Disclaimer: If I owned Doctor Who, I'd be writing TV episodes. But I'm not, so I don't. Sadly.
Rose has nightmares—plain and simple. She's nineteen, maybe twenty (time is relative in the TARDIS; she doesn't know if her birthday has come around or not) and knows she should be used to them by now, but she's not. She can't get used to these nightmares because they're never quite the same. They started after the Dalek encounter in Utah, and most of the time, they only get worse. She dreams of death by Dalek; of Jack, lost and all alone after what happened when she last saw him. Sometimes she sees him dead, because she really isn't sure whether he lived or not. She dreams of losing her new Doctor like she lost her old one.
It's not until after that dream that she seeks him out.
She finds him in the library, book in hand. She doesn't say a word, just curls up next to him and places her head on his shoulder, seeking comfort. He doesn't ask, just winds his arm around her and resumes his reading. When she wakes, he's still there. His arm is still around her, but they've shifted in the night. He reclined overnight, and now her head is resting between his hearts. Her back is to the back of the sofa, and her front is pressed to his side. Her hand not trapped between her body and the cushion lays entwined with his on his stomach.
She finds the position so intimate that she nearly stops breathing.
His nose is buried in her hair, and his rhythmic breathing, along with the pulse that is slower than what she can feel when he hugs her, leads her to believe that he had actually fallen asleep. Quietly, gently, she disentangles herself from him and disappears from the library to her room to change out of her night clothes.
When she enters the kitchen, he is there with a cup of tea in his hands and another waiting for her.
Rose has nightmares—plain and simple. She knows that the Doctor does, too. She isn't sure what they're about, nor does she want to know. Sometimes, though, she thinks they're about her. He doesn't tell her, but it's in his eyes some mornings, the look that says you're here; you're okay; you're alive.
She's able to just how his night went by the way he acts in the morning. If he's bouncing around, full and energy and ready to head off into an adventure, then he hasn't slept, or obtained maybe half an hour of it. If he mopes around a bit before proposing a new planet or time, then she know he's had a bad night, and makes him an extra cup of tea. If he simply fixes her with a stare and doesn't say a word before crushing her in a hug, then he's had a very, very horrible night, and she knows that there's nothing she can do but wrap her arms tightly around him, bunch her hands in his suit jacket, and drop her face into the crook of his neck.
It's on those mornings that she can't bear to look in his eyes.
Rose has nightmares—plain and simple. When she slams awake from the most recent scenario, the images still lingering in her mind, she spies a figure in the doorway that was not open when she went to bed. The Doctor is watching her, looking every bit the Lonely God. She doesn't ask why he's there, and he doesn't tell her. He doesn't ask what she dreamt that's causing her to take deep, panting breaths, and she doesn't tell him.
They stare at each other for a minute longer before she shifts over in the bed and pats the now-open space next to her. He hesitates for a moment, clearly debating whether or not to cross the invisible line that he's so carefully drawn, then steps further into her room, clicking the door shut behind him.
It takes him just a few steps to reach her bed, and she watches him all the way. Upon arrival, he toes off his trainers and removes his tie—he is already devoid of his pinstriped jacket. Slowly, he lowers himself to the bed. Slower still, he moves under the magenta duvet. Her eyes still follow his movements.
The instant he is settled, she moves forward and presses her face into his shirt. Her eyes squeeze shut as she attempts to stop the tears forming there, and she takes another deep breath. It's as if he knows exactly what she's doing, because one of his arms reaches out and pulls her close, the other one moving to tangle his hand in her hair. Her hands fist in the fabric of his shirt. She feels so safe cocooned in his arms, and begins to cry. He doesn't say anything, just holds her close. It's when her sobs subside and she's finally drifting off that she feels him place a feather-light kiss in her hair.
He no longer hesitates to enter her room at night.
Rose has nightmares—plain and simple. They're what keep her awake at night. Some nights, she remains in her bed and stares at the ceiling, too afraid to move. Other nights, she can't bear to stay in her room and instead roams the halls.
It's on a night when she's out wandering that she hears him cry out.
She pulls open the door nearest her, for she's sure that the call came from there, and is rewarded with the library. The Doctor is asleep on a couch, with a furrowed brow and hands clutching his hair. She hurries across the room and kneels down in front of his face. She knows that some people react violently when woken from a bad dream, but she can't stand to see him like this, vulnerable and frightened—it's too much unlike the him she's used to. She shakes him gently and calls his name until he wakes with a start. He jerks upright and his hands fly out, nearly catching her cheek. He stares at her with wide eyes and a heaving chest, then pulls her up onto the sofa and all but smashes her into his chest. His arms are tight enough around her to bruise, and he is bent awkwardly to hide his face in her shoulder, but neither move.
When he releases her, she scoots away from him and then guides his head into her lap. He allows himself to be moved without complaint, and her fingers card through his messy hair. They stay like that for an hour, talking about everything and nothing, anything to keep the nightmares away.
Her legs have been numb for a while now when he suggests she go and try to get some sleep. She is loath to leave him alone right now, but it was more of a demand than a suggestion. She stands and takes a minute for the pins-and-needles feeling in her legs to vanish. The surprise is evident on his face when she tugs him with her to her bedroom. The surprise is gone by the time they reach her bed, and they lie down and curl around each other, as they normally do when he comes to her in the night. They both drift off and discover that, though they don't go away completely, the nightmares aren't anywhere near as bad with each other's comfort.
The bed sharing becomes a nightly thing.
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