Title: Small Steps

Author: MusicLuver519

Summary: A year since having her life decided for her, Rose reminisces on moments that have strengthened her relationship with the human Doctor.

Disclaimer: Yadda, yadda. Legal crap, legal crap. None of it's mine, etc. Generic statement about how things would be different if I owned Doctor Who.

A/N: I hereby dedicate this fic to anyone who reads it, because you're probably tired of all the post-Journey's End stories popping up. I haven't written a fic in a while -- the last time was just after Doomsday, see a pattern? -- so please have patience. This is more me trying to accept the human Doctor than anything else.

The first year that Rose Tyler lived on parallel Earth had been a miserable one indeed. Every single night, at or around midnight, she'd sneak away and go for a walk in the patch of woodland behind her father's estate. It took around ten minutes for Rose to reach a small hill, and upon said hill was a small clearing, shrouded by evergreens, blocking out the amber glow in the sky and the humming of London's zeppelin-filled sky.

It was here that Rose would watch the skies for her Doctor. It was silly, Rose knew, but that tiny bit of hope in the back of her mind had never faded the literal test of time.

One chilly evening in autumn, Pete Tyler caught his daughter escaping to the clearing. But, instead of reprimanding her, he decided she should have a proper place to stargaze, so he built her a miniature observatory tower on that very hill. It was slightly medieval in appearance, all stone and mortar, but the inside was furnished like a second bedroom, so Rose could sleep right there if the weather was so unforgiving that she did not want to walk back to the house. Best of all, the top of the tower came to just below the treetops.

Now, a year since the Doctor – the real Doctor – had dropped her back on her second home with this new human Doctor, Rose felt an unyielding need to revive the old tradition she'd thought she'd given up for good. She sat outside on top of the tower, a heavy fleece blanket draped over her shoulders, and eyes skyward. Contemplating.

She remembered with astounding detail what happened shortly after the TARDIS faded away that day. She remembered all the self-destructive emotions, the pain of the proper Doctor deciding what was best for her. Mostly, she remembered how Jackie had been less than pleased with the Doctor's choice of location for their departure . . .

"I mean, he could've at least left us somewhere a little warmer and bit a more populated. No offense," she said quickly to the human Doctor as she approached the table. "Not some cold, nostalgic beach in Norway. Somewhere like Venice, or Barcelona!"

The Doctor's ears perked up upon hearing Barcelona. He was about to say something regarding dogs with no noses, but decided now wasn't the best time for that joke.

As luck would have it, the beach on Bad Wolf Bay was about a minute's walk from a gargantuan hotel right on the waterfront. Jackie invaded the front desk, calling Pete (who booked the three a flight home) and a cab service (the closest one would be coming from Bergen), then went off to the hotel restaurant and ordered three mugs of tea. She seemed quite proud of herself when she managed to set all three down on the glass table in the lobby without spilling a drop.

"There we go," she said. "Something to warm us up. Who'd have guessed it's July out there?"

As Rose scrutinized the nearest window, she mused on how obvious it was that Jackie was trying too hard to lighten the mood. She unexpectedly cringed when the Doctor spoke.

"Oh, tea! That's lovely. Thank you, Jackie."

The Doctor took his mug, Jackie took hers, but Rose was still oblivious to the world around her. As gently as he could, but with a hint of frustration in his voice, the Doctor handled Rose's mug and said, "Rose? Are you going to drink your tea?"

Rose snapped out of her trance. She stared at the mug, then the Doctor's half-pleading look, and back at the mug, which she finally took. But the Doctor was still studying her, a hurt expression contorting his face. He knew, undoubtedly, that he was the not the one Rose had wanted, and the pain was even greater in his devastatingly human body.

"I'm not going to say I understand what you're going through," the Doctor offered, "but you can't be like this."

In an act of defiance, Rose turned away from him even more.

"And . . . I suppose neither of us are particularly thrilled by my being here. But I regret nothing I've done, and surely you don't either?"

Rose cradled the lukewarm mug in her hand. This hybrid Doctor had some nerve, rubbing salt in her wound just minutes after a decision was made for both of them. She was already sick to her stomach, mind flooding with anger. That wonderful, enigmatic, and quite frankly unfair original Doctor was always choosing her fate, always assuming authority when Rose was certain she could handle a situation herself. He just gave her a copy of him. An identical man with all his memories and personality quirks, but so completely different. Yes, he could live a full life with her. Yes, he'd told her he loved her when the full Time Lord Doctor couldn't. But she'd met her downfall by convincing herself that everything would be back to normal.

Her mug was shaking. Rose was so lost in thought that she didn't notice, but the Doctor did, so it didn't surprise him when a few seconds later, the sound of shattered ceramic resonated through the crowded lobby. Suddenly, nature conservationists and cross-country skiers alike all had their attention on that corner of the room and the tea splattered across the floor.

With a heavy sigh, Jackie said, "I'll get someone to clean that up."

Maturity had been thrown out the window that day, and more embarrassingly in the company of a man she was supposed – maybe expected -- to love.

After the mess in the lobby had been cleaned up, Rose had had to endure an agonizing one-and-a-half-hour cab ride to Bergen, scrunched between the Doctor and her mother. She'd stubbornly tried to sit upright, but found that the urge to sleep was too much to bear and rested her head against the Doctor's shoulder. Just before drifting into unconsciousness, Rose remembered feeling the Doctor's arm envelop her and position her head directly under his. All irritation aside, she'd felt safe, safer than she'd ever felt with the original Doctor, always teetering on the line between life and death.

Once they'd reached Bergen, they'd checked in at a hotel overlooking the city. Jackie had magically tapped into the Tylers' bank account and withdrawn ample money to sustain them for meals and whatnot. They only stayed in a Bergen for a day, but it was enough time for the Doctor to coax Rose into doing something that would raise her spirits . . .

"Good thing your mum knows her way around the bank; I wouldn't have missed this for the world!"

The Doctor and Rose were strolling through Bergen's famous fish market, while the former was stuffing his face with an egg-and-lox sandwich.

"This is delicious!" he exclaimed with enthusiasm. "You want a bite?"

"No, thanks," Rose replied monotonously.

They meandered through hoards of tourists, browsing the booths stocked with sweaters, gloves, hats, and expensive souvenirs. The Doctor was about to take the last bite of his sandwich when a brave seagull swooped down and plucked it from right out of his hand. The Doctor swore under his breath. Rose stubbornly held back her emotions and simply raised her eyebrows. They walked on, until the Doctor became enthralled with something far off to the left.

"Oh, Rose, look at these!" He was gesturing towards a booth filled with small handmade trolls. He picked one up. "Reminds me of the Absylians from Lesser Corax Seven, except they haven't got mouths -- just really long noses. Can you imagine, Rose? They wiggle their noses to communicate!"

Rose couldn't fight it anymore. She smiled, a full ear-to-ear grin, ignoring the frightened look on the troll vendor's face; she had to admire the Doctor's efforts to make her feel better. When the Doctor saw this, he laughed and couldn't help but feel like he'd accomplished a near-impossible feat.

He, the not-quite Doctor, had made Moody Miss Tyler smile.

When they'd reached London the next day, the real saving-the-universe fatigue set in. Pete had arranged transport from Heathrow to the estate via limousine, but the Doctor had insisted that they take the Underground all the way across London so he could "do what all the other humans do."

After switching lines twice and standing next to a man with B.O. for ten stations, Rose was relived to come home a very anxious Pete Tyler. The four gathered in the den and explained everything to Pete, each with a completely different story to tell. It'd been hard to fit Davros and the Reality Bomb, the ultimatums of Jack, Sarah Jane, and Martha, Mickey's reason for not returning with them, and the two Doctors into the span of about hour, but they'd managed to pull it off. Rose had wanted nothing more than to sulk in her room, but there was the issue of deciding where the Doctor would sleep . . .

"I remember this house all too well," the Doctor said dreamily as he stood at the bottom of the grand staircase. "Last time I was here, I was the help! Wasn't I, Rose?"

Rose smiled indifferently. She wasn't about to say that that'd been the real Doctor, not him.

"So!" Pete said. "Where would you like your room to be, Doctor? We have a guest room up the stairs and to the right, or, if you'd like there's one on the third floor with a lovely view of the city." He paused and regarded his daughter. "Unless, of course, you'd like to have a room with Rose?" Pete glanced at his wife. Jackie quickly shook her head.

Rose stiffened. She wasn't ready for that big of a leap. She'd only known this Doctor for a couple of days.

"It's all right, Pete," the Doctor replied. "I'll take the room on the second floor."

Rose hadn't realized it, but she'd been holding her breath.

"Oh. Right," Pete said uneasily. "Well, I suppose I should introduce you to the part of the house you haven't seen . . ."

The Doctor nodded in agreement and followed Pete up the staircase, placing his hands casually in his pockets. As he passed Rose, he winked at her.

He understood. He could wait.

Pete and the Doctor disappeared into the upstairs hallway. Rose was about to disappear to her room when her mum quietly said her name. Rose circled around and faced her.

"Small steps, love. Small steps."

And Rose knew that that bit of advice was coming from experience.

It'd taken a few months for the Doctor to really settle in to living a human life.

Jackie was dead set on buying him a brand new wardrobe. She'd said the suit-and-converse combination was ridiculous, like pairing chocolate syrup with tomato sauce. She dragged the Doctor along to Harrod's a few times, flitting about the men's section for hours until she found the perfect shirt to match that expensive pair of jeans, and then she'd be off again, looking for a new ensemble. Rose had tagged along on one of these excursions out of sheer amusement. It was bizarre, seeing the Doctor wearing anything but his usual suit, but damn if he didn't look incredible in everything he tried on.

Pete charged himself with the responsibility of making the Doctor actually exist. Before long, the Doctor was John Smith, a full-time citizen of the U.K. with a passport, a credit card, and even a birth certificate. The Doctor was allowed to choose what age he wanted to be ("Because nine hundred and three won't fly with the government"), where he was born, and even his fake parents' names. After everything had been made official, Pete even signed the Doctor up for a weeklong driving course. The Doctor had argued that he could drive. Jackie curtly reminded him that driving a car and driving a millennium-old time-and-space ship weren't the same thing, and she visibly shuddered at the image of the Doctor out on the road by himself.

As per the Doctor's request, he and Rose had gone out to dinner in one of London's most expensive restaurants as further excuse to get used to one another. Rose felt she owed it to him after her orchestrated campaign against his very presence a few months back. Dinner had gone smoothly, with equal parts polite conversation and incessant techno-babble on the Doctor's part. It was the conversation after dinner, however, that had struck a chord . . .

They were running. Again. Rose thought nothing of it; it was just like old times.

There had been one persistent paparazzo outside the restaurant waiting for Rose to exit, but it would seem he'd hit media gold when she'd walked out with a man in tow. The minute the camera had begun to flash, the Doctor had automatically grabbed Rose's hand and pulled her down the darkened street, laughing as he went. The paparazzo had followed, but the Doctor had zigzagged down so many side streets that by the time they stopped for breath, the paparazzo had vanished.

Incredulity was evident in the Doctor's voice. "I don't believe it. Rose Tyler, my Rose Tyler, gets stalked by paparazzi?"

Rose dismissed him. "It's not that bad, really – I mean, I'm no Paris Hilton, thank God . . ."

They crossed the street and found themselves strolling along the North Bank of the Thames.

"You know, if I had a TARDIS, we'd have been out of there and halfway across the Castervore Galaxy before he could even turn his camera on."

"Well, you don't have a TARDIS, and I have to admit I quite like it that way," Rose replied slyly. "You can't go running off on me anymore."

The Doctor grinned guiltily. "Since when did I ever 'run off' on you?"

Rose nudged him playfully. "How about that time –"

She stopped abruptly, physically and vocally. Her spontaneous romp with the Doctor had made her forget where they were: directly opposite the London Eye.

An onslaught of memories came rushing back: her discovery of Time Lord technology, his Northern accent, his goofy grin when she pointed out that the London landmark was in fact an alien transmitter she'd ridden on countless times. The Doctor she'd known first, the Doctor that had sacrificed every cell in his body and changed his appearance, thinking it to be nothing, but sending Rose into a hurricane of fear and confusion.

The Doctor that was not the man standing beside her.

When Rose glanced at her partner, it appeared as though he was recalling the memory as well. But she was determined not to bring back past demons, tonight of all nights. She stepped forward, willing him to move, but he was immobile.

"Rose, have you ever thought about settling down?"

For a fleeting instant, she thought she'd heard him incorrectly, but he continued on.

"You know, thought about moving into your own place? Having . . . children?" He stumbled over the word.

Rose was speechless as she processed the question. Her parents had been too sensitive to her unique situation to ever ask. Admittedly, she'd been spoiled rotten by her father and made her life's work finding the Doctor, so she was not prepared to answer right away.

Ultimately, the Doctor interpreted her wordlessness the wrong way. "Okay, sorry. Shouldn't have asked. That's a 'no,' then."

"No, it's not that!" Rose blurted. "It's just . . . I'm happy you're thinking that way," she half-lied.

"Thinking human?" The Doctor jokingly grimaced.

"Yeah! And . . . I don't really think I'm ready, Doctor. I mean . . . I've always been obsessed with finding you again that I never thought about leaving the estate." She was amazed at her unconscious use of the word "you."

The Doctor shrugged nonchalantly and shoved his hands in his pockets. "Right, that's fine! Fine with me. Super-duper." He lingered, taking in the setting before he resumed. " 'Cause you know, Rose, I feel like I'm rediscovering you. Now that I'm thinking like a human, I understand now. You only have one heart to give away, so you have to take your time and be sure it's going to the right person."

Never had such a sentiment come from her Doctor's mouth. Rose stifled a whimper. She was tougher than that. She glanced down and realized their hands were still joined, and she was absent-mindedly stroking his hand with her thumb. Rose knew she was holding the only part that remained with her of the original Doctor; it was, ironically, the hand that was only held once before severed from his body, the hand she'd held when he was convincing her that he was still the Doctor. And as she gazed into his eyes, reflecting the purple hue from the Eye, she was met with that exact look, that certainty of who he was and certainty that she would adjust.

That's all she was doing now: adjusting.

Their relationship progressed speedily after that night. She couldn't help but adore this man whom she realized cared for her just as much as the original Doctor had. And as the weeks passed, she fell in love with him all over again. He'd do little things like bring her breakfast before she'd hustle off to Torchwood, or sit in the den with her when the house was empty and catch her up with the events that transpired with Martha and Donna. But something had been holding her back; she wanted intimacy, to feel safe and secure like she did in the cab to Bergen, but Rose couldn't bring herself to ask it of the Doctor. As it would happen, however, they'd only needed to be prodded in the right direction . . .

It was in the wee hours of the morning, and Rose couldn't sleep. She padded silently along the corridor, half-awake, barely aware of where she was going. She snuck up to the second floor and counted the doors. Of course, the Doctor's room was last, the room that overlooked all of London and was a magnificent sight at night. Rose stood in front of the door for a few seconds, gathering her nerve, but before she could knock, a frustrated yell arose from inside the room. Rose was startled but knocked anyway. The Doctor came to the door faster than she'd expected.

"Rose!" He seemed genuinely surprised. "What are you doing up at this hour?"

Rose's eyes widened. He was in his boxers and nothing else. She quickly averted her gaze.

"Oh!" the Doctor finally said as realization dawned. He turned a furious shade of red and bounded back into his room. "You can come in, if you like."

Rose giggled and stepped in, closing the door behind her. The Doctor was frantically pulling articles of clothing out of drawers, searching for something to cover his bare chest. He settled with a plain gray T-shirt. "Sorry about that," he grinned sheepishly, pulling the shirt on.

"No, no, it's fine. Really!" she added after noticing his skeptical look. "Is, um . . . is there something bothering you?"

"It's this asinine human sleep cycle!" The Doctor spat the word "human" like it was vulgar and parked himself on the bed. "I just cannot understand how you humans sleep for so long. I'm so used to cavorting around the universe that I can barely keep my eyes closed. And I keep having dreams. Dreams about him."

For once, Rose felt no swell of emotion for her lost Doctor. All that concerned her was the Doctor sitting in front of her. The bed subtly dipped as she sat beside him. Cautiously, as if he was a wild animal just let loose, she put a hand on his back and rubbed it gently.

"It's like I'm experiencing what he's experiencing, Rose, but with ten times more emotional intensity. He's making me feel alone."

Rose shifted uncomfortably. "Doctor, I . . . " she began, and suddenly had no idea what to say. How do you comfort a genocide-committing Time Lord-human hybrid? The messy-haired, red-eyed Doctor watched her with growing curiosity as she tried to pick the right words. "You're not alone," she said decisively. "You have me."

And with those three words, he visibly relaxed. His shoulders sank. "Do I?" His eyes did not break from hers; he carefully lifted a hand to her face and tenderly stroked her cheek with his knuckles. She closed her eyes and leaned into his hand. Her eyes snapped open.

"Doctor, I-I don't know quite how to say this . . . I mean, say it without giving off the, um, the wrong impression . . ."

The Doctor's hand dropped and he rubbed her upper arms like he always used to when she was flustered.

She couldn't look at him as she said it. "Could I sleep in here, with you, tonight?"

He lifted her chin so their gazes would meet. "You didn't need to ask." He stood and walked around to the other side of the bed while Rose tried to make herself comfortable under the covers on her side. Her heart leapt at the thought of having a side of his bed. He got in next to her and, just as easily as he always did, wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her close. The familiar feel of her head tucked under his assaulted her senses, and the security she'd longed for was the last thing she felt before drifting into slumber.

Despite the single heart and intensified emotions, he was still the Doctor. Rose hated and loved him for never letting her forget it.

The sound of footsteps and the trapdoor opening reached Rose's ears. She didn't turn to see who was approaching. There was only one person would irrationally worry when she stayed outside too long.

"Brought you some tea!" The Doctor sounded like he'd had an extra dose of caffeine tonight. "Two sugars, no milk, just how you like it." He was carrying a pink-topped thermos, which he placed next to her.

"Thanks," she muttered, picking up the thermos.

"What are you up to, then?" the Doctor inquired cheerfully as he squatted beside her.

"Thinking," she replied simply.

"'Thinking,'" he mimicked. "Such a plain word for such a complex process. I quite like 'deliberating.' Or maybe 'reflecting.' Or . . . 'ruminating.' Yeah, that's a good one . . ."

"Why'd you bring the tea?" Rose cut in.

"It's good for you, of course! Rich in amino acids and vitamins, free radicals and tannin, and the green stuff comes in six different flavors!"

"That's nice," Rose snickered. She unscrewed the cap of the thermos and let the steam from the tea wash over her cold face. "Why'd you bring the tea?" she repeated.

The Doctor smiled; he'd clearly anticipated this. "Because I've been doing some ruminating of my own, as it were."

She was upset before the Doctor had even begun to speak. "I suppose you're going to tell me to forget him, like everyone else?" She pushed back the sob forming in her throat. "It's no use – I've put him behind me."

"Don't," he replied stoically. "Remember him. Remember what he's given you. Remember what he's sacrificed for you."

Sacrifice. Now that was word Rose did not enjoy hearing. Her Doctor had sacrificed everything and gotten nothing in return. This Doctor had sacrificed nothing and gotten her.

"He is alone so neither of us have to be. Rose . . ." he said as he slipped his fingers between hers and squeezed, "you are saving me."

There was a tense moment where neither of them spoke. The Doctor rubbed her hand affectionately and said, "You feel like saving me for a bit longer?"

Rose raised her eyebrows suggestively. He'd gotten comforting her down to a science. "Only if you're careful."

The Doctor's lips twisted into a puckered smile. "Ooh, you tease."

Rose lifted herself to her feet, pulling the Doctor with her. "Come on. It's getting chilly out."

She was halfway to the trapdoor when the Doctor quietly said, "Rose, wait."

Rose turned to see him staring at the ground, one hand balled up in his jack pocket. When the Doctor had her full attention, he grasped her hand tightly, so tightly that it seemed like he was afraid he'd fall out of existence if he let go.

"Rose Tyler, have I ever told you how much I love you?"

Rose smiled. "You never miss an opportunity."

He paused. His eyes widened. "Oh, no, no, wait. Wrong sentiment. Blimey, human customs are hard to master." He cleared his throat and restarted. "Rose Tyler, have I ever told you how much I want to marry you?"

Every muscle in Rose's body froze. "C-could you say that again?"

And that's when the Doctor unfurled his closed fist, revealing a tiny, neatly-cut-and-faceted ring. Rose literally trembled as the Doctor slipped it onto the ring finger of her left hand.

"Marry me?" he asked tentatively.

Rose didn't miss a beat. Her fingers closed around his wrist and she pulled him into the first legitimate kiss they'd shared since Bad Wolf Bay. Her lips crashed against his furiously. Her hands groped for his neck and eventually slid into his hair. He was a drug to her, a handsome, brilliant, manic drug who lifted her off her feet and swung her around and set her back down with all the care of a husband-to-be. When she finally pulled away, Rose lifted her hand to examine the ring.

"The band is made from silinium, mined from an asteroid orbiting Adipose Three, with a kronobite diamond that reflects the entire electromagnetic spectrum no matter which way you look at it." He grinned. "Neat, huh?"

"Where did you get it?" she asked, suspecting he'd broken into the Torchwood vault when she'd been home sick.

The Doctor hesitated before saying, "He slipped it into my jacket pocket while we were towing the Earth home."

Rose swelled with pride. Even when he'd been saving the universe, even when he'd stepped out of her universe without so much as a goodbye . . . he was still managing to make her happy.

"He has always placed your happiness far beyond his own, and I'm going to continue his legacy."

She smiled coyly. "So my mum and dad didn't set you up to this?"

"Nope," he replied triumphantly, popping the "p". "I told them I wanted to do it. They told me how. It's on the right finger, right?"

Rose laughed. "It wouldn't have mattered if you'd put it on my nose."

"Although, you might want to make sure it's visible when you walk inside."

"Why's that?"

"Well . . . your parents did threaten to lock me out if it wasn't on your finger . . ."

A/N: Well? Reviews are welcome. Constructive criticism is welcome. Flamers will be turned to atoms, and the atoms will be turned to . . . nothing. THIS IS MY ULTIMATE VICTORY!