Copyright Notice: As an attorney, I advise you that I'm totally not worth the money you'd spend to file a complaint against me.

Author's Note: This story was originally conceived shortly after the end of Season Two of Doctor Who. At the time, I thought to myself, "What would it take to get Rose and the Doctor back together again?" To which the obvious answer is- deus ex machina. Immediately, I realized what perfect title that would be for a Doctor Who related fanfiction (in fact, I am continually surprised that everyone doesn't name their Whofic thusly). The point being, I am fully aware that events are likely to occur in the currently pending 4th Season of Doctor Who, and the 2nd Season of Torchwood (which I have yet to complete my viewing of) which will render much of my plot moot. However, I have tried to stay as true as possible to the two series as I know them. My one concession to discontinuity would be the fact that I decided to keep the name 'Torchwood' for the corresponding alternate universe agency. Because really, it's quite a stretch of the imagination to believe that Pete's World (lacking a both a Doctor and a Tooth and Claw event) would come up with the same name. However, I got tired of the characters having to explain the novel acronym I originally developed every few pages. Plus, this was funnier. In other words, if potentially AU situations bother you, feel free to spend your time elsewhere.

Musical Accompaniment: "Through the Fire and Flames"- Dragonforce (try it, it's got the sexiest bridge ever); honorable mention to "The Next Time I Fall In Love"- Peter Cetera and Amy Grant.

Deus ex Machina

It is an old Earth adage that absence makes the heart grow fonder. This is a prime example of how old adages, Earthling and otherwise, are basically just a load of meaningless bullshit wrapped cleverly around a teeny, tiny kernel of truth. Absence most assuredly does not make the heart grow fonder. Quite the opposite, really, as absence tends to make one forget all the amusing little quirks and traits of a person that are what engenders endearment in the first place. Which is not to say, of course, that one's heart cannot hypothetically grow fonder. Of course it can. It is a natural progression, in social beings, to go from introduction, to acquaintance, to the admiration generally reserved for friendship, to true caring, to emotional bonding, and so forth, ultimately culminating in a cosmic oneness that no one in my not inconsiderable experience has ever actually achieved, but which enough races across the universe seem to firmly believe in to make any logical skeptic doubt the complete veracity of his calculations.

Not that I ever doubt the veracity of my calculations, but I'm getting off point.

What the point is, is that a lack of proximity to someone you care about doesn't make you care for them any more. However, as previously noted, there is a pebble of truth buried within this shiny, pearlescent platitude. That pebble being, of course, that when said departed person returns to proximity, one often comes to the sudden and violent realization of how much one cared about them before they left. It is this surge of returning emotion, in comparison with the veritable wasteland that existed during the individual's absence, which makes one feel almost as if their relative fondness for a missing person has grown threefold during the intermission (very Grinch-like actually- that is if one subscribes to the belief that the Grinch never really had a heart two sizes to small to begin with, which I do believe was the author's intention all along, though mind, I've never actually taken the time out to ask him, sorry digressing again). So to put it metaphorically, for humans do so seem to enjoy metaphor (I mean, really, take for example that Seuss character), if you take away a single candle from a room where someone's trying to read, the lack of extra light will annoy them at first, but then they'll adjust to their new surroundings, bury themselves in their story, and move on with their lives. But, and here's the kicker, bring the candle back and bam! Suddenly, everything's bright again! The room takes on a whole other character, the shadows are less daunting, and you can enjoy your Jane Austen in peace (or Seuss, or Rowling, or what have you). It's not that the room is any brighter than it was at the beginning, you see, it's just a matter of comparison.

And so, the only reason to invent this silly notion of absence making the heart become, well, more fond, is to give comfort to people when their loved ones are away. To make them think that maybe there's a point to it all; that maybe, just maybe, when their beloved returns, things will be okay then. Forget okay, better, even, than they were before. And maybe, then, they'll be happy (retrospectively, of course) that they endured this time of absence, because it made them so much happier (and so much more in love with the absent person) in the end. It's a foolish idea created by foolish individuals of an even more foolish species who, luckily for them, are easily fooled by such a myth.

The truth is that there's absolutely nothing good about being separated from the one you love. Not a damn thing.