Who would hold his hand now?

His body had always been cooler than hers, superior Time Lord biology after all. But now his hand ached with the cold. Just his hand because it was so used now, to the warmth of hers.

He had adapted, regenerated, made to hold Rose Tyler's hand.

The ache never left his mind.

Not when he held the hand out to save Donna from the Santa robots.

Not when he reached out to save Martha from the couple taking her to the motor way.

Not even when he held the Master and begged him to regenerate.

Tell me that it's gonna be ok

Tell me that you'll help me find my way

Tell me you can see the light of dawn is breaking

The Doctor stood on the craggy precipice he had stood on with Rose when she had promised him forever, his hand limp by his side as tears tracked down his face.

His tears didn't start in his eyes, they started in his gut, cramped it and churned it.

They burned in his hearts, throbbing with tight agony at the empty air beside him.

They clogged at the base of his throat, choking off his air.

His chest seized and there was no more room in his body to contain the suffocating well of grief.

The Doctor fell to his knees, spread his arms and screamed to the sky, wishing the release would rip his broken hearts away like the rays that fled from the cry that echoed around their home.

Tell me it's gonna be alright

Tell me you'll help me fight this fight

Tell me you won't leave me alone in this

In his hearts, he would always be alone now.