DISCLAIMER: I do not own Doctor Who. Not one little bit. Neither do I own Marcus Foster's amazing song "I Was Broken", which is the inspiration for this story. I do heartily recommend giving it a listen before you read. It'll help set the tone, if you're into that. ===================
Tired of the sound, I've heard before,
The gnawing of the night time at the door,
Haunted by the things I've made
Stuck between the burning light and the dusty shade.
He could hear their screams. Feel the agony of fire as it burned across their skins, lungs filling with smoke and ash. He wanted to cry out, to beg forgiveness for his actions, but the words died on his tongue as his people died around him. Panicking, he ran. He was always good at that part, really. The running.
He only managed a handful of strides before he tripped over one of the fallen, his forearms impacting the ground heavily. As he rolled over, lungs heaving and desperate for clean air, he was grateful for his respiratory bypass.
There near his feet lay Rose Tyler's corpse.
He scrambled to his knees, and with trembling hands, reached out to her. Deep grey charcoal smeared where his fingers grazed her cheek, now cool instead of the blazing heat he was used to from her. The unnerving stillness of death had taken hold, robbed her of all the vibrancy she had contained.
The Doctor pulled her into his arms, shaking and weeping like a child amidst the chaos around him. There's no way, he wanted to tell himself. She couldn't be here. It wasn't possible. He clutched her tighter still, the weight of her in his arms so real. But she can't. She wasn't. Was she? Either way his muddled mind thought about it, one truth remained - it was his fault.
Then, even through the din of burning buildings and cries of agony, he could hear a whisper, clear as day. Insistent, pleading, begging.
"Doctor? Doctor!"
Rose?
"Doctor!"
He looked down at the woman in his arms. No, still dead, he thought grimly. But...
"Doctor!"
It couldn't be, he insisted to himself. She's here. In my arms. Cold as night. He pulled her closer, burying his face in her tangled hair, as though he was trying to hide himself in her shell. Her voice echoed on the wind.
I've lost it, he though to himself. Every last scrap of feigned sanity must be gone, blown away in the gusts of smoke and char. The Doctor laughed, albeit a bit maniacally. Gone, me.
"Doctor!"
A soft touch on his shoulder this time. A burst of light, shocking and white. Then, nothing.