Summary: Why is it that they always separate the Doctor and Rose? Why is travel between dimensions "impossible"? And why did the Doctor give up so easily?

A/N: I have found a new and everlasting new love… Doctor Who. It's everything a Sci-Fi show should be… action-packed, light drama, and a hefty dose of humor thrown in for good measure. I'll admit that I didn't get engrossed in it until this new series began… but now I'm absolutely and completely hooked. But the "bad" thing is that they don't follow with my fiction moral code… There are a few things that need to be fixed here…

Disclaimer: As much as I would have loved to be the genius behind "Doctor Who," it began way before I was even born. And as much as I would love to claim some of the characters as my own, they aren't. This fan fiction is not intended to claim any ownership of "Doctor Who" besides a fierce love of it and this is a celebration of some of the things I love about it.

How the Mighty Have Fallen

After Donna had been left behind at her request, he'd felt black indeed. He'd taken Her presence for and hadn't realized how much She'd balanced the blackness in his soul. Actually, She'd made him feel like he'd had a soul after all. She had been his light in the darkness… The joy in his grief… More than anyone, he knew the futility of railing against destiny, but he wanted to scream at the universe in anger and defiance.

He allowed the TARDIS to make all the decisions for his next stop as he could only wander aimlessly around the ship, soaking in the memories. He entered the Closet and saw the dress… the dress She had pitched a fit about wearing. He could almost hear Her arguing. Oh, She'd secretly enjoyed playing dress-up, but She'd never looked at that outfit the same again after… A tear coursed down his cheek and he had to turn away.

He wondered why he was roaming around the ship anyway. It was filled with memories of Her. He shrugged. His feet, like the TARDIS, was on auto-pilot so he might as well see what they wanted him to.

He passed Her bedroom. He'd never told Her, but he'd spent quite a few nights staring down at Her. Time Lords required little sleep, so he'd had plenty of time. He hadn't told Her because he was afraid She would have hysterics. He'd missed the humor in Her eyes while they were closed, but had drunk in the peaceful beauty of Her face. One time, he'd even been tempted to crawl in with Her… She'd just looked so comfortable and he'd needed the comfort. Only his exquisite sense of the appropriate had stopped him, but he'd actually taken two or three steps into the room before that sense had stopped him. With Her, he'd done things he never would have contemplated before, but that didn't make him uncomfortable. He'd actually felt more free.

He stopped at the loo even though he didn't need to use the facility and had to laugh shortly as he remembered Her horror when he's walked in on Her in the shower. He hadn't been able to understand Her anger, but realized now that he'd reacted to Her as any human man would have. He could feel his hearts stutter as he relived again the knowledge that he'd delayed too long… that his assumption of nearly endless time had robbed him of something… something important.

He glanced in the mirror and could see Her primping before it. He knew that She always wanted to look her best, even if they were visiting prehistoric Earth. He'd always wondered about that. He thought She always had looked wonderful and never had understood why She spent so much time trying to look even better. As he stood there, staring at the mirror, he noticed She was crying. His mind searched for a memory of that image. At first, he wondered if it was the day of Her father's death, but realized that She wasn't wearing the same clothes. He wondered at his perfect recollection of all their times together, but that wasn't important right now.

The image stared back at him. The eyes widened in amazement. He couldn't tell if this was real or perhaps just his imagination and wishes playing tricks on him. He could have sworn that he didn't have an imagination, but he had no actual proof of that. If She was real, could She hear him? Her mouth kept opening and shutting, but he didn't hear anything. He was tempted to bring out his sonic screwdriver to determine what was causing the phenomenon, but if he interrupted the flow, could he reinstate the contact?

She put her hand on the mirror and drew closer. Involuntarily, he matched her pose and all conscious thought fled. All he could do was stare and listen to recriminations in his mind. He'd never told Her… She had been torn from his side and he'd never told Her… Tears began to stream down his face again. He wondered what it was about this loss that caused him to weaken so. Her hand moved and traced the trail of tears.

"Rose?" he whispered, unable to contain himself and heard hope imbue his tone.

"Doctor?"

A/N: Well, how do you like it? This is my very first "Doctor Who" fan fic… and because I love the show so much, I'm afraid I'm not doing it justice. What do you think?