Disclaimer: I do not own Doctor Who. I just enjoy playing with the characters.

A/N: This is based off (another) Tumblr prompt from the "Subvert the Trope" list that whatwecanfic posted several days ago. The one I chose was:

Forced bed sharing leading to the discovery of nighttime flatulence, snoring or herky jerky elbows.

Hope you like it!

Allons-y!

. . .

A Mistaken Case of Night Terrors

Rose was beautiful when she slept.

She was, of course, equally beautiful when she was awake - when they were running or she was perched on the jump seat, watching him tinker or they were snuggled together on the sofa watching The Lion King for the umpteenth time - when he limited himself to brief glances and flirty grins, maybe a kiss pressed to the top of her head if he had been especially disciplined. It might be a bit of a giveaway of his true feelings if he stared at her, slack-jawed, for hours on end; it most certainly would have gotten them both killed by now.

The only time he shed his layers, both literally and figuratively, could afford to let down his self-erected walls, was when she slept. She had caught him a few times, sneaking out of her room in the early hours of the morning or tucking a loose lock of hair behind her ear with a tender smile (it was just after the Wire and he couldn't help himself, needed to see that every inch of her gorgeous face was back where it should be), and would run her thumb gently along his palm when he began to babble, pink rising in his cheeks (something this new body did far too easily) so he'd have to excuse himself for a long, cold shower before joining her for breakfast.

Like now, a tiny ball curled up on the tiny bed of their closet-size quarters on the sanctuary base, where they were trapped until Zach and the crew returned home and the Doctor and Rose were left homeless. But these were things the Doctor would worry about later; right now, he wanted nothing more than to bask in the glory of his pink-and-yellow goddess, prettier than Fortuna even if she would laugh at him for saying so.

"I'm not all that, Doctor."

But she was. Didn't she realize she was? Her smile gave him life and her tears made him want to do anything that would make her smile again.

There were tear tracks on her cheeks now and they made the Doctor's heart clench to see them. If he had just listened to the TARDIS they could've been long gone from this impossible place - could have, in fact, been on the beach right now, showing Rose Tyler the purple sand and making sure she had enough sunscreen on - but instead he had made Rose Tyler, his Rose Tyler, cry. It had been a long day and the severity of the situation had finally sunk in; he had been helpless to do anything but hold her, whispering soothing nothings against her skin. Once she had cried herself out, he had unwound her arms from around his neck to lay her back against the mattress, tucking the covers protectively around her and barely restraining himself from joining her under them.

He wanted so badly to, though - to mold his body to hers and hold her, just hold her, through the night, to sleep with her in the purely literal sense and wake her up with a sweet kiss the next morning.

Back on his ship, there was a whole list of reasons why he shouldn't - he was too old, too angst-ridden, too alien - and only one why he should. Simply because he was in love with her absolutely, unashamedly, unreservedly, a silly reason that paled when faced with all these serious concerns. But the TARDIS was lost now, the list lost and rendered moot, and soon they'd be starting a new life, together, with carpets and windows and a shared mortgage. What could it hurt to add bed-sharing to his list of transgressions?

Stripping down to his undershirt and pants, the Doctor slid into bed next to Rose, a tight squeeze on the narrow mattress that enabled him to press himself fully against her. He wondered for a second what to do with his hands but, letting instinct guide him, wrapped one around her waist while the other slid under the pillow, cradling her head. Settled comfortably, the Doctor was content to gaze at the slumbering angel in his arms.

Trapped on a planet that shouldn't exist and spiraling helplessly through space, he couldn't remember ever being more happy.

Until Rose's elbow made a sudden, spasmodic motion to jab him, hard, in the gut. Grateful for his respiratory bypass, the Doctor quickly regained his breath and propped himself up on one arm to peer down at Rose, concerned, but her features were smooth, her breath even, nothing to betray the slightest sign of her inner turmoil.

"Shh, Rose," he hushed, tightening his hold around her, "I've got you, you're safe."

This time it was her left foot, creeping out of its' little Rose-ball and striking him in the upper thigh, perilously close to his manhood. Wincing, he scrambled to sit up against the headboard, to pull her close against his chest, only to be knocked off the bed with another sharp kick. He landed on the floor with an undignified thump and a loud "Ow!"

As if the noise were an alarm bell, Rose jolted awake, eyes flying wildly around the room before fixing on the Doctor.

"Doctor?" In two seconds she was knelt by his side, placing a hand on his arm and helping him stand. "Are you alright? Did something happen?"

"I'm always alright." Rubbing surreptitiously at his sore bum, he sat down on the thin mattress and patted the spot next to him, wrapping an arm protectively around her when she joined him. "It's you I'm worried about, Rose."

"What?" Her brows drew together, making divots in her forehead, and he reached out to smooth them away with his thumb. "Why?"

"You were having a nightmare."

"What?" she repeated, a bit squeakily. "No, I wasn't."

"Rose, there's no shame in admitting it. We're in an awful situation right now and I don't blame you in the slightest. Just last week, I had one about man-eating pears. There is a planet with sentient fruit, I'll grant you, but they're a very peaceful species. You have to remember, nightmares aren't meant to be rational. They're when our worst fears come out to play. And whatever it is, whatever you're scared of, I'll keep you safe, alright? We're stuck together, you and me."

"Doctor," Rose insisted, "that's very sweet of you, but I didn't have a nightmare."

Sweet? Unsure whether to be elated or offended by the term, the Doctor settled for shaking his head at Rose - his magnificent, strong, annoyingly stoic Rose - running a hand from her shoulder and down her arm to take her hand.

"You don't need to lie to me, Rose. You were thrashing around and everything. Took me quite a while to wake you," he added, hoping that she wouldn't call him out on his method of waking, namely a pained exclamation as he collided with the hard metal grating. It was still very manly, wasn't it, waking your terrified companion from a night terror? Maybe even a little bit sweet (he didn't mind the term so much after all if it was Rose calling him that) and he couldn't help but puff up a bit when she placed a hand over her mouth, eyes widening in sudden realization.

"Oh, my God. I'm sorry, Doctor."

"It's alright, Rose. You don't need to apologize." He squeezed her hand. "Happens to the best of us."

"No." She shook her head. "It wasn't a nightmare, Doctor, I'm just - God, I should've told you sooner but I didn't think you'd ever - that we'd ever. . . ."

"Hey, hey." Unclasping their fingers, the Doctor cupped the back of Rose's neck with his palm, drawing her to rest against his shoulder. "Whatever it is, we'll fix it alright? Tell me what's wrong."

"'S not really something to fix." Rose shrugged. "I'm just a bit of a restless sleeper, is all. 'M fine when I'm on my own, but it drove Mickey and Jimmy mad. Was hard for either of them to get a good night's sleep with me poking them all night. Gave Jimmy a black eye one time," she said with a small smile.

While he didn't fancy being compared to either of Rose's ex-boyfriends, the Doctor forced a smile to his face. "Well, lucky for you Time Lords don't need much sleep. I'll just sit over here," he nodded to the chair he had been previously perched in, "make sure you don't fall out of bed."

Rose rolled her eyes. "You're a rubbish liar, you are."

"Rose, I'm fine. . . ."

"Oh, come on, you need it as much as I do. We're just in tight quarters at the moment so I s'pose . . . s'pose it makes it harder for you to catch your forty winks." A string trailed from the duvet and she picked at it for several long seconds before meeting his eyes again. "Tell you what, I've already gotten an hour so I'll just sit over there for a couple hours, make sure you don't start muttering about cannibalistic pears or whatever. Then I'll wake you up and we'll switch, yeah?"

"Rose, that's ridiculous. I can sleep just about anywhere."

"You'd do it for me," she argued, obstinate as ever.

"Of course I would. You're human, sleep is a biological imperative. Don't give Rose Tyler her eight hours and her morning cuppa and you're about ready to bite my head off."

Rose snorted, a reluctant concession to his point. "Only when you wake me up at two in the morning."

"Exactly! And what did I do just now? Wake you up at - well, I'm not precisely sure what time it is, but it's the wee hours of the morning, and all because of what? A mistaken case of night terrors. Some doctor I am."

"You're a wonderful doctor, Doctor." Wrapping herself in one of the thin blankets, Rose curled up on the straight-backed chair, wincing and repositioning herself as the hard wooden slats dug into her spine.

"No, no, Rose, don't do that. I told you, I made an incorrect diagnosis. My fault, really. You shouldn't have to be punished for it."

"We'll switch in a couple hours, alright?" She was already half-asleep due, no doubt, to too many nights spent in sparse prison cells and freezing-cold caverns. "Set a timer on the . . ." she trailed off, fingers waving as though to grasp the word that her sleep-addled mind could not find, ". . . on the thing."

"In fact, I should be the one punished for it. Not - not," he sputtered, ears burning, "not in any way that isn't - what I mean is, you can poke and prod me all night if you want to. I won't say a word. I - Rose, I just want to hold you. Please just let me hold you."

"Night, Doctor," Rose mumbled sleepily and he knew she hadn't heard. The Doctor flopped back to the bed with a sigh, of relief or disappointment he wasn't sure. The bed springs creaked under his lone weight.

"Night, Rose."

. . .

A/N: Love it? Hate it? Let me know in a review!