The stillness echoed through the TARDIS. There was no laughter, no talking, no crying, and even the console's soft hum had been silenced. It was times like these that hurt the most, if he were to be honest. In the silence there was no way to escape the flood of memories; he could not help but remember their faces, their cries of anguish; he could not help but miss their touch, their presence; he could not get away his never flickering ghosts. And god, just the silence itself hurt him so badly, it dug deep into his chest, and it cut and strained and bruised his already broken hearts. He just missed them so much.
He wasn't travelling today. For the first time, the Doctor didn't feel like travelling, he didn't even want to move. What for? To screw up others? To offer them not just the world but also the universe, only to have that taken from them? To fail them, to have them taken from him? To suffer more? No, he didn't feel like travelling today. Today he was just floating through the cosmos, pathless and calmly for once. TARDIS doors opened, he sat down looking at the universe below, moving and turning and changing without him, a lonely god looking at his broken kingdom. Rose's jacket lay on his shoulders but it didn't offer him any warmth, not like it used to anyway. When she was here. God, his hearts hurt so much. There was so much rage in him now, pulsing in his chest, a torrential anger roaming his entire body, flowing through his veins, and directed only at his stupid self, for losing them, for losing the only good part of him again. His brow furrowed, his mouth let a low snarl escape and his hands curled into fists, knuckles turning white and almost snapping Amy's glasses. Why do they always have to leave him? He wanted them here, not their ghosts or their memories or their jacket, he wanted them. Oh, to just hold her hand, to kiss her and hear her laugh once more. To have them all here again.
He was so eerily quiet for someone whose hearts, better yet, whose entire body was just burning with this fiery, crushing rage. There was no possible running from this pain and so he just sat there, beaten, defeated and hopeless. A soft sigh let him know that he was still alive, but it was so weak, so shaken… His feet still dangled from the TARDIS, body dangerously close to the edge, to the end. Perhaps he should be alone for a little while, stop himself from messing up anyone else and let the universe take care of itself. Maybe it was time to stop travelling. Maybe this was his last regeneration. Maybe this was the Doctor's end.