tentoorosemicrofics

It was pretty much a daily occurrence - starting every morning when he laid soft eyes on her snoozing, supine figure - and one his daft other self would have double-checked as being atrial fibrillation. Current him was more wise to its source, but sometimes he felt like getting checked out for the buzzing levels of arousal he experienced whenever she was in hugging distance.

Her petal-soft lips brushed the side of his neck as she tugged a chair closer and plopped down right next to him.

“And this is to do with it?” She nodded as the postage-stamp sized board clasped between finger and thumb, and the tiny piles of scrap and detritus littering the kitchen table.

“I think so,” he answered, removing the sonic screwdriver and then scratching his jaw. “The target - although, I really don’t like that phrase - is highly suspected to be wearing some kind of cloaking device. I’m just reprogramming the sonic to disturb the frequency should we suspect anything.”

“And why a pub?”

“Search me…”

*

The pub was actually in their locale, but that made sense, of course, if the alien they were tracking was trying to blend in. However, it was a real spit-and-sawdust place. The hanging sign (featuring a rather dismal attempt at a prancing bear and with the sloppily painted ‘The Bear Inn’) was askew, and one of the upstairs windows was boarded over with weathered plywood. Ivy crept up the mossy-bricked wall. It would have fitted in nicely on the outskirts of some countryside hamlet (minus the window) but on the outskirts of Peckham?

“I feel overdressed for this place,” the Doctor grumbled, tugging at the collar of his jacket as Rose knocked briskly on the peeling door twice and then tentatively pushed it open. “I said you shoulda worn an old shirt and not the gift my mum recently gave you,” she teased, flicking him a backwards glance.

The smell of stale smoke and old, spilt beer instantly greeted them, and Rose wrinkled her nose, but pressed on, passing the bar and wending through clusters of tables, chairs and stools until she spotted a wall of booths at the end of the room.

“Guess here is as good as anywhere,” she heard him mutter, and gingerly placed herself on the faux-leather seats. It wasn’t necessarily tackier than any other pubs she’d frequented in her youth, but she was glad for having forgone a skirt this time.

“So, any intel on what we’re looking for? Species, MO, possible giveaways?” She glanced around the dingy room as the question was posed.

“Technically we’re looking for two of them. But one is definitely human,” he responded, dropping his voice now, also scoping the pub’s interior with her.

“And the other..?” Rose tried to settle for folding her arms on the table’s sticky surface, but gave up with that as well, folding her hands neatly in her lap instead.

“Also human-appearing. His contact is a Spice dealer.”

Rose frowned. “Spice as in…?” When the Doctor’s only answer was a single cocked eyebrow, the penny dropped. “Drugs. He’s here for drugs?”

“So it would seem. So our human either isn’t your run-of-the-mill 21st century type, or there’s a bigger operation at hand.”

“So, what you’re saying is…we could have another Jack on our hands.”

“Yup.”

*

The Doctor maintained that since about twenty minutes had passed and the ruddy-faced barkeep was throwing them both dirty looks, they should both buy a drink. It was, of course, strict Torchwood policy that all keep a clear head while on any type of assignment, so he strolled up to the counter and placed an order for two Cokes.

The barman just eyed him for a moment, snorted loudly (the Doctor stepped back a fraction at this) and then went to pull down two glasses.

“Do you want them as pints, or are you starting easy this evening with just half?” he said with more than a little bit of sarcasm.

“Nope, pints are fine. Ice as well, please,” the Doctor replied, chipper.

“4 quid,” said the now brusque barkeep, chucking a scoop of ice apiece into pint glasses and filling them on-tap. “And I don’t take card,” he grumbled.

Finding loose change in his pockets (not bigger on the inside, sadly) and dumping in on the counter with the same attitude the other man had placed the brimming-full glasses down on the beer mats - slopping a fair bit of it in the process - he returned to their little hideout.

“Blimey, I’d put that guy as our man, but I think he’s just like that,” the Doctor muttered as Rose took her drink with a small but grateful ‘thanks’, mindful not to spill even more of its contents. He sat down next to her this time, not sure why he even chose the seat across from her in the first place.

After taking a deep swig of the sweet soda, bubbles tickling his nose, he did yet another visual sweep. His fingers were itching to bring out the sonic and do a scan for any kind of alien tech, but they weren’t to compromise their position until the very last moment.

“Could the contact be part of something larger, like a, uh, Spice network?”

“Yep!” The Doctor beamed at her, feeling an overwhelming urge to tug her right into him. He settled for letting the arm now just in his lap slide behind her and the seat, so his hand rested loosely on her hip. Casually. He hoped. After all, he supposed they were at the boyfriend-girlfriend equivalent -weren’t they?

They hadn’t kissed overly much so far, but their intimacy was far more open than before. And, oh, he just delighted in being able to do things like walk right up to her and plant a soft ‘good morning’ kiss on her forehead.

That’s as far as it went at present, however. And he wasn’t keen on pushing, no matter how badly his soul wished to knit at the deepest level with hers; no matter how many mornings he woke up harder than he’d been in his entire life, seeking reprieve in a quick shower before Rose cottoned on to his, uh, condition.

He’d wait.

“Doctor?”

“Hmm?”

Rose prodded him again and then gestured to his left. He looked up to see a rangy blond in a tight-fitting black Henley and pressed trousers standing right by their table. The man was wearing his large sunglasses indoors, and with a flash of some blindingly white teeth, greeted them.

“I couldn’t help but notice just you two lovely humans sitting here by yourself, and I wanted to know if I could buy you both a drink.”

Something inside the Doctor snarled at this ponce’s intrusion.

“We are - I mean to say,” he stuttered, “thanks but no thanks. Rose is my- so we’re not interested.”

Although neither of them could see the man’s eyes, he drew back, stance apologetic.

“I meant nothing like that, my man. My offer was only a drink, that’s all. No strings attached.” His palms were upturned, awaiting their response.

“Um-”

“We’re good, thanks,” Rose answered as she raised her condensation-slicked glass in reference.

The stranger paused, then scoffed before turning away. “Suit yourselves.” He was muttering under his breath as he retreated to the other smokey end of the room.

“Well, at least we can’t see ‘em,” Rose said after a beat, in a casual tone as she wafted her hand in front of her to disperse the slight fog coming their way. “People really don’t like non-drinkers here…” She fell silent when the Doctor didn’t answer; probably noticing the way his gaze was riveted to where the intruder had come from.

“I wonder..but…no,” he began, thoughtful, comprehension dawning. Then he shook himself, took a drink (his glass was near empty now, which seemed odd) and focused his attention back on the vision beside him. Rose, however, was glaring back at the barkeep who was collecting glasses on the adjacent tables, glowering at them.

“Best we try and blend in?”

“Maybe. I’m sure just one won’t be a crime.”

*

The Doctor insisted on taking their order again, in spite of being rebuffed at the first hurdle. It was clear from both men’s demeanour that their alcoholic purchase didn’t clear the air exactly, but nevertheless he waited, and she watched him as he waited.

Well. Maybe didn’t so much watch as eagerly drink him in. Studied and admired the really very complimentary cut of his jeans, and the confident stance as he assumed the usual hands-in-pockets pose.

Why hadn’t things progressed further again?

Oh, yeah. She was actually terrified of ruining things by scaring him with her hormones. Just because he was part-human now and had practically proposed on that windy beach didn’t mean they had to indulge in what had been forbidden to them beforehand, right?

Although there were indications it wasn't just she who was keen for more. The Doctor clearly thought she’d been none the wiser as he kept a little bit more personal space between them in the mornings, and the way he offered to always have a shower first because, as a bloke, he wouldn’t use as much hot water and needed less time to get ready. Which was a downright lie, because a) one morning she’d been particularly naughty and hovered around the door, managing to hear his soft, reedy call of her name; and b) only he took longer than her to primp and style his hair to perfection.

(There was no point. She’d just muss it up later by gratuitously threading her hands through the thick strands).

As she sat and observed his journey back from the bar, one thing was clear: something had to give one of these days. Her patience was, after all, definitely limited.

And she loved him beyond anything else.

Two sparsely decorated highballs joined their empties on the table. “I don’t think they’re really the cocktail sort here,” the Doctor mused, pushing one towards her. “It is a G & T, but the wrong glass. Ah well. Bottoms up,” he said happily, clinking their glasses together.

The liquid in his glass had an ever so slightly golden tone to it and in addition to the (rather wilted) sprig of mint, there was curl of something unidentifiable. But it was swiftly out of sight as he took a measured swig; all the while as his eyes held overs over the rim.

“Mmm. I think there’s a hint of ginger in that,” he observed, smacking his lips and staring into the glass’s contents. “Maybe a bit unconventional, but nice. Different.”

“Experimental, more like,” Rose muttered, much preferring the clean taste of the sharp, bitter spirit and astringent tonic water that chased it. The desire to get completely bladdered had left her by the time she was well into her travels with him. And, surprisingly, even when apart, she indulged even less.

Although maybe that was more to do with the fact she did just give in one night, throwing back shot after shot in a poor attempt to drown the pain deep within herself - and then nearly took a random stranger back home to her flat. She’d properly passed out before anything happened, but she still felt guilt for that one night of, well - insanity was the best description.

The guilty pang returned as his arm returned to around her waist. How could she have even considered anyone else, even for a moment?

Encouraged, she sidled closer tucking her head just about into the hollow where neck met shoulder, breathing in contentedly and just savouring the moment, drink in hand from which she took occasional sips.

They must have given off the perfect image of a happy, doting couple as the conspicuous blond from earlier hadn’t made any other attempts. If anything, he was giving them both a wide berth.

Her eyes narrowed as from over the Doctor’s chest they tracked his doddering movements. He was weaving about the tables one moment with a strange, weightless gait, then suddenly walking as usual.

Then, as she opened her mouth to mention what she’d noticed, the Doctor tugged her even closer, setting his now drained glass down with a loud clunk.

In spite of feeling her cheeks flush at his more… rough behaviour, Rose collected herself and began again.

“I don’t know about you, but blondey does seem off to me after all.”

At his enquiring noise, she looked back and nearly jumped as how close the tip of his nose was to her face. A giddy-eyed tender smile was plastered on his face, and a just about visible pink tinge joined the freckles there.

“My Rose.” The tone was almost a soft, sweet crone, accompanied by a brush of lips to her forehead. Well, it was more than a bit off centre and practically on her right eyebrow, but that was besides the point.

“Always seeing stuff I can’t. What would I do without you, ey?”

Rose blinked, silently accepting his sudden outburst of praise and affection. Not that he wasn’t like this on the regular, but…

“Why don’t you pop to the loo and do a bit of good ol’ reconnaissance on the way? I’ll stay here. Might, uh, get us more drinks.”

“Well, I think you’re alright for now, Doctor.”

Clearly the alcohol was having more than just a buzz for him. But, given how it was accelerating his behaviour…well let’s say Rose wasn’t necessarily keen for it to stop.

Also, she actually did need a wee.

The toilets were passable. Not great, but not terrible. The paper towel dispenser was empty and the yellowed hand dryer unit broken, so loo roll it was after the sink gave what little water pressure it had.

She was flicking the last drops off her hands and sidling down the corridor back to the bar room when it happened. She’d slowed, noticing their empty booth table, and then scanned the room. Not half a minute later did she find herself being backed up against the textured wall.

All she could do was stammer.

“I-What are you-D-Doctor-” The full heat and line of his body was pressed tight against hers as he cut her off with one glorious, searing kiss. He tasted faintly of the ginger in his drink, his mouth insistent and urgent as it took hers. It was all she could do to just reciprocate the full force of his onslaught, muffling a noise of surprise into their locked lips as he insinuated a sneaky thigh between her legs. One arm was wedged between her and the wall, the other leverage as he propped himself up above her head.

They were both breathing heavily when he finally broke, right into each other's space. The lighting in the corridor was dimmer here, but she still picked up on the now bruised fullness to his lips.

“I’ve been wanting to do that all night. Well, all day, really,” he confessed, words drawn out more than for his trademark mannerism.

“Oh, really?” Rose didn’t feel that brave, and the falter in her voice let him damn well know that.

The chuckle that bubbled forth from him was the filthiest thing she’d ever heard, and soon the heat wasn't in her neck and face alone.

“Mhmm,” he hummed, tip of his nose trailing her jaw as he leaned in, her breasts firm against his solid chest. “Funny thing, liquid courage. Didn’t realise it was what I needed all this time.”

Her eyes widened, breath hitching as the mood changed entirely, and his hand moved from its entirely platonic placement on the small of her back to, well…decidedly lower down. Much further down, until his large, warm palm was cupping the meat of her arse through her form-fitting black jeans.

Rose squeaked as he tugged her flush against him now, practically pinning her to the wall.

“I suddenly feel the need to also say that I’ve been wondering what colour your delightful underwear is all evening,” he pretty much purred right in her ear, voice husky with what she realised was inebriation.

“Are you drunk?” she gasped, her skin on fire as the very same curious hand changed course and was nudging at her waistband.

“Ginger. I should have realised,” he slurred, adorning the join of her neck and jaw with a line of fluttering kisses. “I suspected I’d have reduced capability for metabolising the alcohol in this body but… ginger inhibits that completely.”

“I - we can’t, not here,” Rose protested even as her body and mind was screaming yes yes yes now. “Someone might see. In fact, someone definitely will see.” The end of that sentence disappeared into the air on a groan as he nuzzled the top of her breasts and, at the same time, deftly undid her jeans. “Doctor!”

The next four words that came from his pleading lips were her undoing.

“But I want you.”

The desperation there was the match that lit the touchpaper.

“Oh, sod it,” she sighed, instantly sinking her fingers into thick brown strands and snogging him senseless, fighting him for control of the kiss. Her arms were looped around him as they had been during that first windswept beach affirmation, and so being hungrily sandwiched together left little room for movement.

But let it never be said that the Doctor would back down from a challenge. Oh, not at all.

She let out a helpful little moan, feeling her hips cant completely of their own accord against his thigh as those same fingers pressed over her mons, the heat of his palm now over her lacy pink choice for the day.

“Perfect,” she barely registered him hiss, awash in a wave of mounting arousal and hormones. The angle was a little awkward given their height difference, and there was no way the black jeans were coming off even down to mid-thigh, but he gave himself enough wiggle room to seek and locate the part of her now crying out for attention. She stifled a sob of relief into his shoulder when they slid underneath damp lace and over the seam of her. It was gladly echoed by his soft groan of appreciation.

“Oi, you two!”

Instead of extricating himself and doing the usual hasty pat-down, rearranging of clothes and a sheepish smile, the Doctor moved, shielding her from the onlooker.

“Yeah, I’m talking to you lot. Don’t think I didn’t notice from over the other side of the bloody room.” It was the blond guy, his stance aggravated as he loped closer.

“I mean this doesn’t really concern you, but I can only imagine we’ve been playing havoc with your olfactory sensilla.” His voice was still gravelly with desire, but the Doctor's tone was nonchalant as he studied their intruder.

All the while with his hand still buried in her knickers.

The guy finally tore off the sunglasses, revealing pupils blown wide.

“You’re bloody right. You humans make me ill, loitering in pub alleys and bar corners and spreading your hormonal filth,” he spat, jaw tense. “And you females,” he glowered at Rose now, who bristled, wet and warmth evaporating to be replaced by irritation, “you should be ashamed of yourself!”

“Oi yourself!” she retorted, moving in a way that dislodged the Doctor’s questing fingers. But he was already there, sonic in hand in a trice.

With a whir and a tiny pop, the man was gone. In his place stood a fuzzy creature beset by many sectioned legs, huge, dark compound eyes and curling antenna. His wings vibrated with annoyance, antenna twitching.

The edge of her mouth twitched when she realised the alien’sfluffy carapace was a pale pink hue, with spots of yellow here and there.

“What was that?” she gaped, staring at the humanoid moth being.

“Shimmer,” the Doctor announced, pocketing the sonic screwdriver once more. “Turns out we didn’t need any ace detective work to find our ring leader. Just pure, unadulterated endorphins and hormones. Plays havoc to a Treveltan, which makes me wonder why you even came here in the first place,” he addressed the giant moth, brows creasing. “Humans are very loud, chemically speaking.”

The Treveltan couldn’t speak - or perhaps just refused to, only rubbing his wings in anger at being discovered and emitting a rhythmic static-y sound.

“Wait…are you telling me we found out the Spice runner because we…you know?”

“Oh yes!”

It was after they’d detained their culprit and they were exiting the pub that he brushed her ear with his lips again, saying in a barely audible whisper:

Story

A few hours after Rose disappeared and then came back home in a great flash of light, her husband was holding her in their bed. His fingers traced her bare spine and skin as he gazed over her in the pale moonlight, a soft smile on his lips as he thought her beautiful. Even after all these years, with a child born, wrinkles just starting to appear around her eyes and mouth to echo her gorgeous smile, the cellulitis and stretch marks lingering, and her form maturing, his Rose was still as breath-taking and enchanting as she had been when he first encountered her nineteen-year-old-self. The gradual entrance into being a middle-aged woman had not diminished his Rose’s exquisiteness. No — it had enhanced it, like fine wine.

Rose was also stroking her husband, feeling where all the tension was still settled in his body with the gentle prodding of her fingertips. It was a surprise, really. When Mia set off to stay the night at a girlfriend’s place after dinner, the Doctor had practically dragged her into their bedroom and made love to her repeatedly until they were where they are now — collapsed and exhausted in a cuddle. Usually, an orgasm from his wife had been the quick solution to any tension he experienced in the over ten years they’d been together on Pete’s World, but not tonight, it seemed.

“What’s the matter?” she murmured in the silent darkness, now brushing her fingers around his hairline on his forehead, admiring his own light wrinkles that were apparent. She could also see a grey hair or two and fancied the idea of having a silver fox of a husband, knowing he’d suit the salt and pepper look so well.

“Hm?” he hummed back to her, quirking a brow. She licked her lips, shifting beneath the sheets a little and drawing them further up her shoulders to shield herself from the cold as the sweat layered on her body grew uncomfortable with her temperature now back to normal. He noticed this and drew her closer into his embrace, wanting to keep his wife warm and happy.

“You’re still tense,” she pointed out, searching within his eyes for the answer. He still had that ancient look, but the walls had weakened and eventually lowered in this universe and you could see feeling more clearly in them now as well. He didn’t hold his cards so close to his chest anymore and allowed people to sense and see his emotions, especially Rose. He had made a point of saying that in his vows. But sometimes, like now, he brought those defences right back up in an act of protection and self-preservation. It didn’t offend her and never would — it was a mechanism that had been drilled into him for hundreds of years and it would take a very long time for him to be fully free of that. “And… well, when you insisted we head to the bedroom, I knew something was up,” she teased lightly, grinning at the sight of his ‘you got me’ smirk. Passionate, frequent shagging wasn’t uncommon for them, but the way he looked at her and the desperation filled in his touches and movements were silent confessions.

The Doctor sucked in a breath, the smile leaving his lips as he took a moment to cohere all his thoughts and… blimey, gather the confidence to be so vulnerable with Rose about this. Of course he knew he could be so with her, but it was still scary to admit such personal struggles and fears after all this time.

“Uh, today was a bit too close to home for my liking,” he explained in a rather awkward, embarrassed tone, scratching the back of his neck. “Made me think of… Torchwood and…” he trailed off, his voice growing tight and the ability to talk crashing fast as the need to cry quickly sprung up on him. Rose didn’t need any elaboration — she knew exactly what he was referring to.

“Oh, love, I’m so sorry,” she whispered, drawing him into a tight hug, stroking his hair and just holding him. “I didn’t mean to. Oh, love.” 

That day, and their time apart, was something the couple never really moved on from. Almost losing Rose to the Void, and then dealing with the fact that they were separated for, what they knew at the time was, eternity had killed the both of them on the inside. It was a pain and a hurt that didn’t start to heal until their reunion, but even then, the fleetingness of their human life was a quiet reminder that they could so easily lose each other again.

“Just… just watching you disappear like that was horrifying,” he choked out, his tears spilling onto her shoulder and trickling down her skin. Her heart broke at the sensation as she cradled his trembling form, cooing to him softly.

When the Doctor saw Rose vanish in that bright light, it was a very distinct and uncanny reminder of the image of Pete catching her before whisking her away to their current world. It was a sick, cruel play on their trauma and it made him want to crumble away. But he knew he couldn’t, so he put all of his energy into distracting himself and pushing down the pure desire to just fall apart. The last time he’d let himself do that, in front of Donna with the Racnoss children, it was a dark feeling that felt so good because it numbed his agony. He did it because he was alone and had no consequence.

This time, he knew his wife would return and that he had his daughter to take care of too, so he packed it all away.

And now, in the safety of his wife’s arms, he let all of that emotion pour out.

“I know, I know,” she soothed, pressing a kiss to his hair and rubbing small circles into his skin. “But I came back, yeah? You didn’t lose me again — I just had to do something,” she reminded him. And like that, he stilled and calmed in her presence with her words of authority. He was a man devoted and entranced, taking her wisdom as the Holy Grail; his personal Bible. 

He lifted up his head and gazed at her with wet eyes, smoothing away a few of her own that started to race down her cheeks.

The front parlor alone was a menagerie of bubble gum pink; from the soft linen tablecloth to the tiered cake stands covered in cupcakes, strawberries, and mini quiche bites. Heart-shaped pink doilies lined every plate, sitting beside neatly-stacked rows of pink, miniature forks, all on their separate islands that’d been steeped on all sides by girlie bits of confetti the housekeeper would likely be vacuuming all afternoon. 

Then there were the gift bags; parcels, baskets; wrappings, and ribbons. All pink. 

And that was just the gifts from the family — they were expecting upwards of two dozen guests, who would likely be coming with plenty of their own presents for the mother-to-be.

The corner was arranged into a makeshift photo booth; complete with a pink wicker basket stuffed with pink hats, boas, comically oversized specs, and various other props sitting beside a shimmering backdrop of… well, you could probably guess. 

They might as well have painted the walls of the entire bloody house, while they were at it. 

“I can’t believe you didn’t take Pete’s suit from the breast cancer gala,” muttered Jackie. “He’d have had it tailored, you know. Made it fit your girlish figure like a dream, he would’ve.”

Leaning on the wall beside her, the one blue sheep amongst a projected pink flock, was the already-exasperated Doctor. He wore his favorite suit, brilliantly blue — perfect, thanks — though he’d foregone a tie with his lighter blue button-down. Felt more laid back.

He pushed his specs up his nose with his pointer finger and rolled his eyes before casting a glare at his mother-in-law.

“In fairness, blue used to be considered the more feminine color.” He indicated his outfit with a dip of his chin. “Technically, I’ll be fitting in better than any of you lot — you just won’t know it.” He sniffed, cocking his head to the side. “Call it… Oh, I dunno. ‘Vintage Incognito’.”

Jackie huffed in exasperation. “‘Vintage Incog-full of it’, more like. I never saw a little boy in pink.”

“That’s because it was only commonplace until the late forties,” he came back with a light, anticipatory smirk. “You were born in what, ‘53, ‘55? You wouldn’t’ve— ow!” He grimaced as his hand jumped up to hold his cheek, where Jackie had landed a swift right hand with a clap.

“1969, thank you very much.” She dusted her hands off dramatically, placing them on her hips. “Don’t go making digs at me just because you can’t stand sticking out like a sore thumb.”

Deluded, he thought — but carried on. 

“As I was saying,” he pushed his specs up again, adjusting where they’d gone askew from her slap. “until the late 1940s, mums were told to dress their boys in pink if they expected them to grow up big and strong. Then came a slew of advertising campaigns where corporations decided, ‘Know what? That’s about enough of that. Let’s have pink be for girls, just for a laugh’.” He swept his hands gracefully out from his sides in a gesture to the sea of pink around them. “Look at us, Jackie Tyler — basking in the garish success of mid-twentieth-century capitalism.”

“I’ll give you something to bask in,” Jackie muttered under her breath as she looked away, scanning the room. “Where is the mum-to-be, anyhow? Guests will be arriving any—”

“I’m here, I’m here,” came an exasperated call, and the Doctor straightened up at once, turning to meet the sight of Rose as she hobbled slowly down the steps. Halfway down, she stopped on the landing.

His breath caught, taking her in from his vantage point in the doorway leading to the foyer.

She wore a form-fitting white dress that clung to every lovely curve; thin straps baring the pale pink of her arms, the loose neckline dipping down to reveal cleavage that had bloomed spectacularly over the past eight months. The dress was delectably form-fitting; not only hugging every supple bend of her body, but perfectly cradling and accentuating her well-rounded bump — over which rested the thick outline of a metallic pink heart. 

The Doctor suddenly found that he loved two things more than he ever thought he could: Jackie Tyler [for picking out that dress], and even in spite of himself: the color pink.

What he loved far, far more, however… was her.

“Oh,” he breathed, his hand leaping to his chest to still the thundering of his heart. “Rose.”

“Don’t,” she grumbled from her post, where she stood with one hand atop the curve of her belly, the other gripping at the banister with white knuckles. “My back is killing me. Feet, too — I’m taking off these stupid bloody shoes. They’ve gotten so tight. And I know I look like a globe with legs, so please, just… don’t.”

Quick as an arrow, the Doctor was darting up the stairs, meeting her in seconds before grasping her face in gentle hands. He swooped down at once, overcome with affection as he delicately covered her lips with his. 

“You,” he kissed her again, “Look,” another kiss, “Breathtaking.” The last one was placed on her forehead, where he uttered quietly, “Stop it. Lookat you. You have never looked more beautiful… And I mean that.”

He met her eyes as he drew back, his hands dropping from her face to cradle her bump with splayed fingers. His heart swelled as he felt the beautiful thrum of life growing within her; their daughter. With a sigh and a soft smile, he carefully pressed his thumbs over the satiny material of the dress, sweeping in gentle curves back and forth. Rose blushed deeply as her lips turned up at the corners, placing her hands over his.

“Guess that’s my cue to put the cake out, then,” Jackie’s voice piped up from the doorway to the parlor. “Rose, sweetheart, can I get you something to drink?”

“... Something sweet?” her daughter tried, her smile turning a little sheepish, and the Doctor smirked. 

Rose had been riddled with scores of cravings throughout her entire pregnancy (certainly not just of the food-and-beverage short, but to expand on that would be a different subject entirely) and he’d been stringent with her at times, not wanting to encourage lovely things such as gestational diabetes or preeclampsia.

Though he wasn’t entirely cruel. 

“Don’t worry,” The Doctor murmured, leaning his forehead into hers. “Have whatever you like. Baby showers are judgment-free, Rose Tyler — and I believe your mum even made your favorite cupcakes.”

Even with their proximity, he could see her eyes widening. “The coconut ones with—”

“With the cream cheese frosting, yes,” he laughed. “And mini quiches, as well.”

In response to such tantalizing information; a rich, velvety moan poured from Rose’s lips, sending a frisson from the very top of his spine all the way through the tips of his toes. His fingers pressed lightly into her belly of their own accord, redirecting the surge of tension working like a lightning bolt through him.

Rose might have been the one dealing with the hormonal onslaught of pregnancy, but as a partial human, the Doctor had plenty of hormones of his own to contend with. Plus, she smelled twenty times more intoxicating than she already did while she was carrying their child, and he was aware of it constantly; a man starving at all conceivable times.

They’d been… a bit insatiable, to say the least. Had been since long before she was pregnant, of course, but now…

Well. Point blank: It wasn’t fair, not even remotely, that she’d go making such noises within a set and setting that couldn’t possibly be more family-oriented. 

The Doctor pulled a deep breath through his parted lips, needing to ground himself back in the present moment; a moment in which women would soon start showing up in droves; some with screaming children of their own. 

Just the thought was enough to jar him back into full control, and he kissed her again, readjusting to wrap his arm around her shoulder.

“Let’s go and get you a cupcake, hmm?”

“Yesssss,” Rose sighed dreamily, and la la la, the Doctor wasn’t listening, la la la. She loosely strung an arm around his waist, thankfully accepting his support, taking the banister again with her free hand as he led her the rest of the way down the stairs.

“So… D’you like the blue?” he asked somewhat self-consciously a moment later, finally stepping onto the ground floor. He smiled when she promptly kicked her pink ballets onto the fancy rug, surreptitiously tucking them off to the side with a swollen foot. “Your mum seems to think I stick out like a sore thumb.” 

Rose looked at his suit intently as though it was the first time she’d noticed it, and immediately burst into laughter, placing her hand over his heart.

“Thank god you haven’t put on pink,” she tapped the buttons of his oxford, grinning up at him. “Doctor, this suit is… S’just you.” Her little grin took on a mischievous little glint as she got closer; close as her body would allow, then leaned in as she lowered her voice. “Don’t want you to change… I think I want you exactly like this.”

The Doctor’s left eyebrow popped up, and he smirked wickedly at her. “Wellll, don’t go wanting me too much, Rose Tyler — there’s still the party to attend to. Although…” His arm around her shoulders loosened as he brought a hand between her shoulder blades, sliding it down to her lower back until his pinkie brushed the almost invisible indent of her knickers. “Later tonight, you’d like a lovely, private massage—”

“Oiiiii!”

A very unwelcome voice sounded off from the doorway, and the pair practically jumped apart to see Jackie standing there holding two glasses of some sort of fizzy pink beverage garnished with bright red strawberries. “Can’t I walk away for two bleedin 'minutes without you seducing my daughter in the foyer?”

The Doctor stood up tall in indignance, flustered as he straightened his suit jacket, hoping it would distract from the glowing vibrance of his blushing cheeks. “I was not—”

But Rose was already turning to rush towards her mum, wobbling at a slight tilt to accept her treat with eager hands. “Oh, thank you, mum, thank you, thank you, thank you—”

“Yeah, alright,” Jackie’s voice feigned admonishment, but there was no disguising the love in her eyes. “Strawberry soft drink. Caffeine free,” she added with a pointed look towards the Doctor; because although she was already well-versed on the pregnancy no-no’s long before he came around, evidently, English Breakfast hadn’t been on her list.

The former Time Lord hadn’t forgotten.

“Thank you,” he mouthed regardless, not wanting to go into the entire day with a point of contention between them — and all over a silly suit.

She smiled at him, effectively clearing the air, and held up the drink that wasn’t currently being gulped down in one go by her daughter. “This one’s yours, you daft, blue thing.”

Oh, thank god, he thought, mouth watering as he eyed the strawberry pierced over the rim of the glass. 

As Jackie went on to wake Tony, the Doctor and Rose stood at the foot of the stairs sipping at the fizzy sweetness of their drinks, and chatting as innocently as they could, enjoying their brief moment of solitude before festivities began. They had just enough time to finish every last drop before they heard the first set of tires pulling up the long drive. 

Rose insisted on hauling their glasses to the kitchen on her own, requesting a moment to herself before being lovingly forced into the center of attention for the next few hours. He didn’t blame her.

Story

Rose was in utter bliss when the Doctor brought her to bed for the first time. It took a little while, having silently agreed to reacquaint themselves with each other and properly, officially develop their romance before getting tangled in the sheets together like that. They couldn’t deny themselves the intimacy and comfort of sharing a bed, being able to hold each other and being reassured that their life wasn’t some wild fantasy. 

As his gentle hands curled around her clothes, slowly peeling them off of her body and pressing featherlight kisses along her silky smooth skin, her excitement was growing deeper and fuller, each touch and caress like liquid fire straight to her core. She encouraged him with soft, tender noises and with the way her firsts bunched up against his back, and the way his breathing sharpened and deepened with each inch of her body that became bare to him, she knew that their intense feelings were mutual.

However, this prolonged and slowly building eagerness and need ceased without warning when the Doctor paused after tugging off her trousers. His lips and hands stilled where they were on her body, his breathing hitched and would’ve stopped entirely if he had retained his respiratory bypass, and when Rose glanced into her lover’s eyes with her hooded, dazed ones, she felt her brow furrow when she discovered that his gaze was filled with pure worry.

“Doctor?” she murmured with a breathy voice, stroking one side of his face comfortingly. Usually, this would draw him back down to Earth, but he was entirely fixated on whatever he had discovered.

“Rose,” he began quietly, “what’s that?” he questioned. Rose followed where his focus had landed and felt her own breath hitch when she saw that he had found one of her scars. 

On the flat of her navel was a puffy, shiny-looking, raised lump of skin that was pinker than the rest of her skin. It melded into her flesh, smoothing out into her untarnished complexion. But it still stood out on the valley of her body and was still a strong sight to behold even after a year or so of existence. 

“Rose?” he asked once more, with heightened urgency, when she didn’t respond. His eyes were more intense with fear now, slightly glazed over. “What happened? Who did this to you?” he demanded with an air of anger in both his face and tone, her silence only encouraging him to theorise the worst-case scenarios. She licked her lips, nervous about discussing this with him. 

“It’s nothing,” she assured him.

“ Rose ,” he insisted, the desperation in his voice clear as tears piqued in the corners of his eyes. She sucked in a breath, drawing her hands into her lap and fiddling with her fingers anxiously, unconsciously slipping one thumb into her mouth and beginning to chew on her hangnails.

“Please don’t get mad,” she requested as quietly as possible, glancing up at him. His brow knotted together and he ran his knuckles over her cheek.

“ Never , love,” he cooed. 

“Well, you know it took a few tries to find you again, right? To get to the right dimension?” she began, and the Doctor’s jaw clenched and body tensed all over as he started to hypothesise what this opening statement implied. He nodded stiffly, still hovering over her. Their arousal was non-existent now, but neither of them cared. This conversation was worth having and prioritising. “Uh, sometimes I found myself in tight situations or in bad locations. And with the wait time for the canon to recharge, things… things could get bad,” she explained with a tight voice. 

“It’s okay, sweetheart,” he encouraged, dropping a soft kiss on her knuckles as he picked up one jittery hand. He rubbed soothing circles into her skin with his thumb. “You can tell me.”

“That one is from when I landed on an ice biome of some sort. It was freezing and in the early days of jumping, so I didn’t have an adequate kit on me. No thermals, extra layers, heat source, or anything—just a t-shirt and jacket on my back. I also landed in some bushes so my clothes got torn, so I got frostbite all over me. I recovered relatively well, but I got that scar,” she informed him. “Mum and Pete didn’t want me to keep going after that, but…”

He sighed heavily. “You insisted.” She gave a small, embarrassed nod. “And… there’s other scars?” he concurred, and she offered a similar nod. His eyes did all the pleading, and Rose obliged. She rolled over onto her stomach beneath him, and Rose heard him suck in a sharp breath as he took in her large scar that traced down her left shoulder blade.

“Would you believe me if I told you I got caught up in a Slitheen war? I tried to lay low as soon as I realised what was going on, but I was found by one last minute. Tried to grab me, we had a duel and… let’s just say I landed in the hospital for a few weeks,” she recounted with a tense smile as she looked over her shoulder.

He looked positively destroyed by her story, one of the tears that had grown trickling down his cheek. She started to turn back over, ready to comfort him, but one hand landed on her shoulder and gently ushered her flat on her stomach again. She gave him a confused glance.

“Just… just let me…” he spoke softly. 

He leaned down and pressed his lips to her mutilated skin, trailing tender kisses down the mark that served as a reminder of how dangerous Slitheen can really be. Once done, he guided her back onto her back and kissed the frostbite scar. He looked up at her from where he was kneeling, eyes pleading and begging. 

“Anywhere else?”

She showed him the other marks, some from jumping and others not. He worshipped each scar, murmuring words beneath his breath at times. Once her entire body had been inspected and touched, they shared a few kisses and resumed their earlier intentions. 

They made love as close as physically possible, pouring their entire souls into it. The vulnerability of Rose sharing her body with him earlier added a whole other layer of intimacy and deepness to this exploration of physical need together, carrying them into heavily emotional climaxes that were unionised. 

She hums noncommittally, even as an odd flush of happiness goes through her. “You know Michael, yeah? In HR?” She waits for him to nod impatiently. “Well…we went on a couple of dates. Wouldn’t even call them dates, actually. Didn’t really go past that. “ Her cheeks tinge pink. “I’m pretty sure I spent them talking his ears off about you.” 

She meets the Doctor’s gaze then, expecting him to say something cheeky. Instead, his eyes darken, and he swears loudly, before moving so suddenly that Rose jumps. 

“Sorry, hello, Anderson—was it?” the Doctor demands, leaning forward to tap the cabbie’s shoulder. “Yes, right—mind taking us back? I’ve forgotten to do something.”

“Doctor,” Rose sits up, bewildered. “Wha—”

“I knew it,” he says. “Knew that slimy bastard had eyes on you. He still fancies you, did you know that? Couldn’t keep his eyes off you tonight. It’s indecent, it is, Rose—it’s not right. He knows you’re with me now.”

Rose tries to ignore the shiver of delight that travels up her spine at that. With him. “So he fancies me—so what?”

“So what?”  the Doctor snaps. “So…what? So I’m going to show him that, that’s what.” He straightens his collar, pulls back his sleeves, muttering furiously. “...does he think he is? Hovering all day…all those reports…touching your shoulder…And tonight. Bringing you that drink?”

“You’ve been watching him closely, then, have you?”

“It’s not funny, Rose.” 

“Going to duel him to win my hand?”

“I just might,” he says, and Rose realises the cab’s pulled up outside the pub they’d left minutes ago. The Doctor yanks the door open, stepping onto the pavement before she can yank him back inside. 

“Doctor, wait! “ she laughs incredulously, stumbling as she makes to follow him. She grabs his arm. “What’re you doing? 

“Nothing,” he says pleasantly, plastering a wide grin across his face. “Just going to give the gentleman a piece of my mind.” With that he turns to march back into the pub, only for Rose to pull on his arm again, anchoring him to her. 

“Doctor, stop!” she says, quite unable to keep the amusement out of her voice. “You can’t just–look. What does it matter? It’s not like he has a chance.” She lifts his wrist, waving it between them. “I’ve won the hand already.”

The Doctor groans, but his lips twitch. “Awful.”

“You love it.”

They stand like that for several seconds, Rose grinning, until he shakes his head in defeat, allowing himself to smile. “I know he hasn’t got a chance,” he admits somewhat gruffly. “Doesn’t mean I’ve got to let him try.”

“Doesn’t mean you can walk in there and deck him either,” Rose reminds him. “You’re in enough trouble with Pete as it is.”

The Doctor makes a noise of irritation.  Carefully, Rose tugs him in the direction of the cab again, as if to not spook him. “I like this look on you,” she tells him conversationally, her tongue poking out of her mouth of its own accord. “Green.”

“You would,” he says grumpily, but there’s no real venom in his words. 

She remembers suddenly, her first Doctor, and the way he would sulk when she so much as glanced at a “pretty boy”. An unbearable fondness suffuses her chest. “Hey,” she says, slowing to a stop. She leans in, pressing her lips to his jaw, to the slight stubble he’s got going nowadays, lingering for a few seconds before pulling away. “I love you.”

His cheek is warm, his gaze even more so. 

“Rose Tyler,” he says quietly. He glances away then, to a street lamp at the corner of the building, and then to the cabbie and then her watch, strangely, before finally flitting back to her. 

“What?” she asks him.

It had started snowing the minute that they’d landed back in London, and he wasn’t happy about it. A week away in Australia checking out some newly-recovered alien tech had been so deliciously warm (with moments of blinding heat in between, courtesy of summer in the land down under) that even as they knew the wintry weather had well and truly settled in back home, Rose and the Doctor were blissfully ignorant of just how cold London could get. 

Rose seemed inexplicably functional, something that the Doctor just could not understand. When they were traveling together, it was always one of his companions lagging behind to try and warm up or cool down, regulate their temperature. He had a vivid memory of Donna on an icy ood-populated planet… but now it was he who was trying to cover himself with as many blankets as possible while Rose just chucked on a hoodie and got on with the day. 

“Rose, it’s freezing!”

“It’s not even below zero today, Doctor, it’s not even scientifically freezing,” She laughed, pressing a kiss to his forehead, his body instinctively chasing the warmth of her breath against his skin, “We have to get to work.”

“No, the labs are so cold. Would it kill them to turn the heater on?” The Doctor whined, shivering as he peeled off layer by layer of fluffy warmth. 

“Doctor, I don’t have to explain to you why they have to mediate temperatures in labs. Come on, it’s warmer in there than it is outside, so the quicker you get out of the house, the sooner you’ll be back inside.” 

Rose couldn’t do anything but laugh as the Doctor whined and groaned about it all the way to work and into the lab, watching a shiver go down his spine whenever someone so much as mentioned opening the door and letting the outside cold air in.

“You are such a sook,” Rose told him that night as he pressed his face against her collarbone, apparently trying to fuse his body with hers in an attempt to preserve body heat, his arms wrapped possessively around her waist. 

“I am not.” He said petulantly, his sentiment somewhat dampened by his current position. Rose could only coo teasingly and press a kiss to the crown of his head, feeling his responding grumble against her skin. 

“Come on, you used to love the snow!”

“I still do, I just don’t like the cold,” The Doctor was finally starting to acclimate, feeling some sort of tingly warmth coming back to his extremities where they were pressed against the soft flannel of Rose’s pyjamas, feeling the curvature of her back underneath the warm fabric, “This bloody body and its inferior homeostasis…” 

“I didn’t even think of that. That you used to not…” Rose said after a moment, her lips freezing where they were pressing repetitive kisses against his head, her voice going quiet and meek.

The Doctor just hummed in response, trying to nestle even closer into Rose’s embrace and realising that her body was tenser than it was a moment ago, “Rose, are you alright?”

She seemed to shake herself a bit, relaxing slightly, “Yeah. ‘M fine.” 

He pulled back, trying not to wince at the cold air, finding the places that had been pressed against Rose’s skin a moment ago, “You don’t seem like it.” He ducked his head, trying to catch her eye as she clearly avoided it, “Look at me, love.” 

Rose sighed, now being the petulant one, and unwillingly met the Doctor’s eyes. He reached out a hand and pushed the hair back from her face, trying to hide the wince at how his fingers ached in the cold. 

“‘I used to not’ what, Rose?”

“You used to not be cold. Or hot. Or have any of these annoying human inconveniences or discomforts,” She tensed again, even as she began to run a finger up and down his arm out of nervous energy, “You could have kept living like that. Some version of you is living like that, out there somewhere…” 

The Doctor sighed, though not in anger. This wasn’t the first time they’d had this conversation, not even in the first hundred - and he was sure it wouldn’t be the last. The things he and Rose had been through, had done to be with each other, had done to each other in the past - and he was the worst in the latter category - those things don’t just get fixed with a kiss on a beach. He didn’t want to stop talking about this, not until it wasn’t even a thought in either of their minds, and he wasn’t sure that day would ever come.

“But he doesn’t have you, my Rose,” He told her simply, pressing a kiss to her mouth, feeling her smile against his lips, before wincing and quickly pulling away, “Rassilon, why are your lips so cold?!” 

Rose grinned, somewhat placated for the moment being, and suddenly turned her attention to pressing kiss after kiss all over his face, onto any patch of bare skin she could reach, small pricks of ice sending shivers across his skin and down his spine (not necessarily just from the cold). After a moment he found his place back pressed against her collarbone, his cheek and hands warming up from her skin, her kisses now once again pressed to the top of his head, where his hair protected him from the worst of the cold. 

“My Rose, I would experience every petty human discomfort or inconvenience, all at once, forever, just for the opportunity to give you a single kiss - you know that, right?”

She laughed, more of an incredulous exhale of air more than anything, making him grin against her throat, nipping her soft skin for good measure and making her yelp. 

“You say that…” She responded, unconvinced.

“I mean that,” The Doctor could only reply, pressing kisses wherever his mouth could reach, as if that was the key to convincing her.

Just seeing if you’d abandoned me for Jake instead. Hahaha. Love you lots, D xxx

It remains unread for what he knows is her lunch break. It pricks unceasingly at him, like a pestering fly, but he eventually shrugs it off. Maybe Rose was just caught up with her workload, or there was no signal again.

It’s hard to shake the worry that begins to gnaw at his gut, however.

He can’t focus on his own load; keeps finding himself staring at the study’s window and forgetting what his hands were doing with the task at hand.

By 1.35, he’s pacing, nerves jittery. It was kind of ridiculous, and he feels like a puppy with separation anxiety, unable to be apart from his owner for more than a few hours.

But being cut off from her for all those years meant he was damned if he wasn’t gonna spend every waking, breathing moment making sure it counted.

The Doctor returns from the loo to a missed phone call. He nearly swears at the ‘Rose’ notification, and nearly drops the device in his fumbled, trembling attempts to return the call.

What was it that one time she told him about breathing?

Ah, right.

In, out. The dial tone seems to drone on as he steadies his inhalations and exhalations. The line clicks, and he blurts out, “Rose?”

There is a pause, then a heavy sigh.

“I’m sorry, Doctor.”

All of his neurons are firing rapidly in succession.

“Jake, why do you have-”

“The ambulance has just gone, and Cath is with her. I said that you’d get there as soon as you could. Jackie and Pete have also been told, but who knows when they can next get a flight out, and-”

“Where,” he bites out, almost crushing the phone casing with a white-knuckled fist.

“UNIT medi-wing. She’s being taken to the ICU. I gotta go… I’m sorry.”

The Doctor just stands in his workshop for a minute, dumbfounded. He wants to scream and rage with anger and shock and disbelief, but clenches his jaw instead and sets about packing a bag with Rose’s things, plus nightwear for him.

*

He’s seen a great deal of horrors in his long life, but the tangle of wires and tubes and the sight of masked staff bustling around the advanced hospital bed is nearly enough to make him lose it all over again.

She looks so small. Small, and pale.

He swallows, hard. Pale, and bloodied and bruised. The bouncy waves she had styled only that morning are completely covered by thick bandages, and her motionless body is swallowed up in a thermal suit designed to stop her going into shock.

Three broken ribs, open-fracture femur, just about saveable left wrist. It was a downright miracle that she’d survived the van plowing into the left side of her car at a four-way junction. So, overall, nothing too drastic in the way of internal injuries, but the blow to the head had the on-site doctors grim-faced and trying their best to be as optimistic as medical science and probability deemed.

Nobody expected anything in those first three to five days, of course. Rose’s body was beginning the painful task of slowly knitting itself back together, and it was best she remained out of it for the entry stages.

Even though that very selfish, very human part of him wants her looking at him right now, telling him everything is gonna be okay. Holding his hand.

Seven days, then ten, then fourteen passed, and not only was Rose not waking up, but the usual response to stimuli checks yielded nothing.

He strokes her limp fingers, his hand over hers where it rests on the covers beside her prone body. A great deal of the contusions and bruising has faded now, but it’s left behind a sickly pallor and shallow cheeks.

Jackie and Pete had jetted back from the Dominican as soon as they were able, and they’ve both been taking care of him.

Mostly making sure he forces some food and tea down his throat and remembers to shower at some point.

During a rare bathroom break he rubs a hand over his own thin face. It’s whiskery and rasps under his palm.

He still hasn’t really cried yet. Too scared, maybe. Too numb.

When he returns, Doctor Shan is fussing over Rose. The man is a top class neurosurgeon and overall incredibly rounded GP, but something inside him snarls. His expression alone makes the other man falter, and soon Shan is reeling off a list of results.

Much of it barely goes in. He’s tired. So very tired.

“...but we’ve double checked Ms. Tyler on her Glasgow scale, which remains a steady 10, which means-”

“I know what the Glasgow scale is,” the Doctor snaps, control of his temper flying out his hands like someone trying to cast a net on the very winds.

Shan’s jaw closes shut under his surgical mask and he nervously fusses with Rose’s IV line, double-checking that in lieu of looking him in the steely eye.

The uncomfortable atmosphere breaks when Shan clears his throat, and steps forward.

“It’s hard to know how best to break this news, but-”

No. No.

What more must the universe throw at him?

“It would appear that Rose is pregnant.”

Time stops altogether. His jaw works, but no sound comes out.

“We’d put her at only 2 months gone. I can’t think she’d have known for too long herself.”

He slumps to the floor, sliding down the wall.

“I’m so sorry. I’ll let you have some time to yourself, and then we can discuss the options available.”

The emotions are like a riptide, burning through his very skull.

And for one fleeting moment, he wished they were never here at all. Because then he wouldn't have to experience the euphoric highs and then this brutal, crushing low. What should have been a delightful moment determined by Rose herself has been oh so cruelly taken away.

And now what future can they possibly have? Is he just bound to be this him, this man roaming the earth with his other half as good as dead, and the beautiful creature they’d made together also doomed to mope with him until he also died?

He wants none of it.

Then, absolutely sickened by his thoughts, the Doctor bolts out of the room, tearing down the corridor until he just about makes it time out of the fire exit to retch the little breakfast he’d had onto parched grass. When his stomach is wrung dry, his body isn’t yet finished with emptying itself.

He’s kneeling in the dirt, hunched over as the force of the tears wracks him. He sobs until his throat is raw from the agony and the salt stings at his skin.

Someone is pulling him to his feet, arms hoisting around his chest and tugging him into them. When he slumps back to the ground, all strength gone in the flood of sorrow, it’s them who crouches by him.

“I- can’t-” he cries out into Jackie’s shoulder, each breath taking tremendous effort. The wave seems like it will never ever stop. “It should be me instead! What am I meant to- I can’t live without her-”

“You listen to me, even if you never do again. We will get her back, and your beautiful baby. And even if we don’t”- she is starting to break now too, choking as he buries his tear-glazed face in her shoulder- “we’ll support you both, sweetheart. I promise.”

Exhausted, he finally succumbs to sleep later on by Rose’s bedside, still clasping her fingers, head in her lap. The crick in his neck afterwards, of course, is completely worth it.

*

Rose’s condition is deemed safe enough to carry the pregnancy to term despite her comatose state. He’s taken to laying a gentle palm over her swelling belly every time an ultrasound is done to check their baby’s development.

He refuses being told the gender when it becomes obvious on the blocky monitor, but that’s because he already knows.

His daughter’s tiny consciousness buzzes in the back of his mind under his fingertips, the tiny bundle bumping clumsily against his own sense of self.

“I can feel her even more today,” he tells Rose quietly, smiling in spite of the awful set of circumstances. “She’s like lilac and gold - or is it pink and yellow? So bright, even now. I can’t wait for us both to meet her.”

He presses a kiss to her forehead, lingering to feel her deep breaths puff over his neck and chest.

“I believe in you.”

*

The Doctor gets into a right scrap when eight-and-a-half months rolls around and Shan tentatively recommends an early intervention.

“Look- nothing here is ideal but even if she were to wake up tomorrow, the strain of a manual delivery would be too much for her. Even you must realise that.” The medic’s hands are splayed out in an entreating gesture. “Most comatose patients have to relearn a good deal of basic cognitive and motor functions. What if Rose has amnesia as well?”

It’s Pete who saves the day this time, even though he looks like death warmed up himself.

“He’s right, and you know it,” Pete firmly tells him, grasping his shoulder and looking the Doctor right in the eye. “There’ll be many more opportunities down the road for those things you’ve missed together. Trust me. Never thought I’d get the second chance I did.”

*

He opts not to shadow the surgery, spending it in deep contemplation right outside the theatre room, hands clasped under his chin as if in prayer.

He’d only get frustrated at the current limitations of human medical science - even with Torchwood’s additional extraterrestrial knowledge and tech. And she needs him.

The clean, pink bundle delivered into his arms only fidgets a little, quieting instantly as soon as she senses the familiar mental presence.

“Hello, my second heart,” he greets his daughter, a tear sliding down his cheek and spotting her swaddling. “Your mummy isn’t quite well, but we’ll see her soon, eh?”

*

It’s hard not to start at every involuntary twitch, every sudden start. Rose’s arm jerks and hits his forearm as he wipes her down with a warm, damp flannel. He watches as her eyes flicker under her lids as though in REM sleep, and focuses on sweeping her hair back from her face.

Her fingers flex in between his. Clenching, then relaxing.

By the time Shan and a few other nurses are summoned to the room, her breathing pattern has altered entirely and her own consciousness, seemingly closed off from him all these many months, flares to life like a flower blooming under timelapse.

The room barely holds its breath as everyone waits, each sinew tense, each muscle readied.

Oh, how he’d missed those eyes.

They slowly flutter open, and are actually drawn to the whiteboard positioned directly above her head. It has a few basic sentences normally provided to coma patients, explaining who they are, where they are and so on.

He needn’t worry.

“Hello,” the Doctor offers, feeling as though his voice is rusty from lack of use even though he’s spoken to her every day since the accident.

Her brows furrows, and her look is inquisitive. The relief that floods him as her hazel eyes fill with comprehension is bloody euphoric.

“‘Lo’,” she rasps, then coughs violently. Jackie rushes forward, tipping her daughter forward gently and urging her to take measured sips of water through a bendy straw.

“Oh, Rose. I love you. And- and we have a beautiful baby girl and-”

Pete’s hand in on his arm, reminding him of their pact not to overwhelm her in this most key moment.

He stops abruptly even as it practically causes him physical pain, and regretfully lets the room fall silent again.

“I…somehow knew, all this time,” Rose says slowly. “In here,” she continues, and amazingly gestures to her temple.

His brain nearly explodes at that. Could it be possible that she retained some latent low-level telepathic ability? Or was it something their part Time Lord child had initiated?

He learns, even more, to sit and just allow the situation to unfold. With Shan’s permission, their daughter is brought in from the medi-wing’s nursery. His heart aches for Rose not being able to hold her own flesh and blood, but, just for this one golden, shining moment, there’s a glimpse of their life beginning.

“She hasn’t got a name yet. I wanted to wait until you were- but I-” He swallows, and looks away (which is hard given he’s practically in Rose’s hospital bed now, with her half-asleep against his side, hand on the baby’s tiny hat-covered head where she’s cradled arms.

“Tell me what you had in mind, then.” Rose mumbles, slipping further into the land of dreams.

“Mia. It means beloved.”