Cry

She's only ever seen him cry twice.

Both times, a hospital had been involved.

He wasn't a crying sort of guy. He never really had been, she mused. He laughed at things other people found upsetting. Like Titanic. Rose had only got around to seeing it at the grand old age of twenty-five, snuggled on the couch with her Doctor on one side and a massive bowl on popcorn on the other, with the Kleenex at the ready of the coffee table in front of them. The Doctor's converse-clad feet lay beside them, crossed at the ankles.

"This movie is ridiculous," he had announced, picking a piece of popcorn from the bowl and throwing it high in the air, trying to make it land in his mouth. It hit his chin and bounced onto the floor. "It's not even historically accurate. I should know. I was there."

"Is not ridiculous," Rose had said, sniffing, not looking at him, her eyes on the movie, where the very aptly-named Rose was telling Jack that she would never let him go.

"She's let him go!" he had laughed, pointing at the screen. "Didn't she just say she'd never let him go? And now she's let go? Stupid woman," he said, before glancing at Rose and sighing.

"I can't believe you are crying!" he had said, rolling his eyes and silently thanking whatever God happened to be listening that the metacrisis hadn't given him a part of Donna that happened to cry at movies. At least one bit of his masculinity had been retained.

"I can't believe you-you aren't!"

He silently handed her another Kleenex and vowed to get a comedy next time it was his turn to pick the movie.


The first time he cried, he was sitting beside a hospital bed, counting the beeps as they issued from a machine somewhere to his left. He didn't like it here. He hated the smell of disinfectant, the sound of beeps and ill breaths, the feel of scratchy sheets on which the love of his life was resting, her eyes closed and her skin ashen, the beeps counting her heartbeats that were thankfully now back to normal.

Today had been too close to losing Rose. He closed his eyes as he took a deep breath in, remembering the bullet that had embedded itself in Rose's lower abdomen, all the blood -

He shook his head, forcing his eyes open. The doctor's - the 'proper' ones, as Jackie had called them earlier, earning herself a glare - had said that Rose would be fine, as long as she woke up within the next twenty-four hours. That was eighteen hours ago. It was a waiting game, basically.

It was torture.

He hadn't left her side since she'd been admitted twenty-eight hours ago. She's spent four hours of it in surgery, getting the bullet removed. Neither had Jackie - who had now succumbed to sleep, with the promise of the Doctor staying and waking her the instant Rose's eyes opened - and Pete, who had reluctantly been called away to tend to a screaming Tony, who'd apparently been giving the babysitter an earful and a half. He had a good set of lungs on him, did little Tony, and they certainly hadn't diminished after four-and-a-half years of life.

It was three hours later when the Doctor felt a slightly squeeze on his fingers. His attention snapped immediately to them, standing up for his seat and sitting on the bed instead, brushing away blonde hair from her forehead.

"Rose?" he whispered, his eyes suddenly full of tears.

Her eyes fluttered once, twice, three times, before managing enough strength to open them. Hazel locked on brown, and she smiled.

"Hi," she whispered, before frowning, her hand going to her wound. "Ooh, have I got a hangover and a half," she said weakly, stealing his words and delivering them exactly right; he smiled, a full mega-watt smile, as tears made their way down his face.

In that moment, he knew everything would be alright.


The second time he cried, he'd never felt so lucky in his life.

They'd been at the hospital ten hours, seven-and-a-half of which Rose had been in agony, agony that she would later say was worse than when she was shot. But at least this time they actually got something out of it.

Rose herself lay on her back, sleeping soundly. She deserved it, with what she'd done today. The Doctor hadn't thought he could love Rose Tyler any more than he did already, but he was wrong. He loved her more than he ever had done, in whatever body and in whatever universe, right at this moment.

He also thought he could never love somebody as much as he loved Rose. Again, he was wrong. He loved the tiny bundle in his arms as much as Rose, maybe even more so. But this was a different kind of love. This was a love that a father could only have for his daughter.

His hour-and-a-half-old daughter lay in her father's arms, sleeping at last. He was pacing the hospital room, bouncing her up and down, which is the way he'd gotten her to sleep; he was worried that if he stopped, it would waken up her and Rose, who both desperately needed their sleep. He didn't mind anyway. He just watched his newborn daughter sleep, fascinated with the way her tiny chest moved up and down with each breath. He could watch her sleep for hours, like he watched her mother in another lifetime.

It was her mother his eyes now flicked to; her chest as well was rising up and down, her breath even with well-deserved sleep. Her hair was still slightly damp with sweat and was sticking to her forehead, and her pale white skin glinted in the three A.M moonlight and the Doctor thought she had never looked more beautiful.

A small, cat-like cry that could only be that of a newborn drew his attention back down to the daughter in his arms. A small arm had worked its way free from the blankets, and he pressed his index finger into her tiny palm, her even smaller finger curling around it. The Doctor thought his heart might burst from love for this tiny little thing he helped create.

It was when her eyes fluttered open, wide and in awe of the world around her, that he started crying. She had her mother's hazel eyes, and they locked with his brown and she stared at him with all the wonder and innocence of a newborn. His eyes filled with love and tears as he looked down at her, and he sank into the chair beside his wife, still rocking her.

"Welcome to the world, Amber Tyler," he said whispered, voice half-choked with tears, as he kissed her forehead softly, wondering what he'd done in his long, long lifetime to deserve her.