A/N: Thanks everyone. I luff yew 3 I'm writing this chapter but I'm blissfully ignorant to what Gallifrey is actually like. I've watched a lot of old Who but haven't followed every series, so I don't know much… only that whenever I see a time lord, he or she is normally to be identified by a funny suit – a funny pyramid TARDIS (Rani) and an evil laugh (The Master). So I'm going to guess.

Disclaimer: I own nothing but the ideas in my head, which is true for all of us :)

PS. Sorry about the delay, and sorry I won't be updating for about a week and a half. I have to go to a house with no internet connection again o!

Reflections.Are.Slaves.To.Reality.

My name is the Doctor.

Or that's the disguise. But it's become a title, a name so much to me that it is my name. I can't remember another name like it; can't remember a birth title – I don't even know if I had one. Maybe I did. It's so far back; so many memories ago now that I've stopped remembering something as stupid as a name. Maybe that has been and always will be my title: the Doctor. Such a cold name. Telling nothing, leaving so much mystery behind it – but maybe that's how it should be. Try saying my name with feeling behind it, and it won't work. It's like calling your husband sir, or lord. It doesn't work and it never will. You can't bring emotion into such a title.

You can't – she can.

Anyway, this is me. I stole the TARDIS when I was still young; I had a grand daughter, who I might as well have abandoned. Old times, and yet I appeared older than I am now. Time has passed. And I have even less mercy than I did then. When I would let my friends pass by without a backward glance, and would call them assistants because I dare not lend them enough respect to equal me.

At least, I thought I had less mercy. After the Time War I thought the only way out was solitude because nothing could ever remedy my feeling of loss for the Time Lords; my own world. I became so entangled within this feeling that when salvation stepped out in front of me at first, I didn't even recognise it.

And then I did, and I took her aboard on my ship and my heart healed, even though I was unwilling to believe that such a salvation could have done it alone. How could she replace my people in not so much as a blink? But she had. And I was more merciful. I regained the feeling I had possessed years back, and more.

So when she was taken away, when my liberty and freedom were stripped from me with a single scream, there was nothing. I searched. I tried to keep an open mind like I hadn't after the Time War but even with my mind open to new loves, I knew in my heart that nothing could ever replace her. I pined and I grieved and I ached, and I was so ashamed for doing so. Not because I was afraid to love a human. Because I was ashamed that a human could have had so much courage in my face, to have said the things she did, and I hadn't even managed to whisper her words back to her.

Seven years passed and all hope had gone.

Until by chance, I landed on Pavar. And I saw her recording and I knew that there was some way to get her back, even if it wasn't her. Even if it was some other Rose from a different world, I had to save her. For once I had a quest in life which I couldn't have been happier to go along with. But seeing her die, seeing her be taken away from me yet again almost made me want to die. It was such a drastic notion but it was true. Something I could never do physically, but something that had most definitely happened within my soul.

Whoever, whatever made her come back to me is something or someone who I would bless beyond the stars if I just knew how they'd revived her. My history matters, because it shapes the world but none so much of it to me than the time spent with her. It's a terrible thing to say but even my own grand daughter Susan couldn't forge a relationship with me like Rose could.

That was my fault. My old, cold self's fault. Maybe if I'd been more willing to lend her love back we could have been happier but it's something I never did. For that, I'm sorry.

But this leads us back the present. This leads me back to Rose… and to why I'm standing here with her on this place I can barely remember; because it hurts too much. Because it makes me angry. Because it triggers a feeling so hostile inside me that it scared even her away.

Not. Any. More.

The time of secrecy is about to end, and the time of history is at hand.

We Do Not Die Because We Have To die; We Die Because One Day, And Not So Long Ago, Our Consciousness Was forced to Deem It Necessary – Antonin Artuad

Rose looked around in wonder, at the vast stretches of strangely futuristic and yet old, almost... ancient beauty and technology around her. She would only describe it as beauty itself. For a moment she was lost in it and then she turned around and saw the Doctor, and immediately he grabbed her attention. He had brought her there for a reason. But it was easy to focus her attention on him. A moment with him was never dull; tense, exciting, horrifying, tearful, wonderful or terrifying – but none of those feelings could ever be associated with the word dull.

The Doctor was life itself but something told Rose that he himself obviously didn't believe it.

He was looking into the distance with eyes that spoke volumes. They told her that he wasn't there. Not at that time. She slipped her hand in his, not just to wake him from his reverie, but to make sure that he was okay. There was no doubt in her mind now that she loved him, but she knew that it wasn't something that she could say every day of her life. Maybe it was something she wanted to say constantly, and maybe it wasn't. Her feelings were her own but he knew: and that was enough. Either way, she was there for him. She felt the need to illustrate the point.

"This is home," she said quietly, into the air which was bitter and sweet at the same time. Gallifrey as it once had been, thousands of years before the Time War. It wasn't the splendour of it that caught Rose, though, it was the magnificence of seeing something that had been dead for too many years to count.

For a moment there was silence. And then:

"No."

"What?"

"This was home, Rose. Once upon a time, a long time ago. Sometimes it takes a moment to realise, but in the end, when you think about it, it's true. If I still considered this to be home all I'd ever look to would be rocks and dust and oblivion. No… this isn't home."

"So where is home?" Said Rose quietly. She couldn't say she understood. But that was one thing she could understand; never expect to find an explanation behind what the Doctor said because the only way you could ever truly understand would be to have experienced all the things he had. Something she, nor any other individual could have done. Because he was unique.

For a moment the Doctor frowned, thought making his eyeballs almost go crossed like so often happened. Normally she would have laughed and even though she found it funny this time, she didn't want to. She didn't think it would have ruined anything, but the urge wasn't there.

"Maybe…" he said, like it was dawning on him; "maybe… I don't have a home." He let out a breath with his eyes wide, puffing out his cheeks and biting his lip before exhaling. "Maybe I'm homeless."

Rose considered for a second. And then she smiled, because she knew something for a change. For once she could tell him what was staring him in the face. Well… that happened a lot. But never in circumstances of such importance.

"Oh, I think you do," she said, and her voice was light. Because around the Doctor there was no reason to be sad. She knew he didn't want sympathy. He didn't even want to turn back time, of which he was perfectly capable of doing. He just wanted to live life like it was his last. She knew that remorse and regret had no place in him. Not while he had her to travel with, anyway.

Another thought from his head.

"Mm?"

"You've got the TARDIS, Doctor. You've got…"

"I've got you."

Rose didn't really want to confirm that comment unless she appeared vain. But he thought to himself for a moment and then cracked one of his biggest grins.

"Maybe I do have a home, then."

She smiled back; because although there was a long dead civilisation around them, bustling with life and activity, oblivious to Rose and the Doctor's presence, it was a moment that didn't care for that. It cared only for two people, a smile, and preserving it forever.

The moment lasted, but even the best of moments fade. And the Doctor's grin disappeared and the light in his eyes became more concentrated, until it was more of a fixed look of thought than a joyful light, and a window to the soul. "But your question still stands," he said. "None of this sorts any of that out."

Rose paused for a moment, and then she realised.

"No, it doesn't," she said shortly, shrugging. "But at the same time, I already know."

"What?"

She looked out on Gallifrey and it misted before her with her own thoughts. "I think I realised the moment you told me that you'd answer me," she said, shaking her head at the end slightly like she so often did at the end of a sentence that involved thought; "I thought: well… you obviously don't cope. Look at this place – who wouldn't want to stay here – "

"I don't," interrupted the Doctor abruptly. "I've been avoiding this for so long. Never wanting to return because I was afraid it would hurt too much… but now I'm here, it doesn't hurt. If I think about it," he shrugged for a moment, "I never loved this place like I love yours. I never owned anything on it. I was looked upon as a… a… vagabond… and I stole the TARDIS. Not a good move," he added. She would have spoken then but she knew he wasn't finished.

"I fought for these people and they died next to me. But do you know what? They weren't my people. I didn't own them. Half of them I didn't even know and just about all of them didn't care for me. It was just the thought of losing all that history, and all that heritage, and the thought of a whole race dying, that made it so hard to cope with. And then, I found something new. I found you. And you know what?"

Rose was hanging onto his every word now. Like she had on the beach with an ever hopeful look in her eyes that were beginning to burn. Always hoping to hear those words. Always having to cope with the fact he never said them – and then hoping again.

"What?"

It was just like before his regeneration. But his next words weren't the same. And she was glad, because that was one other thing she didn't want to see again.

"Losing you," he said, and his eyes weren't on her; they were distant again – but that was fine with her; "made me realise that losing Gallifrey was just a thimbleful of pain next to something that was infinite. I didn't cope, during that time you were gone. But when you returned… I forgot about everything. And compared to you…" he waved a hand vaguely at the surroundings, and now his eyes were directly on her.

"None of this matters."

She looked in his eyes and saw memories she had already witnessed in them. But they weren't just his this time; she knew and recognised them to be equally hers. Why did she always get tearful at the most crucial points in her life? But she couldn't help the tears welling up in her eyes; not of sorrow, not of joy – not even of embarrassment. It was an indescribable feeling that could only be described as anguish; but she wasn't sad. Just unbelieving he'd put her before everything else – apologetic about it.

"Doctor…"

"No, Rose. It's time I left this behind. Turned my back on it."

"In that case," she said, and didn't finish the sentence – for she was too busy reaching up to plant a small kiss on his forehead. He smiled at her. And they said simultaneously:

"Let's go."

If.I.Am.My.Reflection.I.Hate.Me.And.If.You.Are.Just.Another.Me.I.Love.You.

Rose sat the envelope on the mantel piece and looked at it with regret feeling her dark eyes. She was almost tearful again, because it was as she wandered the perfectly deserted flat that she had realised soon, it would be home to someone else, and maybe they would find her note – maybe they would read it. Maybe they would change the perfect, cluttered look it possessed. Maybe they'd take the perfectly yet imperfectly arranged pictures from the mantelpiece and the small coffee table, and wonder in their mind to whom the small box had belonged to. Whether they had died in the all famous battle of the Daleks and The Cybermen like so many. Maybe they'd stop to mourn for a moment, and then again, maybe they wouldn't. Maybe they'd also lost someone.

But she left the envelope on the mantelpiece of her living room, carefully making sure it disturbed none of the ornaments that had been sitting in a cocoon of dust the instant they had settled upon its surface. In a way she didn't even want to disturb the dust. She wanted to leave this place in the way it had always been.

She wanted her mum back. She wanted her to hang around the house and sit up all day with a cup of tea in her hands; she wanted Mickey to pop in every now and then, and she wanted to look at pictures of her father wistfully without her desires being fulfilled.

She loved them all. But she wanted life back to before Torchwood.

Some wishes are never granted and to a small degree, she suddenly understood the Doctor's new pain at the loss of his home world. And just for a fleeting second, she understood what the Doctor had said about it not being home anymore. It had once been home – when the people she loved had occupied it. But now, it was an empty flat. And without the people, the ornaments and clutter didn't carry any meaning at all.

She didn't even take a picture with her to look at. Because she didn't want to disturb it. Because even as the enlightenment came into her head, she was not the Doctor. And she needed some things to stay the same. Maybe it was best that one day she'd forget their faces.

Five minutes later engines whined out of existence, and the air around the letter upon the mantelpiece rippled. The writing on its surface began to fade, almost metal away, until the paper itself looked almost transparent. Yet it was not so completely. You could still see the shadow of an envelope.

But it was almost as if it didn't fully exist any more. As if it was sharing existences with another realm – another dimension – another universe.

Rose wiped one final tear from her eye, and smiled at the Doctor.

And took the first step on her journey of moving on.

I.Love.You.Because.You.Are.Everything.I.Wish.To.Be.My.Carefree.Reflection.

Jackie Tyler had only just heard the terrible news just a week gone and she still cried into her pillow at night – in the morning – during the day. She would walk down the stairs shaking, get a cup of tea, smash the first mug, and then get another one. She would walk back into the living room and sip as if she was in a different world entirely. Her eyes would have a vacant quality to them. She wasn't even occupying the Tyler Mansion anymore. Her flat; that stupid flat on the Powell Estate had been bought by Pete and they were renting it out. But for a while Jackie had been going back there. For exactly seven days she had lived there. Pete would moan at her to come home, and he understood her feelings – he had loved Rose, too. He wasn't her real dad but he was close and he loved her dearly. But he still insisted that going back to her old house would do Jackie no good. He would visit every night and try and persuade her to come home, but to no avail.

On the eighth day it was different, though.

-o-

Jackie comes downstairs from bed and gets her cup of tea. She opens the blinds and the light floods in – and she'd still so jittery about her Rose, that for the fifth time in a row, the mug is broken. For the fifth time in a row, she doesn't clear it up. She steps absently over the shards in her slippered feet and boils the kettle again, no feeling in her steps; it's like she's been through cyber conversion all over again and she's just an emotionless husk. This time she doesn't drop the tea, and she sits in her place on the armchair that is nearest the mantel piece. She moves like she'd unconscious; slowly; feeling her way through the world like she can't see or hear.

For a while she just looks at the mantel piece, in her trance. She looks and she sees a vague shape that she knows shouldn't be there. Her brain registers this but it's come to a point that Jackie knows things are happening around her but she won't do anything about them.

Perhaps it's an hour before she really looks. Perhaps it's two. Either she's finally paying attention, though, or its got more solid. She can see faint shapes on it in writing she instantly recognises. Rounded letters that are neat and spaced out, even thought the person writing them was never very literate.

She thinks all this but its only five minutes later that her eyes widen and she knocks her cup of tea out of her own hand and hurries to the mantel piece and looks at the words upon what is clearly an envelope.

And then she's tearing it open so fast that she doesn't realise she's torn apart a piece of the last message she'll ever get from her daughter. She just looks at the paper inside; at the handwriting that is so familiar, and reads the words so fast they jumble and stack up in her mind.

Hours later the paper has been cried on and the ink is blurred. She puts it under her pillow – in the Tyler mansion, because she's finally returned, and sleeps peacefully even though the letter has brought on fresh pain and tears. She'll wake up with it hurting just as bad but at least she has some hope to cling to.

The letter falls from underneath the pillow as she shifts in her sleep. And the words are on show for the world to see.

I.Have.Something.To.Say.And.Yet.My.Reflection.Will.Never.Hear.It.

Dear Mum and Dad and Mickey, if he ever finds a way home.

I don't know if I can ever come back to earth. Not your earth, anyway. You probably know by now the Krop Tor mission failed – you were right, mum – in which case you're probably wondering how I can be writing this at all. I know I can say something and you'll believe it but what has happened is hard for even me.

The mission may not have been a success to TORCHWOOD or to any of their cronies, or to the people who died in it, but it was for me. And you needn't worry, Mum, because I'm not writing this from beyond the grave or anything, I know what you're like. It's hard to say but when our rocket passed through that black hole we ended up in a different universe. We didn't die – not Mickey or I, anyway – we landed where I am now and got captured. I would be dead now, so you owe someone a very big apology.

It's even harder to write this, but I landed back home. In our universe. In the Doctor's universe and by some wonderful miracle, I'm back with him. In the TARDIS. And the danger's out there, and so are the stars, but I've never been happier.

You know I love you more than your worth – and I don't mean the insulting bit of that, anyway. I'm sorry, Mum. I don't know how to get back. But I want you to know that I'm not dead. I'm not alone. I'm not crying on this piece of paper because I'm hurt. I'm doing what I've always wanted to do and I'm crying because although I'm back where I always wanted to be, I'm going to miss you.

This will probably never get to you. Not unless some miracle happens, anyway. But there's always that small chance; if there's anything I've learnt it's to believe in chance, however bad or good the situation is. So I'll leave you this in the hope that you will receive it. Otherwise, at least I've confessed what I feel to some nosey person.

I love you. And I'll never forget you two – and I know you won't forget me. But don't cry too much… like I said, I know you too well. Live your life. And look after Jane, because I love her, too.

Rose

The words winged their way through the air and into space, and proved one thing that Jackie Tyler had given up on.

Miracles can happen.

A/N: Not quite finished. Thank you. I'm sure, after all, you all want to see one more scene with Rose and the Doctor and want me to resolve the mystery of what happened to Mickey…