𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐚𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 || apinkandyellowgirl
The dust was relentless and violent, echoes of his every choice and regret overcoming his hoarse screaming, and Rose, Rose was gone, and it was his fault. The dust was him and he hated it, for taking her away, for driving her forward, for stealing her from her safe life, for every past decision taken and every discarded possibility binding his wrists and ankles, keeping him from her side—and now she was into the abyss, lost, lost, lost.
The world was mourning its colours and he refused to believe that such a sacrifice could be worth anything.
The shakles of his own actions started to pull him further back, sudden wind gusts dragging him, thunder blinding him, and the Doctor fought as he could, distraught and so very adamant, because he had to reach her, he had to follow and bring her back. He had to find Rose Tyler. Dust turned golden as it touched his cheek and he cried out— they were going to devour him— he couldn’t let it, he couldn’t let himself— his hands flew to his face and gripped the sand to rip it away—
But. A visage. The sun was shining on him. No wonder that gold had seemed so familiar in a glimpse. He had found her… No. She had found him. Brilliant, beautiful Rose Tyler. She was by his side and she was and wasn’t the sand; she was holding him, but to keep him from drowning.
Rose was there. Rose was still there. A hand on his cheek, her hair just about to graze his face, and he almost smiled out of the most pure and blissful relief, thinking of pulling her as close as she always should be by the wrist he was holding. Rather— rather strongly at that. The Doctor snapped himself out of the numb reverie and forced his hand to clamp open and free Rose, his other arm to push him up along with his legs, and with the quickness of a jolt his back hit the bed’s headboard.
The Doctor ran a hand down his sweat-covered face and managed a sharp breath in. “Sorry—” A pang of shame at the trembling of his voice had the Doctor interrupt himself and clear his throat. “I’m sorry. Did I—” He hesitated. Twice. What could he say? Pathetic. He had most likely awoken her with his thrashing and caused her to worry this much, perhaps even scare her. How much had she seen? How much had she heard? Great showing of self-control there, especially for a TIme Lord. Bloody fantastic. He should be hiding under the covers and waiting for her to forget this whole thing ever happened…
He blinked to focus on calming his heartsrate, but the dream—bad, bad dream—still lingered behind his eyelids. His eyes were warm every time he opened them up again. Oh, come on, you big baby, he chided himself, shaking his head.
"I’m fine. Really, I’m fine."
A shuddering sigh of relief escaped her as his eyes fluttered open and focused, however blearily, on her; she leaned back a little to give him more space, and she swore she saw the faintest twitch to his worn expression. Then he woke for real, stirring and moving to sit up -- she straightened and then sat on the empty space on the bed between his leg and the edge, her eyes darting from his eyes to his still-shaking hands and back to scour his expression.
What could he have been dreaming about, that he had called out for her not to leave? What could possibly have been so terrifying to the Doctor -- that involved her?
It was difficult to watch him like this, sweating and still shaking slightly, but she imagined it had to be even more difficult for him, actually living it. The Doctor, who bounced away from his troubles and preferred changing the subject, and Rose, who never pressed it when she knew it wasn't the time.
He needed space now, to be sure, but she couldn't just leave him there, alone. Especially not after what she'd heard him shouting.
"Yeah," she replied simply, a faint smile on her lips. "'m up now, there's no stoppin' me."
She fell silent once again, this time watching him as he blinked and breathed, blinked and breathed, like some kind of timed rhythm. It was several eternity-long moments to her before he spoke again, but when he did, she couldn't help but let out a short, humourless snort, her eyes soft as she sought his to offer some small modicum of comfort, anything.
"You're not," she murmured, reaching out to place her hand over one of his. "You had a nightmare. Happens to all'f us, even Time Lords, 'm sure. It's completely normal you're not feelin' your best, yeah?"
She squeezed his hand gently.
"...d'you want to talk about it?" she asked softly with a tilt of her head, hoping she wasn't being too forward.
