Disclaimer: If I owned Doctor Who, I wouldn't have to take out student loans, now would I?

AN: I feel bad for finishing this over on LJ, but never finding the time to update here. So...I'm doing a mass post that may well get me in trouble. Sorry, all. Feel free to yell at me in reviews.


The carriage was a small, rickety affair, though it was the best available. Rose was unsurprised to find herself longing for the comfort of the TARDIS. Jack rode with his back to the driver, travelling through the world backwards. Rose tried to ignore the smile that played around his eyes. She tried even harder to ignore the man next to her.

He sat across from Jack, but his lanky frame wasn't designed for such cramped quarters, and didn't seem inclined to even try to fit. He rested his feet on the empty cushion across from Rose so that her legs were pressed up against his. She felt as though she was caged by a predator. She didn't hate it as much as she should. They couldn't sit with her across from Jack when he was in the carriage because he kept trying to play footsies, and the Doctor soon got fed up.

After a couple of hours, when they were watering the horses, Jack decided to ride up front with the driver, a shriveled, probably diseased old man. Rose had the idea that the Doctor had requested the least attractive driver they had available. At any rate, Rose suspected that not even Jack would try anything with this one. Still, Jack got bored and wandered up to the front. That's what he claimed, anyway. He sent the Doctor a playful wink when he closed the door behind Rose which made her doubt his motives.

In some way, being alone in the carriage with the Doctor was easier. For instance, he put his feet up where Jack had been sitting, so she no longer felt so trapped. With him gone, Jack's knowing smile wasn't goading Rose to action, and she wasn't quite as trapped. But without Jack, there was no one to alleviate the tension, to break the silence.

Rose sat next to the Doctor in the small vehicle with her eyes fixed firmly out the small window. When she had looked at the Doctor, his expression was closed, unreadable. She had never felt so distant from him.

Longing to bridge the gap, terrified of what might happen if she did, and even more terrified of what might happen if she didn't, Rose slipped her hand into his. Beside her, the Doctor's whole posture relaxed. He squeezed her hand a little and even gave her a small smile. The rest of the day passed in much more comfort, emotionally, at least; the carriage was still "frightfully distressing" as she'd heard on of the nuns say of her travel arrangements. Though that woman had meant that she was to travel alone with two men, the self-righteous cow.

Since a lady was in the carriage, contemporary social mores and the driver insisted they stop at an inn for the night. Even though a nightly stop would add days onto their journey, Rose couldn't help but be relieved to get out of the carriage. The jolting and rattling made every joint and muscle sore. It was like being in an old, wooden rollercoaster for hours.

Leaning on the Doctor more than usual, Rose made her way into the inn, stiffly. It wasn't allowed for any woman to stay in a room alone. So, the Doctor, being her "guardian", arranged for her to stay in a room with him. Jack was across the hall, since the innkeeper didn't like the look of Jack, and made it very clear that he thought Rose ought to be protected from such a one. Rose had never heard the word "blackguard" actually be used before.

Now, Rose sighed at the image of herself in the cloudy mirror. The white linen shift was just loose enough to be comfortable; it was also just tight enough to cling to her curves. She shook her head; focusing on it would hardly help matters.

Squaring her shoulders slightly, Rose turned away from the mirror and faced the room that seemed dominated by the Doctor's presence. He sat, motionless and silent, on the foot of the bed, staring at his hands.

The moral code of this place and time dictated that the Doctor should sleep across the threshold of the room to block any intruder. The title "guardian" seemed to be literal here.

A small part of her told Rose that maybe it would be the wisest way to do this, the safest way. Her heart, however, would have none of it. He shouldn't be forced to sleep on the floor. After everything the Doctor had done for her, what he had come to mean to her, Rose couldn't bring herself to want to ask it of him.

And no, none of her longed to take this one night in bed with him and store it as the only moment of such intimacy that would be afforded her. That part of her knew that it would take two weeks for them to reach Paris and that she was bound to be able to steal a few more nights like this. There was a twinge from her conscience for anticipating more nights like this, storing them to fuel her sordid and ultimately futile fantasies.

The Doctor continued to sit, tense, looking at his hands as though they held the secrets of the universe, or at least what few secrets still remained hidden from him. Cautiously, Rose sat next to him. He froze, a feat Rose hadn't believed possible as he was already so still, but it seemed as though he stopped breathing, as though his hearts pounded to a halt. The Doctor was stretched as taut as a tightrope, as though only this tension was preventing a death.

Forcing a smirk, Rose gave the Doctor a carefully casual once over. "You gonna kip in this get up, then?" she teased.

A long, silent sigh drained the stress from the Doctor, and he faked affront, his eyes sparkling. "What's wrong with it?" he demanded, as though insulted.

"Just never seen anyone sleep in jeans before that wasn't drunk off their arse," Rose informed him with her tongue peeking out.

The Doctor made a soft sound that suspiciously resembled a growl. "Maybe I am drunk on something," he murmured, his voice dark, his eyes darker.

Rose blinked. When had he gotten so close? She could feel all the blood rushing to her face.

"Rose," the Doctor said, turning her name into a whimper, a plea, a prayer. Just like that, all the blood was fleeing her face to clause a flood somewhere else.

"Yes, Doctor." It wasn't a question; it was an assurance, and invitation. Hell, who was she kidding? It was a demand.

A demand which went unanswered as the Doctor quickly stepped back behind the unspoken line which they had drawn without thinking. It was this line which made Rose's number one Christmas wish be for the universe's largest bottle of White-Out. As quickly as his nearness had appeared, it vanished, and Rose felt as though her hopes went with it.

"It's getting late. You need to rest," he told her. His manner was almost short. Rose blinked up at him as he stood and shed his jacket. It wasn't the first time that Rose had seen the Doctor in just his jumper, but it was about as close as he seemed to come to being naked, and the glimpse of his lean muscles through just a thin, well-fitted layer of wool was enough to inspire distraction. Rose had been known to wonder if he wore the jacket so that people wouldn't ogle his frame, or if people were more prone to stare because it was such a scarce sight. Given the reaction he got even from people who didn't know how rare was the treat they were witnessing, Rose knew it was likely the former.

The Doctor looked down at her and his eyes softened like warm wax. There was a sweetness to his small smile that never failed to warm Rose's heart and invoked an identical smile from her.

"C'mon," he urged gently. Rose became aware that she hadn't yet moved. The Doctor pulled down the covers and patted the pillows invitingly. "Bed for you." The affectionate caretaker manner that he had adopted was something that Rose was unfamiliar with. Not only was it an aspect of the Doctor that she had never suspected, but even her mother almost never displayed it.

Obediently, Rose crawled up the bed and curled into a pillow. The Doctor lay down beside her, several inches of cold, empty space between them, and drew up the blankets over them both. Finally, he blew out the candle.

Turning to face him, Rose reveled in the softness of the mattress after the uncomfortable carriage and weeks of the thin pad they called a mattress in the maiden's quarters of the Vatican.

This feels like heaven," she murmured to the Doctor. In the pale moonlight, she could see his eyes lighten. "I mean, I know this mattress isn't as good as the one at home." The spark in his eyes dimmed. Rose continued, hoping that he would understand what she meant in a moment. "It's not even as good as the mattress at Mum's," the spark flared back to life, "but after that ride, anything is good."

With his eyes practically glowing (and who knew, maybe his could), the Doctor pulled Rose close. "The TARDIS is your home?" he asked, huskily.

Rose nodded against his chest. She hadn't the courage to say, "For as long as it is yours, it's mine," but even admitting as little as she did was enough for the Doctor to cradle her in his arms as if he knew she belonged there. The steady, syncopated beats of his hearts echoed louder in her ears than normal. Rose reminded herself that it was probably because he wasn't wearing his jacket that it sounded like they were pounding.

Without her permission, Rose's arm snaked up to wrap around his torso, anchoring him to her. A light pressure on the crown of her head warmed her through in a way that a simple touch of his lips to her head shouldn't have caused. Rose snuggled in closer, fairly certain he wouldn't reject her just yet. In doing so, she nuzzled the tiny peek of his chest that was revealed by his jumper. She thought she felt his breath catch, but put it down to the fantasies of her drowsy mind.

As safe and as comfortable as it was possible for her to be, Rose slipped into sleep.

*

The next two weeks seemed to pass as slowly as if every football match Mickey had made her watch had been strung together, end on end. Rose was also pretty sure that she had permanent kidney damage from this one, persistent spring, that had it in for her. Rose wasn't surprised when the Doctor's slightly psychic paper got them the most comfortable lodging possible at the Tuileries Palace, Napoleon's home when he wasn't off at battle.

They arrived as dusk was overcome by night. The porter quickly directed them to a trio of rooms at the end of a quiet corridor. As dinner had already been finished, they were offered a light supper to be brought to their rooms. The emperor had already retired, so they would be presented in the morning. And, the porter offered with only the slightest condescension, appropriate attire would be made available. Rose beamed at the sprightly little man. The Doctor glowered.

And, just like that, the three were separated.

Rose hadn't finished drinking in the opulence when a maid curtseyed her way in, bearing a laden tray. Just as quickly, the girl was gone.

Rose hadn't felt solitude so keenly in years. It wasn't uncommon for her to become separated from the Doctor during their travels, but she'd allowed herself to become too accustomed to his presence every night. She felt isolated from him, and, as ever, she didn't like the feeling. Nevertheless, it was a sort of relief to not be drowning in tension.

She stared at a wall, lousy with gilding that divided his room from hers. With a mental shake, Rose picked up an apple from the tray and took a bite, chewing thoughtfully while unbuttoning her dress.

Almost as soon as she'd pulled her nightgown over her head and let it fall so that its hem swept her ankles, a golden panel on the wall she'd been examining swung inwards. The Doctor strode in, beaming like one of the Lost Boys stumbling upon the sleeping quarters of a very drunk Captain Hook.

"Secret passage," he declared unnecessarily. Rose flushed to her roots. If he'd been ten seconds earlier…She banished that line of thought.

"How'd you find it?" she asked, her natural curiosity saving her from blurting out how very close he'd come to being flashed.

"Quite by accident," he said, but refused to elaborate further.

"Well, that's brilliant, Doctor, but I was just about to head to bed," Rose said, suddenly frustrated with him. How could he do this to her and be so oblivious? She needed to think, and he wouldn't give her any space. She was ready to explode.

The Doctor had the grace to look flustered by her statement. "Ah," he stated eloquently.

"Yeah, so if you don't mind," Rose continued leadingly when he just stood there, staring at her.

"Thing is," he began awkwardly, "the moon shines full in my face in my room."

Rose had the corner suite, with large windows facing to the North. The Doctor, whose room was just South of hers, only had windows on the East. It would be perfect for watching the sun rise, but apparently it wasn't conducive to sleep.

It was Rose's turn to be flustered She tried and failed to keep her eyes away from her own bed. At last she gave in. Glancing guiltily up at him, Rose forced the words out. "You could sleep in here," she mumbled.

The Doctor looked both dumbstruck and hopeful. "You wouldn't mind?" he asked softly. Rose shook her head, once again not trusting her voice not to betray her. The Doctor's face split into a grin. He shed his jacket and, like every night on this trip so far, turned down the covers.

Rose thought that the past two weeks had been tense, but lying next to the Doctor, Rose realized that she'd been the most stressed at the thought of a night without him. And, even if it was the last time, Rose couldn't help but feel contentment as she fell asleep, secure in his presence.