That was definitely a conversation for another time. The Doctor was keen on learning those words, but he didn't have the capacity to better contemplate them. Somehow it felt like things were heavy, but not because of Rose. Imposing walls of his own design, the Doctor felt farther and farther away. He had been trying to talk more. Words regarding himself were so much more troublesome than talking analytically.
Maybe that was how he needed to treat the scenario, though it felt like it somehow cheapened the experience.
He didn't think he deserved anything. Oh, he felt entitled when his back was up against the wall and he had to give up another face. But then, that wasn't true either, was it? The Doctor had died to save her, and he would do it again and again if it meant she got to live a full, human life. And he would do it for Wilf again, too, but he'd wanted to be justified in believing himself entitled for something.
He'd wanted more time with her.
"You're all special," he argued. "Except the daft one you brought along after the museum. Alex? Edmund? Adam. Useless, that one. But I'd prefer not to count him."
The mystery didn't matter to him. Rose had surprised him by being the riddle following them across time and space. Martha had invented her own mystique to intimidate the Master. Donna had destiny barking at her heels, but all of those things weren't important. They were things, aspects of them. At their core, they were people, humans. Most of them.
Rose stood out among them all for him, but every companion he had was important.
"Hard to imagine though," he volunteered eventually. "Married life. Me! Or, I suppose, him. Doesn't matter though, that's his timeline, not mine." He glanced over to her hesitantly. "Are you all right?"