What It Means

By Kate Carter

Disclaimer: If "Doctor Who" was mine, I would not be resorting to writing fanfic in order to right the wrongs of the universe. The Doctor would be very displeased with how wrong things have gotten.

A/N: This one (my third Doctor Who fic, and the second story I'm writing in a row) is based off one of those stupid little chain-type things I saw on Facebook. They normally bug me to death, because they're just a waste of time, but this one inspired a story, so I'll forgive the poster. This time.

What It Means Holding hands – we definitely like each other

The first few times they'd held hands, it was usually whenever the Doctor was pulling her along as they ran from whatever was chasing them that day.

Holding on tight – I don't want to let go.

Eventually, they were holding hands whenever they were walking together.

Arms around the waist – I like you too much to let go.

It'd progressed pretty quickly from holding hands to walking with her arm around his waist, his around her shoulders.

Looking into each other's eyes – I just plain like you.

Playing with hair – tell me you love me.

She'd taken to standing or leaning near him whenever he was trying to repair the TARDIS. She'd twirl her hair around her fingers, and give him a grin whenever he looked her direction. When he got frustrated at the TARDIS, she'd laugh, and then he'd laugh, and then they'd just look at one another for a minute, before he brought himself back to whatever he was doing.

Laughing while kissing – I am completely comfortable with you.

Kiss on the cheek – we're friends.

Kiss on the ear – you're my everything.

Kiss on the forehead – I hope we're together forever.

She'd convinced him that they needed to get some pictures taken at one of the tiny photo booths that seemed to be a necessity in shopping malls. They'd grinned like idiots, crossed their eyes and stuck out their tongues, and right as the last picture was about to go off, she'd laughed, thrown her arms around him, and kissed him in that nebulous area, somewhere between cheek, ear, and forehead. The camera had captured his shock and happiness perfectly.

Kiss on the lips – I love you.

They had landed on a planet known for its rain. While it might seem a rather odd thing for a planet to be known for its rain, this rain was purple, fairly mild, and of a warm temperature comparable to a comfortable shower. They had both run out into it like little children, splashing into puddles, Rose twirling and shouting and laughing. He stood watching her, until (accidentally or on purpose, he never could tell) she twirled her way into his arms. Breathless, with little purple rivulets running down her face and turning her hair a light lavender color, she had looked into his eyes, and he had slowly, cautiously, leaned in, and she leaned up to meet him, and they kissed. It was so cliché when he thought about it later, a romantic kiss in the rain, but at least it was purple rain.

They didn't need anyone to tell them what they refused to admit to the other, but both knew was true in their heart(s).

They had somehow, sometime, somewhere, in the great, grand, wonderful universe, fallen in love with each other.

And that's what everything meant.