AN: Ok, I'm sorry that I made people cry. But don't throw those damp tissues away just yet. More sadness, yelling and depression is on its way!

Ok, important announcement. Becsy Lexi is now a co-writer, as I was thinking of giving up and had ran out of ideas, mainly frustration from having over 958 hits and only 24 reviews? (Pokes non-reviewer in stomach and chest), I'm talking about you, bub.

Dedication: For mum, who thinks the Doctor is cute and wants to marry him. (41 mum! You're 45! … Should work)

Chapter 5

They held Dylan for another half an hour, this time completely free of any tubes and wires, no heart monitors. It was a strange sight; he looked like he was sleeping with his dad, who was still rubbing his tiny sons' back, giving comfort to the dead. Rose held him also, and rocked him again, telling him how much mummy and daddy loved him and that he would be missed.

Two hours later they were still there, Dylan had been taken away, and they were now trying to sort out what to do next. Jackie was with her daughter, knowing that she needed the Doctors' support more than her own mothers embrace and quiet words.

The truth was he and Jackie had argued behind Roses' back about Dylan, how he could go back and save their first child, how he was a selfish, self-centred prick who had used Rose for his own doing. Having enough of this today he had simply walked out saying he needed to be alone for a while and he would be back later. He was tired of watching everyone around him crying until exhaustion and was unable to do it himself. He wanted nothing better than to find a quiet hole and curl into a ball and sob his hearts out, until nothing was left, and he could go back to Rose, only she'd be an old woman and might not remember him.

He took the stairs down to a section of the hospital where he knew all was quiet and people rarely came, a small 'ding' sounded somewhere and the metal doors to the morgue allowed him to walk along the scuffed green floor, his shoes and uneven breathing the only thing giving him away.

Hearing his footsteps, a nurse on duty looked up and blinked, trying to place his face in the hundreds she must have seen daily. "Um … Doctor Chris Smith," he murmured to the nurse, only modifying his used name by a bit.

Finally knowing who he was, she smiled at him in such pity that he looked away as a nauseating wave went through him; hating the look she was giving. His eyes slid to the floor, not wanting anything from this woman, least of all pity.

She lead him to a small room that was cold, but the Doctor had been in colder situations and hardly noticed the temperature as he found the tiny body beneath the creaseless green blanket upon the huge morgue table. Taking the chair the nurse offered him, he nodded his thanks and she left them alone to each other, closing the door behind her.

Having seen thousands of dead bodies in varying stages of decay and mummification, he hesitated when it came to looking at the body of his own tiny son. Gently grasping the corner of the cloth between his finger and thumb, he lifted the covering and pulled it back so that only Dylan's head and shoulders were exposed. He didn't want Dylan becoming cold in his everlasting sleep.

Dylan was the most beautiful little baby that the Doctor had ever seen, his face was soft and unmarred, his eyes were closed quietly having never seen the world and its wonders to behold. The tapes glue marks having been removed by Julie the night before, and nothing had been left in his tiny body as both Rose and the Doctor requested that an autopsy not be done and all the tubes were removed. Though, only because the staff had to, they had taken his baby clothes off of Dylan, so that he wasn't even wearing a nappy underneath the cloth.

He was perfect in everyway that the Doctor could imagine, his hair was downy and a deep blond and brown colour, showing both mum and dads features, though the Doctor suspected that some babies grew out of this. His tiny face was still and the light glinted off of the hairs upon his crown, enhancing the blond tips to look white.

Hardly daring to breath, afraid he might break some unexplained presence within the room, the Doctor reached out a long finger and ever so gently ran it down the soft, icy skin of Dylan's cheek.

Suddenly he found himself gasping and pushed his hand through his thinning hair, realising he was trying to hold everything together. The Doctor knew of thousands of planets that could bring back this one child, but had suffered through thousands of unwanted handicapped children. If Dylan were alive he would have surly had been so severely disabled that he wouldn't have been aware he was even alive. Somewhere inside of the selfish part of the Doctor breathed a sigh of relief that it wasn't going to be.

Besides, he knew that Dylan couldn't even be brought back to life; he'd been dead for far too long to even consider sustaining life again.

The Doctor had calmed enough to realise he'd been crying unconsciously, he wiped at his eyes, looking at the tears that shook on his own fingertips in mild surprise. Wiping an unusually shaking hand over his wearied, unscarred and morbid face, the Doctor could feel the unshed tears mounting in his tired eyes and he rubbed them hard before releasing a broken breath. "What did I do to deserve this?"

The funeral was brief and a rather surprisingly calm ceremony. The priest didn't drone on about why children so young were allowed to pass, he seemed to sense that Rose and the Doctor had heard it all before. He instead asked for patience between all parties and to let the Holy Spirit to guide them through time.

Afterwards Rose found him standing quietly before the tiny and unfair looking grave. The small headstone held Dylan's date of birth, date of death and the message: You will always be loved through Heaven, Earth and Time.

He was quietly looking down at the headstone, his hands in his suit jacket, his black tie whipping about madly in the cool breeze. Rose thought he looked cold and one of the loneliest beings in the universe. Walking up beside him, she quietly slipped her right hand in his left one and held back a rising sob. The Doctor turned towards her, slightly surprised that she was there at all.

Grasping his hand, she led him away, towards the black car waiting to take the family home. There would be no after get together or anything such thing to celebrate Dylan's life. 'There was nothing to celebrate,' he thought silently, 'only pain and death, that's not a life, it's a punishment.'

Jackie, who had cried haunting sobs at the funeral, but hadn't said anything to him in the last four days since Dylan's death, had approached him and instead of hostility, she apologised about what she had said at the hospital and that Rose had told her that he had tried to save Dylan and that was all she needed to hear.

Instead of going back with her they returned to the TARDIS, showering and then both curling up on one of the many huge king sized beds, lost in each others' grief. They stayed there for the whole night and well into the morning, not speaking, or moving or anything. Holding each other was all they had; it was a start to a rocky recovery, painful as it sounded. Though neither one of them knew just how rocky or painful it was to be.

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AN: ok, updating is gonna be kind of non-existent for the next few weeks. I've got my HSC trials (or A-levels to you Brits) and mum and dad are gonna confiscate my computer if I don't start studying. But I hoped you enjoyed it, sorry it's so short.

PLEASE REVIEW! weeps W need them! A simply 'that's cool' will do!