When Rose first wakes up, she doesn't open her eyes. She keeps them closed and lets herself be lulled gently into wakefulness by the sounds of morning. Back in London, she'd woken up to alarm clocks and the sound of cars and a city bustling angrily about, urgent and grumpy.
Now it was the gentle hum of the TARDIS, the rustle of sheets over bare skin, deep even breaths and heartbeats – three. Two at her front, one behind.
She feels them as much as she hears them, but her awareness of the sound comes first, strong and steady. If she listens hard enough, she can hear her own as well.
Four hearts between three people. It seemed wildly improbable, but somehow just right.
-----
Rose's voice is always slurred when she first wakes up. She burrows deeper into the Doctor's chest and says something that's barely English. This early in the day she hasn't quite grasped the intricacies of consonants.
The Doctor's voice is perfectly clear, though perhaps quieter than normal, because Rose smacks him if he speaks too loudly, and laced with amusement as his stupid apes' inability to wake up.
Jack yawns and stretches like a cat against Rose's back, before blinking blearily at the Doctor, with hair mussed by sleep and other things, and a half-awake smile that has set many hearts a-flutter.
"Morning," he says, and his voice is husky and thick with sleep.
"Morning," murmurs the Doctor cheerfully. Rose mumbles something against the Doctor's chest, but her hand quests behind her to pat Jack's arm. The moment is warm, loving, almost domestic, though the Doctor hates to admit it, though perhaps not in the conventional way, which is almost as good a consolation as being able to wake up like this every day.
-----
Rose is a little more sluggish than usual this morning, and Jack picks up on it with a certain degree of smugness.
"Little too much to drink last night?" He asks with a wickedly innocent expression as Rose slumps over her cornflakes. She shoots him a sleepy death glare.
"You had more to drink than me," she protests through a yawn. "How're you not dead?"
"Told you, micro - "
"Oh sod your micro-organisms," Rose mutters, pushing her cornflakes away in distaste.
"You're both lightweights," the Doctor says cheerfully, spreading far too much jam on his toast. "I out-drank you both by miles."
"I was fine," Jack says, although he doesn't look too convinced.
"Like hell you were," the Doctor waves his knife at him and jam hits the table with a 'splat' that makes Rose grimace. "After Rose started drooling on me - "
"Oi!" Rose huffs, but too tired to be properly offended.
"- I tried to round you up so we could head back and d'you know where I found you?"
"In bed with an extremely good-looking partner?" Jack suggests.
"You were charming the pants off a fern," the Doctor tells him with a grin. "I know you're omnisexual, but don't you think pot plants is taking it a little too far?"
"That Mogen wine must be good," Jack says, looking impressed. "I haven't flirted with greenery since I joined the Time Agency."
"Bloody micro-organisms," Rose mutters.
"No greenery at all?"
"Sorry," Jack corrects himself. "No non-sentient plant life."
"That's better," the Doctor grins at him. "Because you've flirted with plenty of green people." He glances at Rose, who's looking somewhat green around the gills. "Like Rose."
"She's probably look less green if you didn't keep waving that toast under her nose," Jack points out dryly.
"Oh God. Toast," Rose groans and slumps forwards so her head is resting on the table.
"Toast," The Doctor agrees with a chuckle, patting Rose on the head and crunching into his toast cheerfully.
