Rose's ashes are on his hands.
Such a pitifully small pile they make on the floor. How could they hold everything she is (was)?
Her smile, her joy, her compassion. His hope, his redemption, his salvation. Dust on his fingers. Nothing more.
So much pointless noise all around him. Voices yelling words that make no sense.
What did it matter what they said?
Hands grabbing him, yanking him to his feet from where he kneels by her (Rose, not Rose anymore). Gun barrel in his back. Words in his ears.
Don't they know there is no reason for him to run anymore?
Strange how the sounds around him are so distant now. The world shrinking in around him, condensing to a solitary point, a black hole which is her absence.
A Time Lord for whom time has no meaning.
Rose's ashes are on his hands.
