Disclaimer: Not mine. It's sad, I agree.
Chapter Summary: Everything changes, everything shifts; everything has its place in the universe. It's just that place isn't always the same.

Epilogue: Pathways

When Rose woke up, the Doctor was sleeping. This in itself was unusual, because in the six weeks since she'd returned to the Tardis, she had not once seen him sleep. Perhaps it had to do with the alterations in their bodies – perhaps it was simply because he was finally exhausted. Rose thought it might have been because he was comfortable in a way he had not been previously.

He looked younger, when he was asleep. If Rose looked very closely, she thought she could see bits of her other Doctor just below the surface, but she'd never seen that Doctor asleep either, so it was hard to tell. Their relationship then had been different, more father-daughter than lovers.

Not that she and he were lovers. But Rose had the inkling that perhaps, with the changes, they could be. It wasn't such a bad thought, but it was entirely possible that it might have frightened the poor Doctor to death. To be fair, she'd never heard him proclaim distaste of all things domestic, and he'd always been more affectionate, more willing to see Jackie, friendlier to Mickey, than he'd been before Satellite 5.

Maybe he wouldn't mind.

Rose wondered if she could read his mind now. What if he could read hers? That was a horrid thought – all the images and thoughts that swirled around in there, most of which were unfit for any sort of consumption. And Rose wasn't all that certain she really wanted to know what 900 years of existence was like.

(Although, she reflected, what with her body becoming more like his, she might actually find out.)

"I don't think you'll regenerate," he mumbled, and Rose jerked at the sound of his voice. His arms were wrapped around her, and they tightened to keep her close. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have—" He opened his eyes blearily. "Didn't mean to startle you. Were you awake or dreaming? Did you say that or think it?"

"I didn't really think anything," said Rose. "Not about regeneration. I was thinking I might live 900 years."

"Not how it came across. Or maybe that's just how I interpreted it. Telepathy's funny that way. It's an odd connection, not like a typical Time Lord mind in mine. I can sense you right there on the periphery, but I can't access it, exactly, I'm just getting impressions. I didn't read your thoughts."

"You'd have read them wrong, if you had."

"I won't read them, either, unless you want. I could, I could look in your head, but I won't without your permission. I remember how upset you were that the Tardis translated for you."

"Only because you didn't ask. I would have said yes."

"Would you? I'm not so sure. Can you sense my mind?"

"I don't know. I don't think so."

"Be quiet for a moment," he told her. "Close your eyes if you like, sometimes that helps. It's a little like imagination, pretend your mind has grown fingers and is reaching out. Pretend you're reaching towards me."

She did, feeling just a little silly, and imagined herself floating in space, reaching out like the painting on the Sistine Chapel, trying to find Adam. She was about to open her eyes again and tell him, no, she couldn't sense anything but embarrassment, when she just barely had a vision of purple mist, there, at the very edge of existence.

Her eyes flew open. "Purple?"

He grinned at her. "You expected pinstripes?"

"That would be just silly," she said, suddenly feeling enormously pleased with herself. "What color am I? And please don't say I'm rose-colored."

"Now who's being silly? You're a sort of silvery-turquoise, I don't know that there's a name for it. A bit like an opal when you hold it in just the right light. Luminescent."

"So are you."

"That's a Time Lord for you."

"But you said I wasn't a Time Lord."

"No," he said thoughtfully. "I did say that, didn't I? And you aren't, because if you were, I'd know it."

"Tests," she said gloomily.

"No, no tests," he said, just as thoughtful. "You wouldn't be on the edge of my thoughts the way you are now, you'd be right in there with them. We wouldn't have to try so hard to catch each other. So you aren't Time Lord. I think – I think you might be Gallifreyan."

"Galli-whatin?"

"My home planet was Gallifrey. I never told you? No matter. Not everyone there was a Time Lord, very select, pompous group we were. Best of the best, far superior in intelligence, technology, and appearance."

"And ego."

"Just as important. But the Gallifreyans, they had their own gifts. Similar in physiology, but they didn't regenerate. I don't think you will, either."

She drummed her fingers against his chest. "Will I live 900 years? You didn't answer that question."

"If I wrap you in cotton wool, you might, but we've already determined that you won't allow it. As for an actual projection of how long you'll live – no idea. I would have to run the dreaded tests to be able to tell for certain."

"But how long does a Gallifreyan live?"

"Not 900 years, but more than plenty."

"I hate it when you're enigmatic."

"I hate it when you're clothed," he said, and time seemed to stop the moment the words left his mouth. They stared at each other, Rose and the Doctor, and Rose felt her pulse quickening, which considering its heightened state, was something.

"Doctor?" Her voice seemed high, even to her.

"I – ah – Jack will be wondering where we've gotten ourselves to," he stammered, and sat up, pulling his arms away from her, and running his fingers through his hair to flatten it, which didn't work.

"You went from me naked to Jack?" asked Rose incredulously.

"Rose—"

She sat up and caught his coat, and was about to speak when a wave of dizziness hit her so strongly, she let the fabric slip through her fingers as she fell back to the ground.

"Rose?"

"Dizzy," she mumbled into the grass, and screwed her eyes shut. She felt a brief pulsing at the edge of her consciousness, and had a sense of purple pushing lightly, trying to see if she was all right. "No, you promised."

The purple receded, and he fell to his knees next to her. "I'm sorry, you flickered. I reacted without thinking. Do you need something?"

"Maybe some water. How long were we asleep?"

There was a pause, and when he spoke, his voice was surprised. "Seven hours. Jack will think we've fallen into the water and drowned."

She opened her eyes carefully, and when the world did not spin, she opened them further. "Wait – I thought the door came back? How did you get in?"

"The door did come back, went away again after I came in. Last I saw, Jack was still sitting in the corridor. He might still be there."

"Seven hours, I hope not." She carefully pushed herself up to sit. "I'm better. But seven hours – and I can't think of when last I ate – and suddenly I'm awfully hungry."

"Tea," said the Doctor. "And sandwiches." He paused. "Rose, I know you don't want me using you as a guinea pig. I promise I won't. But – I have the blood samples already. I want to run the tests at least on those, compare it to what I have already. I have to find out what happened to me, at least. Will you be all right with me doing that? As long as I don't ask you to do anything further?"

She put her hand in his. "I suppose that would be all right. I think it's like the translation – you never asked me if I would let you stick me with pins and needles, you just did it. Maybe in a few days I'll feel differently. Right now, I'm tired of being ill. Since I don't feel ill, I don't want to be treated as though I am."

He nodded, and pulled her to her feet. "All right. I won't treat you as though you're ill. Except—" She began to sway just a bit, and he instinctively held her by the waist to steady her. "Except for now. I can fetch sandwiches and tea here, if you'd like."

"No," she said. "The kitchen, at the table, and pretend everything's normal." She grew aware of his hands on her waist, slowly slipping down to her hips, and remembered his words from before. And for no reason she could discern – not then, anyway – she spoke again. "If we don't leave the garden soon, Jack will fight his way in, door or no."

His hands stilled, and she was instantly sorry. "Quite right too," he said, and smiled at her, removing his hands from her waist – hips – and offering them to her. "Ready?"

She put her hands in his. "Always."

There was one last discussion to be had, he thought over tea, while Jack cut the sandwiches and made sure Rose had one of everything. He hadn't been entirely truthful with her before, not about how long he'd been without her, or when he said he hadn't read her thoughts so clearly. It wasn't that he had read them exactly, but he'd inferred more than just her concern over lifespan. He's inferred quite a bit, really, and he almost dreaded the conversation that those worries of hers foretold.

A future. Specifically, a future with him.

Time Lord that he was, he didn't think much about the future, at least not in the linear way of the humans. The future simply happened, had happened, would happen, without his worrying over it overmuch, and really, there was just as much in the past to examine. He'd find himself in his own future soon enough.

But no matter what changes in Rose the nanogenes had wrought, he didn't think she would ever lose the linear nature of seeing the world. She might be more Gallifreyan than human now, and she might have the luminescent aura of a Time Lady, but she'd never be able to have a true link with a Tardis, to control the Vortex and feel the earth turn beneath her feet. Oh, she'd probably surprise him every day for the next century, he had no doubt, but—

The next century?

Rose laughed at something Jack said, and he watched as she stole a prawn mayo from his plate. Not that Jack argued. She looked devious and childlike, and intensely happy. He tentatively felt for her silvery-turquoise, and it pulsed with…pleasure, and love, a little tired and hungry, but no longer in flux and entirely solid. He withdrew before she noticed him.

All right. The next century, then. The idea of having Rose around for the next hundred years didn't frighten him as it had done before he'd lost her. It might when they reached the end of it, but that was looking into the future, wasn't it, and that was something Time Lords didn't do. No sir – he stayed firmly rooted in the present, sitting at the kitchen table with Rose and Jack and Rose and sandwiches and Rose and tea and Rose.

There would be a conversation, he mused, when he was done with his tests and comparisons and exams. About exactly how the nanogenes had changed him, and what that meant. About how he thought the nanogenes had changed her, and what that meant.

New, she'd said. They were new.

Rose laughed again, and buried her nose in her teacup.

He didn't know what she'd think of the future. He decided he didn't care, and drank his tea anyway.

The Doctor and Rose will return

in

One Day

Part Two of the Crossroads Series