Disclaimer: I don't own Dr Who.
I'm going to put another, slightly longer, disclaimer on this. This is mainly for all the people who ship dr/rose very strongly. If you're open to other interpretations of this pairing and not just in it for a squee, by all means skip ahead to the fic. I hope you enjoy it.
If you're really, really, into dr/rose, stay with me for now. This isn't a happy story. The main reason for this is I didn't find what happened at the end of this series a happy ending. I thought it was rather trite and contrived. What makes relationships interesting, particularly for a writer, is their difficulties and struggles and clashes and the things they have to overcome. Rose's ending threw all those things away, slashed away all their problems and stitched it up with a hasty plotline of 'YAYSTRUWUV!11!!111'. I didn't like it at all, and more importantly I didn't think it would work. This is my interpretation of how things would probably go. I admit it isn't perfect, and other people might think differently. If you want to talk about characters or why I think this would happen, feel free to review and say so. I just don't want angry dr/rose shippers saying I spoiled their ending.
Anyway! On with the show...
Her first thought, when she stood on the grassy plain where the wind howled in a way so achingly familiar to a beach many miles away, was that it wasn't fair.
It wasn't fair at all. This was supposed to be her happy ending.
The sun was rising behind her, but on the horizon opposite the stars were still faintly visible in the dark sky. They seemed so close, she could almost reach out and touch them.
She could just about see the sea over the lip of longer grass which marked where the ground ended and, hundreds of metres below, the rocky beach began.
Another beach. She could have laughed at the bitter irony of it all. Her life with the Doctor had ended on a beach, years ago. Begun again, but ended at the same time. It rose and fell like the waves.
It was just past high tide. The sea was beginning to ebb away, and unforgiving crags of rock showed above the swirling water. It was still deep, though.
Deep enough?
No. She couldn't fool herself this time, no matter how much she wanted to.
She'd fooled herself more than enough in the beginning. She'd pretended it would all be fine, when the Doctor left her on the sand with her happy ending. A version of himself she could have, love and grow old with.
Who loved her back.
And it had been perfect, at least for a little while. They'd lived and worked and talked and kissed and she'd spent hours marvelling at the neatness of it all, the perfect simplicity.
She couldn't remember exactly when things started to change. She'd been in a fog of hazy happiness. Every memory was a little fuzzy around the edges, and all she could strongly recall was how perfect it all was.
She did laugh at that, even though the morning dew was beginning to soak through her shoes and the biting wind froze her to the core.
She'd been looking at the world through Rose-tinted spectacles.
It wasn't something you could ignore forever, though. The way he talked about their adventures from before more than the life they'd built. The way he'd snap at the other Torchwood employees, and apologise afterward for forgetting they weren't him. The way he'd forget himself and that he no longer had a TARDIS to translate, and slip into some language Rose couldn't recognise, but sounded to old it made the hairs rise on the back of her neck.
The way he'd sit in the garden for whole nights, just staring at the stars.
She looked up. The sun was too bright now; all the stars had faded.
It seemed like he did a little too, every morning when he came in with frost in his hair and a wistful expression on his face. The Doctor she'd known who sparked and glittered and glowed within the TARDIS control room, who used to turn to her with an expression so alive it seemed to light even the darkest and most shadow-filled corners, dimmed and dulled before her eyes. He stopped smiling so much.
It had been the night before that she'd snapped herself.
She heard the latch on the back door click. It was early, and she'd normally be in bed, but today she was ready for him.
'Where were you?' she asked, trying to keep her temper. The Doctor gave her a surprised look, and grinned. Even through her anger her heart broke a little at how empty it seemed.
'I was watching the stars. It's an interesting hobby, astronomy. Lots of humans do it,'
'Lots of humans don't stay out all night doing it!'
Rose brushed furiously at the frost in his hair, then grabbed him by the arm. He'd got thinner, if it was possible. 'Look at you! You've got nothing to protect you against hypothermia!'
The Doctor jerked his arm away.
'It's much colder in space,' he muttered.
'And when are you going to go to space?' she snapped.
Even though she realised what she'd said almost at once, there was no way to bite back the words. She'd never seen the Doctor look so injured. It wasn't just what she said, though- there was something in his eyes she didn't like. Something resigned.
'I don't know,' he finally replied, and the slam of the door echoed behind him.
She had searched, but it had been too late when she got the phone call. Just a quick voicemail, twelve seconds of audio she knew she'd keep for the rest of her life, if not treasure.
'I found them! I found the stars…'
A crackle, and a distant thud.
She'd had the call traced, and it had come here. A dusty corner of the back of beyond.
The Doctor had gone. She'd stopped fooling herself, and she could guess where. Especially when she found his phone on the edge of the… well, it was a cliff.
There was something white trapped underneath it. A note, turned a little damp from the dew. It still cracked when she unfolded it.
Two words, written in familiar handwriting.
I'm sorry.
In the steady brightness of the oncoming dawn, with the stars thousands of miles away and completely unreachable, dimensions away from her home, Rose Tyler broke down and wept.