A/N: Dedicated to strangledduck for reassuring me when my writing was dismissed as rubbish and lending me Mya and Charli so I could write this.
Disclaimer: It would be a waste of time and money to sue me.
She found it every time she looked for her room.
A door with a poster stuck to it, marking it apart from the other uniform doors. A poster of a beautiful garden, the corners were curling and the sellotape had yellowed.
It was locked. Sealed shut.
Once she asked the Doctor about it.
Just once.
One night she found the room, heading to the room for a midnight snack. The door was ajar. The room behind it looked much the same as hers, but more lived in, more cluttered, much more personal. The Doctor was huddled on the bed, deeply asleep, clutching a piece of material patterned with what looked like the Union Flag. Tearstains were visible on his face. She entered the room hesitantly, there was an almost tangible force pushing her away. She was a stranger, an intruder in this place. Violating this sanctuary.
Let him be. Leave him alone. Let him hide for a few hours.
She recognises some of the alien oddments. That one she bought when he gave her money and turned her out of the Tardis for some vital repair work, that one he bought for her. He'd been hurrying through the market, she'd been lagging behind, fascinated by everything. She spent so long in front of that stall, admiring it, that eventually he shoved some currency at the vendor and pulled her away.
It hurts him. Everywhere reminds him.
There were photo frames scattered liberally across the room. She had very few photos, only the ones she had brought with her, he was incredibly camera shy. Maybe these were all of the girl's family. She stooped to look at one. There was that force again; insisting that to pick the photo up would bewrong.
No, no, that is not yours to see. That knowledge is not yours to have, it will only hurt.
She looked at it. And she knew. One picture. She knew why the room had been preserved so perfectly. She knew why he would start 'Ro-' and check himself when he turned to her. Why he would never hold her hand properly, preferring to catch hold of her wrist instead. Why she was second-best.
She didn't need to hear what the Doctor sobbed in his sleep. But it made it easier. It gave her a name to hate.
Rose.
The girl who had taken the Doctor's heart. Taken it wherever she had gone. And left her an incomplete shell.
A second-best companion for half a Doctor.
