops.

Relax, indeed. He opened his mouth and started talking again but he honestly could not remember about what, his mind singularly focused on that one image which seemed to have imprinted itself on his eyes and his mind. He swallowed convulsively, fisting his hands in the hope of regaining control over his body – mainly his eyes, though, which threatened to stray where they had no business straying to.

"Should I...?"

She knew what he was asking though he could not bring himself to actually say the words, to actually offer to leave the room.

"Nah, just grabbin' some stuff. Be back in a jiffy."

Unwittingly he made a desperate sound in the back of his throat and in a frantic attempt to distract them both, he started babbling yet again.

"Really? A jiffy? You know a jiffy is technically zero point zero one six seven seconds. If you do get dressed that quickly, you might want to think about applying for a world record. Though, on second thought, I'm not sure how they'd measure that? Would someone stand there to make sure you were ... Well, naked? That'd be a bit awkward."

Rose laughed lightly and then, finally, door opened for the second time. Hesitantly – almost cautiously – he lowered his eyes to her and to his relief found a fully dressed blonde companion in front of him. However, to his consternation, Rose grinned widely at the relief evident on his face but there wasn't really anything he could say in his defense so he resorted to glaring at her mutinously which provoked another full out laugh from her.

Her eyes finally roamed the room and he followed her sight and flinched slightly. There was the shirt she'd discarded before their last adventure, still half-hanging off her side of the bed – and they had sides of the bed, how odd was that? – her heels from the night before in front of the desk, one standing one lying sideways and yet more clothes lying here and there. And yet not a bit of dust could be found, the Tardis on orders to keep her room like this even in storage; he hadn't been able to help himself.

Her amber eyes met his and conveyed a sadness he didn't know how to identify.

"This isn't my room," she finally said, stepping closer to him until her hand landed on his. "This is a shrine."

He wanted to deny her words, he really did, but they got stuck in his throat and he averted her eyes – Rose saw too much, saw everything even when he didn't want her to, like now. It had been a sanctuary, a home... and, yes, a shrine, a relic of his past with her and he had known back then it wasn't healthy just as he did now. He had never been able to justify it to himself, this lapse in judgment, this emotional need he'd succumbed to, time and again, so how could he ever justify it to her?

When he finally met her eyes again he saw the indecision in her eyes, the trepidation before he saw her grit her teeth, determination shining in her eyes.

"Doctor, there's something I need to tell you."

The Tardis gave him a warning hum but he ignored her. He could deal with his ship later; he was far more interested in Rose right now.

"Something happened. To me, I mean. And there's now a fix-"

Her words were cut off as the room was doused in a red light and the loud sound of the cloister bells interrupted Rose. Eyes wide he jumped off the bed, grabbing her hand almost automatically and pulling her behind him towards the console room.

They'd just finished saving the universe! How the hell had it managed to find itself just short of tearing apart again so quickly? Had no one ever heard of a break?

He was running around the console, looking at the screen just as Jack burst in, followed a moment later by Donna and his metacrisis. They all immediately went to a screen, crowding around to see the data.

"That makes no sense," his metacrisis finally said.

"Yeah, thanks, I figured that out myself," he grunted sarcastically, flicking a few switches to demand yet another analysis from the Tardis.

"But seriously, this is saying that nothing's wrong," Jack said, his eyes riveted to the monitor. At least Donna, his metacrisis and him were now all running diagnostics.

The sound of the cloister bells stopped abruptly and the normal light returned just as Jackie found her way in, eyes glassy and holding her head. Sarah Jane, Martha and Mickey were already standing beside Rose, unnoticed.

"Are you drunk?" His metacrisis asked with a flabbergasted stare at Jackie and he found himself chuckling; so that was who Rose had been drinking with. Made sense. Their goodbye – they didn't yet know they didn't need to. Jackie gave them both a glare that didn't look half as threatening with the red eyes and squinting eyes – not to mention she couldn't quite hold her balance either.

"Should've seen Rose earlier," he said with a grin, enjoying the sharp glare from her as everyone, inevitable, turned to look at her.

"Ooh, freshly showered, I see," Jack said with a lascivious grin and the Doctor's smile slipped. Shouldn't the Captain be concentrating on more important things like, you know, the end of the universe?

Rose just rolled her eyes.

"Alone, as always, or do you see either of them with wet hair?" she complained and he couldn't help but self-consciously touch his hair, noting that his metacrisis did the same and both were suddenly subjected to much more intense scrutiny after their actions.

"God, Doctor, couldn't you have held off for just a few moments? Now everyone thinks you jumped in the shower with me," her tongue poked out between her lips and he was glad to find she wasn't truly angry with him, just slightly exasperated and teasing him.

"Well, to be fair," Jack said, giving him and Rose another once over, "when have we not thought of you two in the shower together?"

Sarah Jane laughed out loud at that remark and he found his lips curling up unwillingly, though he pretended his full attentions were still on the Tardis scans.

"So, boss, what was that?" Mickey finally said and even he could admit to feeling just the tiniest hint of gratefulness for distracting everyone's attention from the current topic of conversation.

"Cloister bells; they herald the end of the universe. Happens every so often. Actually, happened rather recently, didn't it, Donna? ... Say, Rose, you've not been feeling particularly like becoming, say, Bad Wolf and doing something that may or may not end in the total destruction of the universe? ... No? Good. Best keep it that way."

He winced when her curious expression turned into one of outrage – and guilt?

"You do remember who saved you that day, don't you?" He scrambled to the other side of the console at her words and menacing steps forward, in his direction. Distance. Distance was good. Then, for an instant, he wondered if he could still touch her hand from here and then immediately reprimanded himself; why would he want to touch her? She was angry with him!

"Who came to save you? To destroy the Daleks?"

"Yes, well, it came up far more recently as well and it always seems to come up when catastrophe is about to strike..."

"I came back to save this universe and every other universe out there! Bad Wolf is there to save the world, not destroy it!"

There was vehemence to her words lending them a different meaning he couldn't quite grasp but Jackie seemed to understand, even half-drunk, her mouth twisting into a pained grimace before she turned and left again, silent. For a moment he felt tempted to follow her, but Sarah Jane was already on her way and he couldn't help but feel relieved. He liked Jackie well enough, but he still had a way of saying the wrong thing to both Tyler women occasionally – Bad Wolf was a case in point. And Sarah Jane was always good with people, even more so as she grew older, away from him.

"Right, course not. Never said you were going to destroy the world... just that, you know, you might... accidentally."

Jack groaned and he felt like echoing the noise. Definitely another case in point. He wasn't handling this very well; he wondered if her kiss or her incidental nakedness earlier still had him thrown off. His metacrisis and Donna certainly seemed to be able to keep functioning, running scans and analyses while he stood there uselessly, trying to find a way out of making Rose angry during her last few hours with him.

"One thing I've been wondering," Jack interrupted the tense silence between them, "why is it flashing for camp rather than danger? Shouldn't it be mauve?"

"Ask Rose," the Time Lord suggested, the hint of a smile on his face. As expected, the words made her giggle. Good. Maybe a thank you to Jack wouldn't go amiss, seeing how often he'd saved him today from incurring Rose's wrath.

An hour passed and his companions filtered out, one by one; Donna even forced the metacrisis to follow her so he was left alone with Rose. She was sitting on the pilot seat, stretched out comfortably, watching him.

"Found anything?"

Her words were soft, cautious, the Gallifreyan syllables falling from her tongue with far more ease than he'd expected. The sound still startled him, his hearts inevitably racing as they always did when she spoke in his tongue.

"No, nothing. I guess... I guess she needs to be recalibrated."

Except he could see nothing that would affect her the way he said it did, nothing so monumentally awry that she thought the universe was in imminent danger. It still made no sense, but he was definitely certain that there was nothing out there that would prove dangerous enough to put the entire universe at risk, imminent or otherwise. So, for now, there was nothing he could do.

"I know what you've got planned."

He must have looked as confused as he felt, a part of him wondering if maybe Rose had picked the wrong word accidentally, until she gave him a sad smile and suddenly it did make sense, even before she elaborated.

"You're going to drop mum and me off in Pete's world with the other you, aren't you?"

His hearts clenched and he avoided her eyes; there was too much knowledge in them, too much pain. A part of him had wanted to discuss it with her, wanted her to know so she could reject it outright and yet a larger part of him had not wanted her to know, had wanted to push her towards that other him because, in the end, what could he offer her? Nothing. A life, always in danger, always running, never stopping. No family, no security, the loss of her parents and younger brother. The other him could offer her that and more.

"He's human," he found himself saying, using the same line against her that his metacrisis had used against him. "Or at least human enough."

"If it was human I wanted, I never would have left Mickey. Or I would've been with Jack; god knows he made enough offers. But it's you I stayed with, your language I learned, Doctor. I never have and still don't expect anything, but don't tell me you're doing this because he's human and you're not. You know that for me, that's never been an issue."

The gratitude came first, followed quickly by longing which he forced himself to squash. He wanted what she was offering him but he knew it was foolish; she might not understand but he'd seen it, had watched people he'd known turn and age in the blink of an eye, growing resentful of his youth, his defiance of the death they seemed to speed towards.

"I've told you once and I'll tell you again," he forced his voice to be harsh, trying to put her off, trying not to let her know how much each word, each syllable, hurt, how much it pained him to push her towards that other version of him.

"You can spend the rest of your life with me, but I can't spend the rest of mine with you. The other... My metacrisis. He can. He can give you what you want. A lifetime with... me. We'll both age. Together," he cut himself off, forcing an even breath though he felt like he was being strangled, his throat tight, his hearts clenched and in agony and yet, still, he had to push on. He needed to. For her.

"Stuff of Legend, remember?"

It was their memory, theirs. It wasn't right, tainting it, twisting it like this. Rose was his, she loved him, him – not that half-human version. And he wanted her, needed her.

She was beside him, her hand on his cheek, her amber eyes so warm, so full of love and yet so full of grief and he only barely stopped himself from retracting his words.

"'s okay, Doctor. My Doctor," there was so much love in those two words that he felt himself shudder slightly beneath her touch, the words affecting him more than he cared to admit to after such a long time apart. "Of course I'll go to Pete's world. Can't leave me mum alone, can I? And Tony. 's okay."

But it wasn't. It was far from alright. He wanted to cry, wanted to beg her to stay with him, to ignore his words, ignore sense and reason and do the impossible; give him forever. And he should really thank her for seeing his pain, for trying to help him, for trying to soothe it. And yet he did neither, pain strangling his voice, hands trembling and eyes closing, trying to avoid the amber eyes that didn't look at him with the accusation he felt she should've held.

"Just wish I had a bit more time."

Too true. Even now, the rips and tears between the universes were mending, the gaps growing smaller with each passing second.

He couldn't help himself, watching her again. He had never thought he needed to again, and yet here he was, trying to memorise every inch of her; every smile, every curve of her lips, every expression her eyes and face could hold, the way she felt in his arms, her warmth, her scent; everything that made Rose Tyler, Rose Tyler and therefore the most important person in every universe.

"So many things I wanted to see," she continued, her amber eyes glistening and he pressed a desperate kiss to her forehead, trying to stem his own flood of emotions, to stop himself from losing control.

"So many things I wanted to do," she continued, unaware of his emotional turmoil.

"It's not fair," he finally confessed. "There are so many things I wanted to tell you. I stopped myself, far too often. Should have just said them. Now I will never get to tell you. It will be him instead..."

He continued ruefully after a slight pause, "By Rassilon, I'm a Time Lord and yet the one thing I always seem to run short of, is time."

After a breath, Rose opened her mouth but he cut her off, needing to say the words now that he knew he would never get another chance. "He will help you. He'll support you. I'm so sorry about this afternoon; I shouldn't have ever questioned you like that and especially not then... And I just wanted you to know that he won't make that mistake. He will be there for you, I promise..."

Desperation raced through him, growing stronger with each and every breath, hearts aching as he stared at her, knowing that it would likely be his last time alone with her, with the woman he loved and he would yet have to give her away to someone else. Her happiness, he reminded himself and his heavy hearts, was paramount.

"I wanted to be the one to tell you, to share it with you. But now I won't get the chance. It'll be him, instead. He will get to watch it, watch these lines deepen," he found himself tracing the tiny grooves around her mouth, "over the years with laughter, he will get to watch your hair turn grey, will get to be there for every single moment, big or small over the years. And he will get to tell you the one thing I've wanted to tell you for so long. My name. And it won't be me."

Her mouth was agape and then she took another step, closer still, her voice hesitant as she ventured, "your name?"

He found himself blinking in surprise for a moment before flushing slightly.

"Well, I'd never asked, I'd just sort of assumed that, well, given what you said and everything else, you'd... well, we'd-" he cut himself off. The rest of the sentence should be obvious, shouldn't it? He didn't need to finish it, did he?

Her amber eyes widened for a moment before she looked at him searchingly, her hand on his chest and her lips curling up ever so slightly.

"I mean, yes. I just sorta assumed that, well, you didn't do that. Not with your companions."

How could she look at him and see so much and yet so little? How could she not know what made up the biggest part of him; his love for her?

"I don't," he said gently, pushing one of the strands of her hair behind her ear. "Donna, Sarah Jane, Mickey, Jack, Susan and hundreds of others. They're all companions. I would never marry them. But you, Rose Tyler, you're so much more than a companion, always have been. You are the one person in every reality, all of time and space, that I have ever wanted to tell me name to. I have been running for nearly two millennia now, running from rules and domesticity; and for you, I would live in a house, with a carpet and even a dog with a nose. There is very little I wouldn't be capable of, for you. And giving you my name is just the beginning and you'll have the rest of your life ahead with him. And it'll be beautiful."

There were tears in her eyes, amber eyes shining brightly, but a warm smile was on her lips and her hand was now interwoven with his, her face but a few millimetres from his.

"I would love that," she confessed with a shy laugh and his hearts felt heavier though he tried to smile for her sake.

"Well," she amended suddenly, "I like the idea of getting married to you. But for the rest, well, I'd much prefer running. I've stood still for too long and I can't stand it. I don't ever want to stop."

She would've stayed with him. And though he knew not why it mattered anymore, especially when her future would mean she was chained to Earth, his hearts felt lighter and without thinking about it, he leaned forward, touching his lips to hers.

The moment they made contact, he froze, uncertain as the realisation of what he was doing suddenly settled in, but then Rose sighed lightly, a gentle exhale, and moulded her body to his and he gave in. There was no point in holding back anymore; Rose was fully aware now and their time together was limited and if this was all he'd ever have and she was offering it of her own free will, then he had not the restraint to stop her – or himself. So he gave in.

He pulled her tighter to him still, his lips moving against hers gently, trying to elicit a reaction from her. His blonde companion made a slight noise of content from the back of her throat that had him fairly shivering, before one of her hands buried itself in his hair, her soft mouth firming slightly as she responded. He had one hand on her lower back, allowing it to slip gently – and slowly – beneath her leather jacket and top, hearts racing as he half-expected a gentle rebuke from the blonde in his arms; except it never came. He used that hand to press her body tighter against him, a silent thank you to Rose for allowing him to touch her so intimately. This body was very, very sensitive, and even with her clothes every nerve on his body was alit with fire but actually touching her skin, touching her back, feeling her curve against him, tremble under his touch, her skin so very, very soft under his hand and incredibly warm. His other hand had slid beneath her hair, enjoying the feeling of the soft, wet strands against him as he gently cradled the back of her head, deepening their kiss.

The bare skin, her body against his, her warmth, all of those were familiar in many ways and yet the simple fact that her lips were on his suddenly meant that every touch, every breath, every curve and every noise was something new to discover, something intriguing and mysterious that needed to be investigated, explored. For so long he had longed for her, missed her, had thought he had missed his chance – this chance and so it shouldn't have been such a surprise to him when, slowly, his passion turned desperate, needy, in the knowledge that this would be the only – and the last time – he ever got to kiss her, to show Rose Tyler how much he loved her; another man would soon be doing this, would make her gasp and moan like this.

And he nearly lost control – except it wasn't him who took action. Rose's hands had, at some point and somehow entirely without his notice, left his head and suddenly was on his tie. Before he could register or protest – not that he would've, had he known what she was doing – she had turned them around and pushed him up against the coral, pulling him down and kissing him again; but not cautiously or gently, not a tentative exploration between newly minted lovers but a desperate kiss that spoke of goodbye and of barely leashed passion. Her hands were frantic, half-pulling, half-ripping his shirt to touch him, to feel his skin and he nearly groaned out loud when he suddenly felt her warm hand on him, pulling him closer as he had earlier. Her lips parted suddenly and her tongue swiped his mouth gently and this time he had no more restraint; he moaned and opened his mouth, welcoming her inquisitive tongue – the very same one which had taunted him so frequently and now offered him, finally, the chance to play with it, to taste it, taste her.

This regeneration had always had an uncanny need to taste everything; but above all else, he had always wanted – no, craved Rose, needed to taste her, explore every inch of her with his tongue. To now be granted such a privilege, one he had never expected, he found he could no longer hold onto his restraint. When Rose responded with a slight moan, he followed her invitation, allowing himself to finally explore her mouth, play with her tongue, taste everything she was and submerge himself in the blissful hot, wet heat she had offered him.

There weren't any words to adequately describe what Rose Tyler tasted like to him. There were the physical things like Mint from the toothpaste and a mix of honey and vanilla he'd always attributed to her, but, more than anything, he could taste freedom. Freedom to be who he was around her, to let go of all his walls and barriers, to relax in the safe knowledge that she would always catch him just as he would always catch her.

He had forgotten himself, had forgotten everything, had allowed himself to explore and accept all of her just as she did with him, when suddenly she pulled back and it took him a few moments before he could see pas the slight haze of desire that covered his eyes and had welled up in his hearts, to remember that she needed to breathe. Her head was only slightly away from him as she gasped in the air and for the first time he became aware that she still had him pressed against the coral strut behind him. He almost grinned at that but decided that he was far more interested in what she was still offering him now, here, with her neck bared.

It took him a few seconds – an embarrassment, really, it should have been less than a second – but with the calculations made, he easily reversed their positions, pressing the blonde against the same coral. His hands slid easily under her bottom, allowing himself a bare moment to touch the round globes – he had been tempted with them so many times before when she'd worn tight jeans and swayed seductively just a few feet from him that he couldn't just let the opportunity pass by unacknowledged – before he lifted her up so she was face to face with him. Rose gave a breathless laugh at his actions and he couldn't help but grin devilishly at her as, with one smooth move, he stepped between her legs and watched, in silent satisfaction, as she abruptly stopped laughing, sucking in a hasty breath at his actions. She recovered quickly though, her legs wrapping around his waist and, slightly reluctantly, he allowed his hands to slip out from beneath her, using his body and leverage to keep her aloft, groaning in relief when her body was once again pressed against him. He didn't know how he could ever give her up now. His entire body was flushed with heat, every touch a jolt across millions of nerves, sending signal after signal to his brain, intent on absorbing every inch of Rose, memorising every part of her he could reach and touch.

Softly, gently, he followed the curve of her neck with one of his hands until Rose allowed her head to fall sideways, baring the stretch of skin to him without a second thought and he followed the temptation. He started at her chin, trailing kisses along her jaw, intent on exploring and tasting every inch of that one beloved part of her body which jutted out slightly, betraying her stubborn nature to the world. He could definitely see why several cultures thought a woman's neck was an irresistible temptation. Seeing her slightly sunkissed skin stretched out in one smooth line from the top of her jaw right down to her shoulder, her jacket askew and top pulled down offering him a full view of the enticing flesh, his eyes darkened with unbridled desire and he gave in to every thought and fantasy he'd ever had as he lowered his mouth to take her in again.

Her neck was soft and there was the slightest sheen of sweat on her, adding a slight tinge of salt, mixing with the natural sweet taste of her and hefty dose of her pheromones which had him straining for a moment to not take things further than he ought to, before he filtered it out of his system. His hands trembled with need when Rose moaned, loudly, as his tongue rushed out and found her pulse point, her blood rushing through frantically as her heartbeat drummed loudly through her. He suckled the soft flesh for a moment, loving the slight noises and involuntary tensing of muscles that his beloved was unable to stop herself from making. After a few seconds he moved on further down, trailing kisses and tasting her as more and more of her delectable skin was bared to him.

He nuzzled the hollow of her throat, grinning slightly when the blonde laughed slightly. Though the moment he kissed the skin there, his tongue darting out from between his lips to taste her, she stopped before melting in his arms and mewling – a sound he had never before heard her make – when he sucked the soft flesh into his mouth, biting her very, very gently.

He loved it, that honest response he got from Rose as he explored her further, allowing him to see exactly what she merely enjoyed and what made her desire spike – she was as honest here as in everything else, holding nothing back and allowing him to see her without restraint or pretense. And, though her blush spoke of slight embarrassment, she still did nothing to hide herself, watching him and making tiny noises and gasps that he had already locked away deep within himself for he knew he would never get to see her like this again.

And then he found her scar, the one he'd gotten a glimpse of before; it ran from the nape of her neck diagonally across to just above her breast – which were still covered in her shirt. He traced the line with his tongue and delighted in her responsiveness, her entire body shuddering slightly and her teeth biting her bottom lip as a half-strangled moan escaped her. Her breasts were heaving and, as his attention had been caught by the flash of white earlier, he leaned forward and captured her lips again and was granted another moan and her hands tugging at his hair in slight desperation as he suckled at her bottom lip before teasing it gently with his teeth. And even though he knew he would never get the chance to repeat this, any of it, he couldn't help but memorise every action he had taken which had Rose gasping in lust.

As if she knew the turn his thoughts had taken – and he wouldn't be too surprised if she did, indeed, somehow know – they both started clinging to each other again, their kisses increasingly laced with desperation. He could feel it, time running out, slipping out from beneath his hands, and he held her tighter to him though he could feel her slipping away further and further with every passing second. Rose didn't complain about how hard he was pressing them together, rather she tried to her best to lessen the gap between them even further, clutching and pulling at him, her legs drawing him close and he let out a strangled gasp when he touched her core, the heat unbearable and yet drawing him in like a moth to a flame; but it was sobering, lifting the haze of lust he'd been drowning in.

With great effort he slowed their kisses and it took all he had to resist the desperate noise Rose made as she tried to pull him closer to her and he stood firm. After another few kisses, each one pulling at his hearts, he slowly lowered her to the floor again, telling her without words that reality had to, once again, intrude and they had to return to the real world – a world which foresaw him alone for the rest of his life, away from the woman he loved.

In a moment of weakness he allowed himself to drown in her again, to kiss her with everything he had, to offer her everything he was and to receive her in return, her lips parting willingly and her pink tongue curling around his, stroking, darting, dancing, before, painfully, he forced himself to return to reason again. She was beautiful like this; clothes askew, hair wet and mussed, eyes darkened with lust and hazy with pleasure, cheeks tinged pink and breasts heaving from the exertion. This was how he wanted to remember, he abruptly decided.

Rose Tyler was an absolute vision. She was temptation in person, embodied everything enticing and daring him to show her the true heights of pleasure, beguiling him as she filled all of his senses and he knew then and there that he would never be able to feel for anyone as he did for her, would never be able to forget her, not if he lived another ten millennia, would never find satisfaction in anyone else again for they would never be her. She was his siren and now that he had heard her call, he was blind and deaf to anyone else.

His hand found her cheek, caressing the soft skin and remembering how her taste had filled his mouth but a few moments ago. And then he said the words, the only ones he could ever offer her for already he could hear the steps from the corridor which heralded the return of his metacrisis.

"I love you."

Yay! Merry Christmas y'all! I would love to hear from you!

I hope I got the intoxication sort-of right; I've never been drunk, so I'm just going by hearsay rather than anything else. I hope you had as much fun reading a drunk Rose as I did writing her though. Quick warning, I'll be a while with the next chapter as I'm on holiday, too.

Please review.

Below are responses to previous reviews.

SassyFrassKerr

Merry Christmas and thank you for your review. I completely understand your hatred of me right now. Thank you for giving me a longer review though than just argh! Though it would've definitely been an understandable reaction.

I loved Jack too. He's brilliant. And you got a bit more of Jackie here – though not in a fun way, I'm afraid. And yes, it does as you saw in this chapter. Once the walls have closed, Rose won't be able to touch her mother or the metacrisis. Hope you enjoyed this end a lot more! And drunk Rose. Drunk Rose was fun to write! I hope you have a brilliant Christmas and please leave me another review and stick with me.

Guest - Silvay

Hi again! Thank you very much for your review. I'm glad you're still interested; I'll do my best to keep it that way, then. They will all have a role to play later on again, so it was kind of necessary to explain them a bit more now. I'm glad you liked them! It's very flattering you think it would fit into the original plot! I so hope you enjoyed this chapter – including my drunken Rose and the kisses! I would love to hear from you again and wish you the very best of Christmases in the mean time!

mariontyler

Thank you for your review! I am glad you feel as horrible about tearing Ten and Rose apart as I do. I was commiserating (and, admittedly, congratulating) with my beta about how evil our plan was. Ah well, you'll hopefully still enjoy the rest though. I hope you enjoyed my drunken Rose and all the kisses. Have a happy Christmas and wonderful holiday period! I'd love to hear from you again!

Tiggrchic982

I sympathise with your anger and thanks for leaving a review anyway. While I am looking forward to Rose and Eleven, it was heartbreaking pulling Ten and her apart; it somehow really doesn't seem fair and yet it has to happen for the rest of my plot to unfold. And I loved writing the fishfingers and custard bit; imagine his reunion with Rose and when she finds out that's his current body's favourite food! Martha was good fun once I got her right; I'm glad you enjoyed her. Afraid the eavesdroppy stuff had to happen; Tardis POV is far too hard to write for something like this and I doubted she would have been interested in it for long enough to keep her attentions solely focused on them. It's humany-wumany stuff, not very interesting to the ship but all the more so to poor Martha.

Jack is brilliant! I love him, too. And with nine – snarky, flirting, it was brilliant! Hope you enjoyed Jackie in this chapter. If I'm lucky, the kisses you all convinced me to incorporate with your heartfelt pleas for Ten and Rose togetherness, have made you a bit more amenable towards me. Let me know what you think of this chapter, please :) Have wonderful Christmas with all your loved ones!

TheDoctorMulder

Thanks for your wonderful review! I know, I think everyone hoped I'd keep Ten and Rose together one way or the other; unfortunately that's not going to happen. Sorry. I do hope the kisses made it a bit better though. And she will reunite with Eleven. I hope this chapter clarified what will likely happen in the other world a bit for everyone.

Agreed; I really like River but just not as the Doctor's wife. River, Amelia's daughter, is very cool. She's got pretty cool lines and is a fun character all around – clever, quick, daring and flirty. I agree, she's surprisingly Mary Sue – apart from the fact that, you know, she dies, she's surprisingly perfect. The fact that she's been trained to kill the Doctor has somehow been reworked to be in her favour so, yes, definitely a Mary Sue; not a single flaw to be found. The wedding really rubbed me the wrong way. How many of his companions have sacrificed so much for him? Why is River suddenly the one he marries? And for no apparent reason! She just tried to destroy the universe and while, yes, that is an expression of love like Rose did for her dad, it's not any more or less than a lot of other people have done for him. And it doesn't justify marrying her. What, he suddenly, miraculously, fell in love with her that instant? Pah! Anyway, River will feature, of course, later on, but she will never be his wife.

And yes, your realisation is spot on. Rose won't be able to touch the metacrisis once the walls have closed. Sorry. Anyway, I do hope you enjoyed this chapter and I would love to get another review from you. Have a brilliant Christmas!

Guestshower

Hi! Sorry, curiosity killed the cat and all that – but where does your nickname stem from? Either way, thank you for your review! I'm glad you enjoyed the first chapter. I hope you're still reading and would love to hear what you think from the latest chapter. Have a merry Christmas!

Loca8892

Thank you very much for your review. I hope you enjoyed the other chapters (past chap2) and are still reading.

*lol* I definitely like your sense of morals. To explain a bit; you can actually push your own pain back if your significant other is in distress because your heart automatically goes out to them. And while, yes, the Doctor did kiss Madame de Pompadour, it's like George Clooney walking up to you and kissing you; you're not really going to start anything deeper but hey, this is someone you admire / fancy kissing you. It's understandable that you will respond. And he never loved Reinette but he does love Rose and he's desperately trying to put up barriers between them.

And boy, I would have loved Jack along on that adventure. That would've been brilliant! Not sure he would've punched him, but in his own unique way Jack would've made the Doctor aware how inconsiderate he was being and how much he was hurting Rose.

Anyway, I hope you're still reading and I'd love to hear from you. Have a great Christmas!

AiyanaS

Hello! I always love new readers. Thank you very much for your review. Oh, I'm blushing – thank you so much. I'm glad you think it's well-written and thanks for all the flattery. I'm sorry I started killing you and really sorry to admit this is an Eleven-Rose story. I do hope the kisses in this chapter made up for a bit of the pain I have (and will continue to) put you through?! Promise, next chapter will be the goodbye and she will be together with him as soon as I can make it. It won't be ten chapters till they're together again, I don't think. That's too frightening a prospect to even contemplate! I hope you enjoyed this chapter and I would love to hear from you again! Have a merry Christmas and wonderful festive season!

Marcela

Thank you so much for your review and, trust me, you're not the only reader who hates me right now. I hope the kisses in this chapter make up for it a bit. I'm glad you've decided to stick with me – and this story! Sorry I can't really say this is less of an angst fest, but I do hope you enjoyed it nevertheless. I would love to hear from you again. And have a merry Christmas!

MagnusIsKewl

Yay! A new person! Thank you for your review. Well, she won't die. She'll be reunited with Eleven. This whole story would be pointless – not to mention heartbreaking – if I did that, so don't worry. I am working towards a happy end though it is a bit slow in coming :) I hope you enjoyed this chapter. I would love to hear from you again and wish you a merry Christmas in the mean time.

cecilehem

Thank you, as always, for reviewing. It's always a pleasure to hear from you. I definitely understand your protest; many of my other reviewers have issued similar protests. You will be glad to know that it's because of you guys that I've decided to have a bit more of a... passionate scene between the two. Originally there weren't going to be any kisses (neither drunk or sober ones).

Sorry, the reunion will be with Eleven. If it helps, I think he is only childish because that's the face he puts up to others – mainly Amelia. It's a facade; like in Charlie Chaplin's song (think it was his, anyway) 'Smile though your heart is breaking'. I think he smiles and pretends and hopes dearly, with every fibre of both his hearts, that eventually it will become real, that it won't hurt so much, that he'll stop missing her, stop being so alone.

Agreed, he wasn't in a real relationship with River or anyone else. But don't worry; I'll add a bit more depth to him and you'll see he'll be absolutely perfect for Rose. Ten needs Rose like he needs air to breathe. Eleven was born missing her, not having her – and he'll be perfect to help her heal.

I can't say anything with regards to Ianto. All I know of him is what I saw in Doctor Who and the occasional references in fanfictions. I've never watched Torchwood, so I can't comment. I've just gone with what I knew from the show, sorry. He will come more into play later on when Rose has made her way back yet again.

*lol* I know, it is. I tried to write it as non-creepy, non-invasive as possible, but there's still two of him, both wanting to be with her. It was not ever not going to be entirely non-irksome, sorry. I've separated them since then, though, so hopefully that'll help.

I'm sorry I've decided to go down the same pathway as others you've read. I always intended to have her with Eleven right from the start, which is why the beach had to happen the second time as well. Sorry.

Anyway, I hope you enjoyed the latest chapter! Have a merry Christmas with all your loved ones, lots of fantastic prezzies and an all-around joyous holiday season. I would love to get another review from you!

50penny

Thank you very much for your review. I know; I love Ten with Rose – real ten, not the metacrisis – and definitely sympathise. You're not the only reviewer to mention it, hence the kissing scene. I hope it made up for it a little bit.

Jack and Sarah Jane will come back into play later but they're pretty much gone for a few chapters, sorry. Yeah, Donna will be memory-wiped. Sorry. No way around that for now. I'm glad you enjoy the heartwrenching stuff as well and quite right; Doctor Who is nothing without some harrowing, tremendously heartbreaking scene here and there.

I know; I loved House and Cuddy – or even, of sorts, him and Cameron. I hated how they suddenly turned him into a non-functioning addict. Rubbish! So glad you're a fan of Rose/Sherlock too, now. Anyway, have a fabulous Christmas holiday and I would love to get another review from you! Feel free to PM me anytime as well!

Jaenelle Masen

Hi, new person! Thank you so much for your review! And I promise, right here and now, River will not ever be the Doctor's wife in my story. I like River's character of sorts – I mean she's perfect – just not as the Doctor's wife or in any kind of relationship to him, really. Sigh. Anyway, that's my fix-it. Rose. And yeah, she'd definitely love them both (bowties and the fez). I would love to hear what you think of this chapter! In the mean time have a brilliant Christmas holiday and all the best!

Rosesroses25

Yay! Another new reader! Thank you very much for your review. I'm glad you enjoyed it and I hope this chapter met your expectations as well! Please review again! Have a merry Christmas.

Tykhe-Nemesis

Yay! Thanks for the lovely review. I liked the comfort food too. Looking forward to having Rose interact with Eleven and see him eat the food he used to loathe *lol*.

Well, River will definitely not marry him. I won't allow it. But I'm glad it at least explained actual canon slightly for you with my reasoning. Your other question has been answered in this chapter; it won't be years, it'll be days if not hours, depending on her choices and her strength of will. And as you read in this chapter, she won't be able to touch them. Sorry. Bad Wolf Bay will be in the next chapter; no more holding off, so hopefully that will answer mostly everything.

I'm glad you liked all my side-characters. Sarah Jane and Jack will play a larger role again later, Mickey only a side one, but they will all turn up again sooner or later.

I hope you enjoyed this chapter and I would love to hear from you again! Have a merry Christmas and wonderful holiday season!

Zorobak

Hi newcomer! Thank you so much for your review; I'm hoping you're enjoying the story thus far. Unfortunately, were he to learn the truth, I don't think he could ever bring himself to leave her behind, no matter what. So he won't find out yet, sorry. I would love to hear from you again but in the mean time, have a merry Christmas!

Umi-Uma

Thanks for the lovely review. I'm glad you're looking forward to Eleven. To be honest, so am I. Though I'm already missing Ten. But yes, Eleven will be made missing her so he will be perfect for her in many ways. And I'm glad you enjoyed Martha. She'll come back again later but in a very minor role only. I would love to hear from you again. Until then, have a joyous Christmas with all your loved ones!

Shadow Eclipse

Thank you so much for both your reviews! I am happy you're enjoying the story and thanks for the flattery. I hope you enjoy this chapter just as much! I'd love to get another review from you. Have a merry Christmas!

Kylaia78

Hi! Thanks so much for your review. I'm so glad you enjoyed the chapter! Sorry for the wait, I hope the kisses made up for it a bit! There will definitely be a happy ending; I'm not cruel enough to put you all – and myself – through all this hardship without a reward. No, Rose and Eleven will not be without their difficulties, but they will be very, very happy ultimately. I would love to hear from you again and hope you get some more sleep this time! Have a merry Christmas with all your loved ones and lots of prezzies!

Darkwolfberlin

Halloele! Liebe Dank fuer deinen Kommentar.

Ich bin ueberrascht, dass ich dich doch noch schockieren kann! Hast gut getippt; haette es beinahe nicht fuer Weihnachten geschafft, aber hier ist es dann doch noch. Wie du siehst, sind da leider keine schockenden Enthuellungen dabei. Das naechste Kapitel sollte das mit dem Strand sein; sorry. Abe rein gutes Ende kommt auf jeden Fall – halt nur mit Eleven und Rose anstatt Ten. Ich vermisse Ten jetzt schon *schnief*. Meine Leser waren auch alle entsetzt (lese:empoert) und haben leichte Andeutungen gemacht (lese:stark beschwert), sodass es in diesem Kapitel dann letztendlich Kuesse zwischen Zehn und Rose gab. Hoffe es beruhigt die Gemueter etwas!

Ich wuerde mich auf jeden Fall freuen, wieder von dir zu hoeren und bis dahin noch eine fantastische Weihnachtsfeier und viele Geschenke!

XSunshine95X

Hi again! Thank you for your lovely review! My first review for this chapter; I was rather dreading the response, so thank you for being so kind! I hope you know that the kiss-scene in this chapter is largely due to you – and others, admittedly – because I felt I should be giving you something back for sticking with me even after that rather cruel chapter! So I hope you enjoyed this chapter; I promise brother-Jack will make an appearance again later on, but not soon, I'm afraid. I will try my very best to keep measuring up to your standards and I would love to hear from you again. I'm also flattered to hear I've given you your motivation back; not quite sure how I did that, but you're welcome?!

Until then, I wanted to wish you a very merry Christmas with all your loved ones and a happy festive season!