a/n: A small part of the dialogue at the end of this chapter is from the epilogue of my story Entanglement.

Part 6

Hours later, we sat on the sofa, eating takeaway pizza and drinking a bottle of wine that had been a housewarming present from a friend. In front of us played a movie on telly, but neither of us were really paying attention to it. In fact, we would probably have been hard pressed to come up with the title or even say what it was about.

That afternoon, we had taken a short kip followed by him giving me an absolutely mind-blowing orgasm just using his fingers and tongue, something he seemed to enjoy almost as much as I did. But now the electricity was back on, the rain had slowed, and night had fallen.

After talking all afternoon, he had grown quiet, and I got the sense from him that our time together was growing short. I didn't know what type of arrangement the two Doctors had made, but whatever it had been, it was evidently coming to an end.

We finished dinner and sat back on the sofa, cuddling under the blanket with his arm around me and not particularly watching the movie in front of us. And I again began to worry about him. I knew he was traveling alone, would be going back to a lonely existence, and tears prickled the back of my eyes. I quickly forced my feelings down; I absolutely couldn't let him see me cry. Not only would it upset him, but it would waste our little time left.

Finally the movie ended, and he turned off the television. We sat in silence for several minutes.

"Doctor," I said finally, "are you alright?"

"Yes," he answered. "Why?"

His tone was light, but I knew him too well to be fooled.

"Well, usually you're talking a mile a minute and you've been awfully quiet for a while now. 'S not like you."

He shook his head. "It's nothing." I raised an eyebrow. "Really, it's nothing."

Inwardly I sighed. I hadn't expected an honest answer so I wasn't surprised he didn't give me one, but it would have been good if he had opened up for a change. For his sake.

Well, if he wouldn't talk, I wondered how we should spend our remaining time together. After considering him several more seconds, I began to grin as I remembered something he had said earlier. I stood up and pulled him to his feet and jerked my head towards the stairs.

"C'mon," I said. "I think someone promised to scrub my back."

Once in the bathroom, I turned on the shower for the water to warm and then turned back to face him. He was already breathing hard in anticipation, his eyes almost black with desire, his straining erection clearly visible underneath his trousers. Staring into his eyes, I silently stepped forward until we were mere inches apart, unzipped his trousers, and pulled his pants low enough to free him. With one hand I cupped his balls and with the other I firmly grasped him and slowly began to stroke. He moaned, and I immediately let go.

"Don't want this to be over that quick," I said, grinning at him, and he looked sheepish.

"No, not quite yet," he agreed.

We slowly undressed each other, taking long moments to look at one another's body. My Doctor had told me that he looked virtually identical to how he had before the meta-crisis, and for a moment I imagined that we were in the TARDIS, before the Daleks and Cybermen tore us apart.

But that was a fantasy, and this was real.

I closed the distance between us and he pulled me close, his hands spreading across my back, his erection pressing hard against my stomach. At the feel of him my own desire, which had begun low in my belly even before we had come upstairs, spread like fire to my core and then throughout my body. My heart began to pound hard within my chest. I stood on my tiptoes to kiss him, and he deepened it: lips moving against mine, tongue caressing and exploring the inner recesses of my mouth. I sank against him as I lost myself in it.

Eventually needing to breathe, I reluctantly pulled away. I took his hand, intertwining our fingers, and he followed me into the shower where the wide, round showerhead sent water like a warm rain cascading downward over us.

I couldn't tear my eyes away from him. He was a handsome man under all circumstances, no matter what he wore, but like this, with water running downward over his nude body, he was gorgeous in a primitive, primal way.

By unspoken agreement he went first. I closed my eyes and dropped my head back as he washed me, loving the feel of his hands, slick with soap, moving in small circles over my body—shoulders and arms, breasts, belly and arse—as the hot water of the shower softly hit my face.

When he was finished, I motioned to him to duck down, and I began by washing his hair, enjoying the sensual pleasure of running my fingers through his thick hair, working the shampoo into a thick lather and then rinsing out. Once the water ran clear, I ran my hands down his sideburns and still-unshaven face, tracing the length of his neck, to his shoulders and lower, finally to lightly scrape my fingernails down his chest.

And then I sank to my knees. And took him into my mouth.

He gasped, loud enough to be heard over the sound of the water falling on the tile floor.

I cupped his balls and slowly sucked his tip, tasting the tangy, slightly salty flavor of him, while using my other hand to stroke and caress his length. He staggered, catching himself with one hand against the wall of the shower stall while resting the other on my head. As I continued his hips moved, tiny movements forward and back as if he was trying to stay still but couldn't help himself. After a moment I could tell he was getting close: his breathing was coming in short pants, the muscles of his abdomen were tightening, and his tiny thrusts were becoming more erratic. He tightened his fingers in the wet strands of my hair and I felt the water shut off.

"Rose," he said.

His voice came out rough, almost pleading, and I released him and looked up.

"Bedroom," he said, entreating me with his eyes as he pulled me to my feet, and I nodded in agreement.

I reached for a towel, and he stopped me, drying me off himself with one of the thick towels from the warming rack, his lips trailing the path the towel had taken. He grabbed a fresh towel for himself, and after he had finished, I reached for his hand. But he didn't take it. Instead he picked me up and took me to bed.

Neither of us spoke as we took the time that we hadn't before, making love slowly and reverently, kissing and caressing every inch of one another. He explored my body with fingers and tongue, seemingly memorizing every inch of me. And I knew he was. It almost brought tears to my eyes, but not for the reason I cried when my Doctor and I first made love. That time had held the joy of the first time; this time I knew was the last with him.

Afterwards, he held me close as I ran my fingertips through the hair on his chest. The silence, which had at first felt solemn, now felt oppressive. Eventually I couldn't stand it any longer.

"Penny for 'em," I said. Even though I had said it quietly, my voice sounded overloud to my ears.

He didn't answer for a long time, so long in fact that I began to think that he wouldn't.

"Rose, are you… happy with h… with me?" he asked finally.

I swallowed hard. He was still pretending to be my Doctor, still wanting, maybe even needing to believe that I didn't know who he was. I debated whether to tell him flat out that I knew—knew who he was, knew he had been with me all day. Would it help him to know, I wondered, or would it make him hurt more when he left?

I wanted so desperately to tell him.

But I couldn't. I couldn't risk even the possibility causing him any more pain.

"Course I am," I said lightly. Then I turned to him and searched his face. He looked relieved, and I decided to continue to play along. "You are, aren't you? Happy here?"

"Of course I am," he replied. He gave me a small smile. "How could I not be?"

"Good," I said, returning his smile. "You scared me for a minute there." I paused for a moment. "Why do you ask?"

"Well," he began, "I just wasn't sure—things happened so fast—the way… he… left… I know you wanted to go with him at first."

I stared at him in surprise. Of all the things he could have said, that was the last I would have suspected. The man who never looked back, second guessing himself? It was so out of character, him allowing himself to revisit decisions he had already made. Somehow knowing that he was doubting himself to that level hurt almost as much as knowing he was alone.

"We talked about this before," I said carefully. "And I thought you didn't like to talk about him."

"Just humor me," he said.

He obviously needed this for some reason, needed to know from me that he hadn't made a mistake by leaving me here. I could do that, I told myself. At that moment, I would have told him that he had done the right thing even if it had been a lie. But I didn't have to. I could tell him the truth and reassure him at the same time.

I put my head back on his shoulder, not wanting to look him in the face as we talked. And not wanting him to see my eyes fill with tears for him.

"You know I wanted to go with," I said quietly. "And I was so… angry… and hurt… at how he handled things."

"And now?" he asked hesitantly.

"I understand why he did what he did. Still don't agree with it, but I understand," I said. "And I love you. I'm happy here with you. And even if he came back, which I know he can't, you know I'd still stay with you. You offered to spend your life with me, and you gave me a choice. He didn't." As I spoke, I realized I wasn't just speaking to him, I was speaking to both Doctors. All of us, actually.

"But you know I still love him," I continued. "I want him to be happy. I don't want him to be alone." I fell silent for a moment. "Do you think he's happy?"

"Yes," he told me. "I know he misses you, but right now, right this minute, I'm sure he's not alone, and I'm sure he's happy."

I didn't dare look up at him, knowing that if I did, I'd see his eyes glistening, as mine were. Instead I wrapped my arm around him and hugged him tightly.

"Good. I'm glad," I said, happy that for that moment I could be there for him. I stifled a yawn, feeling like my body was trying to betray me. The last thing I wanted to do was sleep. "Sorry."

He kissed the top of my head. "You're tired," he said. "You should get some sleep."

I turned back to him, stricken. He was going to go, I realized. He was just waiting for me to be asleep before he left. I lifted up and kissed him, trying to express everything I felt for him, everything I had ever felt for him in it.

It was over far too soon.

"I love you, you know," I said. Please know that, I thought. Please always remember it.

"I know," he said. "Me too."

I smiled at him before rolling over to face the other direction. I knew he had to leave, but there was no way I could watch him go. He wrapped an arm around me and pulled me backwards, spooning me, and then kissed my shoulder.

"Goodbye, Doctor," I whispered before I could stop myself.

"What… what did you say?" he asked.

I could have kicked myself.

"Said g'night," I lied. "What 'cha think I said?"

"Just that," he whispered. "Goodnight, Rose."

I relaxed in his embrace, lying there just feeling him hold me and listening to him breathe. I was tired, but there was no way I could sleep, no way I would let myself miss one more second of his time here.

Eventually I felt him gently kiss my hair and heard him whisper, "I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry. It did need saying. I should have said it long ago. And if it's my last chance to say it, Rose Tyler, I love you."

And then he was gone.

I felt it the instant he left, the instant my Doctor returned, in the way he held me, squeezing me gently.

The tears that had repeatedly threatened began to fall and this time I let them.

We didn't talk about it, the fact that he had let the other Doctor use his body, the fact that they had tried to keep it from me, the fact that I knew, had known all along. What was there to say? Instead, my Doctor turned me towards him and held me as I sobbed.

Physically and emotionally exhausted, I eventually fell into a deep sleep.

And awoke to the bed shaking and my Doctor crying out in pain.

I scrambled to sit up, trying to figure out what was going on. "What? What is it?"

Panting, he turned and stared at me wild eyed, hair sticking up every which way, pain in his hand and arm reflected clearly in his face.

"Oh, Rose," he whispered. "He did something bad."

And I held him as he told me about his dream about Mars.