The Doctor had needed Martha's help to get to Rose's room. When he had stood up in Donna's room he had ascertained, really Martha had, that the short walk would tire him too much to actually make it into the room. All that hugging had wiped him out more than he'd realised. Hearing that one of his greatest wishes had come true probably hadn't helped things either. He leaned against the doorway to gather his strength and Martha asked if he'd like her to help him in.
The Doctor shook his head. "I can make it," he said stubbornly. He would make it. He didn't understand why but he knew he had to make it to her side under his own power. There was no reason for it, but it seemed that everything he'd heard since waking up was something that should have never happened.
One companion taking a stand for him was something he could understand. After all, they needed him to get around and, usually, needed him to keep them alive. Four companions, three of which were former ones, though…four lives he'd touched, ruined or made better depending on who you asked taking a suicidal last stand in a foolish attempt to rescue him was just that. It was something he'd do, or had done for any of them but to see the favour returned was both strange and humbling. As he slowly shuffled into the room, and heard Martha's footsteps receding into the distance, he replayed that image of the charge in his head.
Donna Noble had been out in front. Her red hair had been fanned out behind her, her gun had been raised in the air and she'd been screaming like a madwoman. Jack Harkness and Martha Jones had flanked her. Jack had had nothing but his fists and had been shouting something that appeared to be "bring it on!" with a devilish grin on his face as he'd punched his first attacker in the face hard enough to knock teeth out. The mere memory of Martha's roar was as vivid as though she had been standing right there; as was the image of her holding a shotgun like a spear and charging into the fray.
Rose Tyler had been beside Martha, tucked almost at the edge of his vision. The fury of the Bad Wolf was the only comparison that he could bring up as his mind's eye brought her cry to his ears and the sight of her leaping onto the nearest attacker like some avenging angel. It echoed Bad Wolf, to be sure, but had been all Rose Tyler. Rose Tyler had been ready to die for him.
They iall/i had been ready to die for him and two of them nearly had. He was thankful for the chair by the bed as he collapsed into it, a combination of his own weariness and the weight of that realisation. Then he looked at the woman on the bed.
At first glance she looked exactly the same, save for the fading bruises and gashes on her face and hands. It was almost as if Canary Wharf had never happened, as if the past two years had never happened. Then the image of the charge floated back to him and he got a proper look at her in his mind's eye. She was different. The way she held herself and the reflections in her eyes told him of her age. He didn't know how long it had been for her but it was definitely longer than it had been for him.
He stared at her hand. He was afraid of grabbing that hand and watching it fade into nothing. He was also afraid that if he touched her he'd never be able to stop. That he'd want to take her inside of himself, make her a part of him so that she'd never be ripped from him again.
Rose whispered something and the Doctor leaned forward. He'd barely heard it, he wouldn't have noticed had there been anything else even remotely interesting in the room, though he couldn't think of anything more interesting than Rose Tyler at this moment. He heard it again: it was his name. She wasn't awake, nearly there but not quite and she was thinking of him. Did she think of him as much as he thought of her?
He grabbed her hand now and squeezed it tight, just like the old days. "Right here," he whispered. His voice was thick and his eyes were stinging but he made no effort to hide it. "I'm right here, Rose."
Her eyes finally opened. The Doctor knew well enough that time could not stop, and that he would know it in his hearts and bones if it had, but the feeling that it had remained as his eyes locked with hers for the first time in far too long. A weak smile crossed Rose's face. It was barely a smile, a barely evident upward curve of one side of her mouth. Blink and you'd miss it. "Hello," she breathed. And it was a breath, little more than that. He'd never seen her like this, never seen her this fragile…
"Shhh," he found himself hushing, squeezing her hand again and resting his free hand on her forehead. "You should be resting or something…"
Rose's eyes fluttered shut and she sighed again. Her hand lightly squeezed his and her free hand slowly, painfully slowly, made its way toward his face. A tear escaped the Doctor's control as the warm fingers reached his cheek. She was here, she was actually here. This wasn't a dream; he wasn't going to wake up alone in the TARDIS. iShe was here./i
When the Doctor opened his eyes, he hadn't even realised they'd been shut, another tear escaped but it was nothing compared to the rivers coursing from Rose's eyes and down her pale cheeks. The image of her sobbing on that bloody beach came to him: he never wanted to see that look on her face again. Never wanted to see her cry again.
With the greatest care he released Rose's hand and moved his arms under her and, very gently, he pulled her up to him. She had to have been hurting but no reaction aside from a slight crinkling around her eyes was given. The Doctor felt a tug at his hearts each time it happened but all was, at long last, well with the universe when she was finally in his arms. He arms slowly snaked around him but she couldn't squeeze. Neither could he for that matter; he was too tired now. For the first time in years, everything felt right. Rose was not the same, but neither was he. They were changed, matured, broken, whatever way you wanted to look at it and it didn't matter either way. They were together and the universe would end before they were separated again. Rose lifted her head and they regarded each other sternly. An understanding then, the Doctor knew. The universe would end itwice/i before either of them allowed something like Canary Wharf to happen again.
"I love you." The words were sudden and a bit out of place but they were just as suddenly so easy to say. He didn't know what had held him back from telling this wonderful human how adored she was before now, but he vowed to never let it stop him again.
Rose opened her mouth but no sound came out. The Doctor found that he didn't need to hear the words to know that her feelings were unchanged. Her face told him more than any words could. That and he could read lips.
It was easier than the Doctor had ever imagined it, so easy to press his mouth to hers. The kiss was a chaste one, a simple matter of lips pressing lips and that was that. Like they didn't need to hug the daylights out of each other to show how much they'd missed one another, they didn't need to snog the breath out of each other to prove the depths of their feelings.
Rose was first to pull back and very slightly inclined her head toward the bed. The Doctor tried not to be disappointed as he gently laid her back down. He was reaching for the covers when her hand grasped his wrist and tugged. Her eyes were shut again but she mouthed "stay".
"You sure?" he whispered.
One eye cracked open and the Doctor decided that even a frail and exhausted Rose Tyler could still give a glare worthy of Jackie Tyler. He shifted Rose a little further to the edge of the bed and carefully climbed in after her. She snuggled right up to him and the Doctor wrapped his arms around her. They both sighed contentedly at the same moment and then Rose promptly left him for the Land of Nod.
With a kiss to her forehead and a mocking whisper of "I keep telling you not to wander off," the Doctor followed her lead.