She was waiting for him. The night filtered through the clouds and would have hung heavy, but for the lamp lights that eroded the darkness and the cheers of Olympic celebration that shot through it. Rose waited, knowing he would come back.

All it had needed was love. Rose turned the small banana-flavored dessert with its edible ball bearings in her hand. She had picked it up amongst the party that was currently vibrating the London streets; a victory gift for the Doctor.

Where was he, she thought. He should be here by now. Sitting on a street curb, Rose sat the tiny cake down beside her. I should tell ‘em. She shook her head. No way. If she told him she loved him, how would he react? The mixed signals were overbearing. Rose shuffled on her makeshift concrete seat. It had only been today that she discovered the Doctor had been a father. She needed time to process that.

Rose sighed and twisted her hands. Sometimes it was far too easy to forget the Doctor wasn’t human, especially in this regeneration. But she knew she’d have to tell him soon. Those outrageous feelings were bottling upside her, bubbling and fizzing, and the cork was going to blow soon. Biting her lip, she stood up again.

Yes, she decided, in the next few days she would tell him. When the moment was right, that is. Rose walked out to the center of the street, smiling at passerbys who ran joyfully down the road. Under the white lamplight, Rose turned around and saw the Doctor, hands in his trench coat pockets, searching for his companion. A grin spread across her flushed face, and she jogged to meet him, all her insecurities dripping away.