It's all a bit alarming, really, how quickly it happens when it happens. And she thinks, for a split second, that they aren't ready for this, they so aren't ready for this, something this huge and monumental and meaningful, but then he rolls his hips into hers and she realises with a sudden burst of clarity that this doesn't actually have to mean anything, it just has to feel good, and make her feel safe, and alive, and like everything is going to be fine. And so, she realises, they will both pretend that this is everything but what it seems, everything but what it really is. And that's okay, because they are best friends, and she loves him, and she can handle that.

And from his perspective, well, he completely didn't mean to come to her room tonight, it's just, they'd had a rough day, and he had wanted to check on her – and perhaps seek some comfort for himself. Except that he hadn't envisioned this sort of comfort, hadn't expected this at all, he had just wanted to hug her, hold her, feel her in his arms and now, now, oh bloody fucking hell, he's feeling her all right, and it's hot and hard and fast and it's everything and nothing how he's dreamt it would be. And the thing is, he wants this, he wants it so bloody much, but it's not right, she's too young, he'll hurt her, he'll lose her, and he can't bear that, can't bear the thought that one sorry day he will have to say goodbye to this girl, woman, this vision and vixen beneath him, her gold hair spread out across her pillows and ohhh he knows that this will only happen tonight because this is a lapse in judgement, a mistake, an accident, but he would give his remaining regenerations up in a heartbeat if it meant he could see her hair spread across his pillows. And he buries his head in her neck and breathes her in, because she is perfect, and tonight, in these few precious moments, they are together, just as it should be.

And he does not stay the night, just waits until she's dozed off and legs it to his room to stare in the mirror of his ensuite bathroom, staring at the face she prompted into being, staring into his too-deep eyes with all that knowledge and experience and pain – and joy, and Rose, Rose has changed him, she really has, in superficial ways and in deeper, rawer ways that affect his very soul, the ways that define him and mould him into a better man. And even though just now was an accident, he smiles, because in the morning he knows they will blush and stumble around this in the galley, and they will go on as normal, as something more than friends but not quite more enough, until another day comes when she strikes down one more barrier of his, until they 'accidentally' do this again, because, with the memory of tonight, and how good it was, and how much they need each other, how could they not?