There's nothing more he can do, and nothing more he wishes than to close his eyes and block his senses. But he owes her at least that much, to watch... to bare witness. The acrid smell of her burning flesh sears his throat and lungs, making him want to hold his breath (He could hold it quite a while, after all). But he forces himself to breathe in, inhale the smell of his dying assistant, unable to save her.
Her body gleams with an inner light, blinding to both of them. Golden hues play among the shadows around him, around /them/, giving life where there was none. The once pale skin of Rose Tyler, now as blackened as burnt meat, crackles off, drifting off in ashes. The exposed muscle and tissue beneath glimmers in the golden light; before they, too, darken and crackle... burn. Tears fill the cerulean pools if the Doctor's eyes, causing the sight before him to waiver a moment. 'Just the smoke...' He lies to himself, knowing full well the truth behind the shimmering droplets that fall in soft plonks to the steel floor. Forever, or perhaps mere moments, pass; the Doctor frozen by his own emotions, time irrelevant. The body had turned to nothing, shrivvled up and turned to dust, before his very eyes. His Rose, his best mate... He'd SWORN he would protect her. Promised her mother, promised HER. Only now there was no hope. No one, not even a Time Lord, should contain such power... none COULD. It was more than any life-form could bare, save the TARDISes, who were built... /grown/ to do just that.
His Rose had paid the price, for his heroics; paid the ultimate price. A life forsaken, lost in its prime, in an attempt to protect an old fool such as himself. It wasn't fair. So many had come and gone, so many had been forsaken... lost. Even his entire race had been sacrificed. 'And for /what/? So that one pathetic old Time Lord could live a little longer?' That wasn't fair to think, and he knew it. His race died to save the Universe, and everyone in it. To think otherwise would be utter selfishness on his part. But how could he not think that way? When he was losing so many, and often times to save him. Katarina, Sara Kingdom, Adric, Kamelion, Jack... So many losses, each one weighing heavily on his soul.
Turning away, with heavy hearts, he heads back towards his TARDIS, the last and only companion remaining... in a sense. The golden dust of Rose glimmers in the artificial light of the space station, a mocking to his already fragile emotions. /"Doctor..."/ Her voice haunts, echoing from everywhere and nowhere. He's beyond caring where the voice emminate from; it was nothing but a ghost, there to torment.
/"Doctor."/ The voice insists, gaining substance, reality. Golden dust swirls around him, ashen remains of his Rose dancing on the nonexistant breeze of the otherwise dead metal construct. He was the last living soul aboard; everyone else having been killed by the Daleks, or escaped long ago. /"Doctor..."/ Again, the voice insists on gaining his attention. The swirls of ashen gold dust begin to coalesce, gaining as much substance as the voice behind it. The light shimmered on the specks, making them seem to glow with their own inner luminance. The shape takes on a more human demeanour, looking more and more like his flaxen haired friend.
"Doctor, it's me..." The voice gains coherence, sounding more and more like Rose, even as the form emiting the sound gains said person's visage. But it couldn't be... could it? It was impossible. Rose Tyler was dead. Devoured by the flames of her own err. Right in front of his eyes, she'd combusted, burnt to nothing, ash on the proverbial wind, so to speak. How could she be here, now? It was impossible!
A ghost of a smile crosses all too familiar lips. "And since when has the word 'impossible' ever stopped us before, eh?" She inquires, the same tone she's borne on so many occasions. Sly, with a hint of mischief; a tone that told him, even before he'd checked his read-outs, that there was an adventure on the horizon. A tone he never thought he'd hear again. But surely... it couldn't be... He'd watched her burn.
As if reading his mind, and in fact she just might have been, her smile broadens into a Cheshire grin. "Bad Wolf, remember? Like a Phoenix, rising from her ashes, so now, does the Bad Wolf rise again." A slight glimmer of something passes her voice, a thread of the Time Goddess voice she'd borne so recently, just before the power devoured her. "She is me, and I am she... we are one now... Together forever." Two voices blend in harmony; the Bad Wolf/Time Goddess, and the familiar Rose. /'I really hope the voice isn't perminant.'/ The Time Lord thinks, unsure why such a mundane thought cropped up at such an inopportune time. There he was, facing a now Goddess-ified Rose, and all he could think of was the quality of her voice? What was wrong with that picture?
"It's alright." The Time Goddess drained from her tone, leaving the familiar London accent of his young friend. "I'll try not to do that anymore, a'right?" He couldn't be sure, but it sounded to him like she was forcing her accent to go rougher, as un-aetheral as she could get, giving it even more familiarity, though in a less pleasant manner.
With a slight shudder (that was only partly faked), he forces a playfully disgusted expression to cross his face, though worry still clouds his pale blue eyes. "You know, you sound just like your mother when you do that... Almost more frightening than that daemonic voice you got a moment ago." It wasn't for certain that she was really back; but then, it wasn't certain she was really gone, either. So for now, he was keeping it as light as he could. It was better that way. At least until the TARDIS was able to analyse the situation, and confirm or deny whatever had happened to her; if it really was her anymore...