It was a long and exhausting journey from the cold and windy shore of Bad Wolf Bay to the grand and glorious-looking Tyler Mansion. Upon arrival, everyone was physically, mentally, and emotionally drained. Jackie Tyler was adamant that Rose and the Doctor stay at the mansion for the night, rather than go to her flat when they had endured such a long, hard day.

Jackie was about to suggest separate bedrooms for the two of them, but one look at how tightly they held each other and the stubborn look on Rose's face, she knew she would be wasting her breath. So, after hugging them both tightly, she shooed them on their way. Rose silently led the way up the wide, elegant staircase and down the high-arched hallway.

At the far end of the long corridor, they came to a halt outside a plain white door.

"This is quite a ways away from all the other rooms," the Doctor said, observing that Jackie and Pete had walked in the opposite direction, down another long hallway, when they reached the top of the stairs.

"When I got trapped in this universe, I requested to have a room that was well away from everyone else's."

Curiosity piqued, he asked, "Why?"

She paused with her hand to the knob, "Nightmares," was her only answer.

Yet the Doctor didn't need more of an answer than that. She had heard and woken him many times on the TARDIS when a nightmare had sunk its claws into his mind and refused to let him go. He should have known that she also suffered with nightmares and didn't want to terrify her little brother or worry her parents with her screams when she had one. The more isolated her room was, the less likely it was that she would disturb anyone else's sleep.

He didn't know exactly how he felt about her not having anyone to wake her up from one. No one to hold her until she calmed, to chase away the razor sharp fingers of terror left behind by some of the dreams he knew she had experienced while on the TARDIS. He shook the guilt-ridden thoughts from his head. He was here now and he would not permit her demons to torment her sleep any longer.

Once inside the room, Rose handed him the jimjams that Pete had let him borrow for the night, and they shared a smile when he saw that they were a dark blue flannel with silver pinstripes. A few minutes later he was walking out of the bathroom feeling refreshed from the hot water and finally feeling clean. Rose smiled at him as she walked past him to take her own shower, a cream-colored camisole and shorts in her hand.

While he waited on her to emerge from the bathroom, he looked around the room at the plain white walls and sparsely decorated room. He could see that she didn't spend a lot of time in this room, since there was only the queen-sized four-poster bed with a matching mahogany nightstand and bureau; there was no other furniture or any of the little touches he would have expected to see in her room.

It confused him a little since her room on the TARDIS had always looked so lived in, with homey touches, and fully displaying Rose's personality. He distinctly remembered the pink walls and bedding, frilly décor and numerous keepsakes and trinkets from their travels together. He had visited that room many times over the years—that is, until she was lost to him and it became too painful a reminder that she was gone, causing him to ask the TARDIS to hide it.

Yet, this plain, functional, and nearly furnitureless room told a story on its own; that she rarely spent time here, always working to find a way home to him and that she had not planned to return here. It was on this thought, of how hard and how long she had worked to get back to him, that Rose emerged from the steam filled bathroom, skin flushed and her damp hair wrapped in a towel.

The wide smile he gave her suddenly slipped as his eyes—which had been shamelessly wandering over her tall, lean form—focused on something that troubled him. He stood and walked purposefully toward her, his eyes focused on hers. Standing before her, he dropped his eyes to her left shoulder and his hand came up to touch the spot between her neck and the thin strap of her nightgown. His long fingers caressed the slightly discolored mark of a long-since-healed wound.

He had seen Rose's neck and shoulders many times when she wore sleeveless dresses, swim suits and such, and the Doctor knew he had never seen this scar before.

He tried to speak, to ask how she had gotten it, but found he was incapable of speaking, his mouth moving but no words or sound emerging.

Rose shivered slightly at his touch, but the Doctor was too concerned about her to be pleased at what his simple touch could do to her.

"Got that on one of my jumps. I was captured in some weird alien world, didn't even get the name of it now that I think about it. Anyway, they thought I was part of a resistance that was trying to take down their good-for-nothing king. I kind of wish I had been when I realized what a bloody awful arse of a ruler he really was. They didn't like what I had to say about their ideas of what a woman's place was and what they were for. When I refused the kings advances — and believe me, he won't be having kids for a good long time! — and tried to escape, I wasn't quick enough to fully dodge the arrow that came at me."

The Doctor was torn between pride for his feisty Rose standing up for herself, horror at what had happened to her, and rage at the thought that someone would try to hurt her just because she didn't want to be a king's concubine.

His mind was reeling, wondering how many close calls she'd endured, how many times someone tried to take advantage of her because she was beautiful and a woman, how many times she had come close to not being able to walk away alive. He had to know. He had to settle this in his mind or he would go mad from worrying and wondering.

"Show me your scars," he said. His voice sounded choked, part of him wanting her to do as he asked, but another part of him not able to face what she might show him, the tales that would come from how she got each scar.

"But…why?" she asked. Her voice held curiosity at his question, but her face showed her confusion, not knowing how they had ended on this conversation or why he was asking.

He swallowed hard, "I want to see how many times you needed me and I wasn't there," he said, his voice breaking on the last word. A tear rolled down his face as his chocolate-brown eyes met her amber-brown ones, her surprise at this statement evident.

Her face slowly broke into a soft smile and she reached a hand up to cup the side of his strong jaw, her thumb lovingly brushing away the tear on his cheek. Her touch relaxed him slightly and he brought his hand up to cover her own.

"Oh, my Doctor, don't do that to yourself," she said softly, her voice firm.

He started to argue, but she cut him off by covering his mouth with her own. He lost all coherent thought as she kissed away his fear, all the love and devotion she has in her heart for him was poured into that lingering, passionate kiss. Several moments later they broke apart, breathing hard, their foreheads touching.

"You're here with me now," Rose whispered, "that is all that matters." She pulled back to look him in the eyes and said with conviction, "And you know what, I wouldn't've missed it for the world."

She kissed him again in such a way that he didn't doubt her words were utter truth.

Notes: Written for an doctorrosepromts Tentoo x Rose anonymous prompt: "'Show me your scars,' he said. 'But why?' she asked. 'I want to see how many times you needed me and I wasn't there,' he whispered."

Also part of doctorroseprompts 's March theme: Angst and Hurt/comfort and Whump.