Alone with You
A Statement of Profit and Loss
Part 2 of 4
Alone with You
She looks up to find him hovering in the doorway like a wraith, drenched and disheveled, afraid to step into her personal space but unwilling to back away.
Rated Everybody (for now)
Whenever I'm alone with you
You make me feel like I am home again
Whenever I'm alone with you
You make me feel like I am whole again
They tumble through the door into Rose's flat, soaked to the bone and still laughing like idiots. Lost to their delirium, they scramble through the too-tight space that is the foyer hallway, close and clinging.
"You're all wet," Rose blurts out unnecessarily, maybe just for something to say. Because they're here now and running all the way in the rain she didn't think to prepare herself for this moment.
The Doctor quirks an eyebrow and looks her up and down in an exaggerated fashion. "As are you, Rose Tyler," he points out, emphasizing her name in his familiar way.
There's no innuendo behind his words and the smile he gives her is all innocent affection. Right now, she's more glad than disappointed because she's not sure she could deal with any more tension. They are alone now, in this place where it's quiet and she has space to think. But she doesn't want to think. Because all roads of thought inevitably will lead back to the beach and the one who left them there and why she should probably be angry instead of happy, sad instead of hopeful.
She clears her throat, breaking the silence, "No, I mean, we should get changed."
Taking command of the situation, something she's learned in these years on her own, Rose backs up slowly toward the bedroom, giving him every opportunity to follow her.
"Sorry, the place is kind of a mess," she apologizes as she disappears through an open door.
Her room is a bit tousled, but not to the extent that the Doctor would expect. Unlike her room on the TARDIS, this space is less a willful disregard of tidiness and speaks more of a distracted neglect. This isn't just a home that Rose recently decided she wasn't coming back to, it's a place she's never even tried to belong.
"I think I have some clothes for you," she calls over the commotion as she rifles through dresser drawers. "They won't fit perfect, but you know, just for tonight. Mickey and Jake would crash here sometimes when they were too drunk to get back to their own place so they left some stuff behind."
Rose knows she doesn't really owe him an explanation. He said goodbye and she was free to move on with her life as she saw fit. But somewhere deep down, she feels compelled to make him understand there was never anyone else.
She looks up to find him hovering in the doorway like a wraith, drenched and disheveled, afraid to step into her personal space but unwilling to back away. The walls are too narrow and the light is all wrong. He doesn't look right, brooding sullenly in the sallow yellow din of eco-bulb lamps. He should be bouncing in the vibrant green glow of the console room or dashing at a full sprint under a glitter of unfamiliar stars.
Rose blinks, breaking herself out of the melancholic reverie. Regardless of where they have been or should be, he's here now and she's pretty sure even a part-human can get pneumonia.
She rises to her feet and proffers the bundle of clothes to him, flipping a dripping lock of hair out of her face sassily. "Yeah, sorry. All out of jim-jams with fruit in the pockets."
He smirks in response, "Pity, that."
"But don't worry, they're clean," she assures him.
"Thank you," he tells her but the words fall short of the mark. Without hesitation, Rose has invited him into her life and opened her personal space to him. He's so grateful but he's not sure how to show her. Not yet.
"Right, I'll just get you a towel," she mumbles quietly, almost wincing at the awkward halt in her words.
She ducks into the bathroom and throws the blue terrycloth linen to him from across the room, managing a small smile before closing herself in the en suite.
Left alone, the Doctor waits to hear the rustle of Rose shuffling out of her own wet garments before moving into the room.
Laying the bundle of clothes down on the bed, he quickly empties the important contents of various pockets onto a nearby dresser before divesting his suit. One sonic screwdriver, stolen - well, borrowed. Well, spoilers, because really it's just another prophecy fulfilled. He remembers the upgraded model he (brilliantly) used to rescue River Song in the Library so really he's just helping the process along.
And one TARDIS coral, a decision and a conversation for another day. The small piece affords a comforting hum reminiscent of the intimate connection, but not strong enough to fill the aching hollow left behind by the ship herself. A wound that will lessen but never fully heal.
The Doctor rushes through the mundane motions of drying off and changing to be sure he finishes before Rose returns. His fingers feel cold against his body as he maneuvers the clothes carefully to avoid contact. One heart apparently means equivalent warmth doesn't always reach the extremities, a new 'feature' he doesn't particularly relish. He files it away for later, when he feels comfortable enough in his own skin to complain about such trivialities.
"Doctor?" Rose calls to him cautiously from behind the cracked door and his heart soars again at her apparent acceptance of his identity. He's lucky, so lucky, because this could have gone differently - a hundred thousand different ways - and in so many of those alternate outcomes he knows he'd have ended up rejected, heartbroken, and alone.
"All done," he answers because he thinks that's what she's asking after.
It seems he's right when she comes out from behind the door in an oversized sleep shirt and little pyjama shorts that should be considered illegal (and probably are, on at least seventy planets if the same customs hold true in this universe.)
She doesn't ignore him, per say, but doesn't really acknowledge him either as she turns over the covers on her bed. Rose is tired and when she says tired, she means so far beyond the weary, exhausted feeling pulling at her bones. She's tired of fighting and doubting and in this moment she doesn't want to talk it out or worry or compromise. She wants to sleep without letting him out of her sight, to close her eyes without fearing he'll disappear and she'll awake tomorrow with this all having been another nightmare.
So she doesn't invite him into her bed with words so much as she turns down the covers on the opposite side too and looks at him pointedly, saying simply, "Will you get the lights?"
He nods dumbly and backs up to the wall to flip the switch, plunging the room into darkness. There's an awkward dance she can't see as the Doctor struggles with what to do next. She misses out on the way he steps closer then backward toward the door, ruffling his hair in a frustrated gesture of indecision. It's a one bedroom flat and part of him knows he should be the gentleman and offer to retreat to the couch in the other room.
But there's also a strong, more recently aquired part of him that is thrilled at the mere possibility of being close to Rose, even in sleep. It's not as though they haven't shared a bed before... in another life. However, given the past twenty-four hours he never expected such an offer so soon. The Time Lord in him reminds of propriety but humanity is weak, he learns, as Donna's voice in his head wins out in the end.
"Are you - " Rose begins impatiently but cuts off with a hitch of breath as the mattress suddenly dips beside her and she registers his proximity.
"This okay?" he questions because maybe he misread the signals after all. Humans are, of course, the most confusing creatures.
Rose licks suddenly dry lips and nods. Then, remembering he may not see the gesture, speaks. "Yeah, it's alright."
To prove her point, she reaches out, fumbling in the dark for his hand as he settles under the covers. When she finds it, he squeezes her fingers lightly - reassuringly or being reassured, she doesn't know, but it makes her smile a little anyway.
There's quiet for a long while and stillness, but she can tell his breathing isn't slowing any more than hers. As her eyes adjust, she can see his eyes are still open, downcast and watching their hands clasped together on the blanket.
"Can't sleep?" Rose asks, her voice timidly reaching out between them.
"This body is tired but my mind…" he attempts in explanation. "It will take a while for sleeping to become natural."
"Do you think it will ever become natural?"
The Doctor sighs heavily. "I really don't know," he answers honestly.
His voice is forlorn and she wishes immediately she hadn't asked.
"I think I'm still running on adrenaline," Rose guesses, hoping to redirect his gloomy thoughts.
The Doctor grabs her arm suddenly and licks the inside of her wrist without preamble. "Adrenaline is a bit on the higher side," he informs her thoughtfully. "But the endorphins you're generating due to our close proximity should outweigh the stimulant's effect."
She regards him skeptically, "All that from licking me?"
He grins and points to his temple, smugness radiating from him in droves. "Part Time Lord."
"And part human," she retorts playfully. "Which is why we should be sleeping."
"I'm both where it counts," he insists airily.
Rose knits her brows in confusion. "How d'you mean?"
"I've got a Time Lord brain and a human heart," the Doctor oversimplifies lightly, because he likes the poetic effect. "You're stuck with a genius who desperately loves you, Rose Tyler."
"Still," she meets his smirk with an overly casual shrug. "Stuck with you. That's not so bad."
"Not bad at all," he banters easily and pulls her hand to brush a quick kiss to her knuckles.
Rose shivers at the simple romantic gesture and laughs because this is so easy, too easy, to fall back into old familiar ways. To joke and flirt with him, pretend the past three years didn't happen the way they did, and pick up right where they left off.
She knows the Rose from back then would be bitter right now and give in to the temptation to pout and dwell on what she didn't get for all that she accomplished. Those feelings are still there, burning at the edges of her mind, but she's trying to overcome them and live in this moment because it's all she has. And she knows too well even this happiness could be snatched away from her in an instant.
"You know," she tells him, somewhere between saucy and serious. "Eventually we're going to have to say something new."
The Doctor's eyes widen and he catapults his body upward almost violently, so impossibly fast that she barely has time to gasp in surprise.
"You're right. Oh, Rose, you are so right. New words for a new beginning." He grabs both her hands and, even as she shivers from the touch still cold from the rain, urges her to sit up with him. He clears his throat quietly and Rose wonders what she's gotten herself in for.
"I can't promise this will be easy," he confesses bravely. "Because it won't. There's never been a human-Time Lord meta-crisis before and it's certainly never happened to me. I don't know who I'm going to be in the end or what might change in the future. We share a past, but yesterday our paths diverged and I know part of you will always wonder about the part of me that walked away."
She opens her mouth to speak but he places his fingers gently over her lips before pressing on. "But, Rose Tyler, I'm the lucky one. because I'm here with you now and the why doesn't matter to me as much as the fact that I am. But I know it matters to you. That this is complicated and not the way you pictured it."
Rose moves her lips against his fingers again to protest, but he applies gentle pressure in a silent request to let him continue. "The only thing I know for sure right now is that I love you. And I will do anything to make the one life we can spend together the best it can possibly be."
These words ring of vows and it feels at once too soon and long overdue. The raw hope and honesty in his voice seems too significant for a late night bedroom chat born of insomnia. And yet, it is entirely appropriate for them and the constancy of their mutual adoration through regenerations, distance, and catastrophe stirs up undeniable truths in her heart.
At his pause, she takes the opportunity to remove his hand, a brazen spark lighting in her eyes and a teasing lilt creeping into her voice. "Can I talk now?"
"Yes?" He eyes her warily, both apprehensive over what she might say and worried she didn't hear a word of his heartfelt speech.
"I love you too," she breathes, words heavy with the weight of their sentiment.
There doesn't seem a point in hiding them now. By crossing universes and risking her life to get back to the Doctor, she's already put herself out there to be hurt. The man before her now is willing to put his faith in them and she wants to return the favor.
Gathering up her hands again, the Doctor sighs profoundly, "I'm ecstatic to hear you say that, really." And he is, she'll never know just how much. "But I don't expect you to feel that way after just one day."
Rose rolls her eyes playfully with a scoff, "I felt that way after just one word."
The Doctor grins, no, beams at her. She can tell by the flash of white teeth and sparkle of elated eyes seen even in the darkness. The sudden, soppy urge to seal it with a kiss overwhelms Rose. The desire to finish more than a day's worth of teasing, promising, and reacquainting the same way it began: with an impulsive crash of lips. Like the multitudes of other people settling down to sleep tonight, she thinks the proverbial kiss goodnight may be just the thing to bring enough closure to their wayward thoughts to rest for a little while.
She's pleasantly surprised, then, when he leans forward into her space before she can broach the subject, warm breath entreating permission across her chin.
"Can I - ?" he manages in a thin whisper.
He leans closer slowly, haltingly, because as exciting as this is, it's also new. The Doctor has centuries of memories observing human interaction but becoming an active participant is altogether different. He can't see her properly and she's taking too long to answer. It's seconds. It's an eternity.
The air between them becomes heavy and electric. One heart pounds a frantic pulse in his chest but it sounds louder in his throat. Is he supposed to feel this dizzy or is this impermanent human form failing him already?
Rose is far too impatient for this clumsy dance so she meets him halfway. Just a touch of lips but there's a spark. She wonders vaguely, his words from earlier tumbling around in her brain, if that same fire would have burned before. There is a strange comfort in thinking this was always inevitable. This, though, is fairly perfect and real and happening right now. She wouldn't trade it for all the 'perhaps' in the world.
The Doctor accepts and responds to her chaste offering contentedly, sliding his mouth warmly over hers without pressing for more. They're knackered both and it wouldn't do to start something they couldn't finish. He doesn't complain when she pulls away slowly, leaving them both bereft and a little breathless.
"Tomorrow," Rose tells him with authority. "We can start on the rest. For now, there are one-and-a-half humans in this bed that need to sleep."
"Tomorrow," he agrees cheerfully as he lets her pull him back down to settle under the covers. He likes the idea despite himself. From Rose's lips it sounds less like a repetitive continuous progression of time and more like an adventure.
He repeats the word into her hair but she's already asleep.
Part 2 of 4
Alone with You
She looks up to find him hovering in the doorway like a wraith, drenched and disheveled, afraid to step into her personal space but unwilling to back away.
Rated Everybody (for now)
Whenever I'm alone with you
You make me feel like I am home again
Whenever I'm alone with you
You make me feel like I am whole again
They tumble through the door into Rose's flat, soaked to the bone and still laughing like idiots. Lost to their delirium, they scramble through the too-tight space that is the foyer hallway, close and clinging.
"You're all wet," Rose blurts out unnecessarily, maybe just for something to say. Because they're here now and running all the way in the rain she didn't think to prepare herself for this moment.
The Doctor quirks an eyebrow and looks her up and down in an exaggerated fashion. "As are you, Rose Tyler," he points out, emphasizing her name in his familiar way.
There's no innuendo behind his words and the smile he gives her is all innocent affection. Right now, she's more glad than disappointed because she's not sure she could deal with any more tension. They are alone now, in this place where it's quiet and she has space to think. But she doesn't want to think. Because all roads of thought inevitably will lead back to the beach and the one who left them there and why she should probably be angry instead of happy, sad instead of hopeful.
She clears her throat, breaking the silence, "No, I mean, we should get changed."
Taking command of the situation, something she's learned in these years on her own, Rose backs up slowly toward the bedroom, giving him every opportunity to follow her.
"Sorry, the place is kind of a mess," she apologizes as she disappears through an open door.
Her room is a bit tousled, but not to the extent that the Doctor would expect. Unlike her room on the TARDIS, this space is less a willful disregard of tidiness and speaks more of a distracted neglect. This isn't just a home that Rose recently decided she wasn't coming back to, it's a place she's never even tried to belong.
"I think I have some clothes for you," she calls over the commotion as she rifles through dresser drawers. "They won't fit perfect, but you know, just for tonight. Mickey and Jake would crash here sometimes when they were too drunk to get back to their own place so they left some stuff behind."
Rose knows she doesn't really owe him an explanation. He said goodbye and she was free to move on with her life as she saw fit. But somewhere deep down, she feels compelled to make him understand there was never anyone else.
She looks up to find him hovering in the doorway like a wraith, drenched and disheveled, afraid to step into her personal space but unwilling to back away. The walls are too narrow and the light is all wrong. He doesn't look right, brooding sullenly in the sallow yellow din of eco-bulb lamps. He should be bouncing in the vibrant green glow of the console room or dashing at a full sprint under a glitter of unfamiliar stars.
Rose blinks, breaking herself out of the melancholic reverie. Regardless of where they have been or should be, he's here now and she's pretty sure even a part-human can get pneumonia.
She rises to her feet and proffers the bundle of clothes to him, flipping a dripping lock of hair out of her face sassily. "Yeah, sorry. All out of jim-jams with fruit in the pockets."
He smirks in response, "Pity, that."
"But don't worry, they're clean," she assures him.
"Thank you," he tells her but the words fall short of the mark. Without hesitation, Rose has invited him into her life and opened her personal space to him. He's so grateful but he's not sure how to show her. Not yet.
"Right, I'll just get you a towel," she mumbles quietly, almost wincing at the awkward halt in her words.
She ducks into the bathroom and throws the blue terrycloth linen to him from across the room, managing a small smile before closing herself in the en suite.
Left alone, the Doctor waits to hear the rustle of Rose shuffling out of her own wet garments before moving into the room.
Laying the bundle of clothes down on the bed, he quickly empties the important contents of various pockets onto a nearby dresser before divesting his suit. One sonic screwdriver, stolen - well, borrowed. Well, spoilers, because really it's just another prophecy fulfilled. He remembers the upgraded model he (brilliantly) used to rescue River Song in the Library so really he's just helping the process along.
And one TARDIS coral, a decision and a conversation for another day. The small piece affords a comforting hum reminiscent of the intimate connection, but not strong enough to fill the aching hollow left behind by the ship herself. A wound that will lessen but never fully heal.
The Doctor rushes through the mundane motions of drying off and changing to be sure he finishes before Rose returns. His fingers feel cold against his body as he maneuvers the clothes carefully to avoid contact. One heart apparently means equivalent warmth doesn't always reach the extremities, a new 'feature' he doesn't particularly relish. He files it away for later, when he feels comfortable enough in his own skin to complain about such trivialities.
"Doctor?" Rose calls to him cautiously from behind the cracked door and his heart soars again at her apparent acceptance of his identity. He's lucky, so lucky, because this could have gone differently - a hundred thousand different ways - and in so many of those alternate outcomes he knows he'd have ended up rejected, heartbroken, and alone.
"All done," he answers because he thinks that's what she's asking after.
It seems he's right when she comes out from behind the door in an oversized sleep shirt and little pyjama shorts that should be considered illegal (and probably are, on at least seventy planets if the same customs hold true in this universe.)
She doesn't ignore him, per say, but doesn't really acknowledge him either as she turns over the covers on her bed. Rose is tired and when she says tired, she means so far beyond the weary, exhausted feeling pulling at her bones. She's tired of fighting and doubting and in this moment she doesn't want to talk it out or worry or compromise. She wants to sleep without letting him out of her sight, to close her eyes without fearing he'll disappear and she'll awake tomorrow with this all having been another nightmare.
So she doesn't invite him into her bed with words so much as she turns down the covers on the opposite side too and looks at him pointedly, saying simply, "Will you get the lights?"
He nods dumbly and backs up to the wall to flip the switch, plunging the room into darkness. There's an awkward dance she can't see as the Doctor struggles with what to do next. She misses out on the way he steps closer then backward toward the door, ruffling his hair in a frustrated gesture of indecision. It's a one bedroom flat and part of him knows he should be the gentleman and offer to retreat to the couch in the other room.
But there's also a strong, more recently aquired part of him that is thrilled at the mere possibility of being close to Rose, even in sleep. It's not as though they haven't shared a bed before... in another life. However, given the past twenty-four hours he never expected such an offer so soon. The Time Lord in him reminds of propriety but humanity is weak, he learns, as Donna's voice in his head wins out in the end.
"Are you - " Rose begins impatiently but cuts off with a hitch of breath as the mattress suddenly dips beside her and she registers his proximity.
"This okay?" he questions because maybe he misread the signals after all. Humans are, of course, the most confusing creatures.
Rose licks suddenly dry lips and nods. Then, remembering he may not see the gesture, speaks. "Yeah, it's alright."
To prove her point, she reaches out, fumbling in the dark for his hand as he settles under the covers. When she finds it, he squeezes her fingers lightly - reassuringly or being reassured, she doesn't know, but it makes her smile a little anyway.
There's quiet for a long while and stillness, but she can tell his breathing isn't slowing any more than hers. As her eyes adjust, she can see his eyes are still open, downcast and watching their hands clasped together on the blanket.
"Can't sleep?" Rose asks, her voice timidly reaching out between them.
"This body is tired but my mind…" he attempts in explanation. "It will take a while for sleeping to become natural."
"Do you think it will ever become natural?"
The Doctor sighs heavily. "I really don't know," he answers honestly.
His voice is forlorn and she wishes immediately she hadn't asked.
"I think I'm still running on adrenaline," Rose guesses, hoping to redirect his gloomy thoughts.
The Doctor grabs her arm suddenly and licks the inside of her wrist without preamble. "Adrenaline is a bit on the higher side," he informs her thoughtfully. "But the endorphins you're generating due to our close proximity should outweigh the stimulant's effect."
She regards him skeptically, "All that from licking me?"
He grins and points to his temple, smugness radiating from him in droves. "Part Time Lord."
"And part human," she retorts playfully. "Which is why we should be sleeping."
"I'm both where it counts," he insists airily.
Rose knits her brows in confusion. "How d'you mean?"
"I've got a Time Lord brain and a human heart," the Doctor oversimplifies lightly, because he likes the poetic effect. "You're stuck with a genius who desperately loves you, Rose Tyler."
"Still," she meets his smirk with an overly casual shrug. "Stuck with you. That's not so bad."
"Not bad at all," he banters easily and pulls her hand to brush a quick kiss to her knuckles.
Rose shivers at the simple romantic gesture and laughs because this is so easy, too easy, to fall back into old familiar ways. To joke and flirt with him, pretend the past three years didn't happen the way they did, and pick up right where they left off.
She knows the Rose from back then would be bitter right now and give in to the temptation to pout and dwell on what she didn't get for all that she accomplished. Those feelings are still there, burning at the edges of her mind, but she's trying to overcome them and live in this moment because it's all she has. And she knows too well even this happiness could be snatched away from her in an instant.
"You know," she tells him, somewhere between saucy and serious. "Eventually we're going to have to say something new."
The Doctor's eyes widen and he catapults his body upward almost violently, so impossibly fast that she barely has time to gasp in surprise.
"You're right. Oh, Rose, you are so right. New words for a new beginning." He grabs both her hands and, even as she shivers from the touch still cold from the rain, urges her to sit up with him. He clears his throat quietly and Rose wonders what she's gotten herself in for.
"I can't promise this will be easy," he confesses bravely. "Because it won't. There's never been a human-Time Lord meta-crisis before and it's certainly never happened to me. I don't know who I'm going to be in the end or what might change in the future. We share a past, but yesterday our paths diverged and I know part of you will always wonder about the part of me that walked away."
She opens her mouth to speak but he places his fingers gently over her lips before pressing on. "But, Rose Tyler, I'm the lucky one. because I'm here with you now and the why doesn't matter to me as much as the fact that I am. But I know it matters to you. That this is complicated and not the way you pictured it."
Rose moves her lips against his fingers again to protest, but he applies gentle pressure in a silent request to let him continue. "The only thing I know for sure right now is that I love you. And I will do anything to make the one life we can spend together the best it can possibly be."
These words ring of vows and it feels at once too soon and long overdue. The raw hope and honesty in his voice seems too significant for a late night bedroom chat born of insomnia. And yet, it is entirely appropriate for them and the constancy of their mutual adoration through regenerations, distance, and catastrophe stirs up undeniable truths in her heart.
At his pause, she takes the opportunity to remove his hand, a brazen spark lighting in her eyes and a teasing lilt creeping into her voice. "Can I talk now?"
"Yes?" He eyes her warily, both apprehensive over what she might say and worried she didn't hear a word of his heartfelt speech.
"I love you too," she breathes, words heavy with the weight of their sentiment.
There doesn't seem a point in hiding them now. By crossing universes and risking her life to get back to the Doctor, she's already put herself out there to be hurt. The man before her now is willing to put his faith in them and she wants to return the favor.
Gathering up her hands again, the Doctor sighs profoundly, "I'm ecstatic to hear you say that, really." And he is, she'll never know just how much. "But I don't expect you to feel that way after just one day."
Rose rolls her eyes playfully with a scoff, "I felt that way after just one word."
The Doctor grins, no, beams at her. She can tell by the flash of white teeth and sparkle of elated eyes seen even in the darkness. The sudden, soppy urge to seal it with a kiss overwhelms Rose. The desire to finish more than a day's worth of teasing, promising, and reacquainting the same way it began: with an impulsive crash of lips. Like the multitudes of other people settling down to sleep tonight, she thinks the proverbial kiss goodnight may be just the thing to bring enough closure to their wayward thoughts to rest for a little while.
She's pleasantly surprised, then, when he leans forward into her space before she can broach the subject, warm breath entreating permission across her chin.
"Can I - ?" he manages in a thin whisper.
He leans closer slowly, haltingly, because as exciting as this is, it's also new. The Doctor has centuries of memories observing human interaction but becoming an active participant is altogether different. He can't see her properly and she's taking too long to answer. It's seconds. It's an eternity.
The air between them becomes heavy and electric. One heart pounds a frantic pulse in his chest but it sounds louder in his throat. Is he supposed to feel this dizzy or is this impermanent human form failing him already?
Rose is far too impatient for this clumsy dance so she meets him halfway. Just a touch of lips but there's a spark. She wonders vaguely, his words from earlier tumbling around in her brain, if that same fire would have burned before. There is a strange comfort in thinking this was always inevitable. This, though, is fairly perfect and real and happening right now. She wouldn't trade it for all the 'perhaps' in the world.
The Doctor accepts and responds to her chaste offering contentedly, sliding his mouth warmly over hers without pressing for more. They're knackered both and it wouldn't do to start something they couldn't finish. He doesn't complain when she pulls away slowly, leaving them both bereft and a little breathless.
"Tomorrow," Rose tells him with authority. "We can start on the rest. For now, there are one-and-a-half humans in this bed that need to sleep."
"Tomorrow," he agrees cheerfully as he lets her pull him back down to settle under the covers. He likes the idea despite himself. From Rose's lips it sounds less like a repetitive continuous progression of time and more like an adventure.
He repeats the word into her hair but she's already asleep.