You were the Doctor, and I was Bad Wolf. And we were together. We went to the year five billion to watch the Earth burn and we looked into evil's eyes. We found a little boy's mummy and we watched the Cybermen die. We've trekked across the universe, you and I. Rose and the Doctor, in the Tardis, the way it should be. We almost had forever.
You and those sparkling eyes, that snarky smile, and that mouth that never seemed to do anything but move. We were unconquerable; the Doctor and Rose, defenders of the universe, from the first moment, to the last, because it did end. You should have known that forever doesn't exist, but like the ticking clock, you chose to ignore it.
I thought that it would never end, and even when you left me, stranded on an ordinary world, I never stopped searching for you, and eventually I found you. I shouted through the silence, I shouted your name. I killed Donna to save you. It wasn't real death, of course, but I could see in her eyes that it felt like it. I tell myself that it was necessary, but just because something is necessary, that doesn't make it right, or fair.
We met again, and together with the big family you'd gathered since me and with me, we flew the Tardis through time. Together, the way it should be. Then you put me back on that beach, leaving me a little bit of yourself, a you whose days are numbered, a child of war, more dangerous, you claimed, even that you. I don't know if I believe that.
He's like a little boy, you know, you without all the pain, brasher and even more childish, if you can believe it. Don't start competing now, because I'm fairly sure that there's only so much the Tardis is willing to put up with. Our house is big, because he likes the idea of a labyrinth, just like the Tardis. He yearns for your life, Doctor, the life he still feels he should have. There's a massive shed out back where he builds mad things. He's blown the whole place up more than once.
We've got a library, of course, though I wouldn't let him put a swimming pool in the middle of it. He redecorates a lot, practically every week, but there could never be enough on this planet to keep him busy, except perhaps me. He loves me so much, Doctor, and he's able to really show it. He's not afraid to bare his one human heart to me.
It's wonderful, this human life of ours. I have a normal forever now, with a man whose wild hair is shot with specks of grey. I've seen him staring at them in the mirror, slightly horrified at the evidence of unwilling age. His metabolism is working against him now, placing wrinkles on his face, slowing him down and wearing him out, moment by moment.
I know that he longs for the Time Lord life, the kind that you lead with danger and running and monsters and agelessness. I also know that he's happy, and that he loves me. He said it that day on the beach, "I've only got one life, Rose Tyler. I could spend it with you. If you want". You told me to fix him like I fixed you, and I have, I think. I can see it in his eyes when we bake together on Sunday mornings, though to be honest it's mostly me supervising as he plays with the whisk. 'Technological genius', yeah right. I haven't forgotten the 'magic door' incident.
I once walked into the shed and saw something resembling the Tardis console, and my heart skipped a beat. This is a whole new universe, Doctor. Imagine if he and I could explore it? He had his shirtsleeves pulled up to his elbows and a little smile on his face, and I sat with him for a long time and asked him questions, long after the tea I'd brought him had gone cold in my hands.
I was doubtful of course; ever the devil's advocate. "How can you build a time machine?" I'd asked him, "I thought you had to trap a dying star, or something?"
He'd pursed his lips as he examined two wires doubtfully, "The Time Lords could do it".
"Yeah, on Gallifrey", I'd reminded him.
I remember how he looked at me then, pleading with me not to break his heart, and I knew then that it would never work. He isn't you, Doctor, however hard he might try to be. That night we sat up together, and he told me about far off worlds, with that same giggly excitement you had, his hair full of soot, darker than usual.
I'm not sure that he'll ever give up that dream of seeing the stars again, up close, of spinning through space like the mad man he is, but every morning he sits up suddenly in bed and gets ready for work and when he kisses me goodbye I know that he would never leave, even if by some miracle he could build a Tardis. He may not be you, but he's mine and he has one heart and grey hairs, because this time we're being worn away together. He can spend the rest of his life with me.
We have a son now, five years old. Clever, like him, adorable (don't know where that came from). He looked terrified when I handed our son to him, staring with bright eyes up at his father's wild head of hair in amazement.
"He's beautiful", I'd murmured, not entirely sure which of them I was talking about.
His father had gazed down at him with a little smile, "he's got my hair", he noted.
"Well, apart from that, obviously", and we'd laughed and for once he was speechless, staring down at the little miracle I'd created.
We have a life now, on planet Earth, a life that will have fizzled out in just a few of the years you skip carelessly through. I don't know what will happen to you, but we both know that everything ends. You should know that I'll never stop loving you, my Doctor. And when you're out in the stars, every once in a while, don't forget to think of me. Don't forget to smile that goofy, beautiful smile and whisper my name into the emptiness.
Promise me that you won't be sad Doctor, and that when the end comes you won't think yourself alone. I'm sending my love across universes to you. I'm Bad Wolf, after all, what can't I do?