He was waiting when she came in. He'd timed it well, as it happened. Lovely coincidence. Lunchtime. Bangers and mash. He was a good cook, if he said so himself. He'd studied in Paris, after all. Several times. Yorkshire. The Orient. All over. But here, he cooked for her. For Rose.
The fight had been ridiculous. They always were. There were books everywhere, physics and metaphysics and string theory and astronomy and every science that had anything to do with time, space, or both. He never looked at them. What was the point? He'd forgotten more about time and space than these books could ever contain. And he knew what it would take to do what she wanted; it was impossible. Not without consequences that would restart the breaking of reality.
Again.
He would also need a TARDIS, and those were.... oh, so very rare. One for several realities. And he didn't have it.
Oh, the TARDIS. There was nothing in the universe like the sound of those engines. He may have been half-human, but he felt it prickle across his skin just thinking about running his hands over that console again, feeling the faint touch of her against his mind. He knew Rose wanted it too, though for different reasons. She simply wanted to go back to the Doctor.
In her eyes, he was no Doctor. Oh, he had all the memories of the Time Lord, and was just as handsome, just as intelligent, just as madly in love with her. But he wasn't him, that ancient and lonely god, the last of the Time Lords. Almost, but not quite. And being 'almost' the Doctor was like being no Doctor at all, so in this world, he had taken the name of John Smith. Simple, anonymous, forgetful. But he knew he was the Doctor, could see that she knew it, even when she remembered how much she despised him for not being the Doctor.
Another fight. She had yelled and gnashed her teeth, and he had stood there and taken it, taken it all, refusing her pleading with simple words. "No." "I'm sorry." "I can't." And she had stormed out, muttering something about the shopping and slamming the door behind her.
And now, she was back. He didn't permit himself the breath of relief. She might overhear and think it a sigh.