Voyage of the Damned, Curse of the Broken-hearted

He had to stop falling in love with every woman to trust him straight away. It only caused hurt, as it always did. And he was getting tired of it. He was too broken for it now, too lonely, too old. He stared out after Astrid, too numb to feel anything, even his arm still stinging from when he was cut by one of Host's halos. He had had his share of ironic Christmas', but this one was one of the top ten.

The stars seemed to dull, just for Astrid to shine twice as bright. He choked on his own breath. He was nine-hundred and three years old, he had seen systems collapse, stars implode and civilisations burn right before him. But, every time he watched companions sacrifice everything, just to save him -to save the world- that was the only thing that could damage him further. His thoughts wandered back to Martha. She had been different. She had survived! The one who lived...

He couldn't help but love her. She had the same fire of adventure in her eyes, the same devotion that drove her to the greatest choice. The same immediate trust for him. He was getting sick of it; falling in love. For once, just once, he wished he didn't care so damn much. Just once, to do what the Time Lords swore to do.

Never interfere.

But he always interfered. Always. He couldn't help it. Never liked rules. Neither did Astrid apparently, he wished he had been able to keep her longer to find out. But he couldn't. Why did every woman he ever loved have to fight? We did they have to be so God damn brave? Why did they have to trust him so well? Why did they have to be so like-?

He stopped himself. It had been almost two years, and yet everything came back to that faithful day in Torchwood. He was getting annoyed with himself. Rose was alive! Living an ordinary life, having a normal job, normal friends. Maybe even found someone new? He often wished she would return; he didn't care how impossible it was. That was –after all- the point of wishing. To have the impossible. He shook his head, scolding himself. It was selfish to think of such things. Rose had survived, just like Martha. He should be happy.

But he wasn't.

The Doctor; "The Man who heals!" More like the man who kills. And Astrid. She had so much to give to the World, so much life! So much potential. He was certain she could have been amazing, if only she had the chance. But she didn't get that chance. So many people didn't.

He knew they were watching him.

Those people. The people he saved.

There they were. Cruising along, visiting an unknown planet for Christmas. They weren't expecting asteroids, or killer Hosts, and he doubted they would believe him if he told them it all just some retirement plan. And then came The Doctor. An unnamed man, a mysterious warrior, who arrived from nowhere and will disappear without a trace.

Alone.

It was better that way.

Less hurt.

Fewer goodbyes.

And almost no heartache.

He was beginning to think he was cursed. Every time he fell in love, they died in some sense. He couldn't help but think about her. She was everything he had been looking for. Everything. Every time he heard anything to do with her, or something she had taught him about, (how to make the perfect sandwich for instance), he would ache. He was beginning to wonder if having two hearts really was better than one. Twice the heartache if anyone asked him.

He was so sure he could save Astrid. For someone with a time machine, he had an awful habit of being late. He was beyond sick of it now. Losing. Sure he defeated the villain, as he did in every adventure, but he always lost the person he was fighting for. He always lost.

He spared one last look at Astrid as she flew elegantly through the dark abyss of space. Intrigued by her glittering physique, he couldn't help but say silently to himself in his own language;

I wish Rose was here...

He knew no one heard him. And even if they could, they wouldn't understand. No one would hear The Doctor's wish.

No one would see The Last Almighty Time Lord being weak...