This snuck up on me during a three in the morning Doctor Who marathon. Please excuse any typos or weird sentences that might have escaped my editing. The stanza at the end is taken from the song "Ghost of a Rose", by Blackmore's Night.
Hope you enjoy, and please review!
All was blissfully silent. The inner workings of the TARDIS hummed softly, composing its own unique music to comfort him. Most of the lights had been extinguished save one, emitted by the TARDIS itself. The glow was warm and cold simultaneously. He pressed a hand to the console and heard the ship's voice, an epitome of serenity, its words nearly sung. Only he could understand it. They were old words, after all. Dead words. But they weren't dead. They were so alive! He closed his eyes and listened, soothed. In times such as these, it was one of few things that comforted him.
He bade his ship goodnight and retreated to a long hallway, paralleled on either side by quite a few doors, his footfalls echoing mutely. She was sleeping beyond one of the doors, and dreaming good dreams he hoped. He cared for her, of course. How could he not? He stopped in front of that door and listened there as well, to her steady and consistent breathing. To his amusement, she grumbled something incoherent before rolling over and falling back to slumber. He smiled to himself and thrust his hands into his pockets before continuing on past more doorways, darkened and shut.
He passed by them often. They were like ghosts in a way, silent testaments of the past. Some of them he revisited on occasion, browsing through the memories with a grin on his lips and a bittersweet ache in his chest. Some of the doors he left open so he could remember more easily. Others were never touched again. Not because he didn't wish to remember, but…because he couldn't possibly forget.
He continued on, the lonely god, not stopping to glance at the phantoms of the past, though still hearing their soft voices in his ear. But, he felt his feet slowing as one voice spoke loud and crystal clear in his mind and hearts. His head turned carefully as he laid eyes upon one of the most tightly shut doors, feeling its siren-like call beckoning him. He couldn't ever ignore that particular call. He reached out and took hold of the handle and turned, revealing the domain beyond. The voice grew louder as he took a step inside, something he had both longed and feared to do.
Items had been abandoned, left behind. There always were some, but with her it had been quite a few. A few articles of clothing, books from the library left unfinished, souvenirs. Her scent still lingered on all of them. He moved closer to the bed and shivered as he ran his fingertips along the linens. The voice whispered tantalizingly to him in response, of what could have happened within them.
He stood back in the center of the room, an unreadable expression on his features. He shut his eyes and just stood, breathing, listening to the sweet voice which still lingered in this room. Its former occupant was gone, but a part of her was still here now. He could feel it. Almost as if her spirit was nearby. When something brushed his past his arm his eyes shot open quickly, expecting her to be next to him, clutching his arm and smiling brilliantly. But of course, he was surrounded by nothing more than his memories. She wasn't really gone, not dead, but...Sometimes it felt like she was. Only death could make him feel the grief that he felt for her lost presence.
She would have chastized him for that.
With one final breath, he sighed and retreated to the doorway, his hearts aching for him to close it again. But before he did so, he grasped the handle and looked toward the bed, where he imagined she was lying asleep, dreaming sweet dreams, thinking of him.
"I love you," the voice breathed in contentment.
He smiled.
"I love you, too. More than you'll ever know," he told it, and gently drew the door shut.
Promise me, when you see
a white rose you'll think of me
I love you so
Never let go
I will be…
Your ghost of a rose.