Disclaimer: Um. Oh, right. They don't belong to me, blah blah. But what I don't tell them doesn't hurt them. Doesn't hurt me, either.

Spoilers: This fits just about...um, nowhere. So, AU. TenRose.

Oh, if violence and messy things like blood bother you, run away screaming.

Don't know where this came from. Well, a plot bunny, I'm sure, but I think this particular plot bunny deserves to be tortured. Bastard.

She came to awareness slowly.

She was on her right side, her right arm stretched out before her, her left crossing it. Her breath felt harsh, grating, as if the inside of her chest cavity was covered in razor blades, scraping across her lungs.

Each breath was loud, echoing in the room and in her head. Her thoughts were gone as she studied her outstretched right hand, watching the dark blood glimmer in the dim light.

She wanted to lick her lips, because they were cracked and dry and sore, but all she could do was make a small guttural sound.

She told herself to move her head, but it didn't listen and so she lay there, breathing hard and staring at her blood. She tried to move her legs, but they'd gone wherever her head had gone and she resigned herself to wait for the Doctor, because he would find her.

The Doctor always found her and always rescued her and she knew he'd help her clean up the blood, too.

Her eyes shot open again at the familiar click-and-hum, a split second before the massive bolt slid back with a resounding clang and the door fell open.

She wanted to tell herself, see? The Doctor always finds you. but her lips still weren't moving, so she concentrated on his dirty, more-dishevelled-than-normal appearance, a split second before her eyes slid up to his face.

She wasn't prepared for the look of horror.

When she woke again, she was staring at the bright, bright light of the med bay and felt the pain of the searing light clear down to her toes.

She preferred her eyes shut.

She stirred again as a pair of wet hands cupped her face and her eyes slitted open.

"C'mon, sweetheart, stay with me," the Doctor's worried face was above her and was that blood on his cheek? and he pressed a firm, chaste kiss to her lips before she closed her eyes again. She was drifting off when she realized it was probably her blood but she couldn't summon the energy to apologise.

Her eyes opened again when she felt something warm and wet on her face and she saw Jack's creased brow. She thought she said something like don't worry, it'll be okay, but he frowned and she figured he would've smiled if she had. He pulled the cloth from her face and she could hear him making noises in water before coming back, pressing the cloth lightly to her cheek.

She woke once with a white-hot tunnel of pain shooting through her body, gasping, her body arching off the table. She felt strong arms hold her down, heard the Doctor curse in several languages, but only one the TARDIS wouldn't translate.

Jack mentioned a drip and she didn't think that was very nice of him to call the Doctor that, didn't he know the Doctor was upset about something? But then she felt the slight prick in her arm, saw the needle in Jack's hand as he settled her on the bed again and she smiled at him, offering her thanks as she drifted off again.

She thinks it was really bad when she woke up and lifted her head, seeing the, well, blood-red blood gleaming and slicking up the Doctor's forearms, soaking the rolled-up sleeves of his light-blue shirt, turning the fabric almost black where the linen and blood met. He had both hands buried inside her, somewhere around where her stomach used to be. There were streaks of blood across his torso as well and she wondered vaguely if he'd been injured, too but realized it was hers when he pulled one hand from her to wipe his upper arm across the sweat glistening on his forehead.

He noticed her looking at him and said goddamn it, Rose, before calling for Jack once more. She figured another needle was coming, but that was okay because all that blood didn't look very fun anyway and she said the Doctor's name as she drifted off once more.

The final time she woke, she was relieved to see the med lights weren't attempting to forcibly remove her brain anymore. She heard snoring and turned to head to see Jack sprawled in a chair near her head, his head leaning against his chest. His black hair was still wet from a shower, the woody scent of his cologne still strong enough to permeate her senses.

She turned her head, looking for the Doctor and when she didn't see him, she lifted her head a bit more, looking at her belly again.

No blood to be seen, a stark white bandage stretching most of the width of her torso. Holding her breath, she poked around gently and decided she most definitely did not have a cannon-ball-sized whole in her gut anymore. She sat up carefully, her stomach turning a bit at the pain but she paid it no mind as she quietly climbed off the bed and from the med room, leaving the snoring Jack behind.

Realizing at some point that she was in a pair of men's sweatpants and a plain, black sport bra, but not caring, she made her way down the corridor to the console room, only wobbling slightly.

The Doctor wasn't tinkering under the console or catching a catnap in his captain's chair, so she made her way through the rooms she knew he frequented. She checked her room, just in case, the wardrobe, the library, the kitchen, even some lesser rooms he had mentioned but she hadn't been previously.

She finally came across one slightly open door she always knew of with a threshold she had never crossed and pushed it open a bit wider. The room inside was dark, the bed a large dark shadow across from the door. She moved silently into the room and nearly stumbled over his plimsolls before nudging them out of the way with one bare foot.

Light gleamed around the frame of what she assuming was the bathroom door, but it was cracked open, like the bedroom door. She peered in and saw his reflection in the mirror.

He was still covered in her blood, his clothes in various stages of undress. His tie as completely off, a dark snake curled on the floor and his light blue shirt was unbuttoned, untucked from his trousers. His hands and arms looked like he had attempted to scrub the blood from them, and indeed, the water in the sink was still running, drips and smears and pools of red covering the porcelain.

He sat on the edge of the bathtub, elbows on his knees, head hanging down, hands hanging loosely between his knees.

She jumped slightly when he spoke up, her heart twisting a little at the grief in his choked voice.

"You might as well just come in, Jack."

Without another word, or even thinking that maybe he wanted to see Jack and not her, she moved into the bathroom and picked up the last clean washcloth, lathering it up with soap and moved over to him, sitting next to him on the edge of the bathtub.

He sucked in a breath when he looked up and saw it was her.

"What are you doing up, Rose? You should be asleep. Where's Jack, he was supposed to be watching you."

"Jack's sleeping," she replied. And she began to clean her Time Lord.

Unabashedly, she waited as he climbed into the steaming water, hissing slightly as he lowered his naked body into the water. Kneeling next to the tub, she rinsed out her cloth and helped him clean his face much like Jack had cleaned hers.

"You don't need to take care of me, Rose."

"You took care of me," she said simply. She washed his hair for him and when he had enough of the bath, stood and moved back, handing him a towel when he stepped out of the bathtub. He dried off while she watched, before hooking the towel around his waist.

He reached out for her and she went to him, without thought or complaint, resting her cheek against his bare chest, still warm from the water.

His lips fell on her forehead, her nose and cheeks as he held her tight.

"I thought I lost you, Rose. I didn't think I would be able to save you."

"You did," she said simply, and kissed his chest. He always did.