One crinkled and worn picture, tucked away in the pocket of her blue leather coat, was the one thing that kept Rose Tyler's hope alive. Yet every day, inevitably something would attempt to make it dwindle. With every star that disappeared, every unsuccessful jump she made, she felt the remains of her hope slowly being worn away.
Therefore she clung to the one thing that was the fan to her dying flame, that single photograph.
The picture was of her and the Doctor smiling away like the happy idiots they were, her arm wrapped around his waist and his arm securely on her shoulders, while in the background a tall muted-green waterfall that had filled the air with the aroma of honeydew melons. It had been a rare day off for them when they had landed on a peaceful little planet called Merqua, a wonderful respite after the events of London 2012.
A month later, her life had gone to hell when she found herself trapped in a parallel universe with no way back to her beloved Doctor. Yet she refused to allow that fact to dampen the joy that surged in her heart, and the spark of hope that was fanned, every time she looked at the photo.
Rose knew that for those at Torchwood on Pete's World, her Dimension Canon project and jumps across the void were nothing but a mission, a way to get the Doctor's help in order to save the multi-verse from whatever was actively working to destroy it. However, in her heart she knew, the jumps were a way to return to her Doctor. She had promised him forever, and by all that was holy, she was determined to keep that promise!
Therefore, every time she landed in the wrong universe or the wrong planet, whenever she wound up in danger or wounded or running for her life without a hand to hold—and the one time she wound up in a universe in which her worst nightmare had come true and her Doctor had died—she would pull out that picture. She would lovingly gaze at the image of the man she longed to see again.
For that moment, she was again in his presence.
She could pretend to feel his arm around her shoulder, drawing her into a tight, protective embrace. She could envision looking again into his beautiful chocolate-brown eyes, the ones that looked at her with the same deep tenderness she had long ago seen in a pair of icy-blue eyes. Once more she could imagine hearing the melodious sound of his laughter, warming her to her core.
That single picture was a representation of everything she believed in. It reminded her of what she was fighting for.
And above all else, that picture gave her hope.
After all, hope was a good emotion. She quite liked hope.
Notes: written for Tumblr doctorrosepromts 's March Angst and Hurt/comfort and Whump Prompts.