Final instalment. Not canon.

She was here. She was in his TARDIS, tucked safely in his bed as she slept.

She'd come back to him.

In all honest, he wasn't sure how he had ever doubted her. Rose Tyler would always do the impossible. Rose Tyler would always come for him, just as she'd promised.

He entered his bedroom quietly, opening and closing the door soundlessly behind him so as not to wake her. He didn't have to sleep tonight, having slept plenty over the past week, but he'd just gotten her back and he didn't want to spent any more time apart from her than he had to. He quickly shed his tie, suit jacket, and oxford, and exchanged his pinstriped trousers for a pair of cotton pajama pants, adding a simple black t-shirt in case she woke up and was uncomfortably with his state of undress.

He quickly settled under the blankets, perching his glasses on his nose and flicking on the dim lamp on the night stand, picking up his worn copy of Oliver Twist from the same place. Just as he opened the book, a quiet whimper drew pulled his attention to the woman curled in a tight ball under the blankets.

His eyes widened when he saw tears on her cheeks and her face pulled into a fearful grimace. The whimpers morphed into cries and shouts and sobs, and he quickly put down the book, gently shaking her shoulders. "Rose. Rose, sweetheart, you're safe. You're on the TARDIS," he whispered quickly. "Rose," he spoke louder, panic edging into his tone. "Rose, wake up!"

His hand went to cup her cheek, but his thumb pressed against her temped and suddenly he was bombarded with images.

They flashed by too quickly for him to get a good look. He could see where he was, but the walls and ground were a frightening sterile white, and people moved in and out of his field of vision, their faces covered by masks.

He could move his hands or his feet, try as he might, and his head was strapped tightly into place. The cries didn't sound like him but they came from his mouth. Pain erupted live a volcano in his mind, coursing through the rest of his body in a painful surge, burning every inch. It receded for only a moment before a fresh wave hit again, and he cried out louder, the voice definitely not his.

The fire-y pain was gone an instant later, but a sharp prick in his arm began a course of freezing cold ice, numbing his fingers. He cried out and fought the restraints, but no one listened.

He was no longer in restraints – he was running through halls with more white walls and floors, stumbling uncoordinatedly as his jelly legs failed. Pain he recognized as a gunshot pierced through his chest, and he stumbled, his head hitting the ground with a painful smack and his vision blurring.

Electricity shook his limbs as he shouted and cried in the voice that wasn't his for the torture to stop.

No one listened.

He fought back the horrible images that burned into his mind as tears flowed freely down his cheeks, sending waves of love and comfort across the telepathic connection. "Rose," he whispered both aloud and telepathically. "Rose, wake up, sweetheart."

She jolted awake violently. "Get away from me!" She cried, her voice breaking as she pushed away from him as quickly as possible, her eyes wild and her breathing heavy.

His hearts broke at the feral look in his Rose's eyes. "Rose, it's me." He reminded her quietly, taking care not to reach out. She would come to him – if he pressured her she would recede further into her mind and push further away from him.

"Doctor?" Her voice was a strangled whisper.

"Yes, sweetheart," he promised, "it's me. We're on the TARDIS, we're safe."

She carefully looked around her, taking in her surroundings, and then back to him. He was watching her with sad, hopeful eyes, "We're on the TARDIS?" she asked quietly, the fear draining from her eyes to reveal a painful hope and immeasurable loss.

"Yes, sweetheart," he said again, his voice gentle. She let out a shaky breath and moved back to him, pressing herself completely against him and wrapped her arms tightly against his middle, resting her head in the crook of his neck and feeling his double heartbeat welcome her home. He wrapped his arms around her and held her with just as much force, resting his cheek against the top of her head. "I've got you now, Rose," he promised her, just as she'd promised him so long ago.

A quiet sob escaped her lips before she pressed them together. "Don't leave me alone," she begged quietly, hating herself for the weakness but needing the confirmation after too many years trapped alone in the parallel world.

He tightened his hold. "Never," he promised, the weight of love for her strengthening the promise. "You'll be alright, Rose. I've got you, and I'm never letting go." She let out another shaking breath and relaxed slightly. He shifted from his sitting position so that he was laying on his back and Rose could lie comfortably against him, not even bothering with his book.

Tonight, he would lay with her and hold her. He would keep the nightmares at bay, just as she'd done for him more times than he could count. He would keep her safe. He ran his fingers through her hair – no longer bottle-blonde, but a beautiful golden blonde – and kept a tight hold on her waist. "No one's going to hurt you anymore, Rose," he swore to her, though he wasn't certain she understood him as sleep began to overtake her again. Her breathing evening out and her heart slowed back down, beating out a more regular rhythm against his double pulse. He could feel a lingering tension in her shoulders, and he pressed a kiss to the top of her head. "You're safe," he promised again, certain she wouldn't hear the promise that was more for him than her.

He hummed a Gallifreyan lullaby as he held Rose against him, resolving never to let her go. He would keep her safe.