"Um, Doctor?"
At the sound of Rose's voice, strangely hesitant, the Doctor quickly pops his head up from underneath the console. It only takes him one look at her pale face before he decides that she needs him more than the TARDIS does at the moment, so he quickly wipes his oily hands on a rag and goes over to her.
"You were busy," she says, sounding shy. "Sorry if I disturbed you."
He stops himself from making a face -- sometimes she's still a bit unsure around this body. For the most part she seems to be happy -- giddy, even -- that he's still here and they're still together, but sometimes she gets nervous and awkward, and he wishes desperately for their previous level of comfort. Still, they're both making an effort, so he knows that all it'll take is time before she truly gets used to this new him.
"Nothing that can't wait," he replies, flashing her a smile and waiting for her to relax. And, there -- her shoulders slump a bit, as if they'd been tense and weren't any longer.
"So," he continues, taking in her pyjamas, "can't sleep? Want a cup of tea?"
She grins at him. "Love one," she says, and a few minutes later they're at the table in the kitchen, mugs of steaming tea in their hands.
"What's on your mind?" he asks, after taking a sip. Ah, tea! Nothing like it in all the universe. There's a reason he prefers Britain over, say, America -- Brits know how to make and appreciate a proper cup of tea.
"A bunch o' things," she answers, looking down at her mug. "Like...like Captain Reynolds. An' how I just -- I just stood there while the werewolf jumped 'im." Her voice trails off, and when she lifts her head, he can see remembered horror in her eyes. His breath catches a moment.
"There was nothing you could have done, Rose," he says softly, reaching out and taking one of her hands in his. "It was too fast and too strong. You couldn't have stopped it."
"Yeah, but I didn't have to just stand there like a lump!" she exclaims. Her voice is shaking a bit, and her fingers clasp his tightly. "You had to drag me away. An' later, I tried not to think about it, y'know? We were still in danger, and from a werewolf, of all things..." To his relief, her eyes sparkle a bit at werewolf. She really is just as fascinated and enthusiastic as he is at the thought of a real, live werewolf in Victorian England. He'd loved it, that moment in the library, though a part of him had noted that she was likely repressing what she'd just seen happen to Reynolds; she was too compassionate to be that enthusiastic otherwise.
But now the danger is gone, the adrenaline rush is over, and things are finally hitting her. He squeezes her hand, then says, "Perfectly natural. At the time, there were other things to focus on. Now there's not, so you can't help but remember."
"I still see the look on 'is face," she whispers. "I was tryin' to sleep, but I just kept seein' him and the werewolf an' everything..."
She really needs a hug, he thinks, so he stands up, moving over to her side of the table and pulling her up and into his arms. She hugs him back immediately, her arms wrapped around his waist and her head against his chest. He wishes he knew what to say to make things better for her, but he doesn't. This is just something she'll have to learn to move past.
He'll be there to help her, of course. But it'll have to be her making the effort.
Finally she pulls back, sits down again, and takes a sip of her tea. He moves back to his seat and sits as well, watching her for any sign she needs him. "Thanks," she says, mustering up a smile for him, and he can't help but return it.
"Anytime," he replies, and her smile turns into a full-fledged grin. He grins back, and knows she'll be all right.
He finishes his tea, and is just about to stand up to rinse his mug off when she says, "Actually, Doctor, there's more."
He raises an eyebrow. More? He can't think what it might be, so he asks, "What is it?"
"Something the werewolf said to me, when we were locked up in the cellar," she says, her brow furrowed, like she's thinking hard.
Her next words make his hearts stop beating. Just for a few seconds, but when they do resume their steady thumping, they're a bit faster than normal.
"It said that there's something of the wolf about me," she told him. "And that I burnt like the sun." She looks at him, her eyes trusting and innocent. "D'you know what it meant?"
What is he supposed to say? Not the truth. She doesn't need to know the truth, not yet. She doesn't remember what she did on the Gamestation, and he doesn't want to be the one to tell her. She reacted so badly to his regeneration -- it'll only hurt her to know that his previous self gave his life for her. Turning all the Daleks to dust with a wave of her hand, and what she did to Jack -- no, she doesn't need to know all that. She doesn't need to carry that burden.
But he's been silent too long; his hearts give a pang as her trusting look turns slightly suspicious. Is it too late to bluff his way out? Probably. Maybe he can just give her the impression that he doesn't know, but he's thinking about it. "There is something of the wolf about you?" he asks, nonchalantly, trying not to sound too eager. "Present tense?" If there's something of the wolf about her, he wants to know what it is and what it'll do.
She gives him an odd look, but answers, "Yeah. The burning thing was past tense, but the wolf thing was present. Doctor, what are you thinking?"
He's thinking of the way she looked, all haloed by golden light, and of the all-too-brief kiss he gave her to draw the Vortex out of her and into him, but he doesn't tell her that. "Just trying to puzzle out what it could have meant," he assures her. "Did you feel particularly wolf-like today?"
She rolls her eyes and says, "No more than usual," her voice deadpan. A joking response to a joking question.
But that's not reassuring. What's usual? Apparently she was supposed to be Bad Wolf, that's why those words kept following them around, but is she still, even without all the power of the Vortex? She'd said that she created herself, and the werewolf used present tense...
It's times like right now, he thinks, that he really regrets not hauling her into the med bay right after Christmas, plausible excuse or no. He has no idea what the Vortex might have done to her. He held it for less than a minute and had to regenerate, and she held it for so much longer, and is still alive. He's figured that the TARDIS must have been helping her, but the situation is unprecedented; he's never before heard of a human who held all the power of the Time Vortex in her head, much less who survived.
But the TARDIS reassured him then, as she reassures him now: there is nothing wrong with Rose Tyler. He concentrates on the comforting song in his mind and sends his ship an impression of "thank you" -- the TARDIS would know, if anything would, if there was something wrong with Rose.
"Well, I'll keep thinking about it," he announces. "But in the meantime, you should probably try and get some sleep."
She frowns. "I'm still not sure if I can. Or what I might dream about." She shivers.
He sees her shiver, her sudden fear of falling asleep, and makes an abrupt decision that is probably very, very foolish. "I'll stay with you, if you like," he offers, and, at her startled look, adds, "Not the whole night! Just until you fall asleep."
Then she smiles at him, and he doesn't care how foolish it is. "I'd like that," she says quietly, still smiling. She's comfortable enough with this him that she thinks his presence will help her sleep? Warmth spreads through him at the thought.
She heads off towards her room, and he follows her, leaving their mugs on the table for later clean-up. She waits for him by her door, and he resists the urge to take a deep breath as she pushes it open and steps inside. He's just being a friend to her -- no need to be awkward about it.
He grabs her desk chair and pulls it over to her as she climbs into bed, quickly nestling down under the covers. She reaches out a hand as he seats himself by her side, and he takes it, squeezing gently, before laying their clasped hands near her face. She wiggles around a bit, getting comfortable, and her soft "Good night" and accompanying smile are full of confidence in his abilities to stave off nightmares.
He marvels at her trust in him, and hopes he lives up to it. Then the TARDIS slowly dims the lights until they're left in darkness and the Doctor's left with his thoughts.
He looks down at Rose's hand, barely visible but so tangible, held in his own. The thought that something that nearly killed her might still be part of her is terrifying. He'd been so afraid, when she came back to him on the Gamestation. So very afraid, and for so many reasons. The power she'd had and what she did to the Daleks, of course, but also her simple presence, and what it meant.
The TARDIS would have told her what holding the Vortex would do to her. He knows his ship, and knows she would never have let Rose make that choice uninformed, not even if it meant saving his life. Which meant that Rose had known that saving him would kill her, and had done it anyway.
The depths of her love for him scare him to his bones. The last thing he wants is for her to die for him.
He strokes his thumb over the back of her hand, and he can barely make out the curve of her lips as she smiles. He doesn't think she's quite asleep yet, but she's getting there, and he knows he should probably leave. Just not yet.
How close is he to losing her? Is there some little spark of Bad Wolf left, eating away at her life like acid, a slow burn rather a fast one? Is that what the werewolf meant, when he said there is something of the wolf about her? But the TARDIS gives an emphatic negative in his mind, and he relaxes a bit, leaning his head back against the wall and letting her feel his gratitude. She always does her best to soothe his worries, and he counts on it, and on her. His wonderful ship.
All right, the TARDIS says that Rose is safe enough for now, and he trusts her to be right. She'll let him know if anything changes. And Rose doesn't even remember being Bad Wolf. He thinks that she will remember eventually, when she's ready, but until then, he can take care of her. And he will.
She's asleep now, and he raises their joined hands and brushes a kiss across her knuckles. She murmurs something unintelligible, but she doesn't stir as he carefully frees himself.
He knows he should leave, but he stays there all night, watching over her, and it's only after she begins to wake up that he slips out the door.