Disclaimer: Doctor Who isn't mine. If it was things would be quite different. The BBC owns all and I bow before them.
Written for timepetalsprompts on tumblr and their weekly drabble prompt: the the distinct smell and feel of leather.
Follows The Scent of Home but can stand alone.
Once the Doctor was in Howard's pajamas and lying unconscious in bed, Rose Tyler grabbed the leather jacket she'd discarded in the chair. She picked it up reverently, caressing the soft, worn leather, and brought it to her nose, inhaling the scent of home - that essence of time, leather, and him. Her Doctor.
Grief overcame her as her eyes watered. He was gone, but she couldn't mourn properly. There was no body and and the only thing she had left of him was his beloved jacket. She wrapped herself in its familiar warmth and cried not only for the man she'd loved but also the fantastic life they had shared.