Random one-shot, spurred by my general irritation at how Rose's role in Dr. Who ended with the regeneration of the 11th doctor. Feel free to stop by and share what you think.
He never forgot her.
Oh, the memory had changed over the years, and the pain it brought with it. It wasn't the hollow, sinking feeling he'd felt on the beach at Bad Wolf Bay the first time he'd told her goodbye. That was misery, tempered by sheer, unadulterated relief at the fact that she was still alive. More alive than he had a right for her to be, after her hand slipped off that lever stopping the daleks.
It also wasn't the sharp, stabbing agony he'd felt leaving her on that beach a second time, knowing everything he wanted was just a question away. He just couldn't have it.
She'd have traveled with him, sure. He could have stayed with her. For a while. But eventually, she'd have gotten tired of it. Tired of a life without roots. Tired of growing old, while he regenerated over and over again. She was better off with the half-human him. The him that could build a home, give her a family. Stay the same man, year after year. Love her with the same, unquestioning devotion as he did himself. If he'd told himself that often enough before his regeneration, he might have even started to believe it.
It wasn't even the bittersweet ache he'd felt that final, fateful night. The last New Year's they'd ever spend together, when he'd watched her walking in the snow and dreamed, for one foolish minute, of what might have been. Right before he told her goodbye.
Regeneration, and his adventures with Amy and River, had taken the edge off. Years passed when he didn't think of her. Well, hardly ever. When he remembered her, it was as if he was dreaming. A sweet memory from his youth that faded with time. It hadn't been he that had loved her, after all. Merely versions of himself. Other men, leading other lives.
Except…
Except sometimes, he'd be standing in the middle of a bazaar on a strange planet a billion miles from Earth, and he'd catch the faintest hints of perfume on the breeze. Or he'd be standing at the controls of the TARDIS, and a flash of gold would catch the corner of his eye. Or he'd see a woman laugh, and tip her head a certain way. Then, just for a moment, that memory became sharper. Sweeter. More three dimensional.
Then he'd close his eyes, dust off the pictures tucked away in his head, and remember her, and a time when he'd felt something he wasn't sure he'd ever feel again.