The evening was quiet in the small Tyler household. The TV had been giving Rose headaches as they ventured into the third trimester of the pregnancy, and so the nights had more and more frequently consisted of lounging on the couch, snuggling and talking, or reading. This was the case on this particular night; Rose and the Doctor had finished up the dishes, got a warm fire going and settled down to read. Rose was laying down on the couch, her legs in the Doctor's lap, and he resting his arms on them, softly massaging one with one of his hands while supporting his book with the other.
It was after a good twenty minutes with only the crackling of the fire making noise in the room, that the Doctor surfaced from his book long enough to notice a second noise. Every ten seconds or so, getting slowly more frequent, came a sniff. He glanced in Rose's direction; her face was completely blocked by the baby magazine she was reading, but if he squinted, he could see tears slowly dripping every few seconds from her chin onto her collarbone. He squeezed her leg gently, and she tensed.
"Rose?"
"I'm alright," came her voice, small and thick with emotion; shaking. He almost rolled his eyes at her weak attempt to cover it up, choosing instead to frown.
"Rose, what's wrong?"
She sniffed again and closed the magazine, looking away from him and hastily wiping her eyes.
"I'm a mess," she said shakily, and then glaring suddenly at the magazine, grabbed it and flung it on the floor. The Doctor said nothing and just sat, stroking her calf, patiently waiting for her to explain. Rose took a few deep breaths to stop the flow of tears. "The magazine had this article about prem babies, and all the complications that can go along with it; had an interview with this woman whose baby was born smaller than my hand." She held up her hand to him, palm up for reference. His heart sank as he predicted where this was going, and he took it in his own, linking his fingers through hers. She gripped gratefully back, the lump in her throat starting to come back. "The baby... it died after two an' a half months... an' it jus' got me thinking..." Rose stopped, looking away, and her shoulders started to shake with silent sobs.
"Oh Rose, c'mere," the Doctor sighed, and she changed position so she was snuggled under his arm, her face pressed into his chest. One hand clenched his jacket and the other curled around her belly protectively as she cried, for fear of both the unknown and the uncontrollable. "Rose, hey, shhhh. It's alright," he crooned, stroking her hair, keeping one arm tucked tightly over her shoulders. "Rose, our baby is going to be fine," he murmured into her hair, rocking her gently and his hand joining hers on her stomach. "I will not let anything bad happen to him, I promise you." He kissed the top of her head, hugging her tightly.
"But you can't," came her muffled reply, and his single heart squeezed at the ultimate truth of her words. She lifted her head to him, tear tracks etched into her beautiful face, devoid of all makeup since she hadn't been out of the house that day. "Even the real Doctor couldn't," she sniffed and hiccuped, resting her head in the crook of his neck. It fit perfectly. "It's jus' one of those things no one can control, and Doctor, that..." She bit her lip; it hurt to even contemplate. "That scares me."
He brushed back the streaks of blonde stuck to her face and kissed her forehead.
"I know," he said softly, caressing her belly. "I do, Rose; I know. Here, think of this: d'you remember what 'Jack' means?"
She looked at him, sobs slowly lessening as her pleading eyes asked the question for her.
"It means healthy, strong and full of energy," the Doctor recited from memory. "We've got to believe he's going to grow up like that; healthy, strong, definitely full of energy if that barmy ex-time agent is anything to go by." That got a small smile from Rose, and his heart lifted. "It's going to be okay, Rose," he said, and kissed her head again. "Jack is going to be okay."