AN: From a prompt for PMS, Nine or Ten and Rose.
The Doctor and Rose had been married for a little under a month when he woke up one morning with a twinging ache in his abdomen. Befuddled by sleep, it took him about thirty seconds to realise the discomfort belonged to his wife and was merely echoing over the bond. That was followed by another minute of panic (because mild or even moderate pain wouldn't be shared like this) before he caught the tang of hormones in the air and understood what was going on.
His distress and anxiety woke Rose up, but her eyes had barely fluttered open before they slammed shut and she curled into a ball. The Doctor's hearts ached when he heard her low moan muffled against her pillows, and his hand automatically reached out to soothe her. He hesitated though—would that make it better, or worse?
"Rose? Is there anything I can do to help, love?" he asked quietly, his hand hovering over her lower back.
She pulled her face away from her pillows and cracked an eye open. "Don't make me run today."
The Doctor's hyper intelligence processed that sentence almost instantaneously, matching times when she'd grumbled about running with her cycle, and he brushed a sympathetic kiss over her forehead. "You should have said something ages ago."
Rose snorted. "What was I gonna say? 'Can you please not take us to any revolutions today, 'cos my uterus feels like it's been squeezed to a bloody pulp and I can't run without wanting to throw up.'"
Instead of questioning her description of the pain, he addressed her sarcastic suggestion. "Something like that, yeah," he agreed. "So, we'll have a quiet day in. Movie marathon in the media room?"
She rolled over onto her back and looked up at him. "You don't mind? There isn't some… I don't know, insurrection in the Ulston system we need to put down or something?"
The Doctor pushed a piece of hair back over her ear. "Not that I know of, and even if there were… Time machine," he said dramatically.
He waited for her giggles to fade, then let his exaggerated facial expression slip away. "Seriously though, Rose. If you're not feeling well and want to stay home for a day, all you need to do is ask. I love the travelling, love our adventures, but I love you more."
To his consternation, tears welled up in Rose's eyes.
"What's wrong? What did I do?"
"Nothing! These are happy tears, you numpty." Rose laced her fingers through his. "That's the sweetest thing anyone's ever said to me."
The Doctor smiled and pecked her on the lips, then jumped out of bed. "You take a shower and put comfy clothes on. I'll go make breakfast."
He winced when he another cramp hit Rose as he left their bedroom. He would have sympathised with her anyway, but the uncomfortable constriction around his midsection made him even more determined to make the day as easy on her as he could.
By the time he reached the galley, he had a mental list of things he'd noticed Rose liked when she was feeling under the weather. When he entered the room, he stopped in surprise. There on the table was a tray already laden with chocolate, salt and vinegar crisps, a heating pad, and a mild muscle relaxant from the 32nd century.
The Doctor patted the wall. "Thanks, old girl," he murmured. "Let's show Rose that taking care of her isn't an inconvenience."