It had been quite a while since he'd thought about Rose, which surprised him. Before he'd managed (somehow) to distract himself, he'd spend days locked in her old bedroom, lights off, breathing in stale air that was starting to smell less like her and more like his own loneliness.
It was that woman's fault, that Donna. She'd been messing with the console again, pressing random buttons like a damned fool even though he'd told her expressively that she oughtn't. Somehow she'd managed to switch on music, something he couldn't even remember how to do, not to mention how to get it off...
It had taken him almost an hour to switch it off (honestly, what idiot put the controls under the towel rack by the pool?) during which the TARDIS had cycled through a large array of classical (human) music before falling into the soft strains of a Gallifreyan lullaby, and his throat closed.
Oh. He was the idiot.
He remembered, now, the day Rose figured out about the music and started playing hers over the intercom, blasting some random band he'd never heard of (and didn't want to learn about) at random moments in the day- or, to his chagrin, at night, usually the few times he managed to relax enough to sleep.
He'd gone into her room on one of those occasions, his hair a brown nest over a pair of crooked glasses, slippers dragging sleepily across a metallic floor on the long (or so it seemed) hallway to his companion's bedroom.
"Rose," He'd muttered, through her door. Inside, she didn't seem to hear; the track had changed and she was signing along. Loudly.
"Feelin' used, but I'm still missing you and I can't see the end of this," She belted, and something slammed on the other side of her door. Also loudly. He suppressed a moan as the noise assaulted his ears. "Just wanna feel your kiss against my lips-"
Oh, lovely. He recognized the song- or, at the least, the mood Rose was in, and he wamted to end it, quickly, before she got to the ballads she was ridiculously fond of and didn't leave her room for a week, save to emerge with watery red eyes for more romcoms.
But, then, maybe now wasn't the best time. Rose was obviously preoccupied, and he himself was tired and a bit cranky.
"And now all this time is passing by, but I just can't seem to tell you why-" He heard a muffled sob over the blasting music.
No, it was time to intervene, sleepiness be damned. "ROSE!"
There was a squeal, a thump, and a dishevelled blonde head peeked around the door now cracked to reveal a tiny glimpse into a comfortably messy bedroom. "Er- yes, Doctor?" Rose smiled sheepishly. "Is there a... erm, a problem?"
"Rose," He said, softer now, more gentle with his companion. They were, after all, floating somewhere around the star system Vallisem, some six billion- or was it trillion?- light-years away from the human girl's home planet. And she wasn't like him, wasn't equipped for the long stretches of emptiness and the feeling that nothing you knew really meant anything. "Rose, it's late. We've had a long week. You need to sleep."
Her nose reddened. "Oh, no, did I wake you?"
He rubbed the bridge of his nose, both annoyed and gratified by her concern. "I wasn't asleep. How could I possibly be, with this awful racket?"
That was the wrong thing to say. He knew it instantly even before it registered with her and the walls slammed down behind her eyes. He could have hit himself. She was already vulnerable, and there he was, insulting her like an absolute ass.
"Rose, I'm sorry, I didn't- I'm just tired. No, I mean, I'm fine, I'm just-" Right, keep digging that hole. Idiot. "I'm worried about you, that's all."
Bingo. The walls vanished, replaced by the softness he associated with her. "I'm fine, Doctor," She said, but her heart clearly wasn't in it. He quirked one eyebrow. "Oh, alright, so, I'm a little homesick. And, I don't know, it's just so dark out there..."
She glanced down at his arms, now outstretched, inviting her in. He wasn't a particularly emotional person, not in this homely way at least, but seeing his companion hurting awakened a protective fondness he hadn't felt since- well, in a very long time. As Rose gave in and folded herself into his embrace, he let himself feel that again, if only for a short time.
As she sniffled and held him tighter, some long-buried instinct awoke and he began to him something he'd often sung to his children, a lullaby he hadn't heard in over two hundred years. He remembered it as though it had been an hour since he'd tucked his daughter into bed.
Tears pricked his eyes and he was tempted to stop, to push Rose away, but her breathing was slowing and the erratic heart pressed against his ribs was beating in a steady rhythm. He eased her bedroom door open with his toes and led the distressed human woman to her bed, where she allowed herself to be nudged under her covers. In a bizarre deviation from his norm, the Doctor bent and brushed a kiss against her forehead; she'd already drifted into the early stages of a deep sleep.
That damned song! He yanked himself out of the miserable memories he'd allowed himself to become trapped in, fuming. Damn Donna. And damn that stupid song!