Comments - Written and set immediately post-'The Girl in the Fireplace'. Just a minor angsty drabble from Rose about the Doctor and his relationship with Mme Du Pompadour.
Summary - She'd gone off to think. She ended up in tears. D/R, D/Reinette themes.
Disclaimer - None of it is mine, it belongs to those clever people at BBC Wales. God I wish I worked there. Note, the title is taken from a song by Five For Fighting, called 'Angels and Girlfriends'. I don't own that either.

Angels Never Come For Free

"Are, are you alright?" she had asked timidly, recognising the emotions if not the look on his face, so similar to when Jade had died, so long ago. He fobbed her off, saying he was fine – as if he couldn't be anything but – and then Mickey had pulled her off with some excuse. Maybe he'd seen that the Doctor needed to be alone – some sort of sensitive man-thing? – but she'd let him anyway. Since his 'change', everything was different. He had changed, so everything had changed.

If Mickey hadn't been there, if he had still been, at heart, Her Doctor, then she would have stayed, pulled the story out of him, comforted him as best she could as she always did.

But she hadn't. Because everything had changed.

It was a couple of days later that she found the letter. His unnatural quietness had touched them all, and they just hung around in the vortex 'doing repairs'. In other words, brooding.

So, she had been wandering around the control room while he was off doing something to something-or-other, and he'd left his jacket behind. It hadn't been curiosity that had driven her to look, to see the peep of white parchment in his inside pocket, to take it out gently and read the short missive. She hadn't been burning with questions – why? How? Who? She hadn't been angry, or jealous. It just happened.

It took only a split second for the words to engrain themselves on her memory, only a split second for her mind to connect all the dots, to realise what had happened. She replaced it carefully, hoping that it wasn't one of his Time Lord tricks to know everything, to know she'd snooped, and she'd gone off to think.

She ended up in tears.

Lucky that the Doctor was busy all day 'repairing' his ship. Luckier still that Mickey had taken a shine to the TARDIS databanks and was gleefully spending his time flicking through mounds of data. They didn't notice her absence.

Rose wasn't a particularly jealous person by nature, and it wasn't jealousy that drove her to tears, curled up on her bed like a child, clutching without realising, the one thing she had of his, the black supple leather soft and comforting in her hands. They weren't angry tears, that he had chosen Reinette, or should she say Madame Du Pompadour, over her. She was just Rose, just a stupid little ape he'd picked up in 2005, so how could she compare to this beautiful, intelligent woman? But even her mind rejected this reasoning – she knew Reinette didn't deserve that, that petty jealousy, unworthy of either of them.

The reason then?

She reread the lines in her mind, saw the look on his face in her memory, and she knew it would never be for her. Once, it could've been. A lifetime ago, she'd felt his hand on her face, forcing a grin through his tears as he accepted her heartfelt apology. A lifetime ago, he'd burst into joy at the realisation she was still alive. A lifetime ago, he had kissed her and saved her life.

But now? A forced kiss – merely being a conduit between Time Lord and Bitchy Trampoline. Holding her up as she nearly collapsed, Cassandra's soul leaving her body. A mere 'hello' when he'd saved her from a werewolf, spending more time gasping in awe at the creature than spent in ensuring her safety.

For her, it was over before it had begun. And, seeing his face, knowing that this Doctor would be the one to caress her face, to burst into joy at realising she was alive, to kiss her, and not just to save her life, but he'd be willing to do that too.

She wasn't angry at him – it wasn't his fault by any means that she felt like her heart was breaking.

She wasn't angry at her – it wasn't her fault that she was the perfect counterpart to him.

She wasn't angry.

She was crying.

Crying for herself – alone in the galaxy, the universe now Her Doctor was gone. Crying for them, separated after only loving for such a short time, such a beautiful love she knew he could share. Crying because she would never have it again.

When she was through, she washed her face, changed her clothes and tried a smile in her reflection. Then, heart in a cage in her breast, dying slowly, she went to ask the Doctor if he wanted a cup of tea.