The sound of soft footfalls roused the Doctor from his morose contemplation of the day's disastrous events. Rose Tyler shuffled her way into the library, wearing a ridiculously oversized plaid flannel shirt over a vest and shorts, and absurd pink bunny slippers on her feet. Her hair was loose and tousled, and she clutched a mug in her hands. As always, the sight of her brought an indulgent smile to the Doctor's lips.
"Thought you'd be asleep," he said, by way of greeting.
"Could say the same about you," she countered, curling up beside him on the divan. "What you got there?" she asked, peering at the tumbler of amber liquid he held.
"Brandy," he said, offering her the glass.
Rose took a sip, and scrunched up her face adorably. "Blimey. You're drinkin' that for entertainment?"
She took a swallow of her chocolate to chase the taste away. There was a smudge of whipped cream on the corner of her mouth, and the Doctor wiped it away with an affectionate swipe of his thumb.
"Purely medicinal."
"Are you hurt?" she asked, looking up at him in concern.
"I'm fine. Superior biology, an' all."
"Memories can hurt, too," Rose offered.
"Not much to be done about that."
"You could talk about it."
"No. I can't."
"Might help."
The Doctor shook his head sharply. "It's too big, and bloody, and filthy. Don't you see, Rose? Whenever I think of home, that's all I can see - everything burning."
Rose drained her hot chocolate, and set her mug aside. She curled herself into the Doctor's side. He responded by slipping his arm around her shoulders.
"Wish I could help."
"You are," he assured her, breathing in the sweet warmth of her presence.
"Couldn't you tell me something about your home, something from before the war and the Daleks? Somethin' that doesn't hurt."
He never could refuse her anything when she looked up at him like that, and so he sucked in a deep lungful of air, and began to speak. He told her about a shining city, set under a magnificent glass dome, and a man clever enough to figure out a way to defeat death itself - and wise enough to know that no one else should ever follow that path. He spoke of fields of red grass, and trees with silver leaves, and each word was like poison being sucked from a wound.
At one point, he paused to take a sip of his brandy, and noticed that the toll of the day's events had finally lulled Rose to sleep. He didn't take offense. Utah had been a nasty piece of business, and she was surely beyond exhausted. Besides, the catalogue of pleasant memories had really been for his benefit, not hers. His clever girl. He settled Rose a little more comfortably against his chest, and stared into the fire once more, this time with a faint smile curving his lips.