A/N: This is a short fic that I haven't decided whether or not to continue. If you think I should continue the story, please let me know in your review! Also, I'm open to suggestions about where the story should go from here. Let me know what you think! Rated M because I'm not sure where this story will take me - better safe than sorry!
The doors of the TARDIS flew open with such force that it seemed as if they might shatter. The tall, slender man in his pinstriped suit laid his companion on the grated floor. A mix of determination and worry reflected in his eyes, he leaned over Rose and stared into her expressionless face. She lay motionless where the Doctor had placed her; her chest barely moved as the breaths that would almost certainly be her last left her lungs.
"Not her," the Doctor whispered. He rose from where he was kneeling and walked with purpose to the TARDIS console. "Anyone but her," he screamed, angrily kicking a piece of debris across the room. Furiously, he began throwing switches and pounding buttons on the console. He tried to ignore the burning behind his eyes, denying the hot tears that were threatening to fall.
The TARDIS console emitted a series of long beeps, and a skeletal image of Rose appeared on the screen. Full body scan: Rose Tyler - Loading, it read. "Come on, come on!" the Doctor was chanting, impatiently tapping on the screen. The image loaded fully, and the Doctor's knees buckled as he read the results. Diagnosis: Heart failure imminent.
Blinking back hot tears, the Doctor feverishly rummaged through a trunk-like metal box. Haphazardly flinging objects left and right, he finally pulled out what looked like a small defibrillator. Running back to the unconscious girl on the frigid floor, his hearts felt heavy with the truth he was denying – it was more than likely that Rose was going to die.
Still, the Doctor never knew when to quit; he knelt beside the petite girl and tore her shirt open. Not even pausing to admire the view he'd longed for since the day they met, the Doctor quickly went to work placing the electrodes on Rose's bare chest. "Please, please" he whispered quietly, as if Rose would oblige him and wake. Pressing the button on the defibrillator, he closed his eyes and silently prayed to whatever gods would listen that Rose would stir.
Nothing happened. The heart rate monitor on the defibrillator still showed the rapidly decreasing heart rate of a dying girl. Tilting back Rose's head, he touched his lips to hers – ignoring the soft feel of her smooth skin – and breathed into her lungs. Backing away, he again pressed the button on the defibrillator.
The Doctor held his breath, his two hearts sinking in his chest. At first, it seemed as though he had lost her, the one companion he truly cared for. He sank back, curling into a ball on the cold, hard floor as he allowed the tears to flow from his eyes. Rose, his Rose, the girl who had healed him of his scars, who had cared for him when he had no one, who had loved him with any face, was dead. This girl, whom he had vowed to protect, lay motionless on the grates in front of him. His eyes closed; he couldn't bring himself to see the lack of life on her face.
Lost in his despair, he nearly missed the sound of the slow, but steadily quickening beeps emitting from the console of the defibrillator. As the beeps grew louder and stronger, his weary eyes flew open and he jumped toward the beeping box. "It can't be," he insisted, though he hoped with everything he had that he was wrong. The hope grew in his chest as Rose stirred. The Doctor leaned over her, and his eyes gleamed with anticipation as he watched her face for any sign of movement.
Slowly, Rose opened her beautiful hazel eyes. She glanced around the room, seemingly disoriented to find herself on the TARDIS floor with the Doctor poised inches from her face. Her gaze came to rest on the handsome Time Lord leaning over her. "Doctor," she said weakly, a smile emerging from her lips.
His name lit up with the sound of his name on her lips. "Rose, my beautiful Rose," he beamed. He stared into her eyes, realizing fully that moments ago, he thought he would never again see the light in them. "I –" he began before stopping himself. He couldn't say it; he hadn't said it in 900 years. But he could show her.
Framing her porcelain face between his weathered hands, he leaned down, bringing his lips to Rose's.