Author's Note:
I don't own Doctor Who or intend to make profit from it.
I always thought Nine would have wanted the chance to tell Rose goodbye, rather than just sending her away and letting a recording do it. And I always thought that perhaps he deserved that chance, too.
Spoilers through The Parting of Ways
Goodbyes (part one of two)
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The Doctor shut the door to the TARDIS, turned, and hit the button, the one that would remove Rose Tyler from his life forever. He sent her away--gone, gone, back to where she would be safe. Rose, his lovely, human, fantastic Rose.
Sent her off, without a by-your-leave, an if-you-would. He just whisked her away, where she could live and be alive, and continue to be her self-same fantastic self.
Ah, and she was that, from the tip of her toes to the top of her dyed-blond hair. She'd be that, as long as she lived.
And he hoped it would be a long, long time. Not forever, nothing lives forever, but a long, long time.
The Doctor looked down at his sonic screwdriver, his lips pinched tight, gripping it with hands that shook with regret. Sent her away, without a real goodbye, like sending away a fragment of his soul, like having it ripped from him with his own hands, and he hadn't gotten a proper goodbye. It was a forever goodbye, and he'd never get to experience it.
The Doctor fiddled with a few buttons on his sonic screwdriver and then set it up on a bundle of wires. He could work without it, and he wanted a goodbye, even if he could never share it with her.
He opened his mouth to try, to see if he could even say the words, to tell her. Goodbye. Just a goodbye? No, he probably couldn't do that, but he'd try. For himself, a final selfish act, just for himself.
He set the screwdriver to record and then bent down to finish the last-ditch effort to eliminate the Dalek troops. He could talk while he worked.
"Rose Tyler, you've been the most fantastic part of my entire life." He stopped, and then said it again, looking up from the wires, right at the screwdriver with his oh-so-pale eyes: "You've been the most fantastic part of my entire life."
He laughed, then.
About to die, and here he is trying to say goodbye to a girl who he'd sent away, who he wanted out of the way. Safe, where she could just go on living without him.
"It's not fair of me," the Doctor acknowledged, looking back down at the bundles of wire and tubing, "but you're just going to have to live fantastically for both of us. Can't hang around collecting dust forever, can I?"
The Doctor went quite as he struggled to set preparations for the destruction of the Daleks, and then grinned at the screwdriver once more.
"Oh, Rose," he said, "I hope you don't hate me for sending you away. I hope you understand. I hope--" he stopped, and then started again.
"I hope you miss me on each grand adventure, but that it doesn't stop you for being fantastic. And I hope you don't settle for Rickey-the-Idiot. You're better than that, you really are. And I hope that some day those stupid apes realize what a treasure you are, how absolutely fantastic you are."
The Doctor realized that there was nothing more he would have been able to say, not if he'd gotten a real goodbye. It was a sight better than what he had, at least.
He tried to smile.
"And now, I need to get back to work," he said, picking up the screwdriver once more.
The Doctor closed his eyes, imagining Rose Tyler. He smiled for just a moment longer and then snap the recording off. He had Dalek fleets to eliminate for, worlds to save, a life to lose.
And she would never see the goodbye, anyway.