A/N: I'm writing this and I have no idea what show/book this will end up being for or what characters will be in it or even a plot, but we'll see how it goes I don't know.

Category: Doctor Who

Pairing: Eleven/Rose, mentioned TenToo/Rose

Summary: The Doctor, soon to die protecting the planet Christmas, writes a letter to Rose to tell her of his oncoming death, past adventures, and to give her a final goodbye while also coming to terms with his soon to be final death.

Disclaimer: I don't own Doctor Who, because if I did... we'll it'd be very different.

Enjoy!

The Doctor sat quietly in his chair. The same chair he's been sitting quietly in for the past hundred or so years. He was starting to lose count.

He wished he could leave Christmas, more than he ever thought he could wish for something. It was kind of fitting though, that he, the Doctor, a man who traveled through time and space for almost his entire existence, would die of old age, sitting in a chair, fighting to protect a planet that would never truly be safe.

Maybe fitting wasn't the right word. More like... ironic.

And looking back on it, his entire life had been rather ironic. Him dying on this planet of old age, with not even his TARDIS to keep him company, was just the icing on the cake.

But he didn't regret it. While there were so many things he'd like to change that he had done, so many people that he wished he hadn't lost, so many places he'd rather be, so many people he wished he had by his side in his soon to be final moments, he didn't regret his decision. He had to save this planet. He was the Doctor. And if he was going to die once and for all, he would do it while doing the one thing he had promised himself he would always try to do. Help people.

He thought back to what he did to Clara grimly. He had promised her, looked her in the eyes, and told her he would never do it again. But he had. And for a second, just for a moment, he let himself think back to the first time he had sent someone away from him against their will. And how deeply he had regretted it. But back then, like now, it had been for the best.

But deep down, he knew, he just knew, that Clara would be back again. Just like she had been before. Just like Rose had been.

Rose.

It seemed like it was only a few days ago since he had first seen her in the basement of the department store he didn't remember the name of. When he had held her hand for the first time and whispered, "Run." And how he wished she was still here right now, to tell him how awful he'd been to Clara, to rant about how mad she'd been when he'd done it to her, and how she couldn't imagine how furious Clara was— but oh wait, she could, because she was just as mad at him.

But she was happier now. With his clone. They were probably living a happy human life, filled with all the things he would never get to do. Especially now, as he was going to die very soon. And she would never know. Maybe he could...

He sighed and carefully lifted himself from his chair, making his way over to his desk, and taking a seat once again.

He pulled out a piece of paper and a pen, and with a shaky hand, began to write:

Dear Rose,

The Doctor scrunched his nose at that. It didn't seem to get his point across. He crumbled the paper up and pulled out a fresh piece, starting again.

Rose Tyler,

I know that you'll never get to see this, and that if you were here, you'd be encouraging me to try to solve the problem at hand instead of wasting my time on you, but truthfully, any time spent on you, is time well spent. But that's not the point.

Soon, I'm going to die, Rose. Not today, probably not tomorrow, maybe not even for another decade, but soon, I am going to die. And this time, it'll be the last time.

I've finally run out of regenerations, Rose. No new new new Doctor. This is it for me, and I'm dying of old age, can you believe that, Rose? Me, dying of old age, stuck on a planet without even my TARDIS. Seems kind of silly.

You're probably wondering what happened to the TARDIS, as she means more to me than almost anything. I sent her away. With my companion, Clara. And you probably would like to yell at me, at how awful I was, but don't worry, I've already imagined your speech in my head several times over the past few decades. Yours and Martha's and Donna's and Amy's and Clara's. But mostly yours. Especially after the second time I sent her away.

Clara is amazing, Rose. She reminds me of you, actually, except she's bossier than you were. And she's an awful cook. She constantly tries to make soufflés but she always burns them. She called me to her home because she couldn't make a turkey and I had to cook it using the TARDIS!

Before Clara though, I had two companions, Amy and Rory. The Ponds. Oh, you would have loved them. They were married. You're probably laughing now, thinking, 'You've gone domestic, Doctor!' and yeah, I guess I have. Some stuff really does change with my face. They were great friends, and I lost them to some weeping angels. I mourned them for longer than I should have, but I am quite a selfish man sometimes, Rose. But you probably knew that already.

I wear a bow tie now, Rose, did I forget to mention that? You were right when you complimented my bow tie oh so long ago when we were first in the parallel universe you now call home. Bow ties are cool.

But I have done some good since last time, Rose. I've saved some people, been some places, made new friends, acquaintances and allies, I've blown up a few things, made some overzealous speeches and sacrificed too many people to save myself, which isn't good, Rose, not at all, but each time it's made me realize that I'm not indestructible, which is something I need reminding of every now and then.

But most importantly, Rose, I've missed you. More than you can imagine. More than you probably miss me, considering you have me, he may be human, but he's still me. But I don't have you, and I never will.

Maybe it seems unfair, but I think, sometimes, the universe has the right to be unfair. I didn't deserve you, but you deserved to have the person you loved. And, as unfair to me as it may seem, the way things happened is exactly as it should be. And maybe you're remembering back to you and I, "the Doctor and Rose in the TARDIS, as it should be", but I don't deserve to have you Rose, not after all I've done. This is fair, the way things are. And besides, you can travel the universe with your Doctor.

When I die, Rose— which, I'd think, would probably have happened a long time ago by the time you do or don't read this— I want you to know, that I'm glad that I met you. That you changed me into a better man. A fantastic man even. And sure, I've changed so much since we last saw each other— especially in features, Amy used to say that I look like a baby!— but I still wouldn't be the man I am today without you. And although I would love to explain to you how much you mean to me, Rose Tyler, I fear there will soon be Daleks attaching the planet that I am protecting. That, and my pen, my only pen, is beginning to run out of ink.

I hope, Rose, that while I'm writing this, you are out living your fantastic life with your fantastic family. I hope that you never find this letter, so that if you ever stop to take a moment to think about me, to wonder what I've been doing, you'll make up a magnificent story of me saving a distant planet, with a faceless companion that may or may not be a pink and yellow human, and for just another moment, Rose Tyler, I'll be alive again. Maybe only in your thoughts, but for just a second, I will be out there again, saving planets and galaxies and races, all because of your brilliant imagination.

And, Rose, if you are reading this, and you're feeling sad or maybe even crying, please don't be upset for me. Keep living your life and being fantastic. Do that for me, Rose. I am starting to sound like myself when we first met, again. I've said fantastic way too many times.

The time has come for me to wrap up this letter, Rose, as much as it pains me to do so. You and I, Rose Tyler, we were the stuff of legends, and when I die, Rose, I'll only be a legend. But you are so much more, Rose. You always will be. Rose Tyler, defender of the Earth, you are. You don't need me to be that. You can be amazing without me.

Goodbye, Rose Tyler. Goodbye, for the last time.

The Doctor

P.S. And although you already know, and although it doesn't need saying, Rose Tyler, I

The Doctor pulled his pen away from the paper in surprise, looking to the tip of pen to see if there was any ink there. Nothing.

He pulled another paper to him and tried to scribble on it, but it was to no avail. His pen had run out of ink.

And it always would. He would never be able to say it. Or even write it. He was a coward at times, and when it came to admitting that he was...

He sighed as he placed the pen on the desk and looked down at the letter.

There was no point to this letter. No one would ever read it. But for some reason, he felt satisfied at having wrote it. He felt as though Rose would maybe, possibly, one day read this letter. And although he didn't get to say it, she would know that he died still... loving her. He would die with her as embedded in his hearts as she had been the day he met her, or the day he lost her.

It was something he felt that maybe she ought to know. Anyone who picked up this letter ought to know it. The Doctor was in love with Rose Tyler, and that was that.

He folded the letter slowly, his withered hands not giving him any other options.

He placed the folded letter aside and turned to Handles, his constant companion throughout all these years.

"It's almost over, Handles," he said, not entirely sure exactly what he was talking about.

"Processing information," Handles said in response. His voice was much slower than it once was. He probably needed to be repaired again.

"No need." The Doctor stumbled his way over to Handles to check his circuiting. "Soon you won't be able to process information, and I won't be here to give you information to process. Kinda funny, isn't it, Handles. Just the thought that we'll be here one minute and gone the next."

"I don't understand," Handles said, his voice growing slightly stronger as the Doctor tweaked his circuits.

"No one really does, I guess. Death is one of the world's biggest mysteries. And one of its greatest adventures! One of the only ones I haven't had. Guess that means it's finally time for me to discover it. No more cheating for me. I'm finally going to fail the test," the Doctor replied as he continued working on Handles. He grabbed a new wire from a drawer a few feet away and got to work on installing it.

"Would you like me to find information on the test?" Handles asked, and the Doctor laughed. It had been a long time since he last laughed.

"No, Handles. I already have all the information I need on it. The test of life. What a truly wonderful test," the Doctor sighed and stepped away from the newly fixed Handles. "But as time goes on, the questions get more challenging. Your grades get lower. And soon, you find yourself about to fail. It seems like we're both going to fail soon." He shook his head and slowly made his way back to his chair.

"Processing information," Handles said again, but this time the Doctor didn't bother responding.

The Doctor pulled on his old clothes slowly, savoring the feel of his old purple tweed jacket and too short pants.

It had been hundreds of years since he had last felt these clothes. Since he had last felt like himself.

A shock of pain ran through him, causing him to grab the wall next to him. He was going to regenerate again. He wasn't going to die. Not yet.

But somewhere, way way deep down, he wished he was. At some point in your life, you begin to feel that you've been living too long. That you've used up all of your energy, and that you're just ready to go. And that's what he felt. He had resigned himself to his death. For once, he had been ready. Not to regenerate, but to truly, truly die. But here he was, once again, ready to cheat death like no one else could. Ready to to cheat on the test of life once again.

He leaned down and pulled the letter he had written when he thought he was about to die out of his pant pocket. It didn't have meaning anymore. It was now just another lie among the hundreds that he's told.

He heard the door to the TARDIS pull open, and Clara's meekly spoken, "Doctor?"

He looked to the letter quickly, deciding what he should do with it. He was the man who forgets. Maybe it was time. Maybe it was time that he finally let go. That he finally forget Rose Tyler.

And so, he decided.

A/N: I honestly don't know how this happened, but I have to say, this may be one of the best things I've ever written. It certainly is the longest one shot l've written.

And of course, I had to be all shippy. I really couldn't help it. I'm sorry for it.

Oh and as for the whole "and so he decided" thing, it totally doesn't mean that he rips up the letter or something, it can mean whatever you would like it to mean. I have my own idea about what he did with it, and I almost put a line there, but I thought it'd be better to leave it open for interpretation.

So, if you could please please please leave a review telling me what you thought, or maybe even what you think he did with the letter, I'd really appreciate it.

- Queen Elizabeth III