A/N: I've been working on this thing for an ungodly amount of time considering the simplicity of the message. I decided to just post it despite the fact that it's not perfect. Sometimes you just stare at something for so long you can't tell if it sucks or not anymore. You tell me! This is my first attempt at Doctor Who, and it is a Rose/10 oneshot. Sappy, just like everything I write

I suppose.

Disclaimer: I do not own Doctor Who or any of its characters. They are property of the BBC.

Fermata

Dinnertime.

He had actually cooked tonight. That was a first. Well, sort of. At least in this body. Firsts were hard to come by after 900 years, so he supposed it deserved a bit of celebration. He was quite proud of himself, actually. What an accomplishment, to make something properly edible (it was a skill which he'd found his last incarnation pitifully lacked). No wonder he was smiling so gleefully. He quickened his pace down the deserted corridor, happy contentment radiating in his every move. Three weeks, roughly, since his regeneration and he had never felt better. Funny how something as inane as cooking could make him so happy–

He paused. No, that wasn't it. That wasn't why he had a grin on his face and a bounce in his step. He tightened his face in contemplation. This bore some scrutiny. After regenerating, it always took him a while to sort out his emotions; after all, just like new teeth, a new brain took some getting used to. So he was happy... he took a moment to sort through his racing thoughts (it seemed as though the switch in his head was permanently set to hyperdrive nowadays). He was happy... because he couldn't wait to see her expression. He wanted her to be impressed.

Alright, that was a bit of an understatement. He really, really wanted her to be impressed. In fact, he was pretty certain anything other than absolute delight from her would put him in a serious depression for a week.

Huh.

Rose would be in her room. He moved at a brisk pace along the silent corridors. The echoes of his sneakers spun a rhythmic motif as he walked. Clack clunk, clack clunk, clack clunk... He paused for a moment. Hmm, he didn't remember ever seeing that hallway before. Ah well, he could explore later. He had all the time in the universe, after all. For now, he had somewhere else to be.

Here he was. A plain, nondescript, average white door. He'd never thought it had suited her, something more colourful perhaps. But that's what the TARDIS had given her so a plain white door must be what she wanted. He could spend all day probing the psychological implications of that, but then again, the food would get cold.

He raised his hand and lightly tapped the door. Knock.

A beat of silence.

"Rose?"

Knock. Knock knock.

Strange. She must be in here. Hesitation stayed his hand as he reached for the doorknob. They had never really... discussed this sort of thing. He had been in her room before, just once or twice, but always with her permission, always with her there. Never in this body. This felt a little too much like an invasion. But still, he didn't want to search for her for hours only to discover she had been here all along. The TARDIS was a big place, after all. Besides, this wouldn't be the first time she had simply been locked in her own head and not heard his call.

Just a quick peak, to see if she was there.

The door creaked open. He winced at the noise, paranoia creeping unbidden into his mind. What if she was in the shower? He had to suppress a whistle at the awkward possibilities. She'd never let him live it down (if she let him live at all).

His eyes took a moment to adjust to the dimmed light. They searched the room, lighting on the dresser to his right, the unmade bed against the opposite wall, the desk piled high with knick-knacks against the wall to his left. It didn't look like she was here. Quietly, he took a step inside.

He found her sitting against the wall, facing the bed. Her headphones were propped precariously over her blonde hair. A soft chord could be heard drifting from the black fabric over her ears. Eyes tight shut. Lips moved with no sound.

She was crying.

His brown eyes widened and he moved to back away. Only one thought crossed his mind in that instant: this was private. This wasn't for him to see. He should go. He should really, really go. Quietly, he ducked his head and swallowed. Not his affair. None of his business. He should go.

But he opened her door without permission. What a stupid, stupid thing to do. Definitely worthy of a spot on the top hundred list of stupidest things he'd ever done. She deserved an apology. "I–"

"I'm... sorry..." She stole the words from his mouth, and with them any ability to put one foot behind the other. He was discovered. For once, the brave Doctor had no plan of escape. A thousand thoughts coursed through his head. Most involved running at breakneck speed from the room. But one thought, one question, rung loud above all the rest, because he couldn't possibly fathom the answer.

"Why?"

Beat.

She made no reply. She hadn't heard. Her damp eyes were still shut. No sound. No sight. Isolated.

One hand on the doorknob, he hesitated. Maybe he should go to her. They were friends, right? He'd held her before when she cried, of course he had. How could he forget that feeling? Like a closeness, one he'd never experienced with... well, any of the people he'd traveled with, really.

But never like this. Never in her room. It was too close. Too... Besides, he had a chance to get away now and save them both embarrassment.

Her hands clutched at her scuffed jeans, flexing and unflexing. His shook. He caught a word or two of the whispered lyrics, just the faintest whisper. "...but I..."

He opened his lips to speak, struggling to force the words through a mouth suddenly devoid of all moisture.

"Rose? Are you alright?"

Her lack of response was uncomfortable, unnerving. Disquieting. That the girl who was so full of life, curiousity, energy, youthful bluster, confidence, humanity should be this– this shell with tears and clenched hands, staring blankly into the void before her eyes. He knew, he hated what it reminded him of. Another place and time...

It was the wrong moment to be reflecting on his feelings, when hers were pouring out onto the floor. He pulled the door towards him, almost shut but not quite, and leaned back against it, eyes never leaving her obscured face. He felt the claustrophobia rising within him despite the openness of the space. Her space. Her clothes draped across the dresser. Her books strewn on the floor, some open and others shut and piled haphazardly alongside the bed. Her painting, the one they had bought in that marketplace on a planet whose name he couldn't remember, the one whose garish colours sickened him in their randomness but excited her for their energy. Her room. Her sanctuary. Her privacy.

Unconsciously he raised his hand to run it through his hair, pulling at the brown strands with tensed fingers. Why, why had he opened her door? He could barely look at her, barely stand to see her in this private moment. So he closed his eyes tight instead, counting to ten to slow his rapid heart rate.

Leave, leave, leave, leave. Just get out. Leave...

One hand pulled at his hair in agitation. The other gripped the doorknob, still half-turned within his fist. Ready for the escape, to dash out, to run. He was always ready to run.

She pressed her head back against the wall. He was keenly aware that if she turned it even slightly to the right, he'd be directly in her view. For now, her music and shut eyelids were his camouflage, but the song would end, her eyes would begin to ache. This frozen moment couldn't last forever. He didn't even know if he wanted it to.

So he waited. Breathe held in anticipation, he stood perfectly still, just watching her. He didn't know what he was waiting for. One step and he'd be gone. A piece of golden hair fell loosened from the headphones and fell to her shoulder. And in that silent moment, when his mind had reason to race, no crisis to avert, nothing to think of at all but her, the emotions finally hit him, with all the speed and relentlessness of a barreling train. It was an almost physical pain. Too many feelings to process, too new to completely comprehend. Only one hit him harder, like a pounding which made him want to claw his skin apart and he couldn't ignore it.

He wanted to hold her. A new body meant new feelings, new impulses, and he wanted to feel her against him so badly that it shook every sinew of his being. Had he felt like this before? Perhaps, a long time ago. He didn't remember. It didn't matter. She was here and this was now and he needed her. To grab her tightly in his arms and feel the warmth of her body flowing into his. To rest his cheek against her hair and to feel her hands lace behind his back. To be safe and together and one. He felt the hope of something he thought he'd lost forever as he pushed Gallifrey, family, home into the blackest corners of his mind: someone to hold onto. He felt as though his knees would buckle from the weight of the pure longing.

He needed her saving more than she could ever need his.

His hand was slippery on the doorknob with sweat as he stared, ashen-faced, at the girl before him, in whom he had placed so many hopes and dreams that it seemed he had barely any left for himself. She had given him so much. How dare he ask for more? Could he be that selfish? He had no right to ask for anything. And still, he hadn't moved. Paused for an eternity, just watching and trying his best not to scream at the universe for being this way, for forcing him to make this decision.

Here was the choice, so neatly laid out in front of him. So clearly defined. So easy. Just one step.

Take a step forward. Turn to your left and kneel beside her. Take the headphones from her ears, take her in your arms. Brush the strands of hair from her beautiful face and cup it in your palms, tell her whatever's wrong, not to worry. Everything will be alright, it will be. Tell her you're here. And then...

Take a step back. Shut the door quietly. Walk with careful steps up the hallway and return to the kitchen. Stir the food, wait. And when she walks in, pretend that nothing's different. Tease her for her disheveled hair, hear her snappy retort. Turn away with a cheeky smile and don't let her see it fade. Be the friend she needs. Try to forget that it isn't enough.

There was a swell of static from the headphones. Slowly, he relaxed his grip on the doorknob–

Rose laughed. He started. The door clicked shut.

She let out another soft laugh, brushing the wetness from her eyes. "Stupid," the girl muttered in a husky tone. She turned to her right as a soft draft cooled the moisture on her cheeks, checking to see if she had mistakenly left her door open. Nope. Just her reflection greeting her as she looked into the mirror hanging on the wall. The disastrous state of her hair combined with her blotched face sent her into another fit of sheepish giggles. Stupid song always did this to her...

-x~x~x~x~x-

"Mm, smells good!"

Rose ran up behind the Doctor, threading her arm under his to steal the spoon, promptly popping it into her mouth. Her face shone and smelled of floral soap.

"Hey, no tasting before the meal!" He swatted her hand away in mock annoyance as she reached the spoon around for another morsel. "Here's your food." She took it and slung herself nonchalantly into a chair at their table. He turned to take another plate from the cupboard, avoiding eye contact.

He hadn't really been given the chance to choose, really. Adrenaline had pushed him from the room, not any conscious decision. He'd have to make the choice someday, he knew that. Just not today. Today, he'd hold her hand. Today, he'd run with her. Today they'd stand side by side and face the world together. For today, that was enough. And tomorrow, he'd choose.

After all, their song was just beginning. And they had all the time in the universe to dance...

A/N: I hope that this might become a sort of introduction to a series of music-themed one-shots, but it'll depend on how much time I have. Any reviews would be so appreciated!