Title: The God Illusion
Characters: Ten, Rose
Rating: K
Spoilers: Season Two, 'The Satan Pit'
Genre: Romance, Missing Scene, Introspection
Disclaimer: The only thing I own is the notebook this was written in.
Summary: That never-ending question of the Doctor's faith. An idea that grew. TenRose. Oneshot.
Word Count: 2,203
Author's Note: Wrote this before dropping off to sleep last night. Sometimes you just can't keep the plot bunnies down.

-I-

The God Illusion

"Doctor?"

"Mm?"

"Do you believe in God?"

The Doctor, who was concentrating so hard on wiring up the recently sonicced parts of the TARDIS that he had his tongue lodged between his teeth, looked up. Rose was sitting on the worn out old pilot seat, a book nestled in her lap. He peered over the top of his spectacles and noticed it was not her usual read of a chick-lit novel. It was black, hardback, and looked quite a hefty job.

He frowned slightly. "Why do you ask?"

"Just wondering," came the response.

This had become a habit of late: her generally being in the same space with him while each of them got on with matters that didn't involve the other. Rose usually ended up wherever the Doctor was, deciding to read, or paint her nails, or write in her diary (the Doctor had been very interested when he had first found out she'd had a diary; but she would never let him look. Even when he pouted).

However, on occasion, the tables would turn and he himself would sit reading something, or writing something – though usually maths equations or excerpts of prose rather than a diary – while Rose would go about her routinely habits. He never painted his nails, though. Well, except that one time, but that really was for a dare.

It was simply another way to be around each other. No need for speech, no heavy atmospheres, no sudden desire to go off and find out the reason for that strange hiss on the landing two floors up. Simply a new level of living together that running for their lives just couldn't touch.

"That's a strange thing to wonder," the Doctor now said matter-of-factly, hauling himself out of the depths of the grating to perch his bum on the floor. His legs dangled down into the pit of his ship and he swung them idly as he looked up at Rose. "Do you?" He turned the question on her.

Rose screwed up her face in thought.

"I dunno," she shrugged eventually, looking down to him again. "I mean, there's so much out there – so many bits and pieces and combinations of things. There's got to be some sort of design to it, right?"

"Why?" the Doctor asked, genuinely interested.

Rose seemed surprised. "Because. It's too much of a coincidence."

"Give me an example," the Doctor suggested, folding his arms and giving her a calculating look.

"What, off the top of my head?"

"Yeah." He shrugged. "You brought it up, might as well have some examples."

"Okay. Well. First thing, I guess, is the sun. And the Earth. We're just at the right distance away to have life. I mean, it's perfect for us. Look how far we've come – we used to live in caves, Doctor, and now we've got... mp3 players! It's kind of hard to think that there isn't someone up there, helping us along."

Something between a smile and a smirk tugged at the Doctor's mouth and he uncrossed his arms, leaning backwards slightly as he surveyed her. She looked slightly uncomfortable, as though he were sizing her up for physical labour.

"You know," he started slowly, taking in a long breath, "this universe is theoretically infinite. By that, I mean it's expanding due to an explosion that started at its beginning and will continue to do so increasingly. There are many, many, many possibilities for all sorts of combinations to occur. It's not surprising when one of the combinations is that of Earth and its inhabitance. In fact, the basis for Earth is a similar structure that's woven throughout the whole universe - "

"Yeah, so couldn't you say that was some sort of grand design?" Rose cut in.

"Well, yes, you could," the Doctor agreed, but he wore a frown that said otherwise. "You could say a lot of things. You could say that ducks were purple, and maybe on some place, they are. It's impossible to know."

Rose shifted in her seat. "So do you, then?"

"Do I what?" the Doctor asked, putting his head on one side.

"Believe in God."

"The God you're talking about? The all-powerful celestial being that governs the acts of right and wrong and where we're headed for in the future? No, Rose, I don't."

She looked a bit crestfallen.

The Doctor hoisted himself up onto his feet and, sliding his hands into his pockets, wandered over. He had previously thrown his coat across one of the railings for his work, and his jacket along with it, so stood now with his shirt sleeves ruffled up to his elbows. He had taken his glasses off and placed them on top of his head, where they were currently under siege from his unkempt hair. He looked rather adorable.

"Rose, religion isn't really anything to do with me," he said softly.

She looked up to him. "I never said it was. I mean, God and all that. I don't know. But I do wonder sometimes."

He smiled gently. "Yes," he agreed, "you're bound to. Everyone does. The creation of 'God', in any form, is about the idea. It's about hope. And there's nothing wrong with hope, because it gives you permission to dream."

"If you don't believe in any kind of god then, Doctor, what do you believe in?"

He'd known this question was coming. He had wondered about it ever since they had come home from Krop Tor and knew it was on the horizon. They had been through a lot since then, but she still had the right to wonder, he supposed.

"I don't like labelling my faith," he answered with a heavy sigh. He cast a weary look up the central column of the TARDIS. "I haven't seen enough of his universe to really believe in something specific," he admitted in a quiet voice. "There's still so much out there; I don't want to go deciding on anything." Then he looked back at Rose, who was watching him with wide eyes. He smiled. "There is something I do know, though, Rose, which has little to do with faith or belief."

"What's that?" Her voice was quiet, almost child-like.

"The universe is about balance." The Doctor put his hands out in front of him to demonstrate. "If something happens to tip the scales - " He moved his hands accordingly " - then the universe will balance itself out again. And that's something else that's consistent with everywhere you go. Take Earth, for example. Global warming. It's just mother nature's way of balancing out excessive amounts of carbon dioxide. It would happen whether or not human resided there, because it's an ongoing cycle. The only thing that can be changed is the time in which it happens.

"Whether or not there is something above that, governing it, I don't know. I don't like to think so. The universe is, in itself, its own power. We don't need much more than that."

Rose nodded and glanced to the floor. It seemed like she had more on her chest to say, although she remained silent for a long time.

"You said..."

The Doctor couldn't see her lips moving as she continued to stare at the floor, but he could hear her words.

"I said what?" he prompted quietly after a while, leaning against the console of his ship.

"You said that we need something to believe in. To hope, and to dream. How do you manage if you don't believe in anything?"

She did look up now and met his eye.

The Doctor shook his head. "I never said I didn't believe in anything. This world would be a dark place indeed if I lost my faith."

At this Rose smiled, like she knew she had been right all along. "You do believe in something."

"Of course I do," the Doctor scoffed. "Well, sort of. Faith and belief are two different things. There are things I'd like to believe and things I want to believe and things I know I'll never believe in. I don't, for example, believe in a higher being, so therefore, I can't have faith in it. However, some things are a little closer to home and are easier to accept."

He rubbed a soothing hand up a panel of the console and smiled wistfully at his ship.

"She's alive, you know," he continued nonchalantly, not looking at Rose. "My ship. We share a belief in each other. And I have faith in her."

Rose watched with a wondrous smile, happy to sit in silence and simply observe the Doctor. He really was quite fascinating when he gave into moments such as these.

He dropped his hand and turned again, looking at her. "And she's not the only thing I have faith in, either."

Their gazes held each other in a long embrace and refused to let go.

Eventually, after licking her lips, Rose said, "I suppose there's a lot out there to believe in, really."

"Oh, yes." He nodded. "An awful lot. I believe in survival if the will to live is large enough. I believe in lots of things, bits and pieces from all over the place. But do you want to know what I really believe in, Rose? What I have faith in?"

She nodded wordlessly and her eyes glittered in the golden light.

The Doctor smiled and, walking over to her, he reached down and took her hands. Their eyes met, arranged a first date and disappeared into the sunset.

"I believe in people who have faith in me," he told her simply, his voice quiet. He squeezed her hands. "When people truly have faith in me, Rose – not just believe in me for the sake of their lives, but truly, truly have faith in me ...that's what gives me strength. Anyone who has that much faith to give is worth believing in."

Rose swallowed, more affected by this moment than she would like to let on. She tried to shrug it off. "Anyone who's met you, Doctor, will have faith in you. You fight so hard for everyone."

"Maybe. I'd be more inclined to say that they believe in me, because I'm saving their lives; only a fair few carry that belief across into faith. Belief is simple, Rose, it's an idea; it goes away if you don't think about it too much. But faith? Faith is the unabashed belief that I'll always do the right thing, always a figure a way out. It transcends words and meanings. And, if I'm going to feel that way..."

He perched on the edge of the seat next to Rose, still holding her hands in his and looking at her face with a sombre expression.

"Rose, if I'm going to feel that way, it's going to be towards the people I can see and touch and imagine. Not towards an idea that I just ...don't believe in. I need more than that."

Rose smiled weakly at him, tears well and truly piling up. She had to keep them down – it was a silly thing to cry about. He wasn't really saying anything that drastic.

"I don't believe in God," she choked out.

The Doctor smiled wryly. "No. I know."

He rubbed his thumbs across the back of her delicate knuckles.

"Pure, unquestionable faith is a dangerous thing," he warned, then loosening his hands slightly. "It blinds you to the truth and makes you ignore the things you'd otherwise see. True faith, however – that's different. That's when you look at your belief and question it. You question its motives, its faults, its sins. Then you accept them and continue to retain that belief. That, Rose – that is true faith."

He leaned forward conspiratorially, the dim light casting strange shadows across his face. Rose looked wary. He had sensed her rise in heartbeat a long time ago, but at this close proximity, he could even taste her changed atmosphere in the air. It was like copper, like blood, and more alive than the TARDIS herself.

In a voice just above a whisper, he finished. "That's the faith I have in you."

Then he dropped her hands, stood up, gazed behind him where he'd been doing his work and frowned. All sorts of odd bits and pieces were strewn over the floor, including something that looked suspiciously like the inner wheel of a bicycle tyre.

Rose wanted to say something – anything – but she found herself without the words.

"By the way," the Doctor shot back over his shoulder as he climbed back down into his ship. "What were you reading?"

"'M sorry?" Rose felt a bit dazed.

He stuck his head out and looked up at her. "The book you were reading earlier. What is it?"

Rose glanced down. In her lap lay the book that had drawn her attention in the library on the last planet they visited, a planet that claimed to have superior knowledge of all things one could dream about. She had picked it up on a whim. On the dark cover glittered four golden words: 'What To Believe In'. She smiled.

"Doesn't matter," she answered, looking up to the Doctor. "Kind of irrelevant now, anyway."

End