Disclaimer: Doctor Who is the property of the BBC, and no infringement is intended.

Author's Note: Thanks, as always, to Sonic Jules for support and beta assistance.

The Doctor had his back turned so he didn't see how badly Rose's hands shook as she wrapped them around the thick mug. She could feel the warmth against her skin, but it refused to seep in any deeper. She'd hoped the hot tea would chase away the chill that had burrowed through her since they'd faced the Cybermen and lost Mickey, but thus far the only effect of the near-scalding beverage was the redness blooming over her palms.

The Time Lord was smiling when he sat down across from her. She knew he relished their victory; that would take precedence over everything else. She supposed it should, really. Mickey had chosen a new life for himself: a chance to evolve and become someone with purpose. She understood that. She would miss him terribly, but she knew that he was happy. That mitigated her grief.

It was the image of cold, gleaming metal that refused to leave her thoughts, that stole the warmth from her soul, just as those monsters had robbed each victim of his or her essence, leaving nothing but an icy, emotionless shell. She tried to suppress the shudder that ran through her.

"You all right?" the Doctor asked, glancing at her over the rim of his steaming cup.

She attempted a smile. "Yeah, 'course."

Her brief reassurance seemed to satisfy him. He gave her a quick nod then said, "So, where to now? Poosh is quite pretty this time of year. Leaves are changing, from white to maroon. Looks like the entire horizon is on fire if you view it just right."

"On fire?" she repeated, trying to conjure up the feeling of intense heat that such a blaze would create. "Sounds nice. What's the weather like?"

"Well, it'd be the equivalent of autumn there, so temperatures are a bit brisk."

She didn't intend to frown, but his disappointed expression told her that she had. "Maybe tomorrow, yeah? It's been a long day, an' I'm feelin' a bit manky. Could use a hot shower."

"Suppose you'll want to sleep after that."

"Might do."

He sighed and muttered, "Humans."

Rose stood. "Oi! You love you love us an' would do anything for us."

He appeared a bit wistful as he replied, "Yes, I would."

She permitted her fingers to brush over his sleeve as she turned to leave the room. He reached up to grasp her hand, probably intending to give it a comforting little squeeze. Instead he took it between his palms.

"You feel cold," he said. "You sure you're all right?"

"Just knackered's all," she replied. She pulled her hand gently from his then ruffled his hair affectionately. "See you later."

"Sleep well, Rose."

She intended to do just that.

Rose's body, however, had other plans. A full thirty minutes under the steaming shower stream had almost warmed her, but the moment she stepped out of the stall she was cold again. She wrapped herself in a thick terry robe and dried her hair. By the time she'd finished, she was almost shivering. She dug out two extra blankets and threw them over the duvet then crawled beneath the soft pile.

Exhaustion throbbed through her entire body. Rose closed her eyes, expecting sleep to wash over her immediately. Instead she lay shuddering, images of frozen steel storming through her head.

Eventually she grew warmer and fell into a fitful sleep punctured by sharp snippets of violent dreams. She was encased in frigid metal as she watched endless faces that writhed in agony with the first slice of the cold, wicked saw. Blood spattered her over and over again.

Finally she gasped to wakefulness, sitting up in bed as she pushed tangled hair away from her face. Her hands felt like ice against her cheeks; immediately she was shivering again. She lay down and pulled the blankets around herself as tightly as she could. She had no desire to sleep now. She merely wanted to be warm.

To be continued...