3.

She doesn't go by "Rose Tyler" anymore. That name has too much—is just too heavy for her to wear for the rest of her lives. It belongs to the pink and yellow girl she had been. She doesn't introduce herself as anything more than "a Wanderer", not even "a Traveler"—there is no destination in mind.

She wanders alone. Her family wouldn't know her in this form. The strangeness of her situation would create a barrier between them that could never be crossed, though they'd try to accept her and carry on as if she hadn't changed. But it would still be there; the fact that she isn't really "them" anymore. It's something that she doesn't feel up to experiencing. Maybe a hundred years from now she'd go back, but she couldn't now.

As time passed, the thought of taking on a companion, like her Doctor had, never takes hold in her mind. Letting someone else into her life, getting close to them and watching them leave her or die; she couldn't live through that, over and over. She wonders how her Doctor continued to go on. Maybe someday in her future she'll contemplate it further, but not now. She knows that she's pushing things away, knows that there are pauses she introducing into her existence, but just because the wound starts healing doesn't mean that it doesn't hurt.

For a long time, she'd stayed in the TARDIS, somewhere in space. She'd only landed when she'd run out of supplies or had to get something to repair the TARDIS. The old girl wasn't as old as her mother but she certainly didn't mind being pampered. The woman no longer known as Rose smiles at the thought. The ship had been her friend.

After years of aching loneliness, she could no longer ignore the pull of responsibility to the whole of reality. Being the last of her kind, the kind that had the ability to change the course of history should she choose, there was a burden that that laid on her narrow shoulders. Sensing the shift in the Wanderer's mind, the TARDIS had taken her where she was needed. A small space station on the outskirts of the Accion Nebula. Not too many people there, in their varying sizes and colors. Not a whole lot happening but there she'd gotten a small reminder of what it felt like to have a purpose.

There'd been a small girl who'd fallen through a carelessly open grate and had been hanging just below the opening, where one would need some rope or at least some ingenuity to get to her. She had been one of the first people to notice the situation and she'd taken charge. The girl had hugged her tight around her middle in thanks and gone skipping back to her mother, as happy as if she hadn't just been rescued from a 48-meter drop.

Children were resilient and it was that resiliency that had gotten the Wanderer to start thinking of continuing what she and her Doctor had started: exploring the known universe, trying to avoid trouble and failing—but most of all, helping people. That one incident had led to more, and the gaping hole in her chest started to fill back in with a sense of rightness and purpose.

She'd go looking for those in need. Sometimes, usually at the least expected, they'd find her. And other times, the TARDIS would take her to some random place and time, because someone was in need or simply because the ship thought the somber woman needed a vacation.

Thus she finds herself in a marketplace, teeming with humans and aliens alike, all hawking their wares in superb hyperbole to the patrons come to look and shop. She trails her fingers across a soft piece of fabric that a Kort is holding out for her inspection, greed shimmering behind his flattering smile. She shakes her head at him as she moves on.

She'd woken up from a rare nap to find herself out of the Vortex and landed on a trade planet with a bag of what passed for money and provisions next to her. She'd laughed at the TARDIS' obvious attempt to get her to take some time for herself. But after having had the week that she'd just managed to survive, she understood where the ship was coming from.

She remembers a time when being in the middle of a large shopping area would bring a sense of excitement to her. She doesn't feel more than amused now. Having lived for so long and seen so many things, something as mundane as buying trinkets "just because" holds less value for her.

Stopping underneath a ragged awning, she watches as two humanoids haggle over the price of a glittering necklace. She finds herself laughing quietly. One of the aliens has multiple arms and is using the haggling to distract the stall owner from the fact that one of its arms is divesting him of his other wares while he charges a ridiculous price for the necklace.

She stumbles forward as she's jostled from behind. Irritation runs through her and she turns to deliver a scathing glare at the clumsy fool, but her eyes lock onto something behind him before any word escapes and then it's impossible for her to speak because she can't breathe.

Sunlight gleams on red hair as the woman holds an overflowing cup of foam. She laughs with her companion whose sipping from a similar mug, getting foam over the top of his lip. His eyes nearly close with the force of his laughter as he uses the sleeve of his long brown coat to wipe his mouth. They set the mugs down and continue to move through the marketplace. The woman, Donna, veers off in a different direction while the Doctor (so young yet so old) gets caught up talking to a vendor about a spiked Dresulian cooking ball.

The Wanderer's eyes follow him, drink in the sight of him as her hearts beat madly, every fiber of her being focused on the Time Lord who wasn't hers, yet was. The temptation to cross the line is irresistible and without thinking, she steps in his direction.