AN: This story takes place directly after Donna leaves the Doctor after their first adventure.
Her Name was Rose
"Her name was Rose" he said, feeling his throat constrict as the words came. He closed the door and half ran to the console, pushing buttons, begging the Tardis to take him away, take him anywhere, as fast as she could. He didn't cry, not this time. He turned and sat cross-legged on the floor, his back to the column. In spite of all the troubles she's had over the centuries, the Doctor trusted the Tardis. They had both sacrificed for each other more times than he could count. He has seen so much sacrifice…
The Doctor bowed his head and buried his face in his hands. He could never remember feeling so alone; and never, for a Time Lord, was a very big word. Unbidden, images came back to him. Susan, his granddaughter, so young, so full of life. So terrified. He had been young in those days too. He's been around humans enough to appreciate the irony of thinking of that wrinkled face that had looked back at him in the mirror all those years ago as so much younger than now, with his fresh, freckled face. But he was younger then, still on the run from a people now dead. His stomach churned.
His thoughts strayed to Romana. He'd thought of her, though not often, since the Time War. Maybe she was still alive, in E-Space. Not that it mattered for him, he'd never be able to get through, get back to her, though a large part of him was sorely tempted to try. Maybe somewhere around the Tardis was that sheet of calculations Adric had done…
Adric. That boy… Just a boy. Such a senseless waste of life, and it had been all his fault. Had to take the boy along… never mind that he'd wanted to go. The Doctor had always wanted his companions, even the more troublesome ones. Turlough had been plotting to kill him, but it hadn't stopped the Doctor from caring for the boy. After all, he hadn't really wanted to kill the Doctor. He had a good heart, in spite of his attitude.
The Doctor was still not crying as he thought about how he'd always tried to keep his companions -- his friends -- at arm's length. Especially after Romana had left. It hadn't really worked very well. He still felt keenly each loss as one by one, they went home, or found something in their travels that suited them better, or died. Or became trapped in a parallel reality.
Rose really would never have left him. She would have stayed with him and the Tardis for as long as they would have had her. And he would have had her as long as she lived.
He really hated good-byes. Sometimes he wanted to truly believe he was free, he could have traveled alone for all these centuries, never needing anyone to ask stupid questions or drag him into, and out of trouble. His mind was dragged back to the war, the genocide. He saw his old self, Victorian coat, long brown locks curling to frame his face, and against his will, he began to relive that moment.
XXXXXXXXXXXXX
He was running towards the Tardis when it hit. The last, deadly wave of energy slammed into him, tearing through him and pushing him the last few steps into the his waiting ship.
Coward.
He stumbled towards the column, slamming on the control panel, not caring where he wound up as long as he left here. He doubled over as he felt his cells screaming in silent protest about the abuse he had just wreaked upon it.
At least the Daleks are dead. The Daleks and the Time Lords. Everone. Except the Coward.
The grinding of the engine assured him that he was moving, that at least one thing in the universe was not dead, had not left him to suffer alone. He collapsed on the floor, curling into himself as pain washed over him. He wasn't sure how much of the pain was from the energy blast he had taken, destroying his body, and how much was simply the miserable suffering of a murdering coward. Streaks of wetness ran down his face.
Coward. You could have stayed and died with the rest.
He felt the change beginning. He was fairly sure that the blast he had taken wouldn't destroy him utterly, as it destroyed everyone else. It had done more than enough damage to cause him to regenerate, though. For the most part, he was glad for that. He didn't think he'd ever be able to look at that face in the mirror again. As it was, he doubted he'd be able to look at the new one any time soon either.
His thoughts grew distant as the change began. He didn't want to think anymore, to know anymore, to exist anymore.
But you do still exist. Coward.
He screamed wordlessly, a bellow of rage and pain that echoed through the labyrinth halls of the Tardis. Maybe She would be able to take away his pain. He doubted it. He felt himself melt, disappear, do whatever indescribable thing it is that he does when he regenerates, then reforms. A sob tore from his chest before he finally collapsed utterly into darkness.
When he woke, he was dizzy, disoriented for a moment before it all came rushing back. He took quick stock of himself, just enough to realize that he had indeed changed and that his clothes no longer fit him properly. The column was still, so at some point, he had landed, but he felt little desire to look and see where he was.
He trudged to the wardrobe room. Once there, he avoided looking in any of the mirrors, still not willing to look at his new face, terrified of what he would see reflected in his eyes.
Windows to the soul. The body can change, the clothes, the habits and hobbies and likes and dislikes. But the soul is the same. Still the same.
He browsed, mostly uninterested, through the rows of clothes. Black pants. Dark jumper. Black jacket. Fitting attire for one in mourning for his entire race. They fit well enough. He didn't care much past that. Without a second thought, he turned and left the wardrobe. Perhaps later, he might look at himself. Perhaps.
He moved in a fog for a long time. He wasn't sure if it was hours or days or weeks. To anyone who might have seen him, he seemed well enough. To anyone who might have known him, he would have seemed a mess.
Of course, there's no one left who really knows you now, is there.
When he found himself once again on Earth, fighting the Autons, so much of it was automatic. He tried to save the man, Wilson. When he saw the girl, he tried to save her too, and he managed it. That was what he did. Save people.
Kill people.
He blew up the building. No one but the Autons were hurt, at least no one he knew of. Now just to round up any strays and track down the signal.
He found himself at her house. The girl. Rose. A girl he saved. A life he preserved. Maybe his existence wasn't a total blight on the universe. He spied a small mirror on the side of the room. Perhaps it was time to look and see what kind of man he had become.