DISCLAIMER: I do not own Doctor Who, no matter how many stars I wish on. I also do not own Marcus Foster's amazing song "I Was Broken", which is the piece that inspired this little trip.

A/N: Sorry this has taken so long! Been going through a rough bout with my depression, which really puts a damper on the creative writing bit. Thank you so much for your understanding and patience! I appreciate it immensely. 3

He tried the switch one more time. The TARDIS was having none of it. Something had happened to the energy she'd taken from the rift in Cardiff when they'd opened her heart, and it would take a few days to recalibrate it before she could use it properly.

Rose and Jack didn't seem to mind the idea of a couple quiet days in the vortex before returning the egg to Raxacoricofallapatorius. In fact, the Doctor noted, they were pretty quick to suggest the idea of a film marathon and lounging about for at least a day in their jimjams.

Rolling his eyes, he watched at his two companions skip away down the corridor to make their 'preparations' for their little stay in the vortex. The Doctor turned his attention back to the console. He could probably stand to putter away for a few hours, make a few adjustments here or there...

It couldn't have been more than an hour before the TARDIS gave him his first warning zap, followed ten minutes later by a much firmer one. Apparently, she didn't have much patience with the Doctor's tinkering while she was busy this time. The Doctor rubbed his shocked fingertips and set down his tools. Fine, then. He'd find something else to occupy his time.

Somewhat annoyed, he stalked off toward the library.

The sound of raucous laughter in the media room caught his attention. He paused, poking his head into the darkened room. Jack sat sprawled across one of the loungers, with Rose curled up on the far side of the sofa. The howling laughs had died down into chuckles as their attention was diverted to the dark shadow in the doorway.

"Come on in, Doc!" Jack called. "This one's great! I'm sure the pseudo-science in this one will make your head spin." He added teasingly.

The Doctor eyed the screen suspiciously. He knew Rose and Jack's taste in movies - notoriously bad, cheesy, and barely tolerable. He couldn't fathom why they routinely subjected themselves to these films. Although despite his better judgement, the empty spot on the sofa next to Rose was very tempting...

Rose peeked up over the back of the sofa. "Spot right here for ya!" She patted the empty seat invitingly, and though she did her best to look at ease, there was a flicker of anxiousness in her golden brown eyes.

"Later," he smiled at Rose, trying not to betray himself through his own hesitations. "Got a little reading to catch up on first." And before either could protest, he turned and left.

It wasn't a total lie, anyway. He did want to sift through that TARDIS manual one more time, and compare a few notes from other tomes. However, since the unexpected end of their emotionally charged dance some weeks prior, there'd been a strange and unspoken tension between Rose and the Doctor. A tension that neither seemed inclined to diffuse. Or, as was the case with the Doctor, hadn't the slightest clue as to how exactly to diffuse. Every accidental touch was fraught with nervous energy, and the intentional ones felt full of a subtext the Doctor couldn't translate.

To say it was frustrating didn't even begin to cover it. He sighed. Humans.

The Doctor settled himself down on the sofa in library, and flipped open the manual on the nearby table. Ah yes, energy recalibrations and interface disruptions...

It didn't take long for his thoughts to wander, though. As important as he could insist to himself that it was to reread and keep up on his TARDIS's well-being, he couldn't keep his mind off a certain yellow and pink human.

It infuriated him, in some ways. How simple it had been, really, for Rose to make her way into his hearts. Not that he hadn't cared deeply any of his other companions, but... there was something else.

The physical attraction was easy enough to explain away - she was gorgeous, and not just for a human, as he had been so quick to point out that time. Rose shimmered and sparkled and he longed to take her into his arms and devour all that she was, to fill all the empty places inside himself. Bury all his pain and sorrow under her skin, let the heat of her touch cauterize the old wounds stretching across his body and mind.

The Doctor shook his head, pushing back the swell of the hormones trying to cloud his thoughts further. These fantasies would do no good to anyone, least of all himself. It was unfair to even entertain them. Rose's life would be so fleeting in comparison, over in the blink of an eye as far as the vastness of time was concerned. If he kept her like that, he would have to watch her fade and falter as her life slipped by, the minutes and hours ticking so quickly, while he remained, the last of the Time Lords, comparatively unending.

He closed his eyes, rubbing the furrows of his brow with his idle hand against the frustration forming there. How many times had the Doctor had this silent conversation with himself lately? Too many times to bear thinking about. And a resolution never came any closer to mind.

With a deep sigh, he tried to return his attentions to the book open on his lap, the elegant swirls of Gallifreyan text dancing on the page. Focus...

It was only the padding of soft footfalls that broke his concentration next, some six hours later. He didn't turn, letting his ears identify the delicate sound of Rose's slippered feet coming into the library, followed by an awed gasp.

That's right, he'd never brought her in here before. He'd brought books out to her, particularly some Charles Dickens after their first adventure, and they'd read in the comfort of the media room, or over tea in the kitchen, but never here. He wondered why, now. It was an impressive room, even for the grandeurs of the TARDIS, spanning three floors, full of ladders and lofts and a breathtaking collection of the works of the universe. And he did so love to be impressive, especially to Rose.

Stop it now, he told himself firmly. Stop. Won't do.

"Done with your films, then?" The Doctor queried, forcing his eye to stay trained on the text before him.

Rose took a few more quiet steps, her attention diverted by the beautiful library. It took her a moment more for her to register she'd been spoken to before replying "Oh, yeah... Jack fell asleep at the start of the last one, and I got bored. Decided to take a wander."

"Well, Rose Tyler," the Doctor said, "Welcome to the library." He stole a glance at her as she passed near the back of the sofa. She was still in her jimjams, or what passed for them, anyway - a pair of bed shorts and a vest top layered with one of her hoodies. It wasn't the first time he'd seen her in so little, but the sight still made his breath hitch momentarily. Unnerved from his previous cleared thoughts, the Doctor flipped the page of his book a little more harshly than intended, chastising himself.

The Doctor felt the cushions on the back of the sofa depress as Rose leaned over them near his head, as she hummed quietly. Glancing up to her, he noticed her own gaze was focused deeply on the text in his hands, dark brows knotted in concentration. He half wondered if she was trying to read the Gallifreyan. He studied her as she worried her lower lip, eyes still drifting over the book's pages.

"Is something wrong with the TARDIS?" Rose asked quietly, her eyes never leaving the book.

"What's that?"

"Well," Rose began, reaching a tentative hand out to trace the delicate spirals of Gallifreyan, "Can't read it. She usually translates everything, doesn't she? Does this have to do with what happened at Cardiff?"

His hearts ached gently with how touched he was over her concern for the beloved time ship. But that was Rose, wasn't it? All warmth and kindness and emotion. It was what he l...

Stop that. Won't do. Enough.

"It's Gallifreyan." The Doctor spoke finally, "She won't translate that. No for no one."

Rose withdrew her hand, slowly. "I see." She stayed leaning over the back of the sofa, though, close enough that the Doctor could've tilted his head to the side and rested his cheek against her forearm.

Long moments passed in a strange silence, neither daring to break it, yet each knowing the air hung full of unanswered questions.

It was Rose who spoke first. "Will you read it to me?" She blurted out quickly, as though afraid of asking at all. She turned her head to meet his eyes, pleading, and the Doctor could hear her heart quicken as he studied her face.

The Doctor couldn't help but chuckle softly. She wanted him to read the manual to her. Of course she did. It's not like she knew that's what it was, to be fair, but he couldn't help but find humour in the situation. Well, this wouldn't do... But he knew what would...

Gently, he closed the heavy tome, and caught the slightly hurt expression that crossed his companion's face.

"Rose Tyler..." The Doctor began.

She interrupted, her emotions getting the better of her. "Well, if you didn't want to..." Hurt flowed through her words.

"... I'm not reading to you from the TARDIS manual." He finished, a small smile curling his mouth, blue eyes twinkling.

Rose's words stopped instantly, a blush staining her cheeks, her full lips forming a soft 'o'.

Quickly, the Doctor skimmed his eyes over the shelves by the nearby fireplace. "There," he pointed, "third shelf from the bottom, seventh book from the left. Just a little thing, that maroon one, with the gold scroll work."

Rose scurried to grab the book, turning it over in her hands, admiring the intricate cover before making her way back to the sofa.

It was a book of poetry, a relative rarity for his people to begin with. But this book was of an even rarer sort - romantic, emotional poems, almost unheard of in the clinical society of Time Lords and Ladies. To be so passionate, to devote so much energy to something they had considered so base as to write poetry about it, well, it just didn't happen. Often, that is. There were a handful of books in existence like this one, each one full of the depths of the author's hearts, each one considered to be madness by the standards of his peers.

Of course the Doctor had collected copies of them all.

Not that the Doctor would ever admit fully to Rose what this book contained. This one in particular was a collection of epistles the author had written for his love, in secret, published off world before his death, since no one Gallifrey would touch it, for fear they would be associated with the madness that had consumed the author.

The Doctor took the book into his hands, and before he had the chance to slide over on the sofa to make room for Rose, she had climbed up and curled up against his side. Burrowing under his left arm until she found the curve where shoulder met chest, she snuggled in as though she'd done this a thousand times before.

Certainly, they cuddled a little from time to time, when reading, or when Rose had cajoled him into watching a film, but not like this. Her body lay pressed along the length of his side, all curves and softness and so much warmth. The Doctor's breathing was shallow with surprise at how at ease Rose seemed to be. Whatever was going through her mind, she was set and unrepentant about where she had decided to be, and despite his shock, he wouldn't have her anywhere else.

"What's this one, then?" She murmured, looking up at the open book.

Well, if she could feel so bold, so could the Doctor. "Poetry." He paused, trying to find the careful words. "It's... rare, for my people. Time Lords weren't like you lot, always going round, pouring you hearts out." The Doctor waited again, gauging her reaction. Rose was still, her attention rapt. "Was considered a bit of madness in my people to do so, let alone commit it to the written form." Well, it wasn't perfect. But it was a start.

Rose hummed quietly, waiting patiently for him to begin. The Doctor could feel her heart pounding against his side, quickened and bright, like a caged bird in her chest. Perhaps she wasn't as bold as he'd originally thought. But she had taken the risk, and now he breathed her deep. Sweetness and heat and that tantalizing hint of the effect he was discovering he had on her beginning to show. It was all he could to not purr and bury his face in those golden tresses so near his cheek.

Stop. Please.

Finally he read. The lilting, musical tones roughened slightly under his tension and northern burr. It was beautiful though, the cadences rising and falling like a song from the stars themselves. Rose's physical closeness lent a certain poignancy to the verses the Doctor hadn't intended.

Rose felt herself swept away. It wasn't that she hadn't known the Doctor could be so tender, but there was something she couldn't quite identify, lingering behind these foreign words as they danced in her mind. She knew better to ask too many questions when he was like this, knowing it would break the spell and he'd go back to the strangely tense creature he'd been over the last few weeks. Their dance may have ended abruptly that evening, but still they danced around each other still, dodging unspoken words and wondering.

The Doctor felt her nuzzle ever so softly against the wool of his sweater. Did she just breath him in, as he had to her not so long ago? He tried desperately to ignore the pounding of his own hearts and focused on the text in front of him. Tried to keep the shiver out of his voice as her breath ghosted across his chest, like a trail of fire. Tried to steady his hands as she shifted her body against his, until she had found the place where she fit perfectly.

Diligently, the Doctor continued to read until they had both relaxed into each other. Before long, Rose's breathing became slow and shallow as sleep overtook her. Softly, he closed the book and rested it on the nearby table, and stared down at his sleeping companion. The Doctor carefully wrapped his arms around her, cradling Rose in her sleep, stroking her hair.

He couldn't move without waking her. Firmly, the Doctor quieted the rational part of his mind that had been begging all day to stop, to pull back, to reestablish his lines, and pressed a kiss to the crown of Rose's head. Let time be damned, let the clocks burn. Let it all fall away. None of it mattered while she was here. No matter how fragile she was, no matter how brief her life, he didn't care. He knew where his hearts lay, now. Where they would always be.

For the first time in days, the Doctor closed his eyes, and let the peace overtake him.