He looked at the lager, avoiding looking at her. Bloody hell, he'd said that out loud, hadn't he? He was going to need something stronger than this if he was going to say it.
He popped the top and took a breath. "You."
There. He'd said it. He took a long swig from the bottle, wishing it was something stronger. Like a triple Pan Galactic Gargle Blaster. Anything to soften his wits enough to be able to continue this train of thought.
"I'll age like this. In this body. Grow old. Won't regenerate. But I'll grow old with you. Won't have to live without you. Even if... I mean... if this is as good as it gets, I've still got you, right? Rose Tyler. Mad, brilliant, amazing Rose Tyler. Even if I haven't got you. I get to see you. Make tea for you. And pie."
He drank again, longer this time. "He doesn't have that," he muttered, with vicious triumph evident in his eyes for an instant.