A/N: This is set during Father's Day, in that moment towards the end after Pete has been run over for the final time, just before the Doctor comes back and tells Rose to go to him.

It is also for Ro (xxasktheangels), who is currently conspicuous only through her absence, because she (quite rightly) loves Nine so very much and taught me to as well.

Disclaimer: You know the drill. I don't own a thing.

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It was all a dream. The Doctor was dead…she'd seen it. There had been no shoulder to hide behind this time; she had to face things alone. That's why she wasn't really hearing footsteps behind her even though no one had come out of the church. That's how she knew it was just her mind playing tricks on her when she thought she recognised the distinctive clip-clop of his shoes – she'd heard them run often enough to know their sound by now. The light breathing she could hear, almost feel, was the wind. It was all her imagination. She couldn't open her eyes, no matter how much she wanted to or how much each little sign pushed her closer to doing so – if she did, even this little trace of him would disappear.

It was a game she used to play with her dad when she was a little girl. He'd visit her in her dreams, sometimes, and if she kept her eyes screwed tight enough come morning, she could almost block out the light spilling through the window and keep him with her, keep him real. Every morning, she'd hold tight to the previous night's dream, try desperately to slip back into it or even just let her imagination continue from where the dream left off. Much as she needed those moments, she hated them: it was in these times that she knew, really knew, that she was pretending and that her dad never could be there for her.

Her dad, who was dying in the street but who she hadn't the courage to go to. All this time, all this loss, and after everything the Doctor had done for her, she couldn't face it. Pete Tyler was going to die alone, and all this would have been for nothing. For once, it was her turn to do the comforting, the looking after. She'd promised she would be there for him…my daddy. And still she couldn't do it.

Inside, she was still that little girl, alone in her bed and desperately wanting a daddy to fight away the nightmares. Over the past few months, she'd become used to the Doctor doing the fighting, but now even he was gone…

She shivered, trying to hold in a sob, and felt the dream reach out and press a hand onto her shoulder. It had a comforting weight, one a dream should not have, but she kept her eyes tight shut because she knew the second she parted the lids the pressure would disappear along with the illusion. It wasn't her daddy, because he was dying alone in the road, and it wasn't the Doctor because he was already dead, all because of her. It's all my fault. All of you…both of you…the whole world. Nothing could chase that nightmare away.

But no…dreams couldn't touch, could they? As she thought this, she felt the fear and utter loneliness sink a little lower, become a little less oppressive. If the hand was part of the dream, how was she slowly being filled with a calm that seemed to spread from its place on her shoulder all around her body and force pain down in its wake? Why was her skin tingling and her heart beating faster? No dream could replicate his touch or the feelings it brought, she knew that. She span round and snapped her eyes open, all in one quick movement because if she thought about it for a second longer she knew that she'd never do it.

And there he was, hand really on her shoulder, feet really on the ground. My Doctor. The wind in her mind evaporated and was replaced with the sound of his steady breathing. Reality rushed at her in one big burst, exploding into colour, and tears rolled down her cheeks because even though she had one of them back, the other was still fast disappearing and she couldn't even summon up the courage to say goodbye.

"Go to him."

That was all the courage she needed.