Title: Barely Breathing

Rating: R

Pairing: Nine/Rose

Disclaimer: I don't own Doctor Who, that belongs to the BBC and RTD. I also do not own Christopher Eccleston, however, if anyone is fast enough to run after him and send him over, complete with a ribbon and gift wrap, I would be most thankful. :)

Summary: The Doctor is confronted with the possibility of losing Rose. (Or, another one of those stories where they run, except that Rose doesn't make it. Almost.)

Author's Note: Written for the then_theres_us ficathon challenge for sapphire_child. As usual, I don't have a beta (man, I really should find someone. Any volunteers?) so any and all grammatical and spelling errors are mine and mine alone.

As usual, comments and constructive criticisms are most welcome.

It's been one of those days.

One of those days when nobody lives.

A fixed point in time, he said, as he and Rose were running uphill to the TARDIS, smoke and dust and soot billowing in their wake. Her hand was small and warm in his grip, and he was half-leading, half-pulling her in his wake as she stumbled among the loose pebbles and gravel beneath their feet. The sunny strands of her hair was dusted with gray, and her bright brown eyes were now dull and lifeless as he silently urged her to move.

The air was poisonous for humanoids, he knew that, but she still insisted on accompanying him in defusing the explosives. And yet it was all for nothing, or so the Doctor felt, as the terrorists still managed to hide a cache of them inside a deadlocked box that resisted all efforts of the Doctor and the sonic screwdriver, and there was no time to evacuate the temple before it blew into smithereens. A fixed point in time.

Rose sagged behind him, her face too pale and waxy for comfort, and as she lost consciousness, he slung her across his shoulder in a firefighter's carry as he ran to the TARDIS. She flopped lifelessly across his back, and for one heart-stopping moment, he feared that he was too late.

And then the wooden doors of the TARDIS were slamming behind him, and he was clattering up the grating to the central console. Depositing Rose carefully on the jump seat, he calibrated the atmosphere and began the dematerialization sequence. Don't think about her, don't think about her, just focus -

As they entered the Vortex, the Doctor abandoned the controls and turned to Rose. She was still draped across the jump seat, her feet dangling an inch or so from the floor, her eyes closed. He took her in his arms, this feather-light child, and walked towards the medbay.

It's more Frankenstein's lab than a New Earth Hospital - he's had to cobble together several equipment when the current tech just wouldn't do, and he's jumbled up phials and vials of medicine in the various cabinets and cupboards that lined the walls. But he's always been sure of keeping the air clean and the equipment sterile, and the TARDIS has always been reliable at keeping all occupants of the ship healthy.

He laid Rose on the examining bed and tugged her trainers off. Her socks were decorated with blue butterflies, incongruous with the entire helter-skelter of the room, and for a moment, the Doctor tried to keep a sob from escaping his lips. His precious girl, silent as a ghost. Methodically, he removed her hoodie and shirt, leaving her in a white cotton vest, jeans, and socks. He dumped the clothes into one of the large metal bins near the door; they smelled of smoke and toxins, and he was pretty sure they would be useless in the future.

No time to waste now - he needed her to breathe on her own, to expel the poison from her lungs. Moving around the medbay, he assembled everything he needed and slipped the breathing mask over Rose's nose and mouth. The clear covering condensed slightly with her breath. Flicking a switch, he watched as the light turned blue and Rose's breathing became stronger, more regular than the faint fluttering that he'd noticed while he carried her in his arms. Slight, delicate, strong - all these words applied to Rose, all that and more. His grip over the mask trembled. He'd almost lost her today.

Once the light switched back to a benign green, he removed the mask from her face and moved his face closer to her chest. Ignoring the tempting moment to pillow his head between her breasts - stop that, that is completely inappropriate, she is your companion, for Rassilon's sake - he observed the rise and fall of her chest, carefully keeping time to ensure that she was taking in the required amount of oxygen to start purging the toxins from her body. Once he was certain she was breathing on her own, he prepared several syringes to inoculate her against what might have been in the air.

He was down to the last syringe, the needle piercing through soft skin, when Rose's eyes fluttered open. He gently withdrew the needle and swabbed the area with some antiseptic as his companion took in the white ceiling and the scratchy cotton sheets beneath her. "...water?" she croaked, her throat still laced with the after-effects of smoke inhalation.

The Doctor handed her a small paper cup with water and helped her sit up to take a sip. She wetted her lips with her tongue; he resisted the urge to kiss her, his gaze drawn to her pale pink mouth as she carefully sipped from the cup. "Feelin' better?" he asked, surprised at how gruff his voice was.

"Yeah," she nodded, wincing as she swung her legs over the edge of the exam bed. "Feel like someone slammed a bulldozer against my chest though."

The Doctor folded his arms over his chest, the leather pressing against the wool of his jumper. "Told you to stay here, Rose."

"An' I told you I wasn't leavin' you, all right?" The words were delivered with less heat that he expected, but her eyes flashed dangerously and he knew she was working herself up into a temper.

"Genius, me, and you shoulda known better than to just go barrelling into a new place without so much as a by-your-leave, Rose!" He was irritated now, and angry, and more than a little panicked at how close a call it could've been. If he'd been just a second too late -

"And you shoulda known better and explained it to me, 'stead of just sayin' 'be a good ape, Rose, and jus' stay in the TARDIS while I go and try to get meself killed'," she retorted hotly.

"But I didn't, see, whereas you and your stupid little - "

But before he could complete his tirade, Rose slipped off the bed and stomped out of the medbay, her hands curled into fists. He launched after her, only to find that the TARDIS had closed the doors and locked them. He hammered his fists against the surface angrily, pouring his anger and fear against the door.

Damn humans, damn them all, stubborn little creatures, never knowing how short their lives are, goddammit all, Rose, Rose -

One final slam of his fist against the door, and as soon as it had arrived, the fight had gone out of him. He slumped against the wall, one hand running through his close-cropped hair in frustration. He couldn't save them, couldn't save them all. He could barely even save one human being. He gritted his teeth, grinding molars against each other. He promised himself he wouldn't go down this road, and he hadn't, not for such a long time, not since Rose came onboard. But there'd been close call after close call, what with the Slitheen and Reapers and the last goddamn Dalek, and he was just tired, simply tired of having to contemplate even losing the last shred of hope that he had left.

Just once, he pleaded silently, staring at his hands - large and bony, calloused and riddled with the echoes of engine grease and wounds of war - just this once, I'd like to rest.

For a moment, one suspended moment in time, he thought about not regenerating after death.

She found him leaning against the wall of the medbay, next to the door, his ice-blue eyes staring into space, arms loosely supported on his knees, fingers curling downwards like wilted leaves. She'd showered and changed into pyjamas, her hair damp around her shoulders and her face free of day-old makeup and soot and grime. He didn't look up when she entered. Didn't look up when she stood in front of him. Didn't meet her eyes as she sat, cross-legged, in front of him, her knees almost touching his legs.

"Doctor?"

He stared at the floor.

"'M sorry," she said quietly. She inched closer so that she was sitting between his legs, cradled in the space between his knees. "I didn't mean what I said earlier."

His hands curled into his palms, resisting the urge to touch her.

"Doctor." She reached out, bridging the gap between them as her palm curved around his cheek, fingers brushing his jaw as she tilted his face upwards. She was surprised to see his eyes shining with unshed tears. "'M here, all right? 'M just here."

He unfurled his limbs and swiftly, before she could even register his movements, he'd wrapped his arms around her shoulders, his legs curved around her so that his knees were pressing against her knees, the heels of his boots just shy of her cotton-clad bum. His face was buried at the side of her neck, his breath warm against her skin. She hugged him to her as tight as she could, chin on his shoulder, the double-beat of his hearts a counterpoint against his ragged breathing. She could feel his fear, his desperation, the universe of sadness inside his body.

"You didn't lose me, all right," she whispered into the shell of his ear. "I'm here. I'm just here, Doctor."

He tightened his hold on her.

"C'mon," she said softly, trying to keep her voice steady. "C'mon, I'll take you to bed."

He allowed her to pull him up, swaying on his feet. Anger had given way to exhaustion, and he was only aware of her at the fringes of his consciousness, a feather-like brush of her hand on his face, small fingers curling up against his own. Each step he made echoed inside his own head. Tired. Tired. Tired.

They finally arrived at his bedroom door. How Rose even knew where it was, he didn't bother asking. It was spartan, a utilitarian leftover from his service in the war. The bed was covered in crisp white sheets, the pillow narrow and thin. She maneuvered him to the edge of the bed and knelt down at his feet, tugging his boots off, her fingers working magic on the straps. He stared at the halo of golden hair around her head, at her quick movements as she tilted him back gently on the bed, her hand brushing across is forehead tenderly.

"C'mon, Doctor, off with the jacket," she said, pushing off the heavy leather from his shoulders and pulling his arms out. He allowed her to manipulate his body, her touch sure and steady. She draped the jacket over the back of the nearest chair and then nudged him over so that his legs were on the bed as well. She tugged the duvet out from under the mattress and draped it over the Time Lord, wondering all the while if he was actually all right. The painful thump of her heart in her chest reminded her how important it was for the Doctor to be all right.

She crawled up on the bed and sat down beside him, folding her legs beneath her, careful that she kept above the sheets. He was now looking at her, his face strangely blank, his eyes light and unseeing. She reached up and ran her hand across his forehead, the shorn strands of his hair tickling her palm. He looked up at her the way a child would after nighttime terrors - frightened and vulnerable and glad of the presence of someone else keeping their fears at bay.

Stroking his head, Rose started humming a song under her breath, one of the old songs Jackie used to put on the record when she wanted something to fill the silence that her husband had left behind. A Gershwin song, soft and sure, her voice tripping over the lyrics. There's a somebody I'm longing to see, she sang, her voice trembling at the truth of the words, I hope that he turns out to be someone to watch over me.

Slowly, the Doctor's eyes slipped close, and his breathing evened out. Rose shifted to one side, allowing exhaustion to settle over her like a blanket. She started moving towards the edge of the bed, slowly inching her way off, when the Doctor's hand shot out from under the duvet and tugged her close. "Stay," he pleaded hoarsely.

"Doctor - " It wasn't that she didn't want to stay; it was that she was sure if she stayed, she would never leave.

"Please?"

Silently, praying that she was doing the right thing, she scurried closer to the Doctor, stretching her legs out on the bed. The sheets were cool and soft, silken against her skin. The Doctor shifted and lifted the corner of the duvet, inviting her beneath. As soon as she tucked herself beside him, allowing a few inches of space between their bodies, he rolled over so that he was tucked at her side, his arm around her waist. He smelled faintly of smoke and some kind of spice, and beneath it, the scent that she usually associated with him. Something citrus, like oranges, and what she imagined to be a heady mix of tea and time. His cool palm pressed against her stomach, above the cotton shirt she wore. Rose tried not to imagine what he would feel like against her, skin to skin, and yet...

His breath, light and regular flitted over the bare skin of her neck, where the Doctor had settled himself. His grip on her body was strong and sure, and one leg had made its way between hers, providing pressure against her sweet spot - that one spot she was attempting her best to ignore. She tried to focus on other things: the way the bed smelled of fresh detergent and Time Lord, the last beautiful planet they visited before the disastrous moment where she was almost killed by an explosion and a poisonous atmosphere. And yet, there, she felt it again. That was definitely the Doctor's lips pressing against the nape of her neck.

She shifted and turned in his arms and saw him, blue eyes shifting to black, the way a star embeds itself against the night sky, as he looked at her. "I almost lost you," he said, his normally strident Northern accent now softened, quiet. A hand stroked her hair, and she leaned into his touch.

"I'm here," she said.

"Sometimes, I wonder why you're still here."

"Because I love you, silly."

As soon as the words came out of her mouth, she wished she could take them back. His eyes widened as his lips opened in surprise. For a moment, his grip on her slackened. She was ready to say something, anything, an apology hovering over her lips, and then -

The Doctor's lips crashed against hers as he pulled her against him, his hearts thudding a wild counterpoint to her own beat. Oh god, I'm kissing the Doctor, whispered a surprised voice in her head, and then she was opening up to him, lips unfurling like petals after a summer rain, his tongue following the taste of her. She slipped her hands beneath his jumper, tracing the valleys of his hips, the ridges and continents of his chest and stomach. He was an undiscovered country beneath her fingers, her palms mapping out the moments of pleasure as he gasped and bucked against her.

He pulled her up so she was resting on top of him, and she planted a kiss on top of his remarkable nose, earning her a wide grin and a quick motion that divested her of her shirt and him, his jumper. "Hello," he said, his eyes trailing downwards to where her breasts were pressed against his chest.

"Doctor, up here, yeah?" She motioned to her eyes and he followed her instructions, kissing her soundly while his own hands started stroking her waist, fluttering upwards to cup her breasts. She arched into his hands, shifting upwards so that she was straddling him, her pink nipples in perfect alignment with his mouth. He seemed to agree with this as his tongue flicked upwards to taste the tip of her right breast.

This, too, is love, she thought fleetingly as she allowed him to manipulate her body, finding what made her buck and moan against him. She was breathless, panting, her body a canvas for the artwork his tongue seemed to be painting over her skin. Flipping her on her back, golden strands of hair spilling over the white sheets, the Doctor settled between her legs, his chin between her breasts. "Are we really doing this?" she asked, wondering why she still had the capacity to think this way.

He laved the skin around one nipple, and nibbled gently on the puckered flesh. "D'you want to stop?" he asked. "I'd not want to impose, me, but y'said..."

She cradled his head in her hands, thumbs stroking his ears. "D'you love me too, Doctor?"

"Thought that was pretty obvious, meself."

She laughed. "Knowing you, you'd probably not be capable of saying it 'til the cows come home."

"Oi!" He sounded affronted. "I'll let you know, Rose Tyler, that - " But whatever he wanted to tell her was muffled as she pulled him upwards and kissed him soundly. There was no need for words, after all. All he wanted to tell her was already said in the spaces between breaths, as they carefully, joyfully, bared their bodies to each other's gaze.