His eyes followed the white-hot tendrils of flames as they danced in the marble fireplace. Beautiful, wild, dangerous. They created pictures and scenes with their shadows, and contributed to his increasingly broody mood. Another day, another world saved, but his hearts were restless. He did not know what they desired, though.

"You've got that face again," said a matter of fact voice from behind him. The Doctor started, banging his long legs on the coffee table in front of where he sat. Swearing under his breath in Galafreyian, he rubbed his bruised shin, glaring at the table. He head Rose laugh, the warm, happy sound echoing around the library.

His favorite human settled down beside him, handing him a mug of tea and tossing her pink slippers away. She leaned into his body, going on about some new story about her mother's new boyfriend. He barely listened, enjoying himself entirely too much at their closeness.

Idly, he ran his long, thin fingers through her light blonde hair, gently untangling the knots. Rose sighed happily, a far off look in her eyes. The Doctor knew that look, it was the one when she thought about his other incarnation, the one with the big ears. He never would understand how she liked that one. Entirely too goth. Almost like a teenage angst age for him.

"Can you still dance?" Rose asked suddenly, her eyes twinkling.

He snorted. "Of course."

Her eyebrows raised. "Mm, let's see then." She extended one hand to him, a smile turning her pink lips up and showing off her white teeth. "Because you are a good liar, Doctor," she laughed.

"Got me there," he admitted, rising from the couch. And in front of the fireplace, hand in hand, they danced. Never mind that Rose was in her floral jim jams, or that this regeneration was not really the best at dancing, it was ethereal. The world could have been falling to pieces around them, and he would barely notice. His skin burned where her cheek rested, his hands trembling slightly in hers.

They had never been this close. Whoever they did, he would pull away, seeing her finite lifespan. Not wanted to see his fragile flower wilt or burn. But he couldn't let her go—he loved her too much, but he could never get the words out. Love seemed so strange, so unlike him now, that he couldn't even say the word. But he knew he'd regret never telling her. Something dark loomed on their horizon. Their time was running out. Second by precious second, it slipped away. He couldn't bear it.

"Rose," he murmured, resting his hand on her soft cheek. Her saw her eyes suddenly grow more bright, excited even. He saw something even deeper than love soften her whisky colored eyes, and it made his hearts both skip a beat. The words hung on his lips, waiting. But he couldn't bring himself to speak. For once, the man of words could not say the most simple statement in the universe. But he could show it. Hesitantly, gently, he leaned forwards, his lips hovering over hers. He could see her breathing speed up and her eyes close, waiting.

A thousand feelings, a thousand memories, flitted through his head when they connected. The universe seemed to shine with the pure, unadulterated feelings radiating from them. He could taste her tears, salty, sweet, and felt his own mixing with hers. He pulled away, resting his forehead on hers, their breathing matching matching each others perfectly.

"I wish this was real." His voice broke, and he squeezed his eyes shut, savoring the smell of her perfume and the feeling of her lips.

"Me too," she replied softly.

When he opened his eyes again, she was gone, the fire in the hearth just dying embers. He could hear Clara calling for him, her voice echoing through the dark corridors. He did not answer. The fury, the pain, it muted him. Another one of his empty dreams, another trick by his often cruel mind. His hands were empty, lips cold. With a roar of fury, he swept a vase of roses off of the coffee table, the glass vase shattering into a thousand pieces. He barely registered the pain as the shards cut his skin, blood pooling on the floor. His fiery eyes lifted up to look through domed glass ceiling.

"Why can I not be happy?" he asked the stars. "Why? Is the punishment for my sins?" His voice rose, cutting, bitter. "If so, punish me, not her! Why her? She was innocent, it was my fault, not hers!" He could feel the fire within fading, exhaustion and sorrow weighing him down. With a long sigh, he knelt down, scooping up a single pink rose, its petals crushed from his angry pacing. Tears standing in his eyes, he tucked it into his blazer, resting his head agains the cold stones of the fireplace.

"You've got that face again."

He sighed, turning his head to look at his tiny, brunette companion, wishing she would go away. Wishing she was someone else. Clara arched one eyebrow, her face unreadable. She walked towards him, stopping to clean up the glass mess, tossing the remains into the embers of the fire and then settling down on the sofa, waiting.

What's wrong?" she asked, her eyes concerned. Her brown eyes. Almost a perfect copy of Rose's. He was tempted to tell her, for once speak his hearts. But that was not him.

"Nothing," he said with a tight smile. "Now, didn't you have a date with that gym teacher?"

Clara looked annoyed, but she knew better than to press him in this state. "Yeah," she said. "And his name is Danny. He teaches math, Doctor." She stood, beginning to leave.

"Wait!" The Doctor called, stopping Clara in her tracks.

"Yeah?" she said curiously. He was acting so strange tonight.

"How long you are going to stay with me?" he asked, his voice almost fragile, vulnerable.

Clara stared at the older man, his grey hair, somber clothes, wondering what was making the usually crusty alien so emotional. It was that ghost again, she realized. The woman who never left the TARDIS really. Who clouded his eyes and exposed another side of the Doctor that Clara rarely saw. She often wondered about the mysterious girl. Sometimes she hated the girl, angry at her for holding the Doctor's hearts so tightly. She had seen glimpses of that girl in the TARDIS.

A flash of blonde hair, a bright smile, whiskey colored eyes, and a last promise hanging on empty lips. A promise taken to different worlds, into her grave. A promise that exploded, burying deep, painful shards into the Doctor and the TARDIS's souls. A grenade which had destroyed everything in its path

Her eyes never left his when she replied, a bright smile turning up the corners of her lips.

"Forever."


A/N Another angsty, painful one-shot featuring the Twelfth Doctor and Rose, with some Clara. I really hope you enjoyed it! If you did, please like/review/eat pickles, or whatever.

Buh bye!