So this is set during season three's 42, because I am sad TenRose trash. I know I need to update The Dyanmic Duo, but this story is itching to be written and I need to write it.

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"Martha, I'm scared," he says, eyes clenched tight and pulse racing. She tells him to stay calm, that everything will be alright, but this thing is burning him from the inside and he can't help the anxiety crashing into him like a freight train. He doesn't think he's felt this bloody terrified since he witnessed his Rose losing her grip on the lever at Torchwood, watching her flying back into the void, into Pete's World.

Rose.

If he dies here, he sure as hell wants to die thinking about her. His magnificent pink and yellow human, always saying the right things. It's almost as if he can imagine her here, smiling crookedly at him with her warm hazel eyes. She would take his hand in hers and maybe wrap him in her arms. If he thought hard enough, tried to ignore the pain, he could almost imagine her voice whispering in his ears about their forever. She had something burning her like this too. He wonders if this is how she felt, with the Bad Wolf, this intense burning behind his eyes, trying not to succumb to the power.

The pain returns again, this time more intense than before, and he tried to channel his thoughts back to Rose. The vanilla scent of her hair, her warm hands fitting perfectly into his, her golden blonde hair and beautiful smile. He thinks about hushed conversations in the dead of night, of chips and of burning suns. He lets the pain of losing her hurt more than the pain of burning. He thinks of her face at Bad Wolf Bay, of her I love you and his almost confession. The tears he cried that night, after Donna went home and he was alone again.

Her name keeps him fighting, and even though he can hear his own screams, he can also hear her gentle voice telling him to get some rest, flirting with him, asking him questions. After a while he doesn't even notice the burning sensation, and all he can feel are his hearts breaking in two.

Then, the most peculiar thing happens. He can't feel anything other than a pleasant warmth that feels distinctly like Rose. It feels like she's embraced him, and he revels in the comfort of her arms and the feel of her lips on his forehead. He's sure he's still screaming, but not quite sure why. He should be smiling. He's got Rose with him now.

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Later, when Martha asks him about how he's feeling, he avoids the question. He's not up for chatting at the moment, because as much as he admires Martha, her smile isn't the same as the tongue-touched one he craves. After they've finally talked, and he's given her a key like he gave Rose once upon a time, he walks to his room to contemplate.

Instead of letting himself be sad, he just thinks. He thinks about their adventures, about her family that quickly had become his too, of the times she had slept in this very bed with him when his nightmares got bad. When he finally gets to sleep, it's with a smile on his face and a fading feeling of basking in the glow of his pink and yellow Rose.

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Rose sits up in bed with a start. She can't help but think that it's was an odd dream. The Doctor was in pain, and she had held him as he cried. She can't shake the lingering sense that it was real. Wiping away his tears, smoothing back his hair.

Later that day she forgets the dream, as she works on her dimension canon to bring her home.