I do not own Doctor Who. All rights belong with the BBC. No copyright infringement intended.

Author's Note: A Ten and Rose fluffy oneshot with a bit of angst, but added cheese. Set sometime after Satan Pit.

His thoughts always managed to do the most wondering when he was alone, usually in the console room. His inability to sleep for very long – or very often – left him an awful lot of time to tinker about with the Tardis, nothing but gentle hums and his own easy breathing to listen to. He had enough energy to go off headfirst into another adventure right there and then, but of course he would never leave the Tardis these days without her hand to hold.

He had always found the human's need to sleep annoying, if he was honest. It left him with nothing to do but rewire his ship – taking out a bolt here, and pointing his sonic screwdriver there. The Tardis didn't need any of it really; she was quite perfect as she was. But, even if she might not need it, he didn't mind; it gave him something to do, and about two percent of his brain something else to think about. Of course that still left the rather large percentage of brainpower to dwell on things a little confusing. Like why his thoughts always seemed to reflect back to his current companion… much more than he was used to. Much more than he should do.

The amount of time she spent in his head, he wouldn't be much surprised she had her own little living quarters up there. It was slightly annoying, but if he was honest, he was mostly incredibly exultant to be thinking about her, however often it was. Maybe that was worse. He was well aware of what was happening, as much as aware that there was no longer anything he could do about it anymore. He was in much too deep now. For now, he could enjoy it, he supposed. The time with her was always enjoyable.

There were darker worries though. This could not last forever. As much as she told him – and herself – that it would. Everything must end… everything dies. He shuddered, his hands gripping the screwdriver steadily turning white as he worked under the grating of his ship. Yes, as much as he could be happy thinking about Rose, there were also thoughts about her that came out to haunt him, to torture him.

The voice of the devil was often playing a large part in that torture, the words playing over and over… 'The Valiant child who will die in battle so very soon .' …And their conversation afterwards…

"It said I was gonna die in battle."

"Then it lied."

His confidence that wasn't confidence had shown. It wasn't confidence, because it was determination, willingness for the words he spoke to be true. He wasn't sure what he would to if they weren't.

He sighed and lifted himself up onto the Tardis floor, wiping his brow and setting himself to his feet. It was so unnaturally quiet at this time, with Rose asleep. He could interrupt the silence he supposed, talk about anything he wanted to the Tardis. But there was really no point; she was inside his head anyway, and, besides, it wouldn't be the same without Rose's witty replies teasing back.

He wandered out of the console room, intending to head down to the library. Perhaps reading would help pass the time, whilst keeping his mind occupied. Books have never failed him before. However, as he made his way through the corridor, he passed Rose's room. Her door was open a few notches, the room inside dark. The Doctor had no idea why she keeps her door slightly open. She was not afraid of the dark, as far as he knew. And most of the time it was just as dark out in the corridor as it was in her room anyway.

He peeped inside. Just a quick look, he decided. The Tardis lights in her room brightened the tiniest notch so he could see her properly. Her eyes were closed, her chest rising and falling gently, face totally relaxed, content. He walked over to the bed, standing by her and smiling.

Her features were laced with calm; lips slightly parted but twitched upwards, her eyes softly and smoothly closed, her cheeks a pinky peach, and her hair flowed about her pillow in scattered laces. She looked beautiful. He was just reaching his hand out to touch her cheek when he realised what he was doing. He blinked several times, and whipped his arm back to his side fluidly. He was standing in his companion's bedroom, watching her sleep. What the hell was wrong with him?!

Stepping back several paces, he turned slowly and started towards the door. But behind him, Rose softly said his name, stopping him in his tracks. He stiffened, sure she had seen him, and swallowed hard. Now what?

He turned back slowly, "Rose, I –"

Then he stopped. Rose was still asleep. She hadn't moved from her position on the bed. Her lips were still parted slightly, her eyes still closed, cheeks still peachy. Then another sound escaped her lips, a squeak, a soft cry, and her features crunched in slightly. Her eyes squeezed inwards, and her brows tightening together. She flinched, and her shoulders slouched upwards. "Don't," he heard her pleading in a whisper with eyes still tight shut. "Please."

A nightmare, he thought with a pained expression. He strode over to her in three large steps. Kneeling by her bed, his hand tentatively rested on her cheek. "Shh, Rose," he uttered quietly. "It's okay, just a dream. I'm here."

Rose let out another small cry, which turned into a broken sob as her mouth opened wider. Her frown crunched inwards. "Please," she whispered hoarsely. "Don't. I'll do anything."

The Doctor cupped her cheek, his other hand rubbing her arm. "It's okay," he muttered. "Rose? Wake up, Rose. You're dreaming."

The bottom of her eyelids moistened and a tear squeezed itself out, rolling down her cheek and meeting the Doctor's hand. He brushed it away. Her voice was choked when she next spoke into her nightmare, "No, no. No, please. Don't hurt him anymore, please."

The Doctor shook her lightly. He didn't like to wake her, but this dream was beginning to out of hand. He wouldn't have her crying for something that wasn't happening. Or anything that was happening now he thought about it. But that wasn't the point. "Rose wake up, come on."

Another cry of anguish from her sent a cold shiver through his hearts. "Doctor," he heard her choke. "Don't die. Please. Get up. Don't leave me."

"I'm here Rose," he said firmly, louder now. "Wake up." He sat down, kneeling himself on the bed and laid next to her, shaking her slightly and speaking louder, speaking in a forced cheer, "Wake up Rose. Come on, rise and shine!"

She gave another broken sob and without really thinking he pressed his hands against the small of her back and pulled her close to him. Holding her tight against his chest, he felt her body shake against him. "Don't leave," the whisper said so close in his ear, but he knew her eyes were still closed.

"Never," he determined.

Slowly, he began to feel her shaking, sobbing body quieten in his arms. Her breathing became less erratic and gentler. Her heat beat slowed back to a normal pace, and her body became more limp. He very tenderly, and a little reluctantly, pulled back slightly from the hug, looking upon her sleeping face. Her features were back to their quiet, content calm. She breathed heavily and he knew she was now very deeply asleep.

His head settled softly back on the pillow with Rose in his arms, and the Doctor decided that for now, maybe a night spent with Rose in his arms, even if she was asleep, was a night well spent.

What a ridiculusly cheesy ending. Ah well. Reviews are love.