Alan had been right. The blindfold did heighten the senses. Every sound made the Doctor flinch. Every blow was felt more acutely. And there was fear. Fear of the next strike. Fear from not knowing when he was going to be hit or where on his body the pain would stab and spread. He was in the dark, straining his ears to make up for his lost eyesight, his skin tingling as he awaited the damage to his body.

The first few blows had been bearable. He was the Doctor, the Oncoming Storm, he had saved the universe ten times over. He clenched his teeth and made no sound as the fists and the heavy boots pounded against his flesh and bones. Alan was in there with him. Alan, kicking him. At least, he thought it was Alan. He prayed that Paul was standing outside the cell watching instead of punishing Rose. He hoped that this was entertainment enough for that vile man.

And that's what it was, or so he convinced himself. Punishment. This was what he deserved. Rose had been right, he was responsible for too many deaths and too many unhealed wounds. He knew she hadn't meant it, that she had said it in anger, but there it was, nagging, itching through his mind, polluting his thoughts. He took a masochistic satisfaction in being punished. In a way, he had been waiting for this. So many regrets, so many who no doubt craved this chance to hurt him. Wasn't this for the best? Wasn't it right, that he feel some of that pain? Emotional pain had been with him for too long; now it was time for it to manifest itself through injury.

But it hurt like hell.

Alan's boot slammed into him again. And again. It struck his back, his ribs. He didn't cry out, but the pain was beginning to be too much and his jaw ached with the effort of remaining silent. By this point he was on the ground, curled up in a futile attempt to protect his aching body. Tears leaked from his eyes, hidden by the blindfold. His flesh stung and throbbed all over.

He could hear Rose yelling, shouting at them to stop, that that was enough. Somehow, her voice sounded so far away…. She was begging them, her voice breaking with emotion…. He almost smiled at that: Rose Tyler, trying so hard to protect him from within her own prison. Even if it meant that they would turn on her. She really was terribly brave. As Alan dragged him upright to deliver a punch to his solar plexus and the air was driven from his lungs, leaving him gasping on his hands and knees, he thought of Rose and how they had met. How lucky he had been to find her. How he had needed her but hadn't realised it until later. There were so many things that it had taken him such a very long time to understand….

The blows had stopped. Still struggling to breathe, he listened for a rustle of clothing, anything, to indicate a continuation of the torture. Nothing. Nothing but a jangle of keys and the click of a lock. The blindfold was ripped from his face, and he flinched. Slowly, his chest heaving, he dared to look up at his tormenter.

"Oh, well, that wasn't so bad," he said.

Alan pulled at his beard. "Paul?" he said, smirking.

Paul stepped up to stand behind his partner. "He hasn't learned. Another day," he drawled.

Alan shook out his hands and cracked his knuckles. "God, 'm dyin' for a fag," he said. He withdrew a cigarette from his pocket and, after some fumbling, a lighter. He lit the cigarette and drew a breath, blowing a stream of smoke into the Doctor's face. The Doctor turned his head, disgusted. Out of the corner of his eye he caught a glimpse of Rose, clutching at the bars of her cell and looking deadly.

"Are you finished?" he said. "Thing is, I'd quite like to sit on that bed over there."

Alan looked at Paul, who shrugged. "Put him in with the girl," Paul said. Alan motioned for the Doctor to walk ahead of him and, upon reaching the door of the larger cell, thrust him within and locked the door behind him.

"No chance of a meal, I suppose?" the Doctor asked hopefully, watching the two men leave.

"Nighty night!" Alan said in response, and the door slammed behind them. The instant they were out of sight, Rose rushed to his side and led him by the arm to the bed, feeling an uncomfortable sense of déjà vu from having done the same action earlier. He followed her shakily, feeling awful. Every inch of his body hurt. His head pounded. He felt the bruises every time he took a breath. He sat down and slumped onto his side, curling up on the bed. Rose knelt in front of him.

"Tell me you're all right," she said, her eyes wide.

"You're not looking for honesty, are you?" he said, his eyes closed. He felt a hand on his and opened his eyes. Rose looked positively petrified. "I'm fine," he said, managing a smile.

Some of the tension left her body, but her face still showed deep concern. It pained him to see her like this. He repositioned his hand and slid his fingers through hers. "I'm fine," he repeated. "Just sore."

"He didn't break anything, did he?"

"No. Just bruises and swelling."

"Is there anythin' I can do?"

"An ice pack would be nice," he muttered.

"I haven't got one of those."

"Kiss to make it all better?"

Rose laughed. "Did they say that on Gallifrey as well, or have you just picked it up on Earth?"

He smiled. "Just Earth."

"I don't know if I have the magic touch, but I can give it a go."

He pointed to his thigh. "Can I have one for my leg?"

She looked at it, brushed some dirt off his trousers, and, laughing, planted a kiss where he had indicated. "Amazing!" the Doctor crowed. "Works a charm. The magic kiss makes it all better."

"Anywhere else?"

"Shoulder."

"Which one?"

"Left." She kissed that as well. "No, up a bit." She kissed it again. "Ahh, perfect."

"All right, Mister, I'm running out of magic kisses so you're going to have to make them count."

He hesitated, looked her in the eyes, and looked away. "My ribs," he said.

"May I?" He glanced down and nodded. With delicate fingers Rose lifted his coat and the shirt beneath it to examine the damage.

She sucked in a breath. "It's already purple," she said. She prodded the swollen area lightly with one finger.

"Ouch."

"Sorry." He felt her hot breath on his ribs and the softness of her full lips pressed against his skin. He shuddered.

"Did I hurt you?" she asked anxiously. He shook his head mutely, his eyes fixated on the far wall. She brushed his swollen ribs gently with her fingers, and for a moment he allowed himself to think that he could endure this pain forever, if only she wouldn't stop. But to admit it…he couldn't. At that moment he was glad he was lying on his side and not on his back.

The fingers moved away, and a horrible emptiness swiftly overcame him. Horrible. It was horrible. He swallowed and blinked back a strange, sharp tingling in his eyes. "Don't," he said in a small voice.

"Doctor?"

It was too much. He couldn't look at her. He didn't want to say it but he couldn't not say it, not with this horrible, lonely emptiness. It was all so dark and painful and then there she was, his Rose Tyler, so brave and kind and gentle. "Don't stop," he choked.

His shoulders shook, and before he could stop them the tears were falling, trailing down his nose and over his cheek to fall on that unyielding mattress. He sensed Rose's alarm, though he still couldn't bring himself to look at her. She brought her fingers hesitantly to his cheek and rested them there. He could feel them trembling slightly. Barely there, like butterflies against his skin. They moved across his cheeks and under his closed eyes, brushing away the tears. He shuddered again and gulped air, swallowed sobs wracking his aching body.

"Doctor, I'm sorry. I'm sorry, Doctor, I'm so sorry," Rose's voice said, thick with emotion. His tears frightened her, he could tell. He had never been like this before. He shook his head, his lips trembling and catching a tear. "Is it the pain?" she asked. Again, he shook his head. "What is it? Tell me what's wrong."

He took a deep, shuddering breath and tried to speak, opening and closing his mouth before finally managing, "I'm—I'm—I'm l-l-l-lonely."

"Oh, no. No, Doctor," she said, her voice hushed. "No, no." She brushed his hair back with her fingers, caressing, her fingers slowly running through his hair again and again. "It's okay. I'm here. I'm not gonna leave you." She ran a fingertip over the tip of his ear, ran her fingers down his neck. He sniffed and tried to bring himself under control. "Come on. Okay. Take deep breaths. That's it."

She kissed his forehead. His hand. Rubbed what she could reach of his back. He cried out at the pressure on the mass of bruises that was his back, and she quickly withdrew her hand.

"Doctor," she said quietly. "Can you sit up?" He wiped his face with one large hand and pushed himself upright with the other.

"I'm going to take a look at your back." She unbuttoned his jacket and he pulled his shirt from where it was tucked into his trousers. He turned his back towards her and she carefully lifted the two layers. He heard her breath catch.

"I don't think I have enough magic kisses for this," she said quietly.

"You could always give it a go anyway."

Rose pressed her hand to her lips and trailed the hand over the surface of his back as gently as she possibly could. "There are a few cuts," she said. "The skin broke when he kicked you."

"Not still bleeding, are they?"

"No. The blood's all dried. Looks a mess, though. I wish we had something I could clean you up with."

"It's fine." He sniffed and used a sleeve to wipe his nose.

"Let me see the rest of it," she said.

"You saw it all happen."

"Just let me see."

"I'd rather you didn't," he said firmly. She dropped her hands. "Okay," she said. She tugged his shirt back down, sat on the bed beside him, and took his hand. He looked down at their hands entwined, then at her.

"You should never feel alone," she said seriously.

"My planet's gone," he said.

"Yeah. But I'm still here. Right next to you. And I always will be."

"Always?"

"Always. If that's all right."

"I wouldn't have it any other way."

They sat together, neither moving. They didn't need to speak—there was nothing to say. The Doctor stared at the smaller cage and thought. Why were they here? What did these men want with them? Who was behind all this? He found it hard to believe that Paul and Alan had the knowledge or wits to have planned this all. Had they been hired by someone? Men like these, cruel men, were easy to bribe. They would do anything for pay. The real question was that regarding their purpose. Thus far, they had asked no questions. They had made no demands. There didn't seem to be a point behind the torture, other than sick pleasure. He was the baited bear. Tuppence to see the bear dance, sirs?

Or perhaps this was just a lead-in to the interrogation that was to come. They had said that they would teach him to obey. The question was, what orders would he be obeying? And maybe it was for the best that he obey. Pretend to break. Beg them to stop. Not for his sake, but for Rose's and Jackie's. If the sport wasn't entertaining enough for their captors, surely they would turn to a new form of entertainment. His stomach twisted at the thought. There were few things he feared as much as that. If they hurt his family—because that's what Rose and Jackie were now, his family, whether he wanted one or not—he honestly didn't know for sure how he would handle that. He felt that he ought never to expose to himself that threatened, protective part of his personality. Moments of pure rage could turn a person into an animal. A murderer, even. That's not who he wanted to be. Gallifrey and the Time War had taught him that.

One thing was certain. The torture was not over. Paul had said that there would be another day, and that could only mean another day of "lessons." And the second day would be worse than the first. Already bruised skin would split. If he showed no signs of breaking, the torment would become more creative. It might not be a matter of him pretending to break at all; the pain might become too much. And Rose, poor Rose, having to watch as the men had intended. The cage in the centre of the room, a stage with an audience. She would see every blow, hear them pounding against his body, maybe hear him scream…. He had only ever wanted to be strong for her. For himself, but also for her. And he was strong. He had done so many things, not always without fear but without backing down. He had done what was right. Even when it meant destroying his planet and his people, he had done what was right. He had always been strong, hadn't he?

The Doctor debated whether or not to prepare Rose for what was to come. But she knew. She must know. He wondered if he ought to tell her that he was considering faking cries and pleas, to keep them safe…. Then, even if the cries were real, she could be less afraid. She could feel safer. She didn't have to know whether they were real or not….

He began to wonder if his thought process was even making sense. Maybe it didn't matter. Maybe it was all pointless.

"Do you want to sleep?" he said.

"I wonder what time it is…."

"About ten thirty-one." She raised her eyebrows. "Time Lord," he reminded her.

"Nothing else to do in here. Guess we might as well," Rose said. "Unless you want to talk?" She looked at him worriedly, and he knew that she was still thinking of his earlier emotional breakdown.

"No. Let's just sleep." He slid off the bed and sat himself on the floor.

"What are you doing?"

"Giving you the bed," he said, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world.

"No, you're not. You're taking the bed."

"Rose, just go to sleep."

"But—"

"Go to sleep."

"You do realise you were tortured earlier, don't you?" she said somewhat angrily.

"Just a bar fight, nothing more. Go to sleep."

"A blindfolded, one-sided bar fight in a cage?"

"Rose, don't do this," he told her.

"If you're sleeping on the ground, then so am I."

"Rose, come on."

She pressed her lips together and joined him on the floor. "G'night, Doctor," she said, lying down and curling up in fetal position with her back to him.

"Don't."

"Too late," she said, her voice muffled. "We can't both fit on the bed, and you're too busy bein' a gentleman to use common sense."

"The ground is colder than the bed. It'll leech your body heat."

"Yeah, well, it'll leech yours too."

"I'm a Time Lord; I have superior biology."

"Yeah, yeah."

"All right, you know what? I will only get on the bed if you get on it with me."

She whipped her head around to stare at him. "What?"

"Not like that," he said quickly. "On our sides. Nothing like that. It'll be—close, you know, but…."

"What, you mean like chaste spooning?"

"If you won't take the bed…. Look, I just want you to be comfortable."

"Sure you do," she said, a grin spreading across her face.

"Rose, I'm being serious."

"Serious spooning," she said, the grin widening.

"Okay, fine. We'll sleep on the ground. Both of us. Making no sense whatsoever. If that's what you want."

"That's not what I want," she said, "I want you to take the bed."

"Does this really have to be so difficult?"

"I think it's easier facin' down monsters than talking you into sleepin' on that bed."

"Right. Here we go." He stood, bent down, and scooped Rose up in his arms. She squealed and laughed as he carried her to the bed and plopped her onto it. He turned to settle himself on the ground again, but her hand grabbed his coat and she tugged, hard. He lost his balance and fell against her on the bed, where she almost succeeded in catching him.

"You sure?" he said. "This isn't weird for you?"

"No." She wrapped her arms around him and scooted against the wall. "It's not weird for me. Is it weird for you?"

He faltered. "Nah," he said.

They fell asleep pressed against each other, Rose with her arms around his chest, her head buried in his shoulder. His body still ached, but he thought it didn't matter if he could stay like this. The loneliness had subsided. He felt peace.

Author's Note: More whump to come. Sorry. (I'm not, shh.)