Disclaimer: Of course I don't own anything in the Who or Torchwood universe - I only wish I did. Nothing belongs to me, everything belongs to the creators. I just like to play around in the universe. :)
A very special thank you to Liv16 for being the greatest beta I could ever have hoped to meet and work with, who is a constant source of help, suggestion, and inspiration, and without whom I would be lost. Also, many sincere thanks to The Plaid Slytherin, Figure in Black, and TV-a-holic, who helped me to make the most of my first DW fan fiction story.
Author's Note: Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoy. Reviews very welcome!
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"My grief lies all within, And these external manners of lament Are merely shadows to the unseen grief That swells with silence in the tortured soul" - William Shakespeare
...
Her first coherent thought was that it was very warm. A bit too warm for Rose's liking. Hot even, and she was sweaty. She didn't normally tuck herself under this many blankets.
Rose tried to pry her eyes open after blinking thickly a few times to clear her vision from the blur of sleepiness. Her eyelids felt heavy and dry, burning and irritated. Rose lifted a hand to her cheeks and winced as she felt how chapped they were. Rubbing her eyes with her fists after she pulled herself into a sitting position, she struggled with deciding whether to actually get up or not. Her eyes simply did not want to open, and she was positive that it was way too early for anyone human to be awake yet.
Peeling the weighted covers away from her clammy form, Rose squinted towards the room trying to decipher from the amount of light in the room exactly what time the TARDIS felt it was. Rose had never been a particular fan of the TARDIS "clocks", but it was something unique to the ship and Rose didn't feel it deserved an official compliant, simply because it was alien. However, for the fifteenth time, Rose made a mental note to remember to buy a battery powered alarm clock for her room so she could feel more like she had control over her own Earth time, instead of having to depend on the TARDIS for time, which wasn't something given out in numbers that Rose could read, but in the amount of light or dimness in the room at any given moment. It made Rose crazy trying to guess what time it was, and she still couldn't believe that such an advanced time machine told time so inaccurately. Further irritating her was the Doctor, who when asked, was usually so specific she couldn't understand his answer to the simple, "What time is it?" question. He would go into the longest and most detailed explanations about time being relative in the dimensions of time and space, and how her little human mind couldn't even begin to comprehend the meaning of time, much less understand the accuracy in a number given. He would further that with some blahbity blah about Time Lords having such a unique outlook to and of time that humans couldn't possibly apprehend, which was when she usually walked away from him in exasperation at his enormously large ego and his ongoing condescension towards anyone not a Time Lord, still not knowing what time it really was. Which annoyed her because really, in Rose's opinion, what was the good of being a Time Lord if you couldn't give the time?
Still not being able to distinguish the time, only that the lights were more or less dim than bright, she yawned. Stretching languidly with her arms raised toward the ceiling, Rose enjoyed the momentary comfort that it brought to her upper shoulders and back. Bones creaking and muscles pulling, but oh - there was a slight pain before utter contentment - ah...
She heard rather than saw the slight motion to her right, the rustling of a page turning.
It was the Doctor.
Stopping abruptly, she let her hands drop, glancing down quickly to firstly make sure she was completely covered. Not that she went to sleep in the nude, ever, but some of her favorite t-shirts were more like scraps of material, so worn and loved that there wasn't much left of them anymore. Her newer pyjamas consisted of prettier and thinner items, silky and luxurious - things she kept in her top drawer for "special" occasions. Not that she'd had any lately, or even in a long while, but they were there for when the time might occur. Looking down, she sighed in relief as she was still covered in the clothes she'd worn the day before - only minus her shoes. Wait - she was still wearing her clothes from the day before?
The Doctor was bookmarking one of his leather-bound novels and setting it gently to the side as he watched her. What was he even doing in her room? He normally only came to this end of the TARDIS when he was knocking, or rather, banging down her bedroom door trying to hurry her up for that day's activities. He almost never entered her room, even when she'd invited him to. He'd always had something urgent that needed to do or get done, seeming to conjure up any excuse at the last minute to keep him from entering the room she now called her own. She'd never understood why he always felt her room was off-limits - just catalogued it as simply another mystery that was the Doctor.
And yet, here he was in her room, sitting in her chair, gazing deeply at her, his eyes dark and stressed. She could see that he was tired, although his face wasn't telling in trying to figure out what he was thinking. Rose studied him for a long moment.
He looked as if he hadn't slept in ages. Which was strange, she felt, because he rarely needed sleep at all. If she was honest with herself, she wasn't sure the Doctor ever slept at all - she'd never seen him asleep. Never been to his bedroom, even. Wasn't sure she could even find it had she searched for it. Perhaps the TARDIS kept it hidden from her - she'd never really sought it out before, deciding early on to respect his privacy as he did hers. Sleep or lack of sleep never seemed to affect his enthusiasm before in the mornings, but today, he looked almost unconscious on his feet as he locked eyes with her. Giving him a once over, she was saddened to notice that his eyes - his beautiful big brown eyes - showed all the signs of eyes that had been crying. But why would the Doctor be crying? He'd never looked at her this way before, which was highly unusual considering everything he'd seen and everything he'd been through and experienced. Rose tilted her head to the side, trying to figure out why he looked so sad.
It was like a blinding light - the kind of light that is harsh and cruel and fast and overwhelming. The kind you can't help but put your hands up to cover you face against it. At once, yesterday's memories suddenly forced their way through her mind and into her thoughts, her eyes widening as she realized what exactly she'd woken up to. Her heart sank as her shoulders tensed and her lower lip slowly began to tremble. Her stomach was suddenly in knots which felt excruciatingly uncomfortable and growing more painful with each passing breath. Perilously trying to climb away from the thoughts and memories of yesterday, she felt hysterical that it continued to go round and round in her mind, like that of an endless, tormenting merry-go-round. Finding no ease to her horror and no escape from the torment, she tried to speak - tried to yell, and found herself choking on the tightness in her throat. Pitching helplessly forward onto the bed, hands recklessly pulling at the covers and covering her head while she gasped - she was desperate to get away from it all...
Flashes of images filled her mind, as if to purposely torture her. Her mum laughing, her mum cooking dinner, her mum sitting at the table paying bills, Mickey playing video games on his computer, Mickey eating chips with her and giving her that quirky smile of his that Rose loved so much - like photos of her past being brought to the forefront of her mind like a digital camera, Rose balled her hands over her eyes in attempts to block them out and shut them away.
And in that moment, the Doctor was sitting on the bed with her, pushing the covers aside, and pulling her into his arms before she could cry out.
Silently and slowly, she allowed herself to sink into his embrace, leaning into his chest under the crook of his arm. Her head fell against him as he shifted her closer against him. She felt weak, much like a wilting flower which had been denied water for too long.
Smoothing her head with his hand, he sat quietly with her, letting her wake up good and proper before the bitter day began, offering the comfort of his presence to let her know that she wasn't alone. Rose felt momentarily comforted by his embrace - taking advantage of his warm body pressed up against her, holding her close. Appreciating the warmth he offered, knowing that even though she felt safe with him - taken care of even, and of course comforted at the moment - that as soon as he stood up again, she would be left empty and alone once again. She couldn't decide whether clinging to him now would hurt more or less later on.
All she knew was that she wasn't ready to face that quite yet. Not anything, really, she decided. Funny, how she could decide to not decide anything, but further than that, decided it was too much. The absurdity of it made her feel like laughing, but for now, Rose allowed him to simply hold her, basking in the closeness he was currently offering her, just taking a few moments of quiet non-thought before the day begun. She wanted to talk to him, thank him for staying with her - for her - but her throat felt closed and she didn't think she'd be able to make a sound even if she wanted to. She didn't know how to thank someone in this kind of situation, anyway, as everything that crossed her mind felt awkward and would probably make him feel uncomfortable. It was probably for the best that she didn't speak yet, because what would tumble out, exactly, she didn't know. She felt jumbled and confused, and unable to find clarity. So, she melted into the Doctor for a moment, trying to fight off the oncoming slaughter of emotions, memories, and to-do's.
The small pile of novels on the table next to her chair, the crumbs left on the plate on the floor, the screwdriver the Doctor used to work on the gears of his sonic screwdriver - they were all telltale signs that he had stayed with her all night. Which was very unique indeed for the Doctor. He could barely sit still on his own for more than two seconds - Rose knew that probably better than anyone - it was all too banausic for him. Probably painful for him too, if she took the time to really think about it. Perhaps he was constantly in argument with himself too, about whether it was better to cling and lose or to simply keep everyone at a distance - at arms length, so that he never got too close and no one really got hurt. Rose guessed that he had to try and keep himself busy so that he never would have to face the reality of everything that had happened to him. Or, now that she knew escaping those kinds of thoughts was an actual impossibility, the attempt alone is what kept him able to continue.
He was always jumping around, hopping from one place to another, his hand gestures moving a million miles a minute, to try and keep up with the ongoing commentary he always seemed to have. The Doctor - always going from one exciting adventure to another - always there for everyone else it seemed. Doing whatever he could to save someone from harm - from the hurt that she knew he felt and hid so well, and that she was just now becoming able to comprehend.
She suddenly understood who he was on a much deeper level, even if she wasn't ready to admit what it meant for her. He obviously had chosen the path of keeping everyone at arms length - trying to prevent others from getting too attached for when he eventually left them back where he'd picked them up, and trying to prevent himself from getting too close that it hurt to leave them in the end. She'd seen it first hand, had felt it - experienced it herself on a day-to-day basis. He'd explained on more than one occasion that even though one could live the rest of their life with him, that he couldn't reciprocate. He'd told that to her, directly, once, and the sting of it still made her heart ache.
For the Doctor to stay with her, to be silent with her - for her - holding her so close to him, letting her feel his double heartbeat and the rise and fall of his chest - it testified to how deeply he understood her pain. There was nothing that could be done, nothing that anyone could say that would make it better. But he was there - a constant reminder to her that she wasn't alone - letting her take things at her own pace, letting one thing slide into place in her mind at a time, and she was desperately thankful for that. No one else in her 19 years had ever understood her quite like the Doctor did, and if she thought on it long enough, she'd reckon that no one ever would again. Because now, like him, she felt all alone in this world.
He was so quiet, and she couldn't speak. Her mind was screaming in agony and she held onto her stone facade as it was the only thing keeping her sane and outwardly held together at the moment.
"Rose," the Doctor finally spoke, the small hairs of the top of her head tickling his mouth as he spoke. "Rose, let's get you out of bed and into the shower, why don't we?"
She didn't move. But he didn't seem particularly bothered by her lack of reaction.
"We'll get you sorted out for today." He said softly, pulling away from her as he climbed off of the bed, it groaning a bit as his weight shifted. Standing up, he leaned over and grasped the sides of her arms, pulling her up to him and carefully led her towards the bathroom, overly gently as if he was afraid she would run away from him at first chance. She didn't feel that she had the energy to even think about crawling back into bed. She tripped over a sock but didn't fall. He had her in his arms and was evidently stronger than he looked, because he didn't so much as blink as he hauled her back upward.
"We'll just take things one at a time, Rose. One little step at a time."
She dared a quick glance at him. Their eyes met briefly before he gave her a short, tight squeeze.
"That's right, let's get you up out of bed and into a shower. We'll clean you up and I'll make some tea and we'll eat some toast and..." The Doctor rambled now, just listing things - normal everyday human things he was sure Rose would appreciate - of what was going to happen for the day, obviously trying to give her some semblance to her normal routine. Rose felt too lost, too desolate to even think for herself at the moment, and she let him drag her into the bathroom.
Sitting her on the closed toilet seat he turned towards the shower, turning it on, "Here we go - warm water, Rose! Ow! That's hot! Too hot!" He adjusted the tabs slightly. "A warm shower first thing in the morning always helps me wake up." He gave her a quick glance. "I know you prefer an evening bath, Rose, but this'll be good for today. It'll be fine."
He turned towards her once again, rubbing his hands together in concentration. "You'll need a towel and a washcloth, of course..." He started opening cabinets and pulling out this and that, talking to her all the while. "Some soap - do you have any in there already?" He peeked in the shower quickly, "Yes to soap. What about shampoo..."
Rose gazed at the tile floor. Was it tile? It looked a bit like tile, although nothing like any of the tile she'd ever seen before. She'd never really noticed or thought about it before. It was blue and green - both colors at once, seeming to swirl together under her feet. The tile was translucent, though, almost as if she could see through it if she concentrated enough. Was there something underneath the colors? Maybe if she squinted...
"Here we are now, Rose! All set. Everything you need - all right here. Oh, and here's a towel - I'll just set it here, shall I?" The Doctor shifted, looking slightly out of sorts, as he set the towel on the edge of the sink. Rose watched him, noticing how he'd gone from confident and purposeful to slightly awkward and more than a little uncomfortable. She wondered how he could switch back and forth so quickly. One minute he was a man taking care of her, sure and self-confident, and the next, a school-boy, nervous and unsure.
He stuck a hand in his pocket and twiddled his foot as he scratched the back of his neck with his other hand.
"Umm...I'll just wait outside while you have a wash, shall I? I'll start some tea - what kind sounds good to you, hmm? And I'll pop some toast into the toaster - Oh, I did fix it the other day... Shouldn't burn those edges like it used to anymore. Nope! No more burned toast. You are lucky I'm so clever." He grinned to himself, suddenly decisive and assured once again. The hands came out of the pockets once again as he all but hopped to the door.
"Would you like white or brown? Or perhaps some of the tulip-seed bread we got from that market we went to on Orian?" He glanced at her, obviously seeing if she would answer, and when she couldn't even meet his eye, he frowned slightly, worried. She blinked and focused back on her toes. She scratched one over the tile, noticing how smooth it felt. Perhaps the tile was see-through, and she was looking at the TARDIS's pool. She'd always been told there was one, but she'd never seen it.
Contemplating her for a long moment, the Doctor slapped his hands together - now a man of action - and said, "Right. So you just climb in and I'll be right outside. Okay, Rose?"
He seemed to be waiting for an answer. He waited, and she raised her toe to her other foot, scratching at an imaginary itch. "Rose?" He asked again.
He regarded her seriously for a moment before dropping to his knees in front of her. "Rose?" He asked softly, gently, his voice low and deep.
She couldn't... She turned her head away from him - he was too close, it was becoming too much... She could almost feel him breathing and her own gasps of air sped up unexpectedly. She felt tears well up in her eyes and she looked up - away from him - to try to keep them from falling down her cheeks. Yesterday was finally becoming today.
Squaring his shoulders, he was suddenly calm and commanding once more. Gently standing up in front of her, he directed her. "Let's get you in the bathtub before the TARDIS loses the hot water and I have to stick you into a cold shower! No one likes to wake up to that!"
Caressing her cheek with the back of his hand for a second, he pulled her up into a standing position, away from the closed toilet. Apologies were written all over his face, but she didn't care to figure out why. She felt his fingers brush her waist, gently timid and yet assertive. Her eyes lowered to follow the movements of his fingers as he started gently tugging her jumper over her head.
Quickly realizing what he wanted - what he was doing - Rose raised her arms a bit to help. She felt disgusting as it was, and felt glad to be getting rid of anything that reminded her of yesterday.
Also, she couldn't believe she was still fully clothed - she never slept in her day wear. If she'd known how gross she would feel come morning, she'd have insisted on changing into something to sleep in. But then again, she hadn't planned on succumbing to sleep quite like she had the night before.
Well, at least he had removed her shoes. That was something. She didn't want to think about the ache her ankles might have felt had he neglected to remove them for her.
Rose watched his face carefully as he pulled one arm out of a sleeve for her, noticing that he didn't once flinch or stare - he had the same expression he always had when he looked at her. He could have been working on the TARDIS control with the same expression he was now looking at her with. Pulling the shirt over her head, Rose felt the cold air hit her and she started shaking slightly, imperceptibly. Small goosebumps prickled her bare flesh, and she had a trembling shiver as she stood there in only her bra and jeans. Her arms wrapped around her stomach in attempts to obtain some warmth. He noticed this, and quickly rubbed her arms and shoulders, trying to warm her up by creating some friction.
She didn't think it helped much. His hands felt just as cold as the air, and it only seemed to make her shake all the more. Noticing this, he moved towards her belt.
"Alright then...There goes the shirt. Now the jeans." He explained every action before moving to each article of clothing, his hands gentle and efficient, precise and detached. Practically clinical, even. Rose wondered if he'd had to do this before, with someone else. Another subject that hurt to think about too much. She needed to stay on simple topics.
His fingers had moved to the front of her waist, his fingers lithe and warm as he deftly unbuttoned her jeans and reached down to unzip them.
The Doctor was being so kind, so gentle and so warm...and was now tugging downwards at her jeans? Wait.
Her mind swirling in confusion as she waded through the fog to clear her thoughts. She could undress herself! What was she doing? Why was he undressing her? What was she letting him do?
"Doctor!" Her voice broke, but at least she was heard as she still wasn't properly awake yet. The Doctor's hands immediately dropped from Rose's waist as if he'd been burned, and he warily stepped a few feet away from her.
"Stop, please. I can do it. I don't need your help." She rushed out.
He didn't move, although she was quite sure he'd heard her due to the look of wary uncertainty that slid across his face before it was gone the next. She knew he would never hurt her or take advantage of her - of course she knew that. But for him to undress her and for her to let him - it would take them across that imaginary line they'd set in place the moment they first met, no matter how innocent the situation was.
The imaginary line that separated friendship from something more. It was that line that Rose needed distinguishing now more than ever, because it was the only thing she could depend on, completely. To know that he would never, ever put her in a position where he could take advantage, not that he would, but that the trust was there that he wouldn't, was of such great importance to Rose right now.
She repeated more quietly, trying to explain herself to him so he wouldn't feel hurt or that he was taking advantage - because she knew he wasn't, and she needed him to understand that she knew he wasn't.
"I can do it." She crossed her arms across her chest in attempts to cover herself.
His dark and gentle eyes found hers for a split second before he turned and quietly walked out of the bathroom, saying, "If you need me, just call. I'll just be in the kitchen." He glanced back at her one last time, seeking reassurance of some sort from her that she was at least in her right mind and could take it from there...
Rose nodded to him, not daring to talk anymore than was necessary. Words took thought, and she couldn't...
He nodded again, slightly to himself this time as if trying to convince himself that she really could manage on her own, and lightly closed the door behind him.
She stared at the closed door for a long moment, listening to him clink and clank around the kitchen, probably making a total mess of the TARDIS kitchen. The normalcy of those sounds encouraged her to finish removing her clothing and to get into the steaming shower. Rose wanted to get in and out before he got it in his head that he should come in again after her. As if him seeing her without a shirt hadn't been embarrassing enough...
Rose's breath hitched as the water hit her for the first time - it was warmer than she usually had it but she didn't mind. It was warm and on the verge of very hot - the kind of warmth that you could feel deep within your bones. She was slowly thawing out, layer after layer. Holding her hands under the spray for a long while, she just stood there letting, and allowing the water to relax her, the sharp jets dissipating as they hit her hands and the softer water washing over her - her face, her shoulders - all the way to her toes. She didn't even realize how tense she really was until she moved to stand under the hot spray. Water coursed down her back - it gave Rose something to focus on, the tiny water drops and their individual paths to the drain.
Grabbing the shampoo and then the soap, she carefully washed her body and rinsed off, and then just stood there, under the water - turning it a tad warmer as it had started to turn cool on her. Rose breathed in deeply as she let her head fall forward, her chin resting on her chest. Her first deep breath and it was shakily exhaled. Putting her hands in front of her on the shower wall, she steadied herself.
It was with her second deep breath that it finally met her head-on. She felt sluggish and dizzy and most definitely wobbly, all at the same time. Stumbling backwards, she slipped on the slick floor and unsuccessfully tried to lean forward to break her fall.
"Oh!" She cried out as she landed on her lower back and bottom, smacking herself good and hard against the porcelain tub. It smarted and she groaned. That would leave a bruise. Good. She had finally felt something. Her arm started throbbing - she must have hit it on the side of tub on her way down. It was going to leave a mark, too. She didn't care.
Her head had now started to pound as well - she could feel her heart thumping through a vein in her forehead. Checking for blood, Rose lifted her palm to her head and then brought it back down to inspect. No blood - that was something, wasn't it? What had she even hit her head on? The throb in her head made her head ache considerably, and she was completely miserable. Feeling sorry for herself, and pitying the fact that she couldn't even stay upright to take a shower, Rose just let herself sit there in the tub. Lowering her head to her knees and laying both palms against the ache in her head, she just sat there letting the water hit her shoulders and back.
She'd fallen down like this once as a little girl and her Mum'd been right there to pick her up again, giving her a kiss on her bruise and pulling her out into a big towel, rubbing her down gently and smothering her with kisses.
Tears prickled her eyes, as she thought of her Mum. She drew in a sharp breath. It was coming - she could feel it start to take over, feel it dragging her down, feel it inundating her.
There was a noise, then. Ringing and loud, it rushed into her ears, keening and crying - someone was screaming. It was wild and it was awful to hear. She tried to cover her ears against it, unable to stop that noise - the unbearable hurt of it. It was all she could do to wrap her arms around her now trembling body and put her head down into her knees. Wrapping herself up tightly, she couldn't get away from the cries of despair. It lingered forever, seeming to echo in the small bathroom - the water still showering on her face, mixing with her tears as they ran down her face.
Not even hearing or noticing the door opening, the Doctor was suddenly there - yanking open the shower curtain, his eyes wide with fright and worry, and he took a moment to take her in - to give her a once over, she assumed to make sure she wasn't in some kind of physical harm. Bending down to pick her up out of the tub, his hands firm upon her naked flesh, digging in - the screaming stopped.
Abruptly. Realization flooded into existence. It had been her - that horrible noise had come from her. It was all too much - she shook her head as if to say "no", but to what, she couldn't comprehend. Standing there in front of him, his arms holding her up as water dripped from her hair to her shoulders, she let out a harsh gasp before dissolving into tears. Her hands covered her face and she was torn between loss and confusion and emptiness and embarrassment. There was so much water, from the pools around her feet to the tears clouding her vision, she felt like she was slipping, even though she was standing on a dry towel. Sobbing, she stumbled towards him, arms outstretched in a desperate attempt to reach him, even though she felt his grip on her. She needed to grab him, hold him - needed to be close to him.
His embrace on her felt solid - it almost matched the expression on his face. His mouth dropped open as he got a good look at her face. She didn't understand his surprise for a moment, and then as her head continued to pound, she remembered hitting her head. There must be a good knot or bruise showing now, she groaned inwardly.
"How did you... Are you hurt?" He asked her as he grabbed hold of her chin, forcing her face towards the light on the ceiling as he inspected her head. Tears coursed down her cheeks, as his lithe fingers gently probed at the throbbing skin. Pulling back from him with a sharp gasp, she felt helplessly hurt and confused.
"Rose, let me see," he said as he reached towards her again. Again, she leaned away from him, crying into her hands, not knowing what to do or what she wanted. Shame hit her as she realized she was standing in front of him unclothed. She quickly turned away from him, covering herself with her arms and hands to the best of her ability, with little success. Embarrassment flooded her and she was appalled that she put herself in a position to be taken advantage of. The one thing she'd been adamant about not doing, and here she was doing it. Her cheeks burned in mortification.
"Here, let's get you warm." The Doctor grabbed the towel and wrapped it snugly around her, covering her modestly. The towel was huge on her, and so soft - as if he'd covered her with a soft blanket. She'd wondered earlier if it was even from Earth. She'd never felt anything as soft there.
With resolve, the Doctor then pulled her to him and she let him. Folding her in close to him, tucking her under one of his arms - holding her up - he reached behind her, getting the arm of his brown pinstriped suit wet in the process, and turned off the water. The pipes of the TARDIS squeaked and then all was quiet, except for the weeping.
Rose had fallen into him, her arms squished between the two of them, and the tears that hadn't come - that had refused to come for so long, had finally made their appearance. She didn't care where she was, or who she was, or that she was standing in a towel in his arms, or that the Doctor had seen her naked. She was lost and she was nothing and she needed...
Her face was scrunched, her hair was matted down, covering her eyes - she couldn't see, and she was sure her nose was dripping. She couldn't care less. Nothing in the world mattered anymore. The Doctor sat her down on the edge of the tub and knelt down in front of her, his hands softly caressing her all over, surely checking her for further injuries, as if he were the one needing reassuring. Still, she cried.
"Alright, Rose," he said as he lifted a hand to her chin, "Try and calm down some. Let's take a couple of deep breaths. There you go - like that.
Let's get you cleaned up and that hair dried. Don't want you getting sick." The Doctor grabbed at a hand towel, turned a little cold water on it, and little by little, cleaned up her face, calming her ever so slightly with every gentle caress of her face. Soon, her anguished sobs became hard gasps, and then - silent tears with the repeating sniffle.
The Doctor grabbed her hairbrush from the sink and very gently started to run it through her long hair. He made no comment at all towards her, saying nothing about the state he found her in, or the fact that she was now a swollen faced, sniffling, shivering mess. He slowly untangled and straightened her damp hair, allowing long strokes so the hair could have a chance to dry more quickly as he brushed. It felt good, soothing.
He finished combing her hair and led her back into her bedroom, her hand in his. Standing in the center of the room, he slowly walked around her gathering up clothes for her to wear - setting them on the bed for her. He continued to talk to her, keeping up a steady flow of normal dialogue towards her as he moved. As if it were routine for him to get her dried and ready for bed every night.
"Did you know that the Great Muddy Ponds of Yupsori are an excellent source of fiber? It sounds disgusting, but in actuality - it's brilliant! They take some mud and filter it through little things that resemble those little coned-shaped coffee filters you humans are so keen on - it's just amazing!" He rambled on about nothing in particular, just continued to talk, as if he knew that she just needed to know there was someone else there, someone to make her feel less alone than she was.
Tears continued silently trailing down her cheeks - once she'd started, she didn't think she'd be able to stop. She didn't even feel as though she was "crying". It was just a continual flow of tears that refused to be contained. Bringing her hand up to her face, she just wiped at them furiously, in a pathetic attempt to dry her face. The more she wiped it seemed, the more tears there were to wipe. It was ridiculous.
Sniffling and occasionally hiccuping, she felt completely absurd, standing in the middle of her bedroom wearing only a towel as the Doctor ran circles around her talking about fiber and mud ponds. It was all so ridiculous, that she simply burst out with a harsh laugh. The entire thing could not be more absurd. Tears fell from her eyes as she laughed and she was sure she'd lost her mind.
And now, now she was laughing so much that it hurt, gasping for breath, feeling like her sides were going to break in two. Verging on the edge of hysteria - it was brutal, oh so brutal, and it hurt, and she couldn't stop. Why was she laughing of all things?
She turned to him, palms upward and arms hanging in front of her in confusion. The Doctor had stopped moving, his eyes closed, and Rose watched as he slowly opened them once more, his eyes darker than ever before and glistening as he gazed at her sadly.
He looked at her now like she'd known he would, like a man who really understood loss, who had aged so much longer than he should have lived. His eyes grew darker as they held her own, and she saw his despair for her. Quickly, he crossed the distance between them, seized her to him, and held on as tightly as he could.
Her laughter soon died, her voice straining from harsh chokes to all out sobs. She felt like a child again, unable to control herself, screaming with the unfairness of life. Her hands grabbed at his shoulders and she reached her arms around him, gripping him to her.
"Doctor... Doctor! Oh, God. They're dead, Doctor! They're dead! My Mum's dead..." She repeated it to him, over and over until she knew it couldn't be real, couldn't believe it could be real. It was her worst nightmare come to life. "They're dead...How could they be dead?"
She was screaming at him now, her poor Doctor. Crying and tortured and completely unhinged and she was hurting - oh, she was hurting so badly. It was pain like she'd never known, it hurt her physically even, her stomach contorting and tightening and her chest pounded brutally. The kind of pain that left her gutted with emptiness and aching. And the Doctor - he was so quiet, so understanding, so patient.
Rose was undone. She felt sick - sicker than she'd ever felt. She was going to be ill. Laughter and crying be damned, she was going to be sick.
The Doctor must have heard her groan, or perhaps he'd seen the color leave her cheeks - the waves of nausea hitting her like the ocean rushing up against the sand, over and over and she felt her stomach clench - and he was dragging her back into the bathroom - that horrid bathroom where realities finally hit.
"Hold on, Rose - here you go," he said, and she vomited. He rubbed her back gently and pulled her hair away from her face as she lost what little was left in her stomach, her head hovering over the toilet. Grabbing the washcloth left on the sink, he turned on the faucet, wet it and proceeded to help her wipe her face, and her neck, soothing her with it's coolness as well as with his murmured words of comfort.
She was in hell. This was hell. And you know what they say about hell - it's eternal. She wondered what she did in this horrid, hopeless life to deserve all this. But then, she was at least still alive. She cringed at the horrible thought.
Rose tried to push the selfish thoughts from her mind. This wasn't about her. For once, it wasn't even about the Doctor.
He was being so nice to her. Rose had never felt so vulnerable before, so open, so raw. She'd never let her guard down this much in front of anybody. It was a good thing she trusted him so much, because she did and he'd earned it time and time again. She'd never felt so vulnerable before, and she desperately wanted to hold onto him and never let him go. It was probably a good thing he was being so kind - if this was how her day was going so far, with him being wonderful, she couldn't even imagine what it might have been like, had she had to face it all alone.
"I just...I just want to go back to bed, Doctor," she whispered, wiping her eyes with the back of her hands.
Gently, he held her hand, as he led her back to bed. He pushed the covers back for her, so she could climb back in and tucked her in as if she was a child. Dropping a kiss to her forehead, he told her that he would be there when she woke up. Refusing to look at him in case she was denied, she rolled to her side, and murmured, "lay with me?"
And after a long moment, feeling his long body shift to lay against her back as he slung an arm over her waist holding her closely, her eyes flitted shut again and she fell into an exhausted sleep once again.