author notes This story is written for the Every Single Time ficathon organized by jessalyrnn and Olfactory-Ventriloquism. You can find them over at dwpronathon(dot)livejournal(dot)com. The episode I was assigned was "The Christmas Invasion".

I apologize for any mistakes, they are wholly mine. Sadly, I didn't have time to send it over to my usual awesome beta, develish1. I had about five different versions of this story in my hard drive. This is the one that worked best.

Title is based on the poem "Because" by Linda Pastran.

"An' don't forget to take the pie out of the oven after twenty minutes," Jackie told them, shaking a well-manicured finger at the Doctor and Rose while shouldering her flashy gold purse. "I'll jus' be at Cousin Mo's, all right? Ring me if you need me - or if y' need me to find a place to hide." Rose rolled her eyes at her mother, while the Doctor leaned back on the heels of his trainers, his hands behind his back, and looking for all the world like an extremely excited puppy that was being given a chance to go for a walk.

"We'll be fine, Jackie," he reassured her, one lanky arm around her shoulders as he led her towards the door of the flat. "Rose and I are very good at entertaining ourselves. After all, we've got the whole TARDIS to ourselves, and she's always springing some new and completely unexpected rooms for us - "

Jackie held up a hand, palm out, in front of his face. "I don't want to know what you and my daughter's been doin' in that spaceship of yours, all right Doctor?"

The Doctor reached back and scratched the back of his head, a line furrowing his forehead. Behind him, Rose was already covering her eyes with her hands in embarassment. "Not sure what you mean by that, really. I mean, after all, Rose and I haven't done much on the TARDIS except - "

"Good-bye, Doctor! An' Rose, don't forget the pie!" Jackie closed the door behind her, and Rose peered from the gaps between her fingers. "Is she gone?" she asked.

The Doctor bounced on the balls of his feet as he grinned at her. "And what adventure shall we do today, Rose Tyler, with your mum out of the way?"

She laughed and set about gathering the torn bits and pieces of ribbon and wrapping paper from the dinner table. "We'll be watchin' the house until Mum gets home, an' then we can go pop out and see if any stores are open. 'S Boxin' Day, so 'm not sure if there's anythin', but we can always see if the pub's open."

He made a face as she walked to the kitchen to chuck a handful of Christmas trash down the garbage chute. "Are you saying we're going to be completely domestic today?"

"Not completely. Possibly only 'bout half the day. Plus, y' promised Mum, after y' went 'round and wrecked the wall." She gestured to the Christmas tree-shaped hole in the wall leading to Jackie's bedroom. "And that's why Mickey's not here either - Mum sent him to look for someone to fix the wall."

"Oi," he complained, flopping on the untidy sofa as he watched her clear the breakfast plates. "The murderous tree was most certainly not my fault! You can blame the Sycorax - they were the ones wanting to run their ships off my regeneration energy!" He flipped the sonic screwdriver in the air as she walked back into the living room. "Plus, if you wanted me to do some fixing, all you had to do was ask."

Rose rolled her eyes. "I've seen you 'fix' stuff, Doctor. The toaster never looked the same again."

"But you have to admit, it makes perfect waffles every single time."

"And yet, the toast always turns out burnt. Funny, that."

She slumped beside him on the couch and hugged a pale orange pillow to her chest. In front of them, the telly silently streamed a series of images from the BBC, showing the clean-up of London from the explosion of the Sycorax ship above them. Hard to believe it was just twenty-four hours ago that they were facing off the aliens in a duel for the planet (well, the Doctor really) and now they were sitting side by side on a ratty old couch, watching the news. The clips jumped from scenes showing teams of street cleaners pushing through piles of Sycorax ash and interviews from the civilians who were on the roof ("It felt like there was something inside my head, telling me it was perfectly all right to be standing on the edge of a building in my pyjamas...") to a hurried press conference cobbled together by Harriet Jones and her team.

Rose stared at the haggard face of the older woman on the screen, dark circles under her eyes that even professional make-up artists couldn't quite hide. "He wouldn't have done that," she said quietly, her heart going out to the Prime Minister.

"I'm the same man, Rose," he said, just as quietly. No insistences, no arguments. Just a statement of the fact.

She shook her head, allowing the last forty-eight hours to crash against her body like the waves of a violent sea against a rocky shore. Was it possible to live several lifetimes in just two days? She blinked back tears; the images on the telly began to blur, to bleed into each other like a bright, fuzzy watercolour painting. She was exhausted - she needed more than a night's sleep to get over everything that had happened: the Game Station and the Anne-Droid, the Daleks hiding in the shadows between worlds, Emergency Programme One. She thought about the daft old face in the hologram, that beloved face with the mischievous smile and the stubborn eyes, and felt her heart lurch in her chest. Before she knew it, she was curling up with her knees pressed to her chest and tears leaking from the corners of her eyes and dripping down the bridge of her nose.

The Doctor was beside her in an instant, all pinstripes and lanky limbs and wild brown hair, his eyes large and tender as he knelt in front of her. "Rose, what's wrong?" he asked, which initiated a fresh round of tears.

Dimly, she realized that his hands were on her denim-clad legs, stroking rhythmically up and down her calves. "Can you..." she sniffled, looking down at the still-unfamiliar face in front of her, so close and yet so far. "You can't change back, yeah?" she asked, choking back a fresh sob and instead trying to hide it behind a laugh.

He shook his head, a shadow of sadness passing over his face. "You know I can't, Rose."

"I know." She wiped her tears with the back of her head. She must look like a fright now - her nose was probably raw, her eyes red-rimmed. "I just... thought it was jus' another Time Lord trick, yeah? You're alien enough that you'd be able t' change faces. But then, I keep forgettin' you are alien. 'Cos you're all 'fantastic' and 'everybody lives' an' it just seems all so bloody human, Doctor, that I forget that just 'cos you don't have tentacles or green skin, you're as alien as they come." She closed her eyes, willing the sorrow to stop welling up from somewhere within her chest. She didn't want to hurt him - truly, she didn't. But how did one go about dealing with something like this?

His voice was pitched low, his hands still on her limbs, as he said, "You don't have to come with me, Rose. If it's too hard, or too difficult, or..."

She opened her eyes and looked at him. "Don't say that," she said. "Jus' don't. I already made my choice, Doctor. An' I've seen you - in the kitchen with that look in your eyes, like you can't believe you're still alive, or when you're all alone in the library an' your fingers trace the circles on those books, an' I know that's the language of your people an' you're thinkin' that nobody else'll read them 'cept for you. But don't you see? 'M already signed up, an' I don't want you thinkin' you'll be alone, okay? 'M here. I just... I just need some time."

The Doctor nibbled on his bottom lip, ducking away from Rose so that she couldn't see the look of shy pleasure on his face. "Lord of Time, me," he said, in an odd approximation of his former accent. "I can give you all the time you need."

She gave him a watery smile and patted the space on the couch beside her. "Can you just sit beside me, then?"

He leapt up and folded himself in the space between her and the armrest, swinging one arm over the back of the couch and giving her the room to settle beside him. Rose tucked her feet beneath her and leaned against his side, allowing him to brush his fingers across the edge of her hair and the curve of her shoulder. She could feel him breathe deeply, could feel the thrum of his twin hearts in his chest. Outside, the watery winter light crept through the windows, casting long shadows across the faded carpeting and the secondhand upholstery.

Rose could feel him positively humming with latent energy, and knew how hard it was taking him to simply sit still and not-quite-hold her with one arm. She could see his other hand, the one that grew out of a stump on his wrist, tapping out a rhythm on the peeling cover of the armrest. Her thoughts wandered, spinning circles in her mind, and before she could think about it, she asked: "So can you just regenerate any old body parts?"

He laughed, and she could feel the laughter vibrate in his chest. Right there and then, Rose decided that she loved that sound more than anything in the world. The Doctor, laughing - it made her feel like she was part of something familiar and happy, like watching her favourite film on repeat and skipping to the best parts and mouthing the words right along with the characters on the screen. "You were thinking about...?" he asked, his lips turned up in a quirk.

"Oh, 'cos you grew another hand yesterday and I was just thinkin' if there were any alien tricks you had up your sleeve," she said.

He pulled her closer, and she instinctively threw her arm around his torso, curling her fingers around his waist, her thumb rubbing against the pinstriped jacket and slipping inside to wrap her palm around the thin cotton covering of his shirt. She could feel him rest his chin on top of her head and marveled at the sudden closeness between them: she wondered if he was like this all the time, this new Doctor who smelled of cloves and cinnamon and the hint of a storm brewing over the horizon. "I've a lot of tricks, Rose Tyler," he said, and did she hear a note of naughtiness in his voice? "I've got scads of tricks, a complete bagful of them."

She laughed and raised her head to look at him square in the eye. He was actually quite handsome - no, her friend Shereen would say that he was foxy, all lean lines and limbs and a stubble lining his jaw and making him look unbearably scruffy and yet all she wanted to do was to trace that line with her lips and tongue and -

Rose blushed. This was most definitely not the way she wanted to think about her friend. Her best friend. Her platonic best friend. Her platonic alien best friend who happened to be over nine hundred years old and just changed into another person right in front of her.

And yet, because she was just a handful of weeks shy of twenty and he was the Doctor, Northern or no, and because she loved him, she knew the bait when it was dangled in front of her, and took it, hook line and sinker: "And what tricks are those?" she asked.

The Doctor simply leaned down and brushed his lips against hers. Feather-light and soft, with a hint of promise beneath them. Rose trembled at the slight pressure against her own lips, and without much of a coherent thought, she tilted her head back and followed his kiss as he effortlessly tugged her upwards, one hand sliding down her shoulder and coming to rest at the curve of her waist, and the other cupping her cheek tenderly, his fingers threading her hair.

She wanted to laugh and cry, maybe do a quick dance of joy in her mind as he deepened the kiss, his tongue begging for entrance. She parted her lips slightly, her heart skipping as he slipped inside her mouth, searing his kiss into her soul. Did he know that he was completely ruining her for any other man? That she would no longer want anything more than his lips on hers, his hands tracing Gallifreyan letters on her back, his fingers in her hair? Perhaps he'd ruined her before then - certainly before the assembly of the doomed Delta Wave, before "Just this once, Rose, everybody lives!", and most certainly before "I could save the world but lose you." She's certain she'd already fallen for him as soon as his hand had fit in hers as they raced beneath the Big Ben, looking for the sewer entrance that led to the Nestene Consciousness.

Possibly even before that.

One moment, she found herself pressed up against his side, snogging him as though her life depended on it; the next moment, she found herself on her back and the Doctor above her, his body between her legs and his pelvis hitting that perfect spot that seemed to ache for him. He was supporting himself on his palms, his face flushed and his hair sticking up like a particularly surprised hedgehog. "Um," he said, grinning. "Hello?"

"Hello," Rose replied weakly.

"Is this all right?" he asked, thrusting against her; her legs automatically twined around his midsection, anchoring him in place.

"Yes," she said. "This is most certainly all right."

"You know I've always wanted to do this, yes?" he said, bending down to nip at the soft skin beneath her jaw. She bucked at the touch, and ohgodyes she could already feel herself getting wet in her knickers. "Even when I was all Northern and had very little in the way of head hair - at least you know you've got something to hang on to now, Rose, oh goodness you do smell rather fantastic, you know - "

She tugged at him, her hands at his collar as she pulled him downwards. "Less talking," she said as their lips met once more. His hands were already slipping beneath the hem of her hoodie, his clever fingers traveling upwards and encountering skin. He moaned in delight at the realization, and Rose thought that he sounded pleased at the fact that she was wearing nothing but a bra beneath her zip-up hoodie.

Her fingers already slipped downwards to make short work of the buttons on his suit jacket, never once breaking the kiss as she finally parted the panels and pushed the jacket off his sharp shoulders. He obliged, shrugging as he allowed the jacket to fall to the floor with a dull thud. She flicked off the buttons of his rather rumpled shirt and tugged off the tie, baring his pale, trim chest to her hungry eyes and roving fingers.

For the most part, the Doctor had managed to finally pull down the zip of her hoodie and push it off her body. His lips trailed downwards, nipping and sucking at the curve of her neck, the juncture of soft, smooth skin between her neck and shoulders, the line of her collarbone. Moving downwards, he followed the swell of her breasts encased in a simple cotton bra, the scalloped edges framing them. With tongue and teeth, he tugged at the cloth triangles, seeking the skin beneath them. Rose wriggled and reached behind her, unsnapping the hooks and shrugging the bra off. The Doctor's eyes darkened as she revealed herself to him, as though she was a forbidden treat and it was the first time that he was allowed to touch her.

His lips tasted the peak of her right breast, encasing her nipple in the warm wetness of his mouth. Involuntarily, she arched into him, her body seeking pressure and warmth and the release of the heat building between them. He sucked at the hard nub of her nipple and she moaned, threading her fingers into his hair. Never, in her wildest dreams, did she think that she would end up half-naked on her mother's couch with the Doctor's lips around her breasts and perhaps, she pondered fleetingly, it was for the best. The Doctor nippled sharply at the sensitive flesh between his lips and the last coherent thought in her mind faded into oblivion.

They struggled over removing their trousers and socks and trainers until finally he was over her, his hands cradling her thighs as they bracketed his lanky body on either side, his face hovering above her bare breasts, only his pants and her flower-printed panties separating them. "Rose," he breathed. "I hope you understand, I can't... this can't be..."

She reached upwards and cupped his face in her hands. "Forever, Doctor. I promise you forever."

His look was reverent as he carefully slipped off her underwear and shimmied out of his pants. She reached over and cupped him, her hand exploring the most intimate part of the Doctor's anatomy. He seemed much like a human male, his pale penis rising out from a thatch of dark hair. Her thumb swiped over the head, taking a bit of lubrication and bringing it to her mouth. His eyes darkened as he watched her suck her thumb. He tasted slightly sweet, like watered honey, and she realized that she wouldn't mind going down on him. Maybe next time, she thought to herself regretfully.

And then she trembled, thinking that she had the chance for another time with the Doctor.

He stroked her thighs, aligning her towards him, and she tilted her hips upwards just as he brushed the tip of his cock against her already damp folds, pressing slightly as he entered her. She bit her bottom lip as he slipped inside her, thick and pulsing and oddly warm. "You're gorgeous, Rose," he whispered, his gaze meeting hers as he reached up and brushed a stray strand of hair away from her face and cupping her cheek. "Absolutely, breathtakingly beautiful."

She shifted closer so that her ankles were locked behind his back and her fingers were laced at the nape of his neck. "So are you, Doctor," she said quietly as she offered her lips for a kiss.

He moved carefully inside her, his fingers around her hips, and she wanted to growl in frustration. "I'm not made of glass," she muttered as she tried to control the pace, but his grip was too strong and she wanted the friction inside her body, the glorious heat that came from two bodies trying to become united. "Please, Doctor. I'm not going to break."

And then it was his turn to look at her with tears swimming in his eyes. "I almost lost you, Rose," he said, his voice almost breaking.

"You won't lose me again," she promised him fiercely, making her point with a sharp thrust of her hips against his.

"You can't promise me that."

"I can." She drew him downwards, arms around each other, his lips latching on to the side of her neck. The Doctor moved inexorably against her, sinking into her welcoming warmth as he kissed the side of her neck, following the outline of her shoulders, traversing the expanse of her chest and paying homage to her breasts. She lifted her arms and gripped the armrest above her head, trying to push against him faster, harder, watching as he closed his eyes in concentration, his mouth an "O" as he found himself being drawn into the most primal of acts that spanned time and space and the ends of the universe - the act of two beings attempting to break the laws of physics and transcend the separation of their bodies and minds.

"I can't lose you again," he whispered against her breastbone, driving into her, his fingers gripping her bum as he slipped into the rhythm of the act, that unbearable moment before reaching the peak. "I can't, Rose, I can't live... don't leave me again, please..."

She could feel the wetness of his tears on her skin, and wrapped her arms around him, the slip and slide of their bodies, the moans coming from her lips and his answering groans the only sounds coming from the two of them. I won't leave you, she thought fiercely. I promise, until the ends of the universe, I will never, ever leave you again - and I certainly won't let you trick me into leaving you.

He slipped a hand at the junction of their bodies, seeking the swollen nub of her clit and stroking it in counterpoint to his thrusts. She could feel it already, the glorious coiling at the pit of her stomach, that tension that was waiting to snap. She bucked against him, meeting his thrusts with her own, reveling in the rhythmic friction that they generated between their bodies. He was already lost in the moment, and she watched as he reached his climax first, as the cool spurt of his seed coated her insides. He was still hard inside her, his fingers still rubbing against her clit. She reached down to teach him how she wanted it: hard and fast and suddenly she was rocketing through her own climax, her body tensing as she arched off the couch and stars exploded behind her closed eyelids.

He still stayed inside her as he rested his head against her breast, his arms still keeping the bulk of his weight off her body. She cradled him in her limbs, wanting to protect him from the world outside the Powell Estates, the universe beyond the Earth. Her fingers stroked the sweat-damp strands of his hair. "Doctor," she whispered, her eyes bright.

"Rose," he said, raising his head and giving her a weak smile. "I... I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"For being selfish, for not making it good for you." A blush stained the Doctor's cheeks. "I promise, next time, I'll be more careful. Different man, I guess."

"But the same Doctor, yeah?" she said with a smile.

He met her smile, and it felt like the sun was breaking behind a bank of stormy grey clouds . "Yeah. Same Doctor."

She sighed in relief. Perhaps this was simply the next step of things. Her heart beat faster in her chest, wondering where this new journey would take them. Certainly they wouldn't be acting all couple-y - she wrinkled her nose in distaste, imagining the Doctor bringing her flowers or breakfast in bed or celebrating Valentines' Day. He was just as liable to eat the flowers, burn breakfast, and completely forget her birthdays and anniversaries, not to mention any kind of holiday that positively reeked of domestics. No, this was new and raw and perfect and she didn't want him to change his mind about her. The best thing to do was to allow this to unfold carefully between the two of them, to allow time to take over and lead them towards their own brand of a happy ending. She smiled in satisfaction. Perhaps it wasn't such a boring Boxing Day after all.

They lay entwined on the couch, their limbs curled around each other, until Rose raised her head and sniffed the air suspiciously. "We've forgotten the pie, haven't we?"