Hours later Rose walked into the spare bedroom where the Doctor lay in the bed, deathly still. She stood stock still, concentrating on the slow rise and fall of the alien's chest and assuring herself that he was alive and alright, just sleeping deeply.

As she watched him sleep she was reminded of the night he'd spent on her mother's bed, sick and feverish. The main difference between then and now, besides the lack of aliens in the sky, was that he wasn't sweating profusely, otherwise things were exactly the same; he still had no color (would it kill him to get a tan?), his breathing, though less ragged, was slow and barely registering, and he didn't respond to any outer stimulus.

The bed groaned as he began to thrash about, winces and grimaces crossing his face as his breathing increased.

Rose climbed in bed beside him, lying on her side as she threw an arm over his stomach. Using her hand to rub gentle, soothing circles into his chest, she began to cuddle with him, pleased when his thrashing ceased and he calmed.

She was careful to avoid putting pressure on his newly healed shoulder as she curled up closer to him. With a sigh of relief she closed her eyes and just enjoyed the feel of him against her.

He smelled of soap, musk, and spice. The double thump of his heart beat steadily against her forearm and her own heart wished it could match the rhythm. The sound of his breathing sang through her ear, acting as a soft lullaby like no other found in the universe, singing her to sleep.

All of these senses floated together and spoke one word to her: HOME

Rose knew without a doubt that as long as she was with the Doctor, she would always be home and that comforting thought was the finally push over the teetering edge of balance between sleep and wakefulness.

The Doctor woke to find Rose curled around him with her hand lying lightly upon his chest. He nuzzled his cheek into her hair, enjoying the silky feel of it as it brushed against his skin. The smell of fruit and soap floated up through his nostrils and filling his lungs. Oh how he loved the way her hair smelled.

She snorted in her sleep and curled around him more. The Doctor wrapped his arm around her shoulders, ignoring the ache in his shoulder and hugging her as close as he could.

He loved the feeling of her body against his; it was a perfect fit, her body against his, it felt right. As long as Rose was with him he knew he didn't need anything or anyone else, except the TARDIS of course.

Love like he hadn't felt in a long time rose within his chest and he resisted the urge to wake her up and tell her exactly how he felt. Instead he settled for wrapping his other arm around her and angled his head, rather awkwardly, so he could kiss her on the forehead.

"I love you," he admitted in a whisper.

He settled back into the bed making sure to keep his right arm around Rose, his Rose. In the deep silence, a sleepy voice, soft voice answered, "I love you too Doctor."

The Doctor fell asleep and for the first time in years he slept deeply without memories to haunt him and dreams to taunt him. His hearts beat steadily but happily – he had his Rose and that was all that mattered.

~fin~