A very quick note for background purposes:

This is not meant to be canon in the slightest. Picture, if you will, that the eleventh Doctor and Rose have been reunited somehow, after the second time on Bad Wolf Bay. The Doctor has not yet met Amy; the metacrisis Doctor is out of the picture. Eleven and Rose were reunited a few days ago. That is the story; the rest is details. Do enjoy.

The Doctor held the penknife to his arm, inside his elbow, making a dent in the already mottled skin. The knife was sharp, and a drop of blood oozed out to join the rivulets of wine red already seeping down his wrist.

He knew he should stop, now that he had Rose back. That he had absolutely no reason to carry on like this. No reason to be miserable. All the same, the feel of the knife was a comfort to the Doctor, for reasons that the universe would not reveal, or that the Doctor was too ashamed to find out on his own. He had missed her.

The pain was cathartic, somehow. It helped. He put down the knife for a moment and rolled up his shirt further – his jacket had long since been discarded on the seat across the room.

Another slice down his arm, and he moaned softly, shuddering.

The tears began, then. They were as much a part of this nightly ritual as the knife was. He gulped down short breaths, letting the salt run down his face. He switched hands and nicked his other arm, and began to sob. Not loudly, though. Rose was here now, on the TARDIS. Rose would wake up if she heard him crying.

Another few cuts and he was on the ground, on his knees, shaking. He had missed her for so long… He couldn't live without her any longer.

In his mind, he knew she was back. That she would never be gone again. But somehow, things were not the same. He had taken to bleeding out his frustration mere weeks ago, shortly before her return. He told himself that it would stop, now that she was back, but it was so hard. The feel of the knife was addicting, somehow.

The TARDIS hummed, soft and low. She did not like this new nightly ritual of his. She was concerned about her Doctor. He looked up at the sound of her humming, and stood, leaning against the central console.

"Sorry, old girl. No, I don't know why anymore… I had just… I missed her."

The TARDIS whirred, frustrated. You have her back, now.

"Yes, but-"

A slow drone. You have absolutely no reason to continue on like this.

"No, but-"

A low buzz. Please stop, Doctor.

"No! You don't understand," he shouted, pleading, then realized his mistake. He whispered angrily, "See what you've made me do! If she's woken-"

As if on cue, Rose Tyler appeared in the doorway behind him. She wore slippers and raggedy old nightclothes that might have been white, once. She rubbed her eyes sleepily.

"Doctor? Heard you yelling. Everything all right?"

The Doctor whipped his arms behind his back, steadying his hands on the console.

"Yep! Yep, everything's just hunky-dory. Now why don't you get on back to bed and tomorrow we'll-"

"Doctor?"

"Yes, Rose?" He looked everywhere but into her eyes.

A drop of blood fell on the console. The Time Lord silently apologized to the TARDIS, promising to clean it later.

"Are you all right?"

"I'm always alright."

"You're white as a sheet. And…" she approached him slowly. "You've been crying."

He cursed this new face for never being able to hide his emotions.

"Rose, really, I'm fine. Go back to bed."

"Doctor." She stopped mere inches from him. A stray tear rolled down his cheek. His bloodstained hands remained behind his back, though. He clenched the penknife tight in his fist. He couldn't afford for his precious Rose to see that. She reached up after a moment and wiped the tear from his face.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"Rose. I'm fine."

She scrutinized him for a moment.

"Can I… can I hold you then, at least, if you're not going to tell me what's wrong?"

His hearts leaped, then sank. How in the world would he hide his secret from her? She was well-meaning, but nosy.

"Rose. Please. Go back to bed."

"Doctor, I can't help if you don't let me-"

"I don't need help!"

"Well, it sure seems like you do." She tentatively placed her hands on his waist, watching him carefully.

"Rose!" In his frustration, he brought an arm up to her shoulder, meaning to push her away. Her eyes widened. His stomach dropped. The Doctor quickly whipped his hand behind his back again, but it was too late.

"Doctor… you're hurt." Rose's eyes were filled with compassion.

He looked at the floor, at the wall, anywhere but at her. "I'm fine."

"Doesn't look fine."

He took a shuddering breath.

"I can help, you know," Rose said softly. She placed her hands on his shoulders, then brought them slowly down to his elbows, pulling his arms out from behind him. The Doctor, defeated, did not fight her. He closed his eyes, tightening his grip on the penknife.

He heard her intake of breath at the sight of the knife. Her right hand skimmed down his arm to meet his left hand, where she gently prized his fingers open, taking the knife from him. A moment – she put the knife in her pocket, he imagined – and she took both of his hands in hers.

She did not reprimand him. She did not say anything, though one glance at her eyes told him everything he needed to know. She had no doubts about what the Doctor had been up to in the console room.

"Let's get you cleaned up."

She took his hands by the fingers and led him slowly to the ship's washroom She turned on the tap.

While Rose collected bandages and antiseptics from various drawers, the Doctor leaned back against the far wall. He wrapped his arms around his chest. His shirt would be ruined; then again, he had gone through quite a few shirts in the past week or two. The shirts were not important.

His Rose, his precious Rose… she was important. There had been no reason for her to see him like this, helplessly addicted to his new… habit…

He cursed the TARDIS, silently, for making him yell at her. She hummed in his mind, gently but firmly. You brought this on yourself, Doctor. You needed help.

He closed his eyes, fighting back the tears that threatened to fall again.

Did not.

Did too.

Did NOT, you silly machine.

Did too, you ridiculous Time Lord. She was caring, but she wouldn't give an inch in arguments. She loves you, you know. I love you. Please, let us help you.

This was too much for the Doctor. Waves of compassion rolled over him, and he sank to his knees, sliding down the wall. He began to cry again, covering his face with his hand so as not to disturb Rose.

Rose heard his soft whimpers, though, and tried to finish what she was doing. She ran a washcloth under the water, and turned off the sink. Then she grabbed one more roll of bandages for good measure and knelt by her Doctor on the floor.

"Shh. Hey. I'm here, all right?" She placed a gentle hand on his shoulder, pulling him to her. "I've got you. No reason to be upset."

She held him close for a few moments while he took a couple of breaths to calm down. He lowered his hand from over his eyes, but continued to gaze downward.

"Now," she started, softly grasping his right wrist in both her hands. "I'm going to clean you up a bit… this may sting."

She dabbed at the inside of his elbow, at the worst of the damage, with the wet washcloth. He flinched away at first, but she was gentle, and after a minute or so, she was able to cleanse his wounds without much trouble. She took her time, and was very thorough. Once she finished his right arm, she dabbed some hydrogen peroxide onto his skin. Then she moved onto his left arm. She saved the bandages for last.

"Can I ask…" she began, then stopped herself.

He stared at the floor. "You're only going to ask later anyway," he mumbled.

She paused in her gentle ministrations, then continued mopping up the blood from his left arm. "Yeah. Probably."

They sat in uncomfortable silence for a moment more. Then-

"I suppose… I just… I missed you, Rose."

"I'm here now, though, Doctor."

"I know, Rose. I… I know." He took a shaky breath. "I just thought… I wasn't going to – to see you again. And so I… I acquired this… habit…" He trailed off.

"But you did, Doctor. You did see me again."

"Yes, but-"

"But nothing. I'm here now, and I won't let you do this to yourself. Not if I can help it." He stared at her, looking up for the first time. "And Doctor…"

"Hm."

"You do know I love you. Right?"

The tears came again. Every time he thought he was all cried out, the tears came again. He choked back a strangled sob.

Rose saw him trying to hold himself together. For all that she had seen of him tonight, she could not believe he was still trying to save face. All the same, she tried to hurry, for his benefit. She said nothing more as she finished wiping up his arm. The peroxide was quick and only slightly tingly, and once she finished that, she grabbed two bandages from beside her. She wrapped them firmly around each arm, tucking them under so they would not come undone in the night.

"There," she breathed. "All fixed." She gave him a small, reassuring smile. He was gasping, that lonely, painful gasp that children sometimes fall into when they are through crying but cannot stop the hurt.

She took his hands, stood him up and led him to his bedroom. In the doorway, she stopped, and wrapped her arms around his middle. She drew him close to her, holding tightly to his shaking body. "I want you to get some sleep, yeah?"

He sniffled.

"Promise me you'll try to sleep? I'm taking your knife, so you can't go wandering off to the console room in the middle of the night."

He flinched, at that. "Rose, my Rose… I'm so s-sorry…"

He buried his face in her shoulder, and her hands came up to stroke his back.

"Shh. No apologies. Would it be easier if I stayed with you tonight?' Her voice was barely over a whisper.

He pulled away from her to say no. His resolve, whatever was left of it, crumbled as he looked into her eyes. Not trusting his voice, the Doctor merely nodded.

"Mmkay." She looped a hand around his waist and sat him on the bed. "Take off your shoes."

He took off his shoes, and, with a bit of reluctance, his bow tie as well. The bandages made his arms stiff, and he grimaced. He set the bow tie on the nightstand next to the bed.

Rose, already in her nightclothes, climbed onto the other side of the bed. She looked up at the Doctor, and patted his side of the bed when he hesitated. "Wait," she said, eyeing his bloody shirt. "Shirt, too." He complied, tossing the ruined shirt to the floor.

"Anything else?" he rasped, his voice hoarse from crying. Any other night, those two words might have been said playfully.

She considered. "No. Lie down, my Doctor."

He did.

"Under the covers, twit."

For the first time that evening, the ends of the Doctor's mouth pulled up into the ghost of a smile. He pulled the edge of the blanket up over his shoulder, then scooted closer to Rose. She draped an arm over his middle, and, hesitantly, he did the same for her. Their foreheads touched, and clear brown eyes stared into puffy red ones.

"Rose?" he whispered.

"Hm?"

"Thank you. And... I-I love you too, Rose."

She gave a small smile. Then she placed a gentle, chaste kiss on his lips. "Sleep well, my Doctor."

And, for the first time in weeks, he did.