Stunned into silence, the tears just keep streaming as her head returns to the crook of his neck. "And, Rosie? I think we had better get you to the med bay, but don't you worry, we have one of the best doctors in the universe." The Doctor nearly cracks a smile, and only hears her muffled murmur in agreement, but he can feel the smile across her face. His voice is thick, stuffed full of emotion. He folds the towel over her arm and applies pressure to the oozing cuts, willing the blood to stay in her body and a sharp hiss escapes the small woman. "But Rose?"

"Yes?"

"We are going to have to discuss this, you know."

A deep, tired sigh leaves her lips, and as she pulls back to look up at him her eyes appear ancient, as if she could be the time lord in the room. "Yes, Doctor, I know." Her grimace distorts her face as they stand as one, the doctor not letting go of her arm.

It's like this that they slowly make their journey to the med bay, he only lets go of her once she's safely seated on the raised table, moving towards his cabinet of instruments and trusting her to keep hold of the tie-dyed towel. Taking out bandages, wipes and disinfectant, he quickly moves to work on her arm. They sit in silence, the doctor deeply focused on his task whilst trying not to think about the reason for each groove carved into her skin. Deeper ones near her elbow gnaw at the sides of his hearts, which hold the heavy weight of fresh sorrow resting in them.

Rose stares blankly over the doctor's shoulder, trying to pretend she was nearly anywhere else. She never intended for anyone to find out.

"Doctor?" Small voice echoing through the room, reflecting off the walls, but making the girl feel smaller, not louder.

Liquid chocolate eyes flick up away from the job of clearing away the dried blood. If she looked closely enough, she might see the redness of her arm in them much like a mirror, but she can't bear to examine that deeply before her eyes find her lap. The eyes search her face, pausing for a moment before their owner answers the blonde girl.

"Yes?"

"How did you know?" The 'what' part of that question needn't be asked, the red elephant in the room spoke for itself. The last of the timelords had quite the knack for both softening and firming his expression at once - as if part of him was fighting to be open, honest with those he loved, but part of him was scared of revealing too much.

"I didn't know, really. Just a small hunch and good luck, I suppose," eyes moving away again, fingers work around her arm, affixing bandages to still bleeding wounds.

Her lips purse as she breathes in deeply, a dizzy wind from the blood softening her vision. Laying back, her eyes flutter closed, she can't stop the memories of that evening before he found her.

- - Flashback - -

I hadn't realized that I was avoiding sleep until it overcame me, exhaustion filling me like the tide badgers a shoreface. Falling into the covers, I can no longer keep my eyes open.

I've never been one to have a dreamless sleep, but tonight was the worst in quite some time. Fragments, memories, impossible but terrible scenarios hit me. The fake ones, they don't worry me; it's the real ones – the ones of the doctor turning and running from the kitchen that knock the wind out of me.

My heart throbs from both the dream and the memories. Now awake, my feet are off the bed, racing in a half-asleep haze before my eyes even begin to pry open. My legs know where to take me, how to make me feel better. Tardis energy flits around me, like of a like a moth to a flame, seeking entrance, any cracked windows. I close up, I can't let her in now. I am not her problem, I am not the doctors' problem, I am only my own mess to deal with. Reflexively I find my metal – walking back and sitting down on the edge of the bed, carving like a chef at a fancy restaurant, trying to forget everything. No matter how bad it gets, I suppose it's fine. I can't die anyways. I can make as many cuts as I want – let it get as bad as I want it to, and this stupid, pathetic body will keep coming back for more.

I started the cutting as a way to forget, but it ended as a punishment – he never really wanted me, did he? I'm just nothing to him, that's why he really got scared. Worried that I got attached. I guess he realized I couldn't die off or leave after a while now.

It was about then that a swift knock rapt upon the door.

"Rose?" I'm being pulled back up, out of my thoughts and up off of the bed. Strong arms pull me in close. He towers above me especially while I sit, and his chin rests on my head. White gauze scratches up and down my arm, underneath it I can feel the sting of my new wounds protesting the cleansing treatment.

Retreating just enough from the hug to look up at him, he removes his chin and I search his face, his eyes for a sense of reassurance, kindness, but the sorrow overpowers his features. Barely a whisper is what I can manage in my next breath, "Doctor? I need – I need you to be honest with me. Do you want me to leave here?"

His expression morphs, from sorrow to a steely, determined one. His eyes focus intensely on mine as he speaks, "Rosie, you need to listen carefully now, okay? Even if you want to go, which if you do, that's fine – but even if you do, it's going to take a hell of a lot of convincing to try to stop me from following you wherever you might go."

"Do you promise, then? Promise me you won't run again?" a twinge in his face shows the bite of the words, like a slap. His larger hands enveloping hers, greeting them with a soft kiss from his lips, he whispers into them,

"On my life."