She was the light. When, at times, the darkness inside of him fought for dominance, he thought of her.
Even now, he still thinks of her. Every day.
Now, of course, it's harder to keep that darkness out. Because it's always going to be there, shadowing through the far corners of his mind. And she isn't there to stop it, so he must stay content with the thought of her. But sometimes the memories just aren't enough.
So when he feels especially down, and he can feel the darkness spilling out of its box inside of his mind, he goes to her bedroom.
He goes there today, after a particularly hard day. That town, Mercy. It disgusts him to think that he nearly sacrificed someone to an insane cyborg. Even if the man was the criminal. She would be appalled by his behaviour.
So he opens the white door slowly, stroking his hand over the brass doorknob ever so gently. When he looks into the room, he smiled. The TARDIS has left it just how it was the last time she was here. Magazines thrown across the dresser, clothes strewn across the floor, bed unmade. Because she hadn't planned on leaving. They both thought that she was coming back.
And he smiles. Remembering her talking before they left, about how that night when they got back she wanted to watch V For Vendetta with him in the library, and eat caramel popcorn in their pyjamas. His smile fades when he sees the dvd laying on the dresser, case open.
He treks through the room slowly, breathing in her smell that seems to have lingered in the room after all these years. She always smelt like honey sickle and strawberries. He walks over to the dresser, and opens the top drawer slowly, it creaks slightly as it releases but then it slides smoothly and he smiles again.
Her photo album.
Just a cheap leather photo album that they picked up in a crappy market place in the gernio district. But to him, its now the most precious thing in the world. Hundreds of pictures of each adventure, and he gently strokes his fingers across each one. He's now aware that he's crying. Which is normal, if he's in her room.
He lets the heavy tears fall with a splash onto the page, the pictures protected by a clear layer of plastic, but it smudges the caption a little. But he doesn't mind, because he doesn't need the captions. He remembers each day with such precise detail.
Like the day they rode the winged rhinos. One of his favourite days. And when they met Marilyn Monroe, in old Hollywood. And then he stops when he sees a photo from that day. The impossible planet.
After they returned, he felt so scared. scared that he would lose her forever. That was one of the times he felt the darkness creep in, ever so slightly. But then he turned to her, and she smiled and saw through his false happiness, clutching him close and hugging him ever so tightly. She told him that it would all be okay, and he couldn't get rid of her if he tried.
Because that was her, stubborn, compassionate, humble, beautiful. Magnificent. Brilliant. Fantastic.
Every time he felt down, and every time he was broken, she was there. Always there to pick up the pieces, stooping down as low as she could, collecting up the fragile segments of his heart gently. Softly sticking them back together and making them feel complete, and never complaining about the cuts she received from the jagged pieces.
Because that was Rose Tyler. And she was the light in his darkness.
I'm sorry for feels, but I felt like writing a sad Rose/doctor one shot of eleven looking back.