The next morning Rose went directly to the kitchen to make coffee. She'd slept poorly again—no surprise, really—and needed the caffeine. She felt cold, too, as if snow still clung to her clothes; she welcomed the beverage's warmth. She was drinking her second cup when the Doctor joined her.

"Save some for me?" he asked.

She nodded. "Should be at least two cups left."

He poured one then sat down across from her. He regarded her with sharp eyes. "You look tired, Rose."

"Just need a bit more coffee."

"You've already had two cups. Didn't you sleep well?"

"Not too bad," she replied rather obliquely.

He set his cup on the table. "I thought you were gonna tell me if you couldn't sleep."

"I slept," she said then admitted, "just maybe not as much as I'd like."

"You need a good night's sleep, Rose—seven or eight solid hours. Let me give you something—"

"I'm fine. Really."

He eyed her dubiously but returned to his coffee without further discussion.

The Doctor had some maintenance to complete, so they spent the day on the ship. Rose didn't mine; she wasn't really in the mood for an adventure anyway. She tried to remain chipper, chatting with him as she handed him tools, but she could feel the unshed sobs that tightened her chest and burned behind her eyes.

When she dropped a laser spanner and it clattered noisily to the floor, she fell to her knees to reach for it, silently berating herself for the clumsiness. Tears prickled in her eyes, and her hand shook as she grasped the tool.

She looked up to find the Doctor watching her intently. "Rose? Something wrong?" he asked with obvious concern.

She shook her head. "No, jus' bein' stupid, I s'pose. Sorry, didn't mean to drop it—" A sob threatened to escape her. Of all the stupid, pointless things to cry about…

He scooted forward across the floor to sit before her, taking the implement from her trembling hand. "Hey," he said, "tell me what's goin' on."

"Nothin'."

"Nope, not buyin' that. There's obviously somethin' goin' on." His hand wrapped around hers. "Tell me, Rose."

She swallowed, her chest and throat constricting even more. "Really, it's nothin'. An' that's… that's the problem, yeah? Because I don't think I feel what I should, the sadness, the tears." She sniffed.

"You haven't cried?" he asked, his eyes widening slightly in surprise.

"No." She inhaled shakily, feeling every suppressed sob and tear clawing to escape. But she couldn't; she wouldn't do that in front of him.

He gathered her into his arms. "It's all right. You need to let it go."

"It hurts," she said, rubbing a hand over her chest.

"I know, and it will. But it'll get better once you let it out."

"Can't," she whispered huskily.

"Yes, you can."

His tone was so tender, and the hand that brushed over her hair so gentle, and she felt the poignancy like a knife twisting just beside her heart. Tears flooded her eyes, and the first rasping sob tore from her chest. And then the dam burst and Rose cried in the Doctor's arms for a long, long time.

He sat quietly, murmuring occasional soft words that she couldn't understand and realized she probably wasn't meant to. His large hand cradled her head, and his arm remained securely around her, and he didn't seem to mind the tears dripping down the leather of his damned beloved tatty old wonderful jacket.

Finally her sobs subsided to sniffles. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and held it to her nose. She blew, feeling like a small child but grateful for the gesture and the stoic look upon his face as he wiped the mess from her nose.

"Better?" he finally asked. He rested his hand against her damp cheek, his thumb brushing gently beneath her eye.

"Yeah," she croaked. She felt utterly drained, empty, yet somehow clean. And he hadn't chided her or thought less of her because of it.

But now he was frowning down at her with that look that meant he was dissatisfied or angry or upset. She should have kept her silly, stupid, useless human emotions to herself.

To be continued…