It was a cold night in the middle of January. Rose had escaped the strenuous work hours of post-alien invasion Torchwood for a little while, promptly collapsing on the bed as soon as her shoes were halfway across the room. She didn't pull the blankets over herself, which she's regretting now because a half an hour later she's waking up and it's bloody freezing.
However, something's changed besides the temperature. There's something behind Rose—rather, someone, curled up on the other side of the bed. She doesn't have to look to know it's the Doctor (because quite frankly if it was anyone else she had Jackie Tyler's slap), nor does she have to move closer to feel the heat radiating off of him.
His breathing is slow and deep, but Rose can tell he's not sleeping. She's had a little over a year to study everything about him, even his breathing patterns, so she could clearly hear the difference. He was only thinking about something. She wonders what it is while imagining his thinking face with a smile. Rose sometimes finds it a little pathetic that she could think about his face all day and—
A violent shiver racks Rose's body, reminding her of why she was so rudely woken up. The Doctor stirs a little behind her, the sheets rustling with his movements. As Rose wraps her arms around herself, she wonders how such a vivacious man could be so quiet when he wanted to. Did he have to practice stealth, or had it come naturally to him?
Rose almost snorted aloud. She's almost completely positive he had to practice. Images fill her head, providing another distraction from the cold; images of the Doctor attempting to sneak up on other people and utterly failing, tripping on banana peels that seem to come from nowhere and running right into walls.
"What's so funny?"
The Doctor's breathing has changed; he's back from his spacing out for now. Rose rolls over to answer him.
"You and bananas," she says.
The Doctor's eyebrow creeps up his forehead. Rose can only see the one, as he's lying on his stomach with his head tucked on crossed arms.
"Me and bananas…doing what, exactly?" he asks.
Rose winks in a way Jack taught her how to when they first came aboard the TARDIS. The Doctor snorts.
The two of them fall into a companionable silence for a minute. It's nice, Rose thinks, to be like this; it's nice to just lie here with him, not worried about him pulling away from her or anything threatening their lives. It's nice to just be with him in general, really.
He reaches across the bed, taking her hand in both of his. "Whatcha thinking about?" he murmurs, looking at her palm as if it holds the secrets of the universe.
"I'm thinking about how bloody cold it is," Rose replies. It's almost the truth, for the fact had never fully left her mind during her Doctor musing.
"Oi," he chastises, shaking her hand a little, "Don't swear."
"Well it's true. I'm freezin' over 'ere."
"You should've pulled the blanket up."
"Not my fault I was too tired to think about that! If anythin', you can blame Torchwood and their mountains of paperwork! It's like a tree massacre after every little encounter! I might as well go into a forest and—stop laughin' at me!"
The Doctor covers his smiling mouth with Rose's hand, "'M not laughing."
"Yes you are!" unfortunately, she can't keep the firm voice up after that; his smile has always been contagious, and even if it wasn't his kisses on her palm would have dissolved her anger anyway.
"C'mere then," the Doctor finally says after a moment of mutual laughter, "I've still got my…what did you call it? Internal furnace?"
"Alien internal furnace," Rose corrects as she shifts over and ducks under his arm. He turns on his side to make them both more comfortable, wrapping his arms securely around her so she can burrow into his warmth.
"Better?" he asks.
"Yeah," she whispers.
A beat.
"I'm gonna go back to sleep now," Rose says.
He kisses her head like it's the most natural thing in the world (and maybe that's the best part about it all). "G'night then," he sighs into her hair.
The rest of the day is lost to them, but there was always tomorrow.
