Okay, so this is my first Doctor Who fanfic- prolly only my third fanfic. And I really don't make a habit of it. But, okay, I watched the second season in almost its entirety and felt beyond compelled to write something. I was crying my eyes out because I guess I kind of put myself in Rose's shoes. GEEK! Anyway, I wrote this and would appreciate feedback. It only took a little while, and maybe I'll edit it later… but I think this is good.

Anyway, thanks.

Love,

Zimmy

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DISCLAIMER: Neither "Doctor Who", nor anything in the slightest related to it (except my adoration and love), belong to me.

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There are… so many words I thought of afterward to tell him. Things that, well- it would have been childish of me to think of making the pain go away. And there was a lot of that to be spoken of. A ceaseless wanderer. "Time Lord"… or what have you. It seems he was made to be bonded, in some small way, to the human species: his adoration for our unthinking curiosity- inexplicable jumps and jolts in DNA. Our hair dyes even.

But mostly our hope.

He had found a light like his own in some other far off planet- sweet and hopeful Earth. Home to wretch and murderer- but also home to children and parents and strife. And hope!

Yea, I thought of a lot of words. Most, if not all, I'm sure have passed through his mind. How could they not have? I'm sure I can see him sitting in the Tardis and thinking… wondering... pondering. About how they must think about him when they're gone- or maybe they think about him when they're there. How they would try to help him and try to comfort him. It would drain all of the meaning out of the message if he'd already thought of it. Because even if one of his companions ever had the time or heart to tell him he would have thought of it centuries ago and picked it apart and made it cynical, sad, and useless. He's too smart for his own good, you know.

But I'll write my words anyway.

It may be a little different from what he's thought of in any case.

I wanted… want to be with you. I managed to say I love you. And I want to say that's enough- but it very well isn't! I'm not wanting a reply- I'm not. I don't want you to answer me with your real answer, not because I don't care… but because It doesn't matter. I don't love you in the hopes that one day you'll come back and tell me the same and we can make little… eh. What I'm meaning is that your pain will persist. And that is doing my heart much worse than any apartness we may suffer.

I would have hated to grow old- To become inhuman and outgrow you, or vice versa. And I know it would have killed you to watch me die- so maybe in some ways what has happened is best. You're used to moving on- Oh but damn! That's the thick of it! No matter your path you will always suffer! And it's not fair! It's not! You weren't made to be real, I think.

You're the stuff of legend.

But it's still not fair, for any lonely hero- angel, Sherlock, whatever, whatever- to be as miserable as it seems you are fated to be. And it'll do no good to write that way.

So Doctor, my love,… I write these words for you.

Stay not too long in sadness for the world will suffer; the world, being Earth. As much as it may pain you, you will have to think of things differently. A man, being, spirit, power, angel, god, time lord, out of time can not live as we do.

And yet. There you are. Our champion.

I am not Rose Tyler, I am human. And all of humanity is your companion, built in separate strains. Humanity will be there for you and see you through and travel with you and love you and… I.. I don't know. But know please, that it's like we're all one heart. And a good bit of that, I think, whether we know it or not, should be if it already isn't dedicated to seeing you through.

And… and I'm sorry because. Although I'd like it to be good… I dunno. Great, even. For you, and I want you to suffer nothing, and be your… you happy little mad self- I know as I'm sure all others who have taken my role must eventually find out.

That there is nothing we can do.

Try as we might.

Doctor, I can't help you.

I started writing words… in. In an effort. And- Oh god I'm crying.

This is pointless anyways! Of fuck it all.

It's not like you're really here, or that you'll ever see any of this or read or… or whatever.

I'm continuing from earlier here- I might as well finish.

I thought a little more about words, my words, Doctor. And I guess…I…I resolved myself. A little. I'm too stubborn to be completely resolved I think.

Either way…

Although I know you will never stop hurting, know that I will always carry a light for you. My hope, as you've seen it at its brightest, is resounding and resillient and won't stop at any 'barrier between dimensions' or what have you! No! And I'll help carry your pain in some way- as it's my fault. Because I am part of your pain….

And. And I only wish you could see this. Because I am SORRY. I am so sorry.

And yet I would not give it up for the world, as you might not. And… I suppose I feel what it's like to be you. Because I'm understanding now… that although it hurts a lot. An impossible lot. I understand that it is necessary. It is… the burden of hope. The burden of the Doctor. If maybe you knew that I didn't mind hurting or growing old and dying then… then I think I could help you out.

But... oh god I can't.

Ah, bugger, again I'm crying.

I'm sorry… I'm so sorry.

But… still I'm hopeful.

Though I must say it's a shame. All I have left of you and myself are these words. But in hope, in love- I suppose I can say that's enough now. They're al for you. And forever they will be.

Love,

Rose Tyler

Human Extraordinaire!

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Somewhere in an alternate sheet of space and dimension a man, or a man seeming, was shaking as he looked again at his psychic papers. He did not scream. He could not scream. Pointless. But tears were evident. And there is no telling if or how her words were on the paper. In fact it could have been blank. But either way identical thoughts were racing through his mind. He had thought many times of the reactions or possible comforts his previous companions would have and had had about him. He had calmly, scientifically, horribly, broken each one down into gibberish in his own mind. His thoughts had become tactful killers.

But now there was a light, a hope. Pain wasn't all bad. Never in vain. And even beautiful. Suddenly his thoughts, his pains, his hopes... were burning with a familiar feel in his chest.

He tucked the papers away and carried on.

And that's that. Hope it was worth a little bit of your time or else I'm afraid I'm going to jump out this window here. points Oh...damn- I'm thinking in a British accent.

Thanks,

Zimmy

PS: Thanks Maiths for correcting my "fatal error" on the name "Tardis" not "Taldis"... Yes. I am a retard. But I'm new to the show so forgive my retardity!