Disclaimer: I don't own Doctor Who.

A/N: Yeah, I've changed the title of this story. Hope no one minds, but I really didn't particularly like the last title.

Chapter 2

Next morning, Rose woke with a yawn. Opening her eyes, she glanced over at the Doctor, only to find that his side of the bed was empty, and she was alone.

However, as she stretched out, she found that his side of the bed was still warm, so he couldn't have left very long ago. He probably left to avoid any awkward 'morning after' talks, but not even the sort of 'morning after' Rose would've liked it to be, unfortunately.

So, with a sigh, Rose dragged herself out of bed, and went back to her own room to dress. Once she was feeling more awake, and presentable, she went to the kitchen to find some breakfast.

When she got there, she was surprised to see that the Doctor was already in the kitchen, at the stove, busily frying some bacon and eggs. He hadn't noticed her yet, but the appetising smell drifting her way made Rose realise how hungry she was, and it also made her stomach realise.

The embarrassingly loud rumble it made was loud enough to alert the Doctor to her presence.

"Morning Rose!" he said cheerily, "how many eggs would you like?"

"Umm, two please," Rose answered, wondering how she was going to question him about his nightmares when he was in such a good mood. She would've just left it for another time, rather than spoil his good mood, but she knew that this was too important to ignore for any longer.

Once he'd finished cooking, the Doctor served up two plates of food, and sat down opposite her. Rose picked up her fork, but didn't make any move to start eating. Instead, she decided there was no particularly tactile way to have this conversation, so she may as well just launch straight in with it.

"You had another nightmare last night," she began tentatively.

The Doctor stopped eating, but his eyes remained on his plate. He didn't say anything.

"They're getting worse aren't they?" she asked, almost dreading his answer.

But the Doctor didn't answer her, he carried on staring at his plate, pushing his food around with his fork.

Rose tried again, "Please Doctor, tell me what they're about. I could—"

At this the Doctor finally looked at her, and answered her, "You could what Rose?" he asked quietly, "What could you do? How would your knowing help at all?"

"I don't know exactly. But don't you trust me?" Rose asked desperately.

The Doctor looked back at his plate and said, "It's not about trust Rose."

"Then what is it about?" Rose practically shrieked. "What happened to you that's so bad you can't tell me?" The she paused for a second, and continued quieter, tears welling up in her eyes, "You used to tell me everything. Why can't you just tell me?"

"Why do you so badly need to know so soon Rose? There's nothing more you can do to help than you already do! There's nothing you can do about this! Hell, I don't even really know what this is!" The Doctor argued back, his voice raised.

"Maybe I couldn't do anything, but you could still tell me! You told me about the time war, there was nothing I could about it, but you still told me!" Rose retorted.

"This is different." The Doctor said, his voice as hard as steel.

"How? What because that was the old you? Am I not as important to you now? Do I not deserve the truth?" Rose ranted, "What, because you know I love you now, do you not feel the need to impress me with sob stories anymore?! So you're just going to leave me in the dark about—"

While Rose was yelling at the Doctor, she'd seen him getting angrier and angrier. But she hadn't cared. She was angry too, and she wanted him to feel how she felt. This was selfish of her; she knew that. But she was just so frustrated that he wouldn't tell her what had happened, him no doubt thinking he had to shelter her from the truth. Also, there was the possibility that if she got him angry enough, then he'd blurt out what had happened—well, it'd worked before, although with much more trivial matters.

However, getting the Doctor angry had had a consequence that she hadn't expected. And from the shocked expression he had on his face, which was mixed with the anger, it was clear that he hadn't expected it either.

Rose and the Doctor each had a glass of water on the table in front of them. And the water in those glasses was violently bubbling and steaming, as if it was just boiling itself. But Rose knew better. It wasn't the water boiling itself—the Doctor was doing it, and apparently involuntarily.

But how could he do something like that? Rose knew that he'd had mild psychic abilities before. He'd used them to see into Madame de Pompadour's mind, and to make Chloe Webber fall asleep in 2012. But those had taken concentration, in fact, even when he'd made that soldier fall asleep at the hospital, and telepathically spoken to her and her family, that had taken a lot of effort too. Whereas now, he was accidentally making water boil? That was not a good sign, Rose was sure of that.

As they stared at the glasses, cracks began to appear on them, spreading over their transparent surfaces like spider webs.

"Rose, get down!" the Doctor yelled.

Rose didn't need to be told twice. She and the Doctor threw themselves away from the table, and only just in time. A second later, both glasses exploded, sending shards of glass and boiling water everywhere.

The water spread out over the floor of the kitchen, hissing and steaming as it cooled down rapidly on the cold tiles.

The Doctor and Rose stood up, both of them more than a little shaken by the incident, and surveyed the mess in the kitchen. Fortunately, neither of them had been cut or burned, but the floor of the kitchen was now littered with splinters of glass, and covered in water.

"I-I'll clear this up," the Doctor said shakily, and he started picking up the larger pieces of glass.

"Hang on a sec Doctor," Rose said, "I'll get a broom or something. You'll cut yourself otherwise."

But the Doctor didn't listen, continuing to gather up the glass. But sure enough a second later, exactly as Rose had predicted, he gasped in pain as he accidentally sliced his finger on a sharp edge.

Blood immediately welled up in the cut. Rose crouched down beside the Doctor and took his hand, saying, "Here, let me see."

She examined his cut, holding his hand in hers. Rose's skin felt so warm, and he could feel his skin tingle where hers touched it. As she was doing this, the Doctor watched her. He didn't deserve her. She was too good for him. And this was just typical of her. Even after him shouting at her for something that was his fault, she would just forget about it and forgive him. One day though, he was sure she would run out of forgiveness, and then what would he do? He needed her, and he hoped that she needed, or at least wanted, him.

"I'm so sorry Rose… for everything," he said, "And I will tell you everything at some point, but not right now. I just—"

"I know Doctor," Rose replied, "I understand I guess." Then she smiled cheekily and said, "I think you're going to live."

The Doctor shot her a puzzled look.

"Your finger," Rose explained.

He glanced down at the cut, and a small smile crossed his lips. "I hope you're right, Rose Tyler."

"Ok, well, we can't sit around here all day, can we? You know places to go, planets to see, running to do," Rose glanced around at the mess, "Can we just leave this, and clear it up later?"

"Why not?" the Doctor agreed, "I'll meet you in the console room in a few minutes, ok? There's something I have to—I just need to—Never mind, I'll see you in a minute, ok?"

And with that, he walked out.

Rose watched him leave, and wondered how on earth they were going to deal with all this, and what they were going to do about it. Sooner or later (but she voted for sooner) they'd have to sit down and have a serious talk about it. But the Doctor was very reluctant to tell her anything, and he was becoming increasingly distracted most of the time. Well, at least she had his word that he would tell her what had happened to him, even if he wouldn't tell her right now.

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After leaving the kitchen, and Rose, the Doctor headed for his room. When he got there, he went into his bathroom, and sat on the floor leaning against the bath. He couldn't believe what he'd just done in the kitchen. Sure he'd accidentally done things before now (mostly consisting of hearing snippets of Rose's thoughts, which he'd done his best to block out), but he'd never lost it like he just did.

But to make matters worse, it didn't seem like he was going to be getting any better any time soon. About a week ago, while Rose was asleep, he'd done a full set of tests on himself in the infirmary. Unfortunately, the prognosis was not good. But how could he tell Rose? How could he tell her that they'd been reunited, only to be separated again? And they would be separated, because eventually what was happening to him would kill him… or worse.

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Hmm, another chapter that I'm really not very happy with. I'm blaming the fact that I'm ill for any bad writing. However, I do have some high hopes (ones that I hope that I can live up to) for the next chapter(s).

One last thing, this story will be becoming more TenRose very soon, probably next chapter.

Please review!