Summary: In the space of a few hours and a cup of tea, the Doctor realises that he's lost the two most important women in his life. Post GitF, so spoilers, obviously.

Characters: Rose Tyler, The Doctor (Tenth), Mickey Smith.

Rating: K

Words: 3454

Genre: Angst, very slight Romance. Nothing like an angsty short story whilst you're writing another fic :D

Spoilers: "The Girl in the Fireplace" mostly, but some for "School Reunion" and earlier episodes from Series One (of the new series). Nothing you probably didn't already know, though.

Setting: Immediately after the Doctor comes back on the TARDIS from receiving Reinette's letter after her death. Hands up who was crying at this point:p

Disclaimer: Doctor Who is nothing of mine. All the BBC's creation and ownership. Believe me, it's something I cry about on a daily basis. But it's probably just as well, because I couldn't come up with the fantastic storylines anyway.

A/N: I must have seen this episode about three times. Makes me cry every time. I just had to write this, because my pen started and it didn't know when to stop. So here you go. This was written in the last half an hour of me watching this episode.

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You Are Always Alone

It wasn't his fault.

"Are you all right?"

Her voice was small, and worried. Like that of a tiny human in a huge universe.

He looked at her with sorrow hidden in his eyes.

He had no choice.

"I'm always all right."

The sad smile he gave her broke her heart. As if he hadn't done that already.

"C'mon Rose; time to show me around the rest of this place."

She felt flesh on her hand. Skin on skin. A touch. So much in a touch... And then she was led away. Stumbling over the grille floor of the TARDIS, Rose Tyler looked away and pretended that everything was all right. She let herself be led into the depths of the empty corridors. But her heart was still with the Doctor. Or what was left of him. He was broken; shattered beyond repair. Just like that mirror. Just like her heart.

The Doctor reached for a control on the TARDIS. He wasn't going to use it, but he may as well pretend to be doing something. He heard the door close behind them. Very slowly, he retracted his hand. The letter was burning him. He could feel it. A sheet of thin, meaningless paper with the most important words in the world carved into it. Reinette's words. Bleeding into him. He couldn't take it. He reached for the parchment and broke the wax seal meant only for his fingers. He never took his eyes off it. He brought the letter up as he read, his eyes flicking over the gracefully written words. Even her writing was beautiful. One of his hearts gave its last flutter as he read her words. Her last words. And then it was silenced as he gulped down the beginnings of a storm in his throat. A raging tempest of uncontrollable emotion. He couldn't let that out. Not now. Not ever.

Her words echoed in his head even though he had only read them. Her last words, for him. Her dying words, for him. All for him. Because she had known that she wouldn't make it. That he would never find his way back to her. She had known, all along. And she still loved him.

The Doctor folded the letter and replaced it to his breast pocket. He stood for a moment. Staring. Contemplating. His face was such a scene of despair that he could practically feel it. He did feel it. Hollow, absent eyes. Thin, determined mouth. Strong, furrowed brow. Oh Doctor... where was his lively attitude now?

He took in a deep, shuddered breath. Not here. Not now. Maybe not ever. But definitely not now.

The Doctor flicked a switch. Just a small switch; nothing special. A switch to take them away from this place. Because one more second and his heart might break. He had heard that a second was a lifetime; he had always taken it for granted. Until now. If he had been that one second sooner, if he hadn't have gone off to find Rose, and Mickey, and the TARDIS... If he had followed his instincts and never left her side, then she would still be alive. But his duty had been to check that Rose was okay, that Mickey was okay and that his TARDIS still stood; and in matters of the heart, duty wins out. And, because of it, his heart had lost. Lost its battle to keep fighting. Lost hope. Lost her. Lost it all.

The Doctor was leaning against the TARDIS controls, his hands flat on the deck, his head bowed in defeat. The TARDIS' lights dimmed to comfort him. The Doctor lifted his head and gave an appreciative but sad smile. He stroked the TARDIS console lovingly.

"Thanks, old girl," he murmured softly, but there was no hint of a smile on his face. "Always could give me what I needed."

But not what he really needed. He needed to know, to be told, that Reinette hadn't died waiting for him. Alone. But nobody could tell him that: it was true. He had met her and she had fallen in love with him. Trusted him. Believed him. Understood him. And he had let her down. She had died, waiting. The letter said as much. But so did his hearts.

He blinked solemnly and slowly. No time. Fancy that; a Time Lord with no time. The one thing that he was supposedly exempt from was the one thing that always made the difference. The one thing that tore the people he loved away from him. The one thing that he couldn't escape from. The one thing that always, always, caught up with him. The one thing that always hurt.

The door to the console room slid open. It was Rose. Without Mickey. She was tentative around him, he could tell. Well, who wouldn't be? The Doctor didn't turn to look at her as he heard her walk slowly into the room. He kept his back firmly to her, his shoulders hunched, his hands in his pockets. No grin to hide behind this time. He just didn't have the strength.

"Doctor?"

Ah yes, she was trying to help. She was good like that. But it was useless. She couldn't help him. Not now. Not ever.

He turned his head slightly. Not enough for her to be able to see his face, but enough so he could catch a glimpse of her from the corner of his eye.

"Not now," was all he said. He shouldn't say that; she'd know something was wrong. But then, she already knew. That's why she was here.

He heard footsteps approaching; he looked away.

"I just want to help."

Oh, don't we all, Rose Tyler? If he hadn't have wasted his time 'helping', then he wouldn't be in the mess he was now. He wouldn't have known of Reinette's life and realise that it was possible to fall in love with someone you didn't know. He wouldn't have felt like giving up, right now. Because Reinette was the only one of her kind, he was sure of it. The only one who could make him feel that way about her. About himself. Welcomed. Accepted. Wanted. Understood. Loved. Not even Rose could awaken that side of him. Not any more. She had used to, he remembered. That was why he'd brought her with him. He had known that he could – and would – fall for her slowly and steadily, and that she would offer him hope again. She had, and he was thankful for that. But that was the man he used to be, not the man he was now. And if he were honest with himself, if he'd been given the choice of Reinette or Rose, he would have chosen Reinette. Any day. And he hated himself for it.

The Doctor realised he hadn't said anything. Not that there was anything to say. He blinked himself back to reality; or was that Rose's hand on his arm, grounding him?

"I'm sorry," he said softly, still not looking at her. And he meant it. Sorry that he had left Reinette's side without saying goodbye. Sorry that he had given her something to hope for that he couldn't give. Sorry that she had died alone. Because when you met 'The Doctor' and he leaves, there's no going back. You are always alone.

"Why her?"

Rose's voice broke through his thoughts. Yes, indeed, why her? He didn't know. Rose was continuing before he could offer an answer; which was just as well, because he didn't have an answer to give.

"I don't mean why did those robot things want her brain. I just... I wondered why you wanted her. On the – the TARDIS, I mean."

He walked away from her grip, still not looking at her. She didn't follow him. He couldn't do this now. Rose didn't know that he had fallen in love with Reinette. Or that Reinette was dead, come to that. Dead... the word beat around his mind like the banging of a solitary drum.

"Rose," the Doctor spoke gently, his back still towards her. "I said not now."

There was nothing in his voice, Rose realised. No tiredness. No anger. No sadness. No compassion. Nothing. That was what made it so heartbreaking.

Rose had felt the tears inside her welling up like a mountain storm. She knew the Doctor wasn't all right and would probably never be all right. Whatever had happened between him and Reinette was more than just him wanting to save her. She had seen it on his face, in his eyes. And she was seeing it now.

The tears in her eyes stung as much as the pain in her heart. Rose sniffed them back, silently wishing that she were stronger than this. The Doctor suddenly turned on his heel to look at her. He put his head on one side and looked at her with all the sympathy one look could endure. His eyes were soft and pleading.

"No, Rose," he whispered, though he didn't dare take a step over to her. "Don't cry. There have been enough tears spilled today.

What the hell did that mean? Rose didn't know, and wasn't sure if she necessarily wanted to find out,

"It's just... It's difficult," Rose admitted at last, hugging herself and looking to the ceiling. Oh, the Doctor thought. So they were having this conversation anyway. Don't say he didn't try to warn her. She brought her eyes down from the ceiling to look at him. She couldn't read what was reflected in his eyes. "You know?" she added hesitantly.

The Doctor gave a slow nod, his eyes sombre. "I know."

He wasn't going to say anything. He was just going to stand there with his hands in his pocket and look at her.

"Right," she said slowly, her voice defeated. "Yeah. Okay. See you later, then."

She turned to leave. To shuffle away. Now, on top of everything else, the Doctor felt guilty. It wasn't her fault. She didn't understand, but it wasn't her fault. He couldn't let her leave like that.

"Rose?" he called softly to her. He watched as her body stopped. She turned, ever so slowly, to look at him.

"Yeah?"

His eyes blinked the sadness of a thousand dying suns.

"Make us a cup of tea," he requested with a weak smile.

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Tea was their code for avoiding the issue. The thing they used when there as a question or issue in the air that neither of them wanted to talk about. With the last Doctor, it had been chips. With him, it was tea.

They were stood in the kitchen in silence. Well, the Doctor stood; Rose was sat on one of the stools, which was more than a bar stool than a kitchen stool, staring glumly into her tea on the breakfast counter. The Doctor was leant against the surface across from her, on the other side of the counter. In his hand he clasped at the warm, milky liquid and every now and then he would take a sip. But neither of them said anything.

It was so quiet, you could have actually heard a pin drop to the floor. The tension in the air was so thick, you couldn't have cut through it with a diamond-edged blade.

The Doctor swallowed his mouthful, not caring that it burned at him as it went down. He barely felt it anyway.

"What have you done with The Idiot?" he asked at last. Best to start somewhere.

Rose looked up from her mug, her elbows on the counter. She slumped her head onto her curled hands.

"You shouldn't call him that," she responded, but there was no emotion in her voice. If the Doctor didn't want to talk to her – and he had made quite clear in the control room that he didn't – then why was he even bothering with small talk? They should just forget about it; that's what he usually did. Forget he had left her, forget he had barely said a word since they came back, forget that he was keeping it all away from her.

"All right," the Doctor conceded with a sigh, taking another sip from his mug.

A beat of silence.

"Fine. What have you done with Mickey?"

"He wanted to be left in the virtual gaming room," Rose sighed, her head slumping more. Her expression was miserable, but the Doctor tried to ignore it. He had enough on his plate at the moment. He could still feel the letter burning in his pocket.

"If he wanted to play games, he should have stayed on Earth," he commented dryly.

"You were the one that invited him on board," Rose retorted.

"I didn't. He invited himself. I just didn't stop him."

"Yeah, 'cause anyone can just wander in and be TARDIS crew. Doesn't matter who. That about right, Doctor?"

The Doctor let out a small sigh. Sometimes, she was more of a child than he realised.

"You know that's not true," he said gravely over the top of his mug.

She looked at him and frowned, hurt.

"Doesn't seem like it," she said bitterly.

"All right, Rose," the Doctor sighed in defeat, closing his eyes. "Why don't you just tell me who I've invited onto the TARDIS, then."

"Jack."

"You wanted him," the Doctor defended. "You wanted me to save him."

"Adam."

The Doctor raised an eyebrow. "Ditto."

"Sarah Jane."

"Old friend."

"Mickey."

"Your boyfriend."

"Madame de Pompadour."

The Doctor was silent. He didn't have an answer for that one, didn't have an excuse. But why should he need one? It was his TARDIS, and he could invite whomever he liked. But Rose had gone on; seemingly unaware of the fact that he hadn't defended Reinette. The name still stung at him.

"Me." She looked at him pointedly. "You'd have invited Cassandra if she wasn't such a pain in the arse."

He let out a small, muffled cry of exasperation, but hid it with a cough. How could his own, sweet, caring, understanding Rose be acting like this? Like a jealous child? Oh. The realisation hit him like a smack in the forehead. She was jealous. He should have known. Part of him did. And he should comfort her, tell her that she was special, that everything would be all right. But that wasn't the part of him that had control of his body right now; the part that had him was mourning Reinette and her wonderful, intelligent, clever ways. All the things that she had missed out on, that he had promised to show her. That was why he shouldn't fall in love; it just ended up hurting everyone too much. Forget his own pain, that was fine. But he always ended up hurting everyone else. He knew emotions hurt; that was the point. But some lines were just not meant to be crossed. And now, here Rose was, challenging that without meaning to. And he was getting annoyed.

"Aren't you going to say anything, Doctor?"

He brought the mug down on the surface with a little more force than he meant to, sloshing tea everywhere in the process.

"This isn't about the people, Rose, and you know it," he said with aggravation, his eyes alight with passion. "This isn't about me and my stupid mistakes – though, while we're here, why don't we just bring those up too? I killed her, okay? Is that what you wanted to hear? I came back for you and killed her. In the space of a few minutes. I could have saved her, could have given her the life that she deserved. But she died. She died waiting for me to come back to her, and I never did because I was too busy checking that you were all right!"

The tears in Rose's eyes were beginning to mount and churn in her eyes as his voice rose in speed and volume. He cared, of course he did. But now he'd started, he couldn't stop; the rage was just too much.

"But this isn't about Adam, or Sarah Jane, or Mickey, or any of them, is it Rose? It's about you. It's about the fact that I jumped from a spaceship through a window into 18th century France on the back of a bloody white horse and didn't take you with me! That I leapt through time and space for her, but not you, is that right? Am I right, Rose? Tell me I'm right, because I really have no other ideas as to why you possibly might be upset!"

Rose sat, gob-smacked, her mouth open, staring at him. Tears were leaking down her cheeks but she didn't care. Slowly, very slowly, she closed her mouth, swallowed, then stood to her feet. She never took her eyes off the Doctor. He must be hurting beyond recognition to speak to her like that. Reinette's death – God, she'd died for heaven's sake – must have shocked him. Reminded him that he couldn't save everyone. She must have, Rose realised, broken his hearts. In more ways than one. And he was hurting.

But he meant the words he had just said. Rose knew it. He may apologise for them later, now even; but he wouldn't take them back.

He looked at her, astounded and disgusted with himself. She'd hit a nerve and he had reacted to it in the worst, possible way. She didn't deserve any of that. Not one word. She didn't understand; but she wasn't selfish, and he shouldn't have treated her like that.

"Rose, I..." he began, but couldn't find the words. There were no words.

"I'll just... go find Mickey, then," she said weakly, brushing her hair behind her ear and sticking on a brave face.

"I didn't mean it," the Doctor said quickly, before she could turn away. "You know I didn't mean it."

She gave him the saddest, most alone look in the world.

"But that's just the thing," she replied, and was pleased to find her voice even despite sniffing back her tears. "You did. And it's all right 'cause I know that you did. You're just... hurting, yeah? And it'll be all right. It's difficult to explain, but... we'll always have each other, won't we Doctor? Even through all this..." she motioned in the air with her hand. "Even when one of us jumps through a mirror."

At least she had the courtesy to smile on this last comment; she'd forgiven him for leaving her. Just like that. She was amazing. Even if he wasn't in love with her, he could still recognise that she was special. He would make it up to her, he vowed. On their next trip. He'd take her somewhere nice and make it up to her. Provided he wasn't busy saving the universe in the meantime.

Rose looked to the floor, her face dropping for a moment. The Doctor felt paralysed with indecision, with fear.

"I thought you weren't gonna come back," she admitted in a small voice. The Doctor refrained from adding that he didn't think he'd be coming back either. "I stood and waited and watched. But I knew you'd gone off to save the world. And it was just... I dunno... you can do it without me, I guess."

At this, the Doctor did speak. He couldn't just stand there dumb, after all.

"No," he said, shaking his head. "Not without you. Not alone."

"But you weren't alone. You had her."

Oh. Yes. Reinette. Yes, he supposed he did. But she was gone now. His own, stupid fault, but she was gone.

Rose heaved a sigh before making her way to the door. Before she left, she added; "I just know it's not gonna be forever anymore. That's all."

And then she was gone.

The Doctor closed his eyes and shook his head. In the space of a few hours and a cup of tea, he had lost the two most important women in his life. Quite a feat, even by his standards. One he'd lost because he had been a second too late to save her; the other because of what he had done, in vain, to rescue the first. But perhaps all was not lost. He still had Rose, after all. His Rose. The mark Reinette had left on him would never leave him. He would always love her. But at least what he had with Rose he could at least try and fix. She was worth that, at least.

He picked up his tea and sipped at it thoughtfully. Rose was right. They didn't have forever: they had right now, and that was all that mattered.