Porcelain Doll
Reading the last line of the book, the Doctor glanced at his watch. Five seconds, thirty three milliseconds and four nanoseconds. Not bad, he thought, mentally noting the time in order to beat it in the future. The eighth Harry Potter book was breathtaking and the Doctor made a second mental note to tell JK Rowling that the next time he insisted on dragging Rose to a book signing.
He looked across at the sleeping figure of Rose, curled up tightly in the chair beside the dying embers in the fireplace. She stirred, as if instinctively feeling his gaze upon her. The Doctor held his breath, worried that even the sound of his own exhaling would wake her. It was the first night Rose had slept peacefully since that day, almost six months ago now. Recently, her nightmares had caused her to scream out loud. She would cling to the Doctor helplessly, like a frightened child, when he rushed to her aid.
She had been exhausted. The Doctor was relieved when her body had finally surrendered to a quite, less fitful sleep. Perhaps she was recovering at last.
Rose hadn't been the same. The day on the beach had affected her in a way even the Doctor, genius as he was, good barely understand. He realised he would never be her Doctor, but the rejection hurt.
Eventually, she had grown to accept him. It had started with a hug; the day he'd come home and announced he'd got a job at Torchwood. Then a kiss; on Valentine's Day when he'd bought the biggest card he could find and filled it with beautiful poetic lines he'd pretended were his own. (In fact they were from poets in the year 50,000AD but she didn't need to know that. Besides, a little white lie didn't hurt and it was worth the kiss). He'd presumed, perhaps a little selfishly, that she would love him the same as she'd loved the other Doctor. Though, he agreed, that for now at least, it was more appropriate that slept in separate rooms. She needed time and the Doctor would have to sit back and wait for her.
He watched her now, wondering what she was dreaming and avoiding the temptation to place his hands on her head in order to see. Some things were best left unknown, he reasoned. He studied her face. A lock of blonde hair had draped itself across her cheek and her makeup was smudged where she had cried during the film. Rose reminded the Doctor of a porcelain doll, so beautiful but so fragile. Easily broken if one wasn't careful enough.
"I love you," the Doctor mouthed wordlessly.
Tearing his gaze away from her, he returned to his book. Perhaps I'll read it just the once more, he thought, setting the timer on his watch. Five seconds, thirty three milliseconds and four nanoseconds should be easy to beat - even for a human Timelord.
Epilogue
Rose stood on a beach so far away; cold and confused. Three words resounded in her ears.
"I love you," he said.