And so he went to her. Sort of.

The Doctor stood outside Rose's bedroom door for what seemed like ages, trying to decide what she would throw at him if he tried to go talk to her. If she was in bed, there wasn't much—pillows didn't hurt all that much: not if they were being thrown by humans, anyway—but then again, there was all that stuff on her nightstand. Last time, there'd been a brush…He scratched his head, then stopped, realizing that he was just stalling for time here, just being a coward. He should now complete the mission and go inside.

There. Thinking about it like that made it a little bit easier. Almost. He reached out and tentatively closed his fingers around the doorknob, ready to snatch his hand back as though burned at the first hint of unwelcomness. Nothing happened. If anything, the TARDIS seemed to make a strange, mechanical noise of approval. What was this all about? He exhaled deeply, and slowly opened the door, stepping through the crack.

It was dark: she must be asleep. Right, then, better come back tomorrow morning, right? He turned to leave, but the door creaked shut. Since when did the TARDIS take such an interest as far as his companions went? He sighed and jiggled the doorknob, not really expecting any response, before turning back towards the bed. He could vaguely make out a sleeping form curled there under the covers: Rose's sleeping form. As he stood there, though, something changed in said form. She turned onto her other side restlessly, making a small noise of discomfort—maybe even a whimper of sorts. He moved closer, then stepped away, not entirely sure what was to be done in a situation like this. Was she hurt, or just dreaming?

"Doctor…?" came a very small voice, and for a moment he thought she was awake and aware of his presence. No, that was silly, he realized—she must be dreaming. Feeling very much like an intruder, the Doctor stood there in the middle of her room, watching her for a few more moments and feeling somewhat helpless. She'd had nightmares before—after the things she'd seen, he couldn't blame her—but always before, he'd never felt so…strange about going to her, waking her up.

"Don't leave…"

His hearts stopped beating for a moment at her pitiful plea. His body moved, now of its own accord, towards her. "I didn't leave, Rose…" he whispered, not sure whether he actually wanted her to hear him. "Rose, I'm right here…I will never leave."

A sniffle now, and he could hear her clutching at her pillow or something, a rustling sound. He moved closer, straining his eyes to try to make out the exact details of her face. He could only see the basic outline, a few highlights here and there where starlight from the window touched her skin.

"Why her?"

Her voice was strangely forlorn now, though she was merely repeating the words she'd said earlier. He'd answered that already, he thought. What could she possibly be dreaming about? He sat on the edge of her bed, wishing he could see what she was dreaming. Then again…he could, really. He doubted she'd like it, but she already disliked him, so what could be worse? He stroked her cheek—she was entirely too warm, and her skin was wet, probably from tears—then placed his fingers lightly on her temples, nudging oh-so-gently. He didn't want to outright appear in her dream, just sort of…witness a few moments of it.

He recognized the street—it was in London, near Rose's place. There, over on a corner—there was the TARDIS, and Rose, too. She was standing there quietly, the wind blowing through her hair, staring at the doors. The engines of the TARDIS sounded, and his ship gradually disappeared. Did she want him to take her home, he wondered? He couldn't do that. He just…couldn't. Maybe not even if she wanted him to. He doubted he was strong enough of a person to manage that. "Why her?" he heard her mumble brokenly in the dream as she crossed her arms in front of herself protectively. "Why not me, Doctor?" She wiped her eyes, then, drew in a deep breath, and looked up at the sky, before breaking out into new tears.

The Doctor pulled away quickly. Rassilon, he'd done a number on this girl, he thought, hiding his face in his hands yet again. He felt Rose's movement before he heard it, really, and then she was sitting up, pretending to wipe sleep from her eyes. It was actually tears, he realized, but…he'd humor her, for now. "Doctor?" she asked sleepily. "What are you doing? Are you alright?" He felt her gentle hands on his shoulder, and looked up at her.

"I'm fine, Rose," he said. "Just sounded like you were having a nightmare, love…I was checking to see that you were alright." He met her eyes in the almost-dark. "Did you want to talk about it?"

Rose quickly averted her eyes and shook her head, conjuring up a vaguely-realistic, self-deprecating laugh as she waved dismissively at him. "No, it's stupid, really. Something about those clockwork men and stale toast or something. I'm alright." She still wasn't meeting his eyes, and it wasn't as though he could blame her. He sighed. She was lying to him. Obviously. But it wasn't like he didn't deserve it.

"Alright, Rose," he said, resignedly. "Alright." He stood up, though he stayed by the side of her bed and took her hand in his, then caught her eyes. "I'm just the next room over if you need me: you know that, right? I'm never going to leave you, Rose, never again." He kissed her forehead, letting his lips linger there for several moments too long, and stroked the back of her head. "Goodnight, darling…"

He backed out of her room slowly, though he stood by her door throughout the night.