Martha
He was not heartless, she reflected. No, he certainly wasn't at all heartless – on the contrary, he had two hearts, two hearts beating side by side, and they could hold the universe, lovingly, protectively. But if one broken heart was enough to drive a man mad, then two was certainly at least capable of doing the same to an alien.
Rose
She had been a little glad, and quite hopeful that she had done some good during her time, however short, with the previous Doctor. Something good and prevalent enough to stay, if only for one regeneration – her new Doctor were all grins and bounce and enthusiasm, that although she always saw the melancholy that lingered deep inside, she hoped that she had done a little good. It was only when she had heard from snippets of conversation all the things that he had done after losing her, that she realized that no matter what she had done, no matter what she could ever do, he was still the same broken man that she had met in a factory. Nothing had changed so much, and yet nothing had remained the same.
Donna
He was an alien. So very, very alien – at times impossibly infuriatingly, at others impossibly brilliant, and sometimes, sometimes, just so heartbreakingly old. And beneath the ancient pain, there was always something very dark, very dangerous, lurking there. So although she poked fun at him and asked him impertinent questions (at least he thought them impertinent, certainly), she never probed. Never dared ask anything that might unleash the Oncoming Storm upon herself, because she knew, very well, that he was the protector of the universe, the very best friend she could ever had, but despite all that, first and foremost, a horribly misused, highly dangerous alien.
The Doctor
He had never been one for much cold dead logic. But there was always one part of him that held him back from dangers that would prove too dangerous and pointless pursuit, one cold, logical part of him that reminded him he wasn't a god. And when that part fell silent and retreated to a corner of his mind, or very possibly (more possibly than he let himself even think) simply vanished, he was terrified. Yet somehow, he did not attempt to find back that little voice, because ever since the Time War, and then more so after the Battle of Canary Wharf, he had not been one for any logic. It was all he could do to prevent himself from going back, defying all the Laws of Time, defying anything and everything he had accepted if not embraced his whole life, just to attempt to stop the pain and grief and rage from killing himself.
Martha
She wanted to heal him, she wouldn't deny that. She was a doctor in her own rights, and when she saw the hidden pain in his eyes, the tearing anguish, she wanted to heal him, to let him find light and hope again. She wanted to be the one who would help him from his agony. After the Year That Never Was, she needed healing for herself, and it was enough work for one person. Still, she had not given up. It was only until she finally saw him in a glimpse of the dark, painful glory that he could have if he desired so (and that there was one part of him that desired so), that she understood. He was damaged beyond repair. And if anyone at all could heal him even a little, it would not be her.
The Doctor
He knew he had hurt her. He knew that he would probably have chosen anyone, anyone but her. But she had wanted to come along, and he, he had been too dangerously near insane, he had to have someone with him, to keep the insanity at bay. And she did. She did, but not all the time. Sometimes she does something, and he snaps. Sometimes they see something, and she with a student's diligent curiosity, asks. He hates the look of disappointment and hurt on her face, a little jealousy and a little more determination – but time and again he provokes it, just because he cannot lie forever. Sometimes she says something, and no matter how much he wants to he can't agree. And sometimes, he simply wishes that she could look a little less like her cousin. Because the face of Adeola is too closely connected to the Battle of Canary Wharf, to the last step to his doom… to Rose.
Rose
She might not have known him throughout, but she certainly knew him the best, for what mattered. She knew when to listen, when to interject, when to pretend not to have seen, and when to take his hand in silent companionship. Most importantly, she knew when, how, and what to probe. At times, just sometimes, she went a little too far – but somehow, with the two of them, there were never fights that lasted more than a day. At night he would come to her room, stretch his long legs across her bed, and watch her for the entire night. When she woke up, it would always be to a brilliant, brilliant smile – and all would be fine. Because she could never, never ever resist him.
The Doctor
Rose never knew it. Neither did Martha. Or Donna, or Jack. Or the Master – but this regeneration was for her. He had died to save her, and when he returned to her as a New Doctor he realized it. It didn't bother him – he would do everything and anything for her, but he was afraid that it would bother her, the way he clings onto her. Not literally – he is after all the Doctor, and no matter that this regeneration is attuned to her every want and need, he isn't a slave. But he knows, knows that if she wants him to be dead, he would in an instant, as long as he was sure she wanted it, and that she had been properly taken care of. So when she hurt him, hurt him horribly, he forgave her immediately. Would always forgive her. No matter what she did, no matter what she became. And soon he was afraid of this regeneration – this regeneration that was at the beck and call of a human.
Donna
She knew everything that was in his mind, that few precious moments that she was the DoctorDonna. She knew how he felt, why he did what he did, and every little thing in the universe packed into his Time Lord brain. So when he looked at her with that desperately sad, and so very, very sorry look, she immediately knew what he was going to do. And when the memories that made her who she was disappeared through the recesses of her mind, the Donna that was truly Donna Noble, Saviour of the Universe, died.
The Doctor
He was fire, and he burned. Everything he touched turned to ashes. Every move he made destroyed. He was fire, and he burned. But oh – how cold, how cold he was sometimes! As though everything froze and although he was fire he couldn't feel a single shred of warmth. There were more of those times after Rose di – left. When Martha came she was clever and independent and so very much like water – water that kept attempting to cool him down even when he was freezing, freezing so badly. But Donna was so good for him. Donna, with her loud blaring personality and her equally loud voice, was so good for him. She warmed him up, and at times it felt as though he could go on even without her. Without Rose.
Rose
She loved him. She knew he loved her. And when he told her that two universes would collapse if he tried to enter her universe, she was afraid. So very afraid – afraid that one day, just one slip of the mind, and he would come to find her – regardless of all that would happen.
The Doctor/Valeyard
Time Lord Victorious. No one could stop him now. Not without Rose, not without a companion – because he wouldn't take one for fear he'd lose them. He'd lost so many before, and now he was determined that nothing, nothing at all would stop him. What he wanted, regardless of the rules, of the consequences, he would get. And he wanted Rose. He wanted Rose back, with him, forever. Just one human – one human, and yet the universe denied him that. He had only wanted Rose, and even that little reward for his sacrifices did the universe deny him. Now, no more. He was the Time Lord Victorious, and he would get what he wanted. Rose was no longer enough – he wanted the world. And he would get it.
Payback.