Chapter Disclaimer: Sadly, I don't own Doctor Who and make no profit from it. Some plot points and bits of dialogue respectfully borrowed from the episodes "The End of Time, Parts 1 and 2" by Russell T Davies.

Rose awoke to find the Doctor curled protectively around her. He stroked her hair away from her face, looking relieved to see her blink blearily up at him. "You're alive!"

She gave him a small smile. "You too."

"I'm alive! You're alive! We're all ali-" Tap tap tap tap. Tap tap tap tap. The Doctor's face went rigid. They both sat up slowly and turned to see Wilf, still in the control chamber, knocking on the glass and waving hesitantly.

"If you could, uh, let me out…"

"Yeah." The Doctor's voice was barely more than a whisper as he pulled himself to his feet and then held out his hand to help Rose up.

"Only this thing seems to be making a bit of a noise."

Rose watched as the Doctor paced in front of the control booth, diagnosing the pending nuclear overload. "The screwdriver, Doctor. Can't you get him out with the screwdriver?"

"It's too far gone. Even that would set it off."

And that was when Rose had to face the truth she had known as soon as she had heard the knock: that the subject of the prediction, the bringer of death, was not the Master or Rassilon or any of the Doctor's innumerable enemies; it was innocent, good-hearted Wilfred, whose selfless, thoughtless action was forcing the Doctor into an impossible choice.

She watched him lash out at Wilf, and remembered what she had told Jack on their first adventure together – When he's stressed, he likes to insult species – and hoped that the other man wouldn't take it personally. She watched him storm across the room, railing against his fate. And she saw the moment when he made peace with what he had to do. Wilf saw it too, and began to protest.

"Lived too long," the Doctor breathed as he headed for the control booth. Not nearly long enough, Rose wanted to scream.

He stopped in front of her, took her hands, looking older and more tired than she had ever seen him. Her eyes were swimming with tears; she tried desperately not to let her face crumble. "It will all be fine, Rose."

"Don't lie to me," she whispered fiercely, "Not about this."

He sighed, unable to meet her eyes. "I…I could regenerate. It would mean a change, but we've been through that before, you and I, and it turned out okay." But she could read the uncertainty in his face: he didn't know if he would come out of the chamber. He didn't know if this was the end. When she remained silent, he looked at her again. "With the Sontarans…you ordered me not to go. Bit cheeky, you were." He gave her a weak smile and she tried to return it. "Find another way, you said."

"Is there another way?"

"No."

He still stood before her, waiting, and she knew what he was waiting for. He needed her acceptance, her blessing on his decision. She could beg him not to do this, not to sacrifice himself. And between her pleading and his own survival instinct, he might acquiesce. But if he did, he would never be the same man. The man she had fallen in love with so very long ago was ever willing to put his life on the line for complete strangers, for sworn enemies. If he now turned his back on a friend, his body would survive, but his spirit would be forever broken. And if she were the cause of that, her own spirit would break as well.

"Wilf isn't a Sontaran." She laid her hand against his cheek. "And you are called the Doctor for good reason. So go, save a life. And whatever happens, know that I've never been more proud of you."

He drew himself up tall at those words, gave her a tender kiss, stepped into the chamber, releasing Wilfred. Rose clung to the old man, not wanting to watch but unable to tear her eyes away as the Doctor writhed and collapsed under the onslaught of the radiation. The sound of the booth powering down reminded her of the Sontaran teleport, and for a moment she thought he had shared the clone's fate. But then he gradually unfolded himself from the floor, opened the door, staggered out, and she threw herself into his arms. The force of it knocked him back against the glass, but his grip on her was reassuringly strong.

Wilf was overjoyed to see him alive. "Safe and sound!" he said. And Rose was happy as well. But when the Doctor's cuts and bruises all disappeared with a rub of his hands, she knew he had not come through unscathed.

She kept up a brave smile until they had dropped Wilfred off with a promise to see him again. The smile faded as she closed the door of the TARDIS, shutting out the world outside. "What did you mean just now, about getting your reward?"

He was already setting the coordinates for their next destination, and he was silent for a long minute. Then he met her eyes, bracing himself on the console, shoulders hunched. "What I said to Wilf the other day, about regeneration feeling like dying…So long I've lived, so many lives have touched mine. But always moving on – I do, or they do. And then I change. And even if I meet them again, they don't know me. I've gone." He sighed, looked down, looked back up. "I've got a little more time left. I'd like…I'd like to see them again, the ones who have known this face, one last time, while they can still recognize me."

"That's a wonderful idea." Her throat was so tight, it was painful to speak.

"I'm sorry. I know this is as hard on you as it is on me."

"It's what makes you the Doctor. I wouldn't have you any other way." She stepped close to him as he doubled over in sudden pain, took his hand in hers, squeezed comfortingly.

He slowly relaxed as the spasm passed, and stared down at their joined hands. "First time I met you, very first thing I did, before I had even spoken a word to you, was to take your hand. And even back then, I knew there was something special about it. Like a lifeline to a drowning man."

"I won't let go," she promised.

And she didn't.

She held his hand as he saved Martha and Mickey from a Sontaran soldier.

She held his hand as he waved goodbye to Sarah Jane after rescuing her son from a speeding car.

She held his hand as he introduced Jack to a new friend.

She held his hand as he inquired after a woman who had held his affection when his love for Rose had been a ghostly memory buried in watchwork.

She held his hand as he said a final farewell to Wilf and smiled wistfully at Donna in her wedding finery.

She held his hand as he staggered through the street towards the TARDIS, bearing him up as his time and strength ran short and weeping with him at the ethereal beauty of the Ood's song of comfort.

She held his hand right up until the moment that he warned her that the time had come. Then as the golden glow began to light up his body, she stepped back, clinging to a coral strut as a poor substitute for her Doctor.

As his body shuddered with the forces gathering within, his eyes met hers with a pleading expression, his voice breaking in anguish. "I don't want to go!"

I don't want you to go either, she wanted to reply, but it hardly seemed a consoling thing to say at this moment. So instead she choked out the one truth that mattered: "I will always love you!" But she wasn't sure that he even heard her as the light flared from his body.

Granted, she had just one previous regeneration to compare against, but this one was so very violent. She wondered why he had not prepared her for it, wondered if even he had suspected what would happen. He seemed to be at the center of a storm, shafts of light like thunderbolts erupting from him to strike the console, the ceiling, the struts. Pieces of the TARDIS began to collapse around her as the timeship itself pitched and yawed wildly. And he stood in the middle of it all, the familiar features resolving themselves into new ones as the light began to recede.

Finally, the turmoil within him abated, even as the turmoil around him raged on. The Eleventh Doctor stood before her, still tall, still angular, with a mop of blond hair that seemed even more unruly than its predecessor. He gave her a grin, so new and so familiar, and threw his arms wide open. "Well? What do you think?"

"I think you've done a right job on the TARDIS," she said dryly.

He glanced around, noticing the chaos for the first time, and his eyes widened. "So I have. I suppose I'll need to take care of that. But more importantly – how do I look?"

She rolled her eyes but decided to play along. "Two arms, two legs." She let go of the strut and let the next lurch of the TARDIS carry her into him. "One head, two lips." She proved that with a kiss, then tilted her head with a considering look. "Still not ginger, though."

The TARDIS once again yawed violently, almost flinging Rose across the room, but the Doctor held her firmly against him with one arm while the other anchored them to the console. "Well, can't have everything, I suppose," he said with a twinkle in his eye. But then his expression sobered, became almost nervous, as he continued quietly, "But just tell me this: Am I the Doctor?"

The question puzzled her. He had told her that his memory was often quite hazy for a time after regeneration, but surely he couldn't be confused about his own identity, could he? But then she saw the anxiety in his eyes and remembered her reaction to his previous regeneration: her suspicion; her aloofness; how, even after her head had realized that he was still the same man, her heart had rebelled and mourned. And she understood what he was really saying now: Please recognize me. Please accept me. She traced his unfamiliar jawline with one finger and smiled at him. "Still my Doctor. Always my Doctor. Forever my Doctor." She punctuated each confirmation with a kiss.

He let out a triumphant whoop that was cut short when the TARDIS slammed to a shuddering halt and the horizontal turned nearly vertical and they went sliding and tumbling down a corridor that had become a chute. The journey came to an abrupt stop in the library swimming pool. Rose surfaced, sputtering, to see the Doctor treading water, his eyes half covered by a curtain of wet hair. "Blimey, that was a new experience," she said between gasps.

The Doctor didn't seem to notice; he was busy tugging at his hair, crossing his eyes to look at it. "You're right, definitely not ginger," he said with a disappointed moue.

"If it's that important to you, I could bop you over the head and you could try again."

He giggled at that – this Doctor giggles, Rose noted – and reached for her to squeeze her tight. "Thanks for the offer. But I've muddled through ten lifetimes of not being ginger; I suppose I can make it through an eleventh."

Rose stared up at the corridor stretching away above their heads. "So how are we supposed to get back to the console room, do you think?"

"We'll have to climb for it. Pretty sure I've got a grappling hook around here somewhere." He swam to the edge of the pool, jumped out gracefully, and headed for the cupboard on the far wall.

After all this time with the Doctor, she would have thought he could do nothing to surprise her, but somehow he still managed it time and again. "You keep a grappling hook in the library?"

He looked around at her, seeming baffled by the question. "Of course. Where else would I keep it?"

She grinned. New face, new body, new voice, new quirks, but still the same old Doctor. She pulled herself out of the pool as he tossed the hook far overhead. "I was thinking," she said casually, "If you can't be ginger, maybe we should see if we can find ourselves a ginger companion. You know, just to have a splash of color around the place."

He tugged on the rope to make sure the hook was firmly in place, then turned to her and planted a sound kiss on her forehead. "It's those kinds of brilliant ideas that made me invite you along in the first place, Rose Tyler. One ginger companion, coming right up!"

And with that they began the long climb up towards their next adventure.