"Memories"
The Doctor wandered around the TARDIS, walking absentmindedly along the paths he knew so well. Amy and Rory had gone to sleep ages ago, but the Doctor was wide awake. This was the norm, however. You don't travel the galaxy by day, seeing wonderous sights that would dazzle anyone, and fall asleep instantly at night.
Especially if you had seen the things he had.
Especially if you had done the things he had.
The Doctor peered into a room he had never seen before, never bothered to check. It was a spare bedroom, sparse, with just a small bed and a dresser. He closed the door and continued on, walking into corridors he had traveled down so many times over the many, many years. He looked in at some rooms, seeing what was within. A few closets, another bedroom, nothing special. He exited a small living room and continued walking. Without thinking, he turned down an all too familiar corridor. Soon he was standing at the door to another bedroom.
Her bedroom.
He stood there, indecisive. He hadn't gone in for a long time; in fact, since he regenerated. The memories were too painful.
He braced himself and walked in.
Oh, the memories. There were her clothes, in the closet, abandoned. Never to be worn again. The bed, with the covers wrinkled and thrown about carelessly. The Doctor smiled sadly. That was like her. That was his Rose.
He walked to the bed and sat on it, gazing about. There was a stack of something on her dresser. He picked them up and glanced at them.
Pictures.
Not too many, probably about ten or so. There was one of her mother, smiling and luaghing with friends. An old picture of her parent's wedding day. A picture of her and Mickey, out to eat. He gazed at her. She seemed so happy. So content.
But this was before she had met him.
Before she was ripped away from him.
Before everything.
He shuffled through the pictures, pausing briefly to glance at them for a few moments before going to the next. There were only two pictures left. He stopped and stared at them. One was of him and Rose. It was taken when he was still on his tenth regeneration, with his brown hair all fluffed up and a blue suit on his skinny frame. In the photograph he was staring up at the night sky, a contented smile on his face, oblivious to Rose taking their picture together. She was standing right next to him, hugging his arm, also gazing at the sky. She had probably glanced down at the camera many times to get the angle right before snapping the picture. She was smiling too, but differently than the Doctor was. The Doctor looked happy, relaxed. She looked elated, as if the whole world had opened up to her, showing her the mysteries of the universe. In a way, it had. The Doctor had taken her places most humans didn't even know existed, places people only dreamed about. He had made her...happy.
The Doctor's eyes filled with tears. He never really believed it, that he made his companions happy traveling with him. He put them through so much heartbreak and fear. But they kept traveling with him. They stayed by his side. And even though they always left eventually, sometimes in horrible ways, they were happy when they traveled with him. He thought about the places he had gone with Rose. Never, not even once, did she want to leave him, never wanted to go back to her normal life. And why would she? After you've seen the world, seen the universe and wonders beyond comprehension, why would you ever go back?
The Doctor smiled at the photograph and looked at the last one. Oh, he remembered this one. It was him, Rose, Jackie, and Mickey aboard the TARDIS, laughing at the camera. He remembered that day. They had gone to see Jackie and Mickey for a visit, and Jackie had insisted on taking a picture of all of them. "Goodness knows if you two will get blown up on some planet out in the middle of nowhere and I won't have a nice picture of us." She had insisted.
He looked at the photo for a long, long time. After awhile he absentmindedly flipped over the picture, turning it in his fingers. He stopped abruptly, for there was writing on the back. He read it.
Dear Doctor it read, I hope you remember this day as well as I do. We all went out to eat and you insisted the the President of America was actually a Martian. The waitress thought you were mad. I couldn't stop laughing.
I'll probably forget this photo eventually, but I thought I'd just write a nice little note to you, as a thanks for everything you've done for me. You've made my life so much better and more interesting than I could have ever dreamed of as a shopgirl. I can't wait for our next adventure together.
Love, Rose
The Doctor started crying softly. He missed her so much. She was always cheerful, always had a sarcastic remark or a joke that would make him laugh. She cared so much about him and looked out for him, trying to keep him safe as best she could. Even when his faults were displayed out in the open for her to see, she never looked at him differently, never judged him for past mistakes. She had loved him.
But now she was gone. He would never get her back.
He put the photos back on the dresser carefully and continued examining the room. He opened a dresser drawer. It had a few personal things in there, a few books, some jewelry, and makeup. Yes, Rose did love her makeup. He pushed a few things aside and found a small book with a blank cover. Curious, he opened it.
It was like a mini scrapbook, with more pictures of them traveling together, with descriptions of the places they had gone, the people they had met. It painted a glorious picture of what life with the Doctor was like, all adventures and fun. It made everything look exciting and new, full of hope and joy. On one page, there were no pictures, just words. Her writing.
Today we came back to Earth, in the thirty-second century. It was enormous fun riding around in the hover cars they had. The Doctor pretended that he didn't like them as much as the TARDIS, but he loved it when I floored the gas all the way on the convertible craft and we went so fast I almost couldn't breathe. I slowed down a little but he insisted I go faster so I did, flying across the city at more than a hundred miles per hour. Needless to say we were not on the roads, or we would have gotten in real trouble.
When we came back to the TARDIS, I went off to my room but I had left my coat back with the Doctor. I went to go get it but I just stood quietly and watched him for awhile. He stood at the cousoule, just gazing at the ceiling. He stayed like that for a long time until I finally walked in. He looked at me and smiled. I grabbed my jacket and left, but when I looked back he was staring at the ceiling again.
Sometimes I wonder what he thinks about when he's alone at night, when it's quiet and peaceful in the TARDIS. I get the feeling he doesn't really like himself that much. He thinks he's guilty for so many things that he could never have stopped. Sometimes I just want to hug him and tell him that he is the best man I have ever met and he is perfect to me.
Sometimes I wonder if he'll wind up alone one day, feeling guilty about something that has to do with why I'm not there. I hope not. He deserves more than that. He deserves someone who will always be there for him, standing with him when no one else does, supporting him and getting him to see his good side.
Does he think I'm that person?
Am I that person?
The Doctor closed the book, tears streaming quietly down his face. She would never know how much he loved her, what he would have done for her. How much he wanted her back. He put the book close to his face and whispered softly into the spine, "Yes, Rose Tyler, you were that person."
He put the book back in the drawer, and began to walk out of the room. He turned back, and gazed at it once more. His eyes fell on a vase sitting on a small table in the corner. It had a single dead rose in it. He closed his eyes and allowed a wave of grief to wash over him. Suddenly he turned and hurried out of the room. He was back minutes later, with a single rose in his hand. He gently took out the dead rose form the vase and placed the new one in. He looked at the dead rose. He wasn't sure if he wanted to throw it away or not. He did however, tossing in gently into the trash can sitting next to the dresser. The Doctor then walked once again to the door. He allowed a final glance into the room. His lips curled ever so slightly as he said quietly, "Goodbye, my fantastic Rose," and closed the door softly behind him.