Rose still hadn't told her family. It was a month later, about 2 months along. She didn't know exactly how far, she hadn't gone to a doctor either.
She knew she had to tell her family eventually, if at least when it started showing. But there was no way she could go to an OBGYN. She was pregnant with a half alien child. Even if it looked human, people would notice that it had two hearts.
But would it? What would the baby be like? Half Time Lord, half human. She didn't know if that had ever happened before. Would it be like her or it's father or some combination of the two? And what would it do to her, having an alien child growing inside her?
She wouldn't be able to hide her secret forever, not from her family. She knew that. But she didn't know how or when to tell them.
She hadn't slept well in weeks. Not since she couldn't tell him. There were so many things keeping her awake, so many demons in the dark. Guilt over not telling him the truth. It was her fault he would never know about his own kid, her fault he would never know that he was a father again. Fear about what the pregnancy would do to her. And that ever-consuming worry about what the child would be. For all she learned, she didn't know nearly enough. She wasn't prepared to deal with this on her own. She didn't ever think she'd have to.
She'd just lay in bed for hours, staring at the ceiling as if it held the answers to all her problem, thinking and worrying, worrying and thinking. Every time she closed her eyes, images danced in the folds of her eyelids. Cybermen and Daleks, Bad Wolf and the TARDIS, every horrible and wonderful thing she'd ever seen. And his face. Always his face. Changing yet somehow staying the same to her. The look in his eyes right before she was pulled from him and he from her. And the weight of the truth he would never know.
More often than not, she'd give up on sleep completely and instead slip outside and watch the skies until she'd finally fall into a fitful sleep. Her mother would find her in the morning, curled up on the lawn chair, an imprint of the matted fabric on her cheek. Jackie asked no questions, she just brought breakfast, which Rose promptly threw up a few hours later. Her mother either didn't notice or decided to not ask, putting it down to stress.
Then she'd collapse in a chair or the couch, staring blankly at the walls, trying to wish herself back. Then lunch, puking, and more staring at the walls. Sometimes she'd pick up a book and pretend to read. Most days she'd skip dinner, telling her family she was going to bed early, when she would really just lie on the bed to stare at the ceiling instead of the walls. Sometimes someone would open the door to check on her, but she'd quickly close her eyes and pretend to be asleep. They'd want to talk to her. She still wasn't ready to talk. Then she'd just stare at the ceiling for hours, watching the night fall until she'd give up on sleep and go to watch the stars until sleep finally claimed her.
That was her life now. Staring, eating, puking, more staring. Wishing, hurting, hiding, just going through the motions to stay alive in this world when she'd rather be dead in his.
She guessed she was both now.