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She knew the war changed him.
Of course Rose did. There wasn’t any way it wouldn’t, and he wasn’t a fighter, not really.
John was ‘the Doctor’, as most of his family and friends called him- the only one with that level of education in either group- and he embodied it. He wanted to help above everything. To make anywhere he was a better place than he found it.
Strong morals, her John. Always standing up and speaking out when there was a need- but he was a doctor and there was a bigger need out in war torn Eastern Europe and because his heart wanted to help, and help the most possible, he went.
He kissed her goodbye as Dr. John Noble.
Rose picked her fiance up as Dr. John Noble, Squadron Leader in the Royal Air Force Medical Services. He wasn’t the same, and she knew that from the moment her eyes landed on him.
His letters had been him for the first stretch of it. Optimistic and full of his particular humor and reassurances he was fine and that he missed her like breath. Letters are constant, Rose sometimes writing him one everyday, even if they were just little notes reminding him that she loves him. Calls were more rare, but hearing his voice was the most soothing balm in the wound his absence had caused her.
Their video calls- those were special.
Scheduled. Sacred. Often sexy.
It was how they got through it, especially when the times they were able to talk lessened and lessened. He stopped joking as much, he stopped asking about her mum or her work… He tells her less about how he is and how his own work is going.
Rose understood that too.
This was hard- she knew it would be hard. But she loved him, she understood why he said he needed to do this- and she was willing to walk into hell with him.
Hell, however, followed him home.
She’d expected quiet. Exhaustion. Distance, too, though she had dreaded that.
But this man- the one laying beside her but not sleeping, the one who didn’t smile at her just for being in the room with him- he was hurting in a way Rose wasn’t sure how to reach.
He’d been home for three weeks. It was the fourteenth of November and Rose just wanted to cheer him up.
So she called his sister, and together Rose Tyler and Donna Noble hatched a plan for something that John had always loved, in hopes of making him feel a little brighter. A little more at home.
They got Jack Harkness involved. Because he was John’s best friend, and he was a veteran himself, though American Army and his service was in Iraq, the trauma was similar and they understood each other even better now.
He knew how coming home could feel. So he took John for the day. Donna and Rose even managed to rope Rose’s mum in and together they decorated the entirety of their split-level flat. Downstairs was the living room, kitchen, half bath and his home office. Upstairs their bedroom and the master bathroom.
They decorated everything.
Fairy lights and tinsel and garland strung throughout their home, little glass snowmen and angels smiling from shelves and countertops. Their seven foot prelit tree he’d bought their first christmas was in the corner by the couch, shining brightly, ornaments on every single branch.
By the time her help had gone home, Rose was quite proud of how it looked. She lit a few candles strategically throughout the flat- pine scented, to match all the pine garland and the fake tree, trying to bring it all to life.
She was waiting in the kitchen, just taking her lasagna out of the oven when John came in.
The door shut behind him and the fairy lights flickered, steady and bright. The tree stood perfect in the corner, ornaments spaced just so, the star slightly crooked the way he always liked it.
He stopped short. Rose looked at him where he stood, her smile bright and eyes hopeful.
“You’re home!” She said excitedly, “Jack texted an’ said you were on your way so dinner is-”
“Rose.” He cut her off, though he didn’t finish right away. His eyes tracked the room instead. The garlands. The candles. The way the place looked like it was holding its breath along with Rose, hoping to be the sort of cheer he needed.
“I know it’s early, but you always said-”
“I said I liked Christmas, Rose…” he interrupted again, the edge slipping in sharper than he meant it to. “Not bein’ hit over the head with it.”
Rose’s smile fell. The shine left her eyes like he’d flipped a switch.
“Oh.” Rose blinked. “I… I jus’... I thought it might be nice. You always love-”
“It’s November.” he said, still sharp as a tack. “This isn’t… Why?”
“I thought…” Rose’s voice broke slightly. “I thought maybe it would cheer you up.”
He sighed, heavily, eyes squeezed shut- and Rose knew he was trying not to snap worse at her.
“Honey, I only wanted you t’ come home to somethin’ good. I swear.” She peeped, her voice small.
He took his coat off, slow and precise, like he needed the motion to keep himself steady. He hung it up, straightened it, didn’t look at her again.
“This is a lot, Rose.” he said. “I didn’t ask for this.”
“I know that.” she defended. “It was a surprise for a reason. I jus’ wanted-”
“It’s a lot, Rose.” he said. Rose had suddenly started to hate the sound of her own name, he’d said it so much, clearly trying to drive home his point. “I’ve just walked in. I don’t- I can’t do this.”
Her shoulders dipped. “Do what?”
“All of it!” he said, gesturing vaguely. “The lights… The effort… The… The expectation!”
“I wasn’t expectin’ anything,” she said quickly. “I just thought-”
“That’s kind of the problem.” he said, before he could stop himself. “You thought wrong. I don’t need cheerin’ up, I need some room to fuckin’ breathe!”
Rose made a small, broken sound that could’ve been an ‘Oh’. She nodded and looked away, the glow of the fairy lights catching in the wet trail down her cheek.
“I’m goin’ t’ bed.” He growled, moving past her in a hurry. “Don’t want t’ fight.”
“I- I wasn’t fightin’.” Rose whimpered out.
He didn’t answer. He walked past her without touching her, the space between them deliberate and devastating.
Upstairs, the bedroom door had a glow coming from beneath it, and when he opened it, he cursed aloud, his voice angrier than he’d allowed up until then.
“For fucks’ sake! Here too?!”
There were fairy lights across the headboard and garland around the window, a cheeky bit of mistletoe over the bed and their winter covers with the reindeer on them were on the bed.
The door slammed anyway and Rose let the tears fall, her arms wrapped around herself. She’d just wanted him to be happy. She missed him happy.
She let the tears have their way, let them fall hot and humiliated and burning until there were none left. Then she unplugged the Christmas tree and carefully, one by one, she started taking the ornaments down.
John Noble slept terribly. In fragments. Half-dreams full of light and noise and the sense of having missed something important and Rose just out of his reach. When he woke for good it was already late morning, grey light pushing around the curtains.
The flat was quiet.
He waited longer than necessary before going downstairs, bracing himself for the careful politeness he’d perfected because he didn’t want that to be something he used with Rose. He came down looking to maybe make up with her.
Instead, he stopped dead at the bottom of the stairs.
The tree was gone.
The lights were down. The shelves now bare. No tinsel, no garlands, no evidence at all that joy had ever been attempted at all.
Rose was on the floor by the coffee table, rolling up the last length of ribbon with meticulous care, like it might still hurt if handled roughly.
She looked up at him and smiled- all soft, tired, and still with much more love than he felt deserving of.
“Oh. Mornin’.” she said, just barely above a whisper. Then, quickly, before he could say anything else, she added- “Don’t worry- I’ll get the bedroom in just a bit.”
Something in his chest dropped out completely.
Because she’d done both of these things for him.
Because she’d taken the night apart for him, quietly, lovingly, and he’d slept through it. Even though she’d probably been exhausted from all the work she had put into putting it all up, she stayed awake and took it all down.
He opened his mouth.
Nothing came out.
The weight of what he’d done hit him all at once- not as anger or fear, but as something far heavier.
Shame.
“Rose-” He breathed, her name falling with more awe than the snappish way it had last night. “I… I don’t…”
“It’s okay.” She said, clambering to her feet. She put the roll of ribbon back into a box and came over and kissed his jaw. “Coffee is on- I’m gonna go get the bedroom finished an’ have a nap. It’s been a long night.”
He tried to call after her, but his voice was frozen, the air in his lungs refusing to work with his vocal cords.
He pulled out one of the kitchen chairs and dropped into it heavily, elbows on the table, head in his hands. The stillness pressed in around him, absolute and accusing.
She’d put so much effort into both, and both times it had been an attempt to give him more comfort.
And his Rose- she would never- never- admit what it had cost her, nor how it hurt her. She’d smile, she’d tell him she was fine and that he was overthinking.
But this wasn’t something small. And he knew without having to hear or see, that she was crying as she took down the cheer she’d put up in their bedroom. He knew she would finish and curl up into a ball and pull her pillow over her head and cry for a bit longer before she allowed herself to sleep.
John knew this was his fault. He stayed there for a long time, unmoving, the flat spotless around him, knowing with a certainty that left no room for defense that whatever the war had taken from him, he had let it take something from her too.
And this time, there was no triage. No protocol. No plan of attack.
Just the knowledge that he had hurt the person he loved most- and that fixing it would require more than he knew how.
But he was going to do it anyway.
They spent the rest of their day in an awkward dance of avoidance. She awoke from her nap, made them both a sandwich without asking if he was hungry, because she knew if she didn’t make him something he wouldn’t bother to eat. Then he hid out in his office and she went back upstairs and curled up with a magazine she wasn’t really reading.
Rose wanted to understand him. To understand what the war had done and how PTSD had him in a cage with bars she couldn’t see- but she didn’t know how or where to start.
John sat in his study, staring at the ceiling.
He’d not just messed up. He had fucked up.
This was something he would remember for the rest of his life- meeting her adoration and love with coldness and cruelty.
She’d be at work the next day. He’d yet to go back to work himself, their savings sufficient enough that he could take a couple months to reacclimate to London.
He sighed, winced at what he was about to have to admit to- then took out his phone and called his sister.
Donna had answered the phone, expecting her brother to maybe be calling to tease or thank her for how she’d helped his fiancee put a winter wonderland up in their home.
Instead, he had immediately gushed about what Rose had done and how profoundly loving it had been and how he had made an ass out of himself- and Donna cut him off mid-ramble.
“I know. I was there.” Donna explained. “I stood unrollin’ garland there with her while she babbled on an’ on about you. About how much she loved you, how she just wanted you t’ smile again. And it was killin’ her seein’ you like that- hurtin’, shuttin’ yourself off, and she couldn’t do a damn thing to make it better.”
“Shit.” John swore under his breath.
“Yeah. Asshat.” Donna added.
“I want to put it back.” John said quietly. “While she’s at work- I want to put it back up for her. Help me. Please. Not for me, but for Rose.”
“Listen, Spaceman,” Donna sighed, “I will help you. But you’ve got to do more than just puttin’ back her gesture. You have to really mean it when you tell her you’re sorry. We know you’ve been through hell- but she loves you so much an’ you… Oh John. God I can’t even imagine how she must feel.”
“I know.” He mumbled. He knew the look on her face. The defeated and ashamed look she got when she felt small or stupid. And she was neither- always brave and brilliant, his Rose.
“I’ll give her twenty to get to work, then I’ll be there.” Donna promised.
“Thank you.” John said, and Donna snorted.
“Don’t thank me yet, Spaceman. You’ll owe me one for this.”
It was the scent that hit her first.
Rose pushed the door open and the blend of pine and cinnamon hit her in the face- not overpowering, but unexpected. She shut the door and froze.
It was as if nothing had ever happened.
Each decoration and bauble was back in place, like a hard reset had been done on the flat.
And in the middle of it all, propped on the door between the living room and kitchen, stood John.
He looked entirely too good for her aching heart- he wore her favorite of his jumpers, a deep maroon that made his icy blue eyes stand out, blending in with the reds and greens of the decor.
He also had a bundle of pink and white lilies in hand- simple, wrapped in brown florist paper. She smiled and then swallowed a sob as a tear rolled down her cheek against her will.
“Hey love.” He said softly. “Welcome home.”
Her steps were hesitant at first, then she crossed the threshold and stopped in front of him, looking from the flowers to his eyes.
“Oh…” she whispered, and her voice cracked a fraction.
“I thought… I know y’ don’t like roses,” he said, holding the lilies out toward her. “So I… got these. For you.”
“John…”
“Rose. Love. I am so, so, so sorry.” He blurted. “I didn’t mean- I never, ever would’ve…” He stumbled, trying to get his thoughts to come out in a way she could understand- but nothing came to him, so he said the only thing he could. “You are entirely too good for me.”
Rose reached up and laid her small hand along his jaw, her thumb brushing the stubbled skin. He leaned into her touch. She stood on her toes and kissed between his mole and the corner of his mouth.
“You didn’t have t’ do all this.” She said softly.
“Wanted to.” He replied honestly. “I’ve never felt worse in my life than how it felt to see you had done all this for me, then undone it for me, then still had the grace to treat me like I was worth your time. Rose, I-”
She cut him off with a kiss, her hands twisted in his jumper, pulling him down to her level. Their lips met, tentative at first, testing the boundaries, then deeper, more certain. His mouth moved against hers with a careful urgency, apologetic and desperate all at once. Rose responded in kind, twisting her fingers tighter in his jumper, pressing closer, letting herself trust him the way she always had and always would.
“Its all forgiven.” She assured him. “An’ it all looks amazin’.”
“Donna says it should all match what you had.” He admitted. “She was kind enough to help but made sure I understood it was about her doin’ it for you, not me.”
“Sounds right.” Rose laughed.
“Look- I’m so sorry.” John repeated again.
“Forgiven.” Rose reminded him. “Are you okay though?”
“I’m tryin’.” He nodded. “But you- you’re helpin’ me so much.”
“Sometimes I worry I’m not.” Rose admitted. "I want to be who you need. Who you lean on. I can't stand the idea of you feelin' alone when there's me."
“You are.” He promised her. “You’re everything, Rose. Every single thing to me. I love you so, so much.”
“I love you too, you daft man.” She laughed. “We’re gonna be okay.”
She stepped back and looked him over and then a grin spread slowly across her face.
“You put everything back?” She asked. “Even upstairs?”
“Every bit of it.” He nodded. “Why?”
“Mistletoe.” Rose said, nodding to the stairs. “Its over the bed.”
“Are you-”
“C’mon Doctor.” Rose grinned, biting the tip of her tongue as she took his hand and tugged him toward the stairs. “Christmas has come early.”