The door closed behind him as he walked up to the console. Then everything tilted sideways. He barely had any time to react before the thing took off by its own volition. He held on to one of the bars as the entire room shook, throwing him off his feet.
It was just one thing after another today. Not that he minded, really. He welcomed the distractions—he didn't want to think about it. Not at all. And yet, the last words he had spoken out loud were still clinging to his skin.
"Her name was Rose," he had just told Donna. As he held on to the bar for dear life, the only thing he could perceive was that gnawing feeling attached to the finality of that wretched word 'was'.
She was gone. She is gone. And he would never see her again.
He sighed quietly before banging his head on the bar he was previously clinging to. The TARDIS had stopped suddenly with whatever she was doing, and had either landed or was now floating around in the vortex.
He rubbed his head as he stood up gingerly. He had always known that the TARDIS cared an exceptional amount about his…previous companion, and that she surely must be in mourning, too. In fact, he was pretty sure that that was why she had been acting off today. He couldn't blame her for it. He was certain that whatever he was picking up from the TARDIS was being sent right back at her.
He turned the monitor to himself. He wouldn't give himself the satisfaction of thinking about it. Not yet. Maybe not ever. He just had to do what he always did: completely ignore that there even was a problem, and run off to the next thing. In fact, he was almost certain that that was what the TARDIS had prepared for him. Yet the monitor showed nothing. They weren't nowhere—the TARDIS was just refusing to show him anything.
That was new. And not particularly a development he enjoyed.
So he went to do it the old fashioned way—just open up the door and hope for the best. He doubted the TARDIS would put him somewhere dangerous, and that he'd just get sucked in some air bubble when he'd open the door (even though that was exactly what he wanted at the moment).
Nothing could have prepared him for the sight. He wanted to slam the door shut. Yell at the TARDIS, say the meanest things known to man, and run away. He didn't move an inch.
Why?
He didn't register a response. Perhaps she hadn't given him any.
He just couldn't comprehend the reasoning behind this. Nothing made sense. He didn't want to be here—there was no reason for him to be there. Yet the TARDIS wouldn't do this to rub it in his face. She, out of all people, must know how much it hurt.
And oh, how it hurt. Up until now, he hadn't really given it any thought—he didn't want to. He was lucky that Donna had popped up when she did, or he wasn't sure what he would have done. But now, it was all very, very clear.
A gaping hole akin to the emptiness of his mind, right in the middle of his two rapidly beating hearts. He could feel his own skin trying to crawl out of itself, trying to reach for someone that wasn't there.
As he stepped out into her mother's flat, memories started flooding him. The smell, associated purely to her, reaching his senses…it might've made him go mad. He might've been mad. He wasn't sure anymore.
He simply stood there for a minute as his mind went haywire.
March 2005, when they had met. He had been a different man, and had even had a different face. He had no idea what was about to come. How different she would make everything. How…surprisingly bearable life would be, despite everything.
The next stop, when her mother had slapped him in the face. They almost died that day—like any, he supposed—and he had come so very close to losing her. He had even, despite himself, admitted it. Out loud. He hadn't expected to say it. But he never regretted it. Not a single time. Not a single line. He had wanted her to know, after all.
Oh, how he hoped she knew.
His breath hitched.
And then all the other times he had made an exception, "just this once", for her. Because of that stupid (gorgeous) smile she would give him, and he would melt—forget himself, and do anything.
Speaking of: Christmas dinner—something he had never imagined doing for anyone. To sit down with her mum and (potentially ex-)boyfriend, spending a few hours just eating and talking… It was all very domestic.
Well. His rule was still in place. Because she wasn't just anyone.
He took a step around the room as he wiped his teary eyes. The lights were off, and it was rather dusty. The silence, much like everything else, made him want to run. Despite himself, he didn't. He paced around the flat quietly, looking at pictures here and there, of her and her mother and a few other people he didn't recognise but probably knew the name of.
He had ruined her life, hadn't he?
The TARDIS said something. He didn't bother to decipher it.
…At least she has her family. Surely, that must make her happy.
He hoped.
He really, really hoped. He dare not imagine what he would do if he knew it wasn't the case—knowing his history of doing remarkably unhinged things for her, and his hatred of the Laws of Time growing stronger each passing second he had to spend without her.
This…this isn't going to be very easy.
Donna had been right. He did need someone. But he didn't want just anyone. He wanted her.
He resisted the urge to punch several things in previously aforementioned's room. That wasn't going to help anyone, and he certainly wasn't about to taint anything belonging to her. He'd done that enough, already.
The universe is an unforgiving and wretched place. How he still hadn't learned after all those years was beyond him.
He went back to the TARDIS. Refusing to thank or berate her, he simply acknowledged her existence by pulling her back into the vortex.
And then it all fell quiet. The TARDIS had dimmed her lights again, ever since they had left the TARDIS for the last time. He thought it appropriate. It was as dark as the day he woke up in his ninth self. He bent over the console pathetically.
He didn't want to be sappy about it, but he had seriously underestimated how dependent he had been on her. She had made him better, he was fully aware of that. He wasn't going to kill himself or anything, which wasn't something he would've decided a year ago.
He swallowed thickly.
Right.
Anyways. Aside from…that, she had helped in many different ways. Obviously she had been lovely company throughout the years, so she had generally made him happier. And then the whole deal with the Dalek (wretched things) had shown him how far he had gone from his own morals. She, despite…everything, really, had stood up to him. And he knew better, now.
But that wasn't actually all. She had been there throughout every single day, almost never really spending time apart. His routine was based on hers, and vice versa. When she was sleeping or with her mum, he would work on the TARDIS, or do something or other. And he would wait patiently (mostly patiently) on her. The TARDIS would alert him and he'd stop whatever he was doing and follow her to breakfast. And then they'd run. That part he was good at.
But now, he was so used to stopping so often. So often, to take it easy, instead, and sit at the cosy fire in the library, or cuddle up in the cinema room or just… whatever. Frankly, none of it mattered. It didn't matter what they did. All of it was brilliant because of her.
So, what now? She was just…gone. What in the world was he supposed to do now? Run, again? Run, without someone he could show all the wonders of the universe? He ran to distract himself, but he knew. One day everything would catch up to him. He would run into a wall at some point and be unable to disregard everything he's ignored. He had been running for so, so long, and now, he was just tired. He was old, and lonely, and sad—
The growl of his stomach turned him away from his muses.
Ugh. Right, he hadn't eaten in a week. And his stomach was starting to rebel against him.
He wasn't sure what it would be like, now. He never really ate without her. Maybe he could imagine that she was just somewhere around the corner—a different spot in the TARDIS, waiting to surprise him. A little giggle would come when he'd call for her name.
But he knew the disappointment of never finding her would shatter his hearts that much more.
As he picked up his feet, the TARDIS sent him some vague message of 'you're not alone', in sympathy.
"Might as well be," he answered to the (what he thought) pathetic attempt, the hoarseness in his voice surprising him only a little.
The TARDIS grew quiet. He didn't care. Or notice, even. He sauntered his way to the kitchen. His mind was surprisingly quiet. Devoid of thought just as devoid of feeling.
When he reached the kitchen, he immediately stopped in his tracks. Two plates were resting atop the table, left behind and forgotten by their owners. One half eaten, the other only having smudges of something red. Next to them was a bowl, full of bananas, raging from green ones to yellow ones. He stared at the empty plates for a long while. His stomach was fighting him again, but he didn't heed it any thought.
The TARDIS must've locked the kitchen while they were gone. To a week ago, right before they went to her mother. Before he had lost her. Before he had to pathetically find a crack somewhere in the universe (please, anywhere—) as a last chance to bring her back, as a last chance to say a goodbye (Rose Tyler, I—). They had no idea. He had felt that something was coming, but much like everything else, he ignored it. Stupid git. He could've prevented this. He could've told her before it was the final chance. He could've told her before he ran out of time.
He could almost see it right in front of him. Rose, waving kindly as he walked in the room. She was eating a normal breakfast, beans on toast. Dumbfounded. He had done nothing. He took all of it for granted. Every single day, every single time that they came back to the TARDIS, maybe not unscathed but alive.
She was still alive, he reminded himself. It didn't comfort him as much as he thought it should've. It was a slight comfort that she was alive, somewhere else, with her family. But part of him simply didn't care. A part of him was so selfish, and he loathed it.
He sighed deeply and took his eyes off of the plates, moving to the bananas. Bananas were good…
A bit of dread filling up in him, he cautiously walked up to them and picked one up. He noticed his hands shaking slightly as he peeled the thing. His throat felt clenched shut, his stomach like stones. Even as he bit into it, his mouth simply felt…numb. The thing had no taste. He forced it down anyways, considering the still-fighting battle of his stomach.
Since one banana wouldn't be enough, he opened up a cupboard to find a pot of marmalade, but when he picked it up, he realised it was the same one he was eating that morning.
He already didn't want to eat, but now he felt bile coming up his throat. Smacking down the pot, he decided one banana would be enough, after all. He left the room, not caring much about the broken pot leaking over the counter.
He went to go to the console room, but found himself turning in circles instead. The TARDIS must still be brooding or something, if she isn't even letting him near the possibility of taking off to somewhere. He felt rather angry at that. Why wasn't she letting him do what he wanted? What was the point of roaming around the TARDIS, with the memory of her everywhere? It only hurt, and every passing second made it worse. Was she really just doing this to torture him? It made no sense in his head, but he didn't give in. He kept walking, at some points running, trying to get to the console room.
After 2 and a half hours, he gave up.
He sat down in the hallway instead. The restlessness that was previously only in his legs was now in his entire body. Like tons of ants crawling on his skin, begging him to move. He wanted to go to some planet. He didn't even care anymore about where, he just wanted to be anywhere but here. But the TARDIS kept him imprisoned, or as hostage. He really wasn't sure what she was thinking.
As he went to lay down instead, a door had appeared behind him. At this point he didn't care if the door opened up to the lamest room in the TARDIS (or even just the void), and he jumped up on his feet to walk in.
It was the library, he noticed immediately. There were many libraries on the TARDIS, only a few of which Rose had actually seen. This one wasn't really his favourite, but it had always been the one the TARDIS showed her. It looked the most impressive; it was massive, with a glass ceiling that showed stars, and there were plentiful arrays of bookcases all around. And her absolute favourite: the fireplace in the middle of it all. "Isn't that a fire hazard?" she had asked.
He smiled softly as he walked over to the small coffee table next to the main sofa. They had been in the middle of the seventh book of the Harry Potter series. Ever since that day where they met Dickens, he had shown her this library. He meant the show the other one, the one that he thought was more impressive—it was smaller, but the books were all so old, first editions, and some of the rarest in the entire universe. But he had to give the TARDIS her credit: only real nerds would love his favourite library. This one was much more suited to her.
And she had loved it. She often came here when it was downtime, usually with a cup of tea and some cookies. And after a while, he had started to join her.
He softly put his hand on the book. He wouldn't actually admit it, ever, but he had loved those moments just as much as the running. It was so calm, something he thought he could never live in again comfortably, especially after the War. But he loved it. There was something about being able to sit down, nice and comfortable and warm, and just sitting or laying next to her while she was enamoured with her book. She was so expressive when she would read—you could practically know what was happening solely on her expression. She would read some fantasy or something or other, and he'd re-read some of the biographies or documentaries or…anything, really. If he was really honest, he'd tell you that he didn't really have a clue of what he was reading, as he was mostly looking at her. One time, after she had left, he had even noticed that his book had been upside down for the past few hours.
How he wished he had stared more. It was cowardly of him only to do it while she was distracted, he knew—but he had been doing that ever since the beginning. He wished he had been less of a coward and stared whenever he had wanted to.
Well, now he wished he had done so much more. Now, in hindsight, he wished he hadn't been such an idiotic moron.
But he had been. And now, he would never—never—be able to do something about it. His sight turned blurry, adding to the shallowness of his breathing. He gripped onto something, even though he wasn't sure what, as he felt wobbly on his feet.
C'mon Time Lord, he might've heard. Where's that superior biology of yours now?
Nice. He was going mad. Absolutely what he needed right now. He fell down on the sofa, feeling something uncomfortable under him.
He turned sideways, and Rose was sitting there, face in a book. He kept down the reflex of wiping his eyes, in fear that she'd disappear. He relaxed his back and shuffled further into the sofa. Not for a second did he look away. As his eyes cleared from the tears spilling out, he could see her face better. She was smiling softly at her book.
His eye twitched but he refrained from blinking. The book she was reading wasn't one he recognised, but he didn't want to put even a fraction of his attention on it.
In the end, he blinked. She was gone when his eyes opened again. He stared at the now empty spot. The sofa was smoothed out, with not a single wrinkle. Her blanket was sticking out slightly from under him.
Right. That happened. He pinched the bridge of his nose, clenching his eyes shut.
But all he could see was her. Her smiling with her tongue between her teeth, perhaps at him, being an oblivious idiot. That look in her eyes that he knew indicated she was happy. Happy just to be there. Happy and alive and right there. Her favourite blanket wrapped around her as she snuggled next to him with the smell of tea and burning wood and the human warmth that radiated from her, competing with the cackling fire. And sometimes she fell asleep and he would take care to remember the page number and rest her head more comfortably against his shoulder, wiping the hair out of her face with his probably freezing hands on her burning skin. And she would smile. And everything was okay.
And he didn't really want to remember—but what else was there? What else did he have left but the memories he now had to hold dear instead of her?
And he sobbed but it didn't matter. His entire chest shook as he heaved but it wouldn't change anything. He would weep and weep but it would never fix a single thing. She would never be here again.
Gone.
"How long are you going to stay with me?"
She's gone.
"Forever."