Disclaimer: Doctor Who isn't mine. If it was things would be quite different. The BBC owns all and I bow before them.

Many thanks to TenRoseForeverandEver, for helpful beta work. :)

Happy Birthday to the amazing Caedmon. I hope it's a fantastic one! :)

While this most definitely follows my If Only Nine x Rose drabble, the other can also stand on its own and remain canon-compliant, but this is not. I liked giving Nine his own happy ending. :)

Nighttime, the Doctor had decided, was the very best time. Both the real thing and what passed for it on the TARDIS.

Not that he'd say that aloud. He knew what Jack would say. The lascivious smirk that would light up the man's eyes (similar to the one he'd given the Doctor when he and Rose had told their friend they were officially together 'You old dog!' ). There was some truth to it, of course, lovemaking with Rose was amazing, but that's not what he was thinking about right now.

Now he was filled with wonderment that all the best things in his life, that had led him to this moment, had come to him in the night.

First it had been 'Run!' He'd taken Rose Tyler's hand in that shop basement and together they'd run for their lives. Much as he had tried to make her forget him, he hadn't forgotten her, and she had run into his TARDIS and his life the very next night.

Yet despite the fact he shared his home with her, he'd tried to keep a bit of a distance, he really did. Protect himself from the pain he would surely feel when she left him. Because she would, one way or another. All his companions did and she was so much more than that. Rose had touched something deep inside him, healed him with her mere presence, but loving and losing her would ultimately hurt too much. Or so he'd tried to convince himself.

His hearts hadn't listened. Each and every day he'd fallen deeper down the slippery slope as Rose's charm and outlook on life brought him out of the darkness he'd been in for so long. He finally admitted he was in love with the brilliant Rose Tyler and irrevocably so.

Then there were aliens in Downing Street and he could've saved the world but lost her. The Doctor had started visiting her bedroom that very evening. With Rose none the wiser, he'd watched her sleep. Feeling like the dirty old man he was, but needing to confirm with his eyes she was still there, even though he'd known she was safe in her bed. It hadn't been quite a nightly habit but it was a frequent one, where he'd stand in her doorway and just bask at the sight of her sleeping peacefully, grateful for another day with her.

After Utah, he'd gone further into her bedroom each night. Moving from her doorway to the chair by her vanity and eventually leaning against her dresser, just inches from her bed. And that was when he got caught.

"Doctor?" Rose slurred, her voice heavy with sleep. "What'cha doing?"

The Doctor froze, like the time a deer had crossed Bessie's headlights in his third life. He couldn't move, nor could even his magnificent brain come up with a suitable defense. "Just checking on you," he told her, hoping she wouldn't judge him for it.

Rose flipped on the light on her nightstand and studied him. "Still thinking about today?"

"Yeah," he acknowledged, nodding his head.

"C'mere," she beckoned, patting the bed next to where she lay.

The Doctor hesitated as warning bells went off in his mind. He should retreat now, make any excuse. This was a bad idea. Not that he didn't didn't want to join her, desperately.

"Just lay with me, Doctor." She gave him a soft smile. "I like knowing you're here too."

There was no way he could refuse her, or deny himself any longer.

"Alright," he agreed, as he toed off his boots and shed his jacket, tossing it aside without a second glance. He cuddled up next to Rose and she fit just as well in his arms as she always did when they hugged.

"Night, Doctor," she whispered.

"Night, Rose," he returned.

And so he held her as she slept. It became a nightly occurrence. He didn't stay the entire night, he didn't need to sleep as often as she did, nor as much even when he did. But he was always there when she nodded off.

The Doctor smiled at the memory, and was still in awe of what had happened after all.

The events of 1987, followed by traveling back to the second World War. He'd felt the bitter sting of jealousy both times, though for different reasons. Rose was a brilliant young woman and she deserved so much better than him, but he really did want to be the most important man in her life. She certainly was the most important woman in his. Yes, he would lose her one day, but it would be so much worse if he didn't act and she never knew. And so they danced. Platonically at first, but then Rose finally made a move for more and he followed like the besotted fool he was.

Then, three months later, after the Game Station and him narrowing avoiding regeneration, the Doctor was sitting up in bed, reading to Rose from Dickens before she went to sleep. Suddenly a Gallifreyan presence flared brilliantly to life in his mind and he stopped mid-sentence, staring at her in shock.

Rose lifted her head from where it was nestled in his lap. "Doctor?"

"Rose," he breathed as he lifted his eyes to the TARDIS and felt cheeky amusement in return. Pulling his beloved into his arms, he kissed her and they rushed off to the infirmary to confirm what his hearts and mind already knew.

Bad Wolf had not only brought life, she had also allowed the possibility for the two of them to create it, which they had.

Now, as the clock they kept in sync with London edged towards midnight, the Doctor marveled as he watched his son nurse at his wife and bondmate's breast. Little Freddie had arrived four hours before, howling (just like his grandmum, he'd thought with an odd sense of affection - the woman had raised his amazing Rose after all) but was now sleepily drinking his evening meal.

The Doctor couldn't stop staring at the tiny miracle they'd created together. He felt his son for months, both physically through the womb and through their bond, but nothing in his long lives had prepared him for meeting the child they had conceived in love. His beautiful little boy with his eyes but otherwise (and thankfully) the spitting image of his mum.

"I think he's about done," Rose said softly to him, as their baby's eyes drifted close.

"Yeah," the Doctor agreed, pressing a kiss to her forehead before taking his son in his arms.

Rose gave him a drowsy smile as she closed the nursing panel on her pajamas.

"Thank you, Rose," he told her, glancing between their sleeping child and her.

Rose shook her head, and gave an amused laugh. "You're always thanking me." She placed a hand on one of his arms. "But we did this Doctor. We made him. And you know what?"

"What?"

"It's going to be fantastic. Isn't that what you always say?"

The Doctor beamed, and as Rose watched, he settled Freddie into his crib, thankful for the night she had come into his life, and every one since then.