Summary: loosely inspired by Hannibal Lecter's "Memory Palace", as well as my own theory that the Doctor will ALWAYS love Rose, just like he will ALWAYS love his people and his wife and his children from Gallifrey. He keeps them in his memory and "visits" them when he needs comfort or feels particularly lonely.
Disclaimer: I do not own Doctor Who or the idea of Lecter's "memory palace". The rights to those belong, respectively, to BBC and Thomas Harris.
It was never lonely here.
The Doctor wandered along the corridors of his memory, passing branching passageways and pausing every now and again. Laughter echoed from well-lit rooms, while serene silence bled out from others. He'd come back to these quarters many times over the years, but tonight he had a clear destination.
He continued down the corridor until he reached a plain wooden door. The light that shone out from underneath was warm and inviting, just like the person he knew he would always find within.
Gripping the handle, he pushed it open.
She had her back to him. Her blonde hair fell softly around her shoulders, and he could hear her laughter, though he couldn't tell what it was directed at. He cleared his throat, his lungs suddenly empty of air.
And she turned.
Her eyes were the same warm brown that he remembered. Her smile grew, and she caught her tongue between her teeth in that manner that had always driven him mad.
"Hello, Doctor!"
His words caught in his throat. She just smiled.
"Come on, sit down for a bit." She patted the bed next to her. "I don't bite," she teased lightly.
Just like he remembered – would always remember.
"Rose," he breathed. "My Rose."
He covered the distance between them in three long strides. Snatching her up into his arms like he had so wanted to there on Bad Wolf Bay, he buried his head in the crook of her neck and felt the tears start. Her arms wound around his waist.
"Shhh, Doctor," she said pulling back to look at his face. She brought one hand up to rest her palm against his tear-streaked cheek. "Everythin's gonna be okay."
Oh, how he missed that faith in him, that optimism. How he missed her beside him, holding his hand and leading him along, running with him, seeing the stars.
He spent hours – relatively speaking – by her side, reminiscing and reflecting, alternately laughing and crying.
Of course, when the time came to leave, to return, something protested; it wasn't long enough – but it never was, never would be.
Finally, reluctantly, he stood to leave. He made his way towards the door – but something stopped him at the threshold, tugging insistently at his hearts. He turned to her with tortured eyes.
"Rose," he said, voice tight and eyes dark and wild and blazing with regret and pain and something else.
"Yes, Doctor?"
And the Doctor spoke the words that had faded into nothing on that cursed beach, where he'd wanted nothing more to be solid and present and able to hold her in his arms and bring her back.
"Rose Tyler... I love you."
He turned on his heel and left, wiping tears from his eyes. How liberating to finally say it! How tragic, how terrible that it was only to her vibrant memory, locked up safe and sound inside his head.
Behind him, he heard Rose's door shut, patiently waiting for his next visit, patiently keeping her memory alive to keep him sane.
It would have to do until he brought her back.