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It was just for a few hours a week, and not every week, that you could catch the TARDIS in total, absolute silence. The humming of the engines and the whisper of soft breaths would be all you could listen to, and if any of the sleeping humans woke up, they would be startled not to hear the rush of feet or the lonely ranting of one mad Time Lord. Most of them companions had at some point assumed that the Doctor never slept.
But in this night precisely, if you listen really close, you'd be able to catch a small cracking over the rhythmic breaths, the soft, barely-there sound of time and space bending up in a silent miracle, causing the engines to hum just slightly louder; a greeting, pleasant tone added to the mysterious melody of the best ship in the Universe.
The Doctor would have caught that change for sure, hadn't it been in this precise night on these precise hours. Right now, he's too busy seeping into silent numbness to notice the small change in the air, and almost too numb to feel the brush against his side as someone settles down beside him, the new weight on his bed almost familiar enough for him not to notice it. Almost.
But the Doctor still has sharp senses that lead him to open his eyes wide, searching blindly in the darkened room, though his mind seemed to be taking a little too long to cooperate, his movements uncoordinated and graceless as he tries to get away from the someone laid down on his bed.
His moving is stalled, though, as a warm hand suddenly runs against his arms in what feels like a soft caress. The person is humming a low "shh" at him, the mattress underneath him shifting slightly as he feels arms curling up around his frame in an impossibly familiar motion, spreading a comfortable warmth around him and enveloping him in a soft scent, everything so familiar that his still-numb mind comfortably decides to let it pass as a rare good dream and before he knows it he's back into a quiet sleep.
When he regains consciousness, hours later, the first thing he notices is warmth around him. Now, with his mind fully rested, he's very much aware of the strangeness of it all, and he jumps silently away from the body embracing him.
Looking down at the form of the now-sleeping person, he feels his hearts rate increase impossibly. He rubs his eyes as if to clear his vision, because it's surely tricking him. But no, there is definitely a blond-haired girl curled up in his sheets.
There is a twist in his chest and a breath caught in his throat as the wave of memories that only the right shade of blonde has the power to bring back crashes onto him. He blinks once or twice, because his eyes can't believe what they see - how could he believe? Oh, but he wants to. He wants to believe so badly, and it is with blind, impossible hope beating loudly in his chest that he raises his fingers to brush the golden locks away from her face. ("If I I believe in one thing, just one thing... I believe in her.")
The face that greets him leaves no room for doubt. He would recognize that face anywhere - had actually known every detail of it it by heart once, and maybe still did. Perhaps his mind would have wandered through hundreds of different possibilities to explain why is this girl here when she definitely shouldn't be - couldn't be -, but he feels her stirring in her sleep and restrains his hand quickly, the lack of her under his fingertips stinging like a reopened wound - one that had taken far too long to close, had it ever really closed.
His eyes are wide with incredulity and old pain as he watches closely the girl's every movement, the slight flutter of her lashes and the way her hands rub at her eyes in that quiet grace she has always had and never known. Her eyes then fall onto him and he finds himself frozen under her unreadable gaze. (Hadn't he always been so good at reading people? Oh, but this one girl...)
The smile that spreads through her face takes his breath away just as it always has. "You've changed again," she states, and her voice is so beautifully familiar that for a moment all he can do is let it echo through his head - he had never really realized just how much he missed this sound.
"Rose," Is all he can splutter after several seconds of silent, stunned wonder. "But- How--"
Any questions are taken out of his mind as she gets up and throws her arms around him. His mind goes blank as he feels her head settling on his shoulder, sniffing at the new scent of his new body. She hums against his skin, sending a shiver down his spine as he himself gets lost in the scent of Rose. It had been so long.
"I missed you," She murmurs, lips brushing against the soft skin on his neck. That's when he decides that questions can wait and returns her embrace, his arms tightening around her because Rose.
"So did I," he whispers back, nose buried in her hair, taking in every bit of her.
He isn't sure how long they stay like this, pressed close to each other, the only sounds in the room being their shaky breaths and the beating of their hearts. He isn't sure and he doesn't really care, because in that moment all that matters is Rose. Soft, real, and right here.
The peaceful silence is cut by a low beeping sound. Rose sits back, leaving the embrace, and he doesn't want to let her go. She looks down at the machine tied to her wrist - something that looks like some sort of vortex manipulator -, and then looks back at him, a small, saddened smile taking her features.
"I only have a few minutes," she says calmly, and he feels his hearts skip a beat, "so I guess it's time to answer your questions."
Before he starts, he takes her hands in his, not wanting to miss a single second of the passing minutes he has left with her. He swallows to clear the lump in his throat, and his eyes linger on the gold-ish brown of hers. He then stutters his first question: "How?"
Her smile grows in a smug sort of way and she raises her wrist. "Void manipulator. Kinda like a dimension cannon, only it gives me a few hours in this Universe and while I'm here it prepares to fix the walls of the Universes. Then, when it's time, it pulls me back, healing all the tears and no damage done. I helped build it," a cheeky wink complements the smug look she sports.
His eyes rest on the machine for a few seconds. Brilliant, really. Potentially life threatening, but brilliant. Why would she take the risk, though? Why would she come here when she has... him? That's his next question, he decides. "Where's... where's the other me?" He whispers.
She smiles softly. "On the other side. He's doing very well, even if it was a little hard to learn to settle down. He's planning to travel all the Earth now," She chuckles.
He doesn't. He lookes down for a second and then back up to her eyes. "Does he know?" The look on her face answers that no, he doesn't know. "Why are you doing this? If I were him - and I am -, I wouldn't be pleased if you were doing this to me. Why?"
She looks at him softly, her hands holding his tighter. Her voice is barely a whisper when she answers. "Cause I need you."
And it's enough for him, because he needs her just as much. So all he does is hold her close to him as tight as he can, feeling her sigh against his skin. And thinks that maybe he should feel guilty but he doesn't, because it is Rose.
The beeping comes back again and she gets out of his embrace reluctantly. Her eyes are sad as she whispers, "it's time".
As the beeping increased and her seconds pass, he looks right in her eyes and tells her the words he should have told her a long time ago. And as she fades away from him, she smiles the biggest smile he could remember seeing on her beautiful face.
And when he goes to sleep again, weeks later, she's back, slipping into bed with him and holding him close. And he holds her back and says the words when she's fading. It happens again on the next night of sleep, and on the one after that, and he find's himself going to sleep even when he doesn't need to, just because she would join him every time.
It takes him three nights to kiss her and two seconds after their lips touch to regret not doing it before.
She would always be there in his sleep, and it would always be so very right. They would always hold each other and he would always say the words. And really, the Doctor didn't think he'd ever gone to sleep with such a frequency.
Maybe someone could point out many wrong things in their little secret. But it was the Doctor and his Rose Tyler, in the TARDIS, as it should be, and it feels nothing less than right.