Rose sometimes wondered if the Doctor kept humans around – brought them on as companions, traveled with them - because after a long life, it was easy to forget what humanity was.

Then again, the deaths of her family helped her hang on to hers, where he had the death of an entire species on his shoulders. His species.

Rose felt old. But then, she thought, she was 307. She was old. She was very old. And yet she still looked no older than 23. She hadn't changed much in 288 years – her hair was no longer bottle blonde – more of a soft dirty blonde that suited her face much better, and several inches longer. She usually kept it in a half up, lazy do that was simple but elegant. Unnoticeable. She wore less makeup than she had as a child, often wincing when she saw pictures. Had she really needed that much mascara?

But though she looked more or less the same, Rose felt different. Different enough that she probably wouldn't be recognized back in the original universe – she had a different, more confident, older, and wiser air about her that somehow came across on her very young face, and years of wisdom and loss reflected in her honey-coloured eyes.

At 307, Rose had thought a lot about her humanity. It was difficult sometimes, she mused, as she sat on a bench in a deserted graveyard on a bright, sunny Tuesday, to remind herself that her humanity was a good thing. She had seen far too many wars, too many merciless battles, too much death, too much evil to always want to empathize. Some days she thought of how easy it would be to turn off her humanity, like a switch.

She then thought of the Cybermen, and how their humanity as essentially controlled in that fashion, and felt a chill run through down her spine.

She could never allow herself to become that.

Rose sighed, looking at the smooth stones in front of her.

Jackie Tyler, 87

1 February 1967 – 27 July, 2054

Beloved Mother

And her Husband, Peter Tyler, 99

15 September 1954 – 12 October 2054

Dedicated Father

Anthony Tyler, 55

4 July 2007 – 7 December 2062

Gone too soon

Missed Brother

John Alistair Smith, 91

7 March 1985 – 2 November 2076

Devoted Husband

Rose stood, rising from her seat on the bench, and crouched down within reach of each of the stones. She kissed her fingertips and touched each of the stones in turn, saying her final goodbye to her family. She had decided, after 3 centuries, that she could no longer stay in the parallel world after years of staying simply to feel close to her John, her family. Painful memories cut deep into her mind wherever she went, and in her original universe she hoped the pain would ease up, especially if she limited her time on earth.

She couldn't have known, when she settled into this new universe with her new Doctor, that the best thing that had ever happened to her – a human Doctor with whom she could live out her forever – would be the thing that would cause her the most pain. She had never, ever planned on watching the Doctor die. She felt her eyes start to water just at the thought of it.

To save herself from that pain – the pain of knowing someone, loving someone who would never be able to live out their forever with her, she separated herself from society, living in her own sort of bubble in her flat and Torchwood tower. She'd understood why the Doctor sent her away – he'd loved her. She had no doubt about that, no longer the blind, naïve child of her youth: she knew the Doctor had loved her.

And she now understood why he'd sent her away rather than watch her wither and die.

Isolation had allowed Rose to get to the know Other, the Bad Wolf, and to understand the power that it held in her mind. Originally, the Bad Wolf had protected her from the Time Vortex that she had absorbed, shielding her mind from burning. As she'd aged, her mind had grown and developed next to whatever Time Vortex still remained inside of her, a prolonged exposure not only making Rose seemingly immortal (she had yet to encounter anything that could make her stay dead, anyway), but also giving her goddess-like powers, such as a brain that processed information much faster than the average human's (reminiscent of when she'd eaten the Krilitane chips) and needed far less sleep – usually only a few every week. Her immortality extended to her body in the sense that she didn't age, stuck the in the body of a 20 year old forever.

Essentially, she eventually came to realize, she was as close to being Gallifreyan as a human could be.

With a final glance at her family and a sigh, Rose turned on the vortex manipulator on her forearm and typed in the coordinates for London, Earth Prime, January 1, 2015.

Traveling through the Howling was never pleasant.

She hadn't called it the Void in centuries – it didn't feel empty to her. It felt like there was something watching her, just over her shoulder. A wolf, watching from a distance.

The Howling seemed a much more appropriate term.

It was just her, though – she recalled talking to others who had crossed it – Pete, Mickey, Jackie, all of whom said it felt like nothing – like dead space. They had always called it the Void.

She pressed her fingers to her temples and closed her eyes, waiting for the pain of crossing through dimensions – like being hurled through a brick wall – to pass. She may be an immortal creature, she thought wryly, but any sort of space-travel without a capsule made her head spin.

She when she finally opened her eyes, she was suddenly grateful she'd materialized in a hidden alley between two shops. Her eyes flew wide open and her mouth dropped when she took in the scene in front of her.

London was tumbling – it was strangely sunny but bricks and torn down buildings were everywhere. She could hear laser blasts and screams in the distance, but from where she stood, there was no one.

Cautiously, she stepped out from between the shops, taking in everything in. There was nothing she could do here, she thought sadly. She couldn't turn back time – she could, technically, travel back – but she wouldn't. She couldn't risk altering events now that she'd landed in them.

With a sigh and a quick look at London, she quickly inputted the coordinates for Cardiff.

She landed dead in the center of the plaza where the TARDIS often used the rift to charge up – and no one seemed to see her. She frowned, spinning around on the spot, taking in her surroundings.

Cardiff was in the same state as London, in shambles, but more populated. People were milling about – many looked like they hadn't bathed in weeks, with dirt on their faces and clothes and tired eyes. They huddled in groups behind fallen buildings, and her heart squeezed at the sight of the shelters people had created out of the rubble.

"What are you doing?!" She heard someone shout, and suddenly she was being pulled out of the plaza, through a door, and the door was slammed behind her. "Are you trying to get yourself killed?"

When Rose finally turned to face the man, she felt her entire body stiffen up. Logically, she reasoned, she should have recognized the voice, the accent, but it had been far too long – 288 years – since she had heard it, she supposed she couldn't blame herself too much for taking longer to identify the voice.

"Rose?"

You've probably guessed who the voice belongs to. If you haven't, shame on you. See you soon!