There was a room that never went away. Sometimes when his companions were sleeping and the screams of the past, present, and future horrors were too loud to withstand, he would go there. Just across from his own room. Always in that spot. And that was curious, mind, because depending on her mood, the TARDIS made her rooms shift quite often. She could even make some disappear, which she usually chose to do when someone left him. And often, when he was bored or spent from saving someone from their nightmares, he would find completely new rooms filled with whatever she felt like filling it with, just to amuse him. But this room always stayed across from his, and the door was always the same.
White. Simple. Made of wood, which was peculiar for a spaceship, he supposed, even considering his own Sexy was wooden on the outside. But what made the door beautiful, so heart-renderingly perfect, was the knot in the center of it. It was, well, in the shape of a rose.
The Doctor had studied every subject imaginable to a human, and even to a Gallifreyan and three hundred other species as well. He spent one day (well, part of day, considering it only took him about an hour to read the sixty volumes the TARDIS supplied him with) studying the properties and tendencies of wood, following a rather sticky situation involving New New New France's Cyber Musketeers and wooden jail cells the sonic could not manipulate. The fact of the matter was that wood just didn't do that.
Here the Doctor stood, alone. Amy and Rory were… well, gone. The lonely silence was so profound around him he could hear his hearts beating, feel the rumble of the Time Vortex working the engine beneath his feet, and feel his ship catapult through whatever galaxy he was in now.
He never tried to enter her room. He knew it would simply be too painful. Every now and then, when he felt he was at his weakest, he would press the pads of his fingers against the door and push. Of course, nothing would happen. He didn't expect it to, even if deep down he yearned for even the slightest budge.
But maybe that was a good thing, he reasoned. Taking a deep breath, the Doctor felt his lungs expanding, filling them with oxygen. He could still smell and taste that hint of Gallifreyan air, despite the 900 odd years since the TARDIS's maiden voyage and the numerous places he traveled to. The smell reminded him of the red grass and the wind in the mountains that shone silver at night. It reminded him how beautiful his lost planet was, and how lonely he had become.
Exhaling the air and expelling the thought from his clustered mind, the Doctor closed his ancient eyes. They ached sometimes. Seeing all the chaos, the pain, and even the joys of Time and Space hurt. He had witnessed too much, and yet he was still hungry for so much more.
Opening his green orbs once again and taking another breath, the Doctor mumbled a word longingly, fruitlessly hopeful that the word would somehow fix everything, fix him.
"Rose."
Oh, how bittersweet it was to say that name again. He couldn't remember ever saying that name in his eleventh incarnation, and even in the final days of his tenth. It was just too painful. It brought too many memories back to the surface.
They had had fun together. And blimey, how fast and far they had run. She never tired of running with him, every after they were ripped away from one another. His hearts ached remembering those times on Bad Wolf Bay, remembering seeing tears running without abandon down her face, and every guard and wall she had crumbled by the power of her sorrow.
I love you, she had said. Quite right to, he had foolishly responded. If only he had spared his pride and got to the point. If only…
Stop. He commanded himself. A voice of reason, the one with the old face and the swept back white hair, called out in his mind, What ifs… they kill.
"Rose." He let the word tumble from his mouth like a sigh once again. The Doctor pressed his forehead against the door and then suddenly found himself catching his footing. Odd.
But… the door was open. He had opened it. Or...
"Thanks, Sexy." He whispered under his breathing, earning a warm hum in return from his stolen ship, his constant companion.
And so he was presented with a choice. Should he enter? Was it worth resurfacing all that he had worked so hard to forget?
A small waft of an old, familiar aroma graced his nostrils. It smelled like honey and vanilla and something that was indescribably her. The tendril of scent clouded his judgment for no more than a millisecond, but that was enough. Almost against his will, he took a step into her room.
It was the exact same as how she had left it. Bed made, but not well; the pale pink duvet was ruffled at the edge of her bed, almost in the indentation of someone sitting there. Clothes were scattered about the floor, as were various tubes of product and make up. The pictures held up against the pale yellow walls were fading, and some had come loose from the tape holding them up. He took a step towards them and noticed that they were all of him and her, well, the old scrawny and devilish him, and even some of the old old him, complete with big ears and leather jacket.
He placed his fingers against a picture of her standing in front of the cityscape of New New York, tongue sticking out of her mouth in that signature, Cheshire grin. If only he could go back and touch her again, hear her laugh.
Tearing himself away from the pictures, he sat next to the crinkled part of her bedspread.
"I miss you, you know." He muttered, his voice cracking slightly. He cleared his throat and tried again. "I miss you. Even when I had Amy and Rory, I missed you. Martha was a good friend, and Donna was fantastic, but you… Rose Tyler. You captivated me." He looked down at the seat next to him, imagining her there.
"And", his breath caught in his throat, and he could feel the sting of tears behind his eyes. "And even now, after all these years, you still captivate me. And if only I had told you that I loved you. I loved you more than words, more than life. More than the Lion King." He finished meekly, and for a second his face adopted the roguish grin of his previous life.
The Doctor closed his eyes and brought her face to the surface of his mind. He could just picture her, standing in front of him, choking out her profession of love. And then he pictured her as she ran to him, right before the stray Dalek struck him down. Soon his mind was flashing at the speed of light of all the times he had spent with her, until a single tear rolled down his face. Opening his eyes abruptly, the visions stopped. He brought a hand to his face and wiped away the tear.
"Time to go." He muttered forlornly. Slowly, he rose from the bed, the indent in the duvet right next to her own, the one she had left and had curiously remained for so long.
"At least it's like we're together, eh?" He whispered again.
As he pulled the door open to leave, his ears picked up on the slightest noise. A peal of laughter, distant, yet somehow right next to him. The Doctor let his head fall. It was her laugh.
Turning to take in the image of her room for the last time for a while, he murmured, "Thanks, Old Girl."
The laughter still rung in his head as he closed the portal to her room.
"Well," he said as he pressed his back against the door, "Allonsy."