Melt
It had been a long day.
The Doctor slid down into the tub, stifling a groan as the hot water hit both bruises and strained muscles. Most days were tiring, but a good kind of tiring—saving the world, a feeling of satisfaction when the adventure or journey was over. People gave him energy—even if reticent, he was definitely an extravert.
Today, though, he'd overdone it.
Everyone had gotten kidnapped, and he'd had to run all over and save the world himself—not something he did on a daily basis. He'd gotten accustomed to having a companion to say the right thing at the last minute, a second pair of hands to hold those other switches down and stop the count down. In the end, everyone had lived and he'd rescued his friends, but he'd also been beaten and left for dead, run a five-minute mile, and had to lift something that was probably way too heavy for this particular frame. (He still wasn't quite used to this new regeneration—not yet, anyway.)
He still had the cuts on his hands, and he hissed a little as the soapy water stung them.
It was still a good day, though.
A knock sounded from the door, jerking him out of a light doze, and Rose called, "You all right in there, Doctor?"
"Fine," he called back. "Taking a bath."
"Don't fall asleep in there," she warned. "You'll get chilled when the water cools off."
"Rose, TARDIS, remember?"
"Yes," she replied, and the Doctor could tell that she was smiling. "But I want a turn in there too."
"All right," he said, pulling himself out of the tub. His internal clock told him it had been almost two hours—in an Earth bathroom, the water would be cold long before now, but the TARDIS was always watching out for them. Grabbing a towel, he dried off and changed into a long-sleeved T-shirt and sweatpants. Rose giggled at the sight he made as he opened the door and let her into the bathroom.
"What happened to you?"
"Simple answer: I am getting too old for this."
"You'll never be too old for this," she interrupted with a grin.
"I'm going to bed." the Doctor said.