They slip away from the celebrations without another word to anyone. He knows Rose thinks it's a bit of a lark to be there at a celebration for the Queen's coronation, but now that the Wire's gone and even Tommy and his family have been sorted, he wants to be moving on. Rose didn't even have to do more than look at him before she was taking his hand and tugging him away, towards the TARDIS, obviously understanding how he feels without a single word passing between them.
Now they stand in the control room, her giving him a quick smile before heading deeper into the ship, until his hand darts out and quickly grasps her wrist. "Doctor?" she asks, shooting him a questioning glance. "I'm just gonna go to the wardrobe." She glances down at her feet and gives a tiny grimace. "These shoes're really cute an' all, but the heels are killing me."
"Give me a minute," he says, softly, pulling her towards him. She thankfully comes willingly enough, stepping closer and looking at him. Oh, to see her looking at him again, with those lovely, expressive eyes...he can't let her go right now, even if it's just to the wardrobe. "Just--" he continues, then stops, unsure how to articulate his need.
But her eyes hold understanding, and compassion, and such deep, deep emotions, ones he's not sure he's ready to consciously decipher, and when she says, "Anything you need, Doctor," his breath catches. Does she even realize what she's giving him? What he would love to claim from her, even as he holds himself back? Oh, all the things he sees in her eyes--he has to take a deep breath to steady himself.
He lets go of her wrist, only to take her hand in the same motion. His other hand he raises to her face, letting his fingertips brush over every contour, memorizing it. Her breathing hitches a moment at his touch, but she doesn't move away.
As he moves over her cheek, she blushes, and he can feel the capillaries suffusing with blood, her skin growing warm beneath his fingers. Then his hand drifts up, and when she closes her eyes, he brushes against her eyelids. Her eyelashes move gently against him, her usual mascara barely there. She blinks a few times, and her eyelashes feel like they're caressing him. He smiles, and moves on.
Down her face, across her nose, and he gently traces its shape. It wrinkles a bit beneath his fingers, and his smile widens at how adorable she looks with her eyes closed and her nose wrinkled. But then he sees the trace of a smile on her own lips, and just has to touch it.
She gasps a bit when his fingers brush against her lips, and her mouth remains that slightest bit open as he explores. He uses just one finger now, moving it around her mouth, across her upper lip and then down to her lower. She leans into his touch, just the tiniest bit, and a shudder passes through him; it feels like she is kissing his finger.
Maybe she is.
He moves his hand away from her lips and cups her cheek, then leans forward until his forehead is resting against hers. "Open your eyes, Rose," he breathes, needing to see her eyes again, to see her looking at him, with everything she feels but doesn't say out loud. Things he doesn't need her to say out loud, not as long as he can see them in her eyes.
She obeys him immediately, her gaze locking onto his as her thumb strokes her cheek. Emotion wells up inside him as he looks at her. It's intense and overpowering, and, just for a moment, he surrenders himself to it, to everything he feels.
Her face was gone. Her gorgeous brown eyes, the adorable nose, the mouth he absolutely loves to see smile -- they'd just been wiped away, as if they'd never been. An echo of the horror he felt is still with him, but with her here, and back, and looking at him with so much trust, and more, the horror feels like a pale, tiny thing. He lets it go.
"I missed you," he murmurs, so quietly he's not sure she even heard it.
Then she says, "I'm here," and he knows she did. Her hand finally releases his, and she slides both arms around his waist, holding him. He moves his hand up to cup her other cheek, and then he tilts his face up so he can place a kiss against her forehead.
He wraps his arms around her shoulders, and the loose embrace turns closer. He presses a cheek against her hair, reveling in the feel of her breathing against him. Then he moves away.
"You wanted to get changed?" he says, with a wry smile, and she gives him one in response. Oh, that smile. He loves her smile, and never wants to take it for granted again.
"Yeah, I did," she replies. "But I'll be right back. Don't go anywhere without me, yeah?"
"I won't," he promises, and her smile turns into a full-out beam, one that leaves him no choice but to beam back at her.
He loves her smile for so many reasons, he thinks, watching as she walks away. There's the way it transforms her face from pretty into beautiful, and the way it's so happy, like she has too much joy in her to contain. But right now, he feels the best thing about it is the way it makes him want to smile in return, and after everything he's experienced, he feels that there's nothing more wonderful than something that makes him want to smile like she does.