Rose was having a fitful sleep again. Her dreams were filled with images she didn't understand, places and people she'd never seen. The only thing she did recognise was an overwhelming sense of loss, sadness, depression.

Every night had been the same; a war had raged in her night and it ended the same - in devastation.

Tonight she woke up in a sweat, calling out a name. Person, place, she didn't know.

Silently she moved along the corridors, mentally ticking off the landmarks as she passed them. She was getting better at navigating the ship now, although she suspected that the "old girl" had a hand in that.

When she reached his room, she stopped. Inside she could hear his breathing, deep and fast. Concerned, she moved closer, pressing her ear against the door to listen.

It swung open at her touch.

As Rose fell into the room, she muttered a curse under her breath, directing it at the ship. (She'd definitely had something to do with that.) Before she could move, The Doctor sat bolt upright in his bed, calling out that same name that she had. It took a moment for his panic to subside and then he noticed the girl sitting on his bedroom floor.

"What's Gallifrey?" Rose asked.

"What?"

"You called it out."

"It's nothing," he said.

"I called it out too."

He looked at her as if he didn't believe what she'd said.

"I think I've been having the same dreams as you," she continued.

"Impossible."

"Is it? You said that the TARDIS got inside my head. She's in yours too. What's to stop her...?"

"She wouldn't do that," he snapped.

"You sure about that?"

"I think I know my own ship."

For a moment, she said nothing. Then in a quiet voice she started to describe his dream. Her dream. The images she'd seen. The fighting, the devastation. The Doctor listened in defeated silence.

"I've been sharing your dreams," she said. "Why?"

"I don't know."

"Doctor..."

"I don't know!" he snapped.

For the first time Rose realised that he was in bed. His bed. The covers were pooled around his waist where they'd fallen off his - oh my God - naked chest.

And he looked terrified.

Rose got up off the floor and walked over to him. She climbed up onto the bed, and sat crossed legged on the end.

"The TARDIS is in our heads," she said quietly. "I think she's worried about you."

"I'm fine."

"Your entire world was destroyed. Your people are dead. The last of your kind and you're telling me you're fine?"

"Rose..."

"I've seen your nightmares. You saw it for real. I'm no counsellor but I'm a pretty good listener."

"I don't want to... You don't need to hear it."

"Do you see me moving? I want to know."

"No, you don't."

"I've already seen it. I want to understand it. And you need to talk about it."

"I've managed until now."

"Well, now you have someone to talk to," she replied.

"I didn't ask you to come with me so you could..."

"Help a friend?" she interrupted.

Reaching out she put a hand over his.

"Tell me," she said. "Talk to me."

"So you can stop your nightmares?" he asked.

"No," she replied. "Yours."

So he talked. He didn't go into great amounts of detail to begin with, she didn't ask. It was like her mother telling her stories about her dad; every time there was something new. She'd let him talk as much or as little as he wanted. She knew the TARDIS would let her know when he needed her, and she'd go to his room. They'd talk about anything, everything until they were too tired to continue.

As the nightmares grew less frequent and graphic they found new comfort and closeness in the other. The times he woke up to find her still asleep beside him, her hair splayed all over the pillow, he knew there was another connection there.

One not created by the ship.