A solitary girl stood silently at a grave, tears cascading dwon her cheeks. She was too deeply imersed in her sorrow to notice the tall, slender, figure of a man, standing a little way behind her. Watching her. He looked on solemnly, a great sadness enrapturing his two hearts.

"How is Rose Tyler dead?" he suddenly said, his voice breaking the absloute silence in the empty cemetary. The girl turned round, still crying.

"Who...are you?" she stuttered, pausing to wipe her eyes on her sleeve.

"I'm the Doctor," the stranger replied calmly, pacing forward so he was standing at the grave with the girl. Up close, she could see he was desperately trying to fight back tears, as he read the plaque marking where Rose Tyler was buried.

Here lies Rose Tyler

Died aged only forty

Beloved mother, daughter and friend.

Mother, thought the Doctor, surely she hadn't had children with another man? But then he choked back a sob as he remembered...he had left her. Why did she have any reason not to have been with someone else? Because she loved me, and I loved her, so why did I let her go? If I hadn't she might not be...But then she was a human, she couldn't live forever...but Rose was different. I should never have let her go...

But the Doctor was determined not to cry in front of this girl. He wished she would go, he just wanted to mourn in peace. "So, umm...Doctor. How did you know my mum?" the girl asked, unfazed by his silent brooding. The Doctor froze, this girl was Rose's daughter. As he looked at her properly he could now see the very obvious resemblances he had been so blind to before.

"We were good friends, very good friends. Inseparable." he said at last, with a small smile.

"Really?" Rose's daughter raised her eyebrows at him, just like she used to do. "Well I haven't seen you before. Are you sure it's this Rose Tyler?" The Doctor nodded.

"But I knew her years back. Before you were born."

"You don't look nearly old enough though...you must have been way younger than her!" the girl exclaimed. The Doctor suppressed a snort.

"If you say so, and by the way, I didn't catch your name."

"Freya," she replied. The Doctor smiled at her.

It was a very nice smile. Freya noted, but it didn't completely mask the sadness and grief he was feeling. "I'm very sorry if you and my mum were close," Freya said and she grabbed his hand and squeezed it. He squeezed her hand back as his eyes misted over, with happy memories of Rose, she presumed. Now she had a good chance to inspect him in more detail. The Doctor was fairly tall and wore a long, brown trenchcoat over a pinstripe suit completed by a pair of black and white training shoes. He had floppy brown hair and was quite good-looking, but for some unexplainable reason Freya wasn't attacted to him.

"So how did my Rose die? And tell me the truth Freya," he growled sternly as he turned to face her. He had a look of regret and anguish that seemed oddly out of place for someone who had been out of contact with her mother for nearly twenty years.

"She...she slit her wrists in the bath just after Christmas. It was always a hard time for both her nad Gran." Freya tried to blink back fresh tears. "And now it is for me too," she finished, voice trembling.

Suddenly the Doctor flung his arms around her and pulled her close to him, and let her sob freely into his shoulder. Gingerly he started to stroke her shoulder-length blonde hair. "Let's go for a walk, eh?" he whispered to her and she slowly let him walk her away.