He watched her turn in her sleep with hooded eyes. The faint light from the hallway, partially blocked by his body, cast shadows across her room. Rose's expression was angelic and he felt his hearts lurch at the sight. She was beautiful, even in sleep, even when the cares of the world were forgotten for a time in dreams. The words of his friends, his companions, played over in his mind. The Brigadier had described word for word how he had felt when he had first met her. He could feel the spin of the world beneath his feet despite being within the TARDIS. His anchor slumbered on, unaware of his thoughts.

Barbara had used Shakespeare to describe love, but he felt that even the Bard could not describe just what Rose meant to him. Leela, her eyes fierce, had told him to be true to himself and to his emotions. Peri had spoken of warmth, a warmth that followed him as long as he knew she was safe. Charley, dear Charley, had told him that he had been waiting for Rose all of his lives. And Ace, in her usual succinct way, had called him a git. His companions, the Time Lord decided, were sometimes far smarter than he could ever hope to be.

The Doctor moved across the room to her bedside. He kneeled beside her, reaching out a tentative hand to tenderly brush back a strand of golden hair. He now had a name for what he felt for her, a word that he longed to shout with every beat of his hearts. Love. He loved her. He was in love with her. He absently rested his palm against her cheek while his thumb traced gentle circles against her skin.

"Doctor?" Rose's voice was muffled against the pillow. Her eyes were clouded with sleep and confusion as she looked at him.

"Rose," he began, but words failed him as she shifted to look at him, her pyjama top sliding enough to reveal tantalizing hints of skin.

"You okay?" she asked, suddenly awake. There was something in his eyes, something that she did not recall seeing before.

"I'm great," he grinned, his thumb still tracing patterns on her cheek.

The familiar manic expression eased some of her concern, but he had never touched her in quite that way before. Her brow furrowed as she fought the urge to lean into his hand.

Seeing the confusion etched in her features, the Doctor found the words to speak. "I love you."

"Doctor?" she asked incredulously, not daring to believe him.

"Rose, if I'm wrong," he murmured the words, leaning closer. "Tell me." He gently brushed his lips against hers, lingering just long enough to allow their breath to intermingle. The kiss was tender, expressing in action all of the words that he could not say. Even Shakespeare would be hard pressed to describe just how she felt against him, and the small sigh she made as she began to respond.

The Doctor's hearts pounded as he memorized her lips, her feel, her taste, her scent, and every sound that she emitted. When they separated, it was only enough to allow them to catch their breaths, each staring deeply into the the other's eyes.

"You're not wrong," Rose told him, running her hand up and down his arm. "You're definitely not wrong. C'mere." She pulled him onto the bed, sliding over so he had enough space to lie down next to her. "I love you too, Doctor."

She had not noticed him move until his mouth closed over hers. The Time Lord kissed her endlessly, long drugging kisses that shook Rose to the core of her being. His hands snaked downwards, encircling her waist, holding her against him, his mouth moving away from her lips to trail across her cheek, over her eyes and nose, covering every inch of her face and neck in his kisses. She sighed against him, burying her face against his chest as he held her to him, kissing her forehead, whispering in Gallifreyan words that somehow made sense to her. Words of love.

He paused, staring down at her with darkened eyes. "Are you sure?"

Rose smiled, drawing him back to her lips with demanding hands. "Of course I'm sure. Don't be daft."

"Fantastic," he grinned, capturing her mouth again. Somehow during their fervent kisses, they managed to shed their clothes. Their hands and limbs tangled as each tried to show through actions just how they felt. The spin of the world faltered beneath them before exploding into sensation. This, the Doctor knew, was love.

It was later, after words had long ago failed them both, that Rose picked her head up from his torso. Her hand lay splayed across his bare chest, her thumb etching mindless drawings against his skin. "Doctor?"

"Hmm?"

"Not that I'm complaining," her thumb hit a ticklish spot and his skin rippled as he fought the urge to chuckle. "But what brought this on?"

"A question," he replied in all due seriousness, his hand playing with her hair as he spoke.

"Which was?"

"What's love?" The Doctor pressed a kiss against her brow. "And you know what the answer was?"

Rose slowly shook her head, mesmerised by the rumble of his voice against her palm.

"It was you."

FIN