Thanks for the reviews and messages guys! I really appreciate it. -R

Baby, I've been here before; I've seen this room and I've walked this floor. You know I used to live alone before I knew you. And I've seen your flag on the marble arch, and love is not a victory march, it's a cold and it's a broken Hallelujah. – Jeff Buckley, Hallelujah

It was the weekend. Rose sat by the window and watched people streaming past, mothers and their children skipping, the man down the street walking his dog that comically resembled him, couples holding hands. There had been a cold spell lately, rain and snow competing to see who could ruin the most days. Or maybe they were showing up for her; the Universe's way of apologizing, recognizing the unfairness of the situation. Rose mulled over this, deciding she liked the idea: the Universe making the world grieve for her, with her.

Today though, the sun had reappeared, shinning so brightly it was as if it was trying to prove something as well. Rose could barely stand to look at it, her eyes wincing of their own accord as the glint stabbed them. Guess she wasn't so important to the Universe after all, Rose mused.

"What's bothering you, sweetheart?" Jackie stood in the doorway, belly heavy with child.

Rose did not turn her head; she found now that it was almost impossible to tear her gaze away from the glowing scene. When did that happen?

"Rose?"

"Nothing, Mum. I'm fine."

"Work is going well isn't it? The girls from your department asked you out for drinks, you told me."

"Yeah they did."

"Well that should cheer you up won't it? Nothing like a night out with the girls!"

Rose watched as a young couple, couldn't be more than seventeen, raced by, the boy laughing as his partner hopped on his back, spinning her around so that Rose could almost hear her shriek of glee.

"I'm not going to go."

"But why?" Jackie sounded so disappointed, so plaintive that Rose felt a pang of guilt. Her mother was so happy: back with her husband, weeks away from giving birth to a son, and reunited with her daughter. And Rose was ruining that for her, again. She sighed heavily and forced herself to face her mother.

"Just don't feel like it tonight. Next time I will, promise."

"Well your father and I are going out to dinner tonight; you'll come with us then!"

Rose shook her head ruefully.

Jackie wobbled over and carefully settled on the pillow next to Rose, pulling her in for a hug. Rose allowed herself to settle against her mother's neck, to be soothed by the familiar hand rubbing her back. It was nice to pretend she was a child again, that Jackie could use her parental sorcery and fix all of Rose's problems. Her mother withdrew and smiled gently. She looked younger now, Rose thought, younger than she had in years. Her face was plumper from the pregnancy and she wore hardly any makeup. Her hair had grown thick and healthy and it was as if years had dripped from her body. Rose placed her hand on her stomach and smiled slightly at the feel of her brother's movements.

"I understand, you know," Jackie said softly. When Rose looked at her she continued, "What you're going through, your sense of loss. It makes sense, darling. You miss him. I was a widow too, remember?"

Rose blinked, started at the comparison and opened her mouth to deny such a view of their relationship, but then stopped herself. No need to pretend anymore.

"It hurts, I know," Jackie went on. "Just because he's gone physically doesn't mean your love for each other is gone though. Let the memories give you strength, but Rose, that's all they are now: memories. You can't live on them. They won't grow or change or hold you, believe me, I held onto mine for years. It's okay to be sad, to hold onto his memory, but sweetheart you can't live in the past. I had to say goodbye to your father too, or I would have gone bonkers."

"Yeah, but Dad was dead," Rose's eyes darted around as if she were afraid this version of her father, the one who was very much alive and slightly uncomfortable by discussions of his alternate self dying, was going to appear at any moment. "You knew you'd never see him again. The Doctor's still out there."

"The Doctor said himself that you'd never see him again."

"Maybe he was wrong." Rose could hear the twinge of desperation in her voice and looked away from the empathy in her mother's eyes.

"You told me he's never wrong about things like that," Mickey's voice boomed into the room before he appeared and Rose turned to look at him. He stared back at her, his face serious. There was something of Ricky about him now. Time passed faster here and he had hardened in their time apart. Gone were his soft edges and the uncertainty that had often clung to him. He wasn't as abrasive as she remembered Ricky to be, but he was no longer as open and softhearted, his sentiment replaced by a confidence born of experience and independence. She had been surprised by the difference in him at first, at the realization that he was a kind of hybrid between the boy who had once begged her to stay and the man who fought for humanity. It was not a bad effect, but something that Rose was not quite used to; it had caused a slight distance between them, the rift barely noticeable except in tiny moments where she would hesitate to bump his shoulder or the air would become heavy with the absence of a joke he would have once made.

The look he was giving her now screamed of Ricky and she bristled. "Well this time, he is wrong."

"You actually believe that? That he can get back to you?"

"No," she faltered. "No…because if there were a way to get back to me he would have by now. But maybe I can get back to him!"

"No, Rose. This isn't healthy," Jackie spoke slowly, as if she were afraid Rose was about to lose it.

"You have to accept the fact that you'll never see the Doctor again!" Mickeys' voice was beginning to rise. Rose resisted the urge to scream. She got up to leave.

"Rose," her mother reached for her but Rose moved away.

"You don't understand! No one understands! I can do it, I can figure out a way to get back to him."

"What time travel? Don't be stupid. You're just a human, Rose, as disgusting as that may be to you now." Rose glared at him. Mickey had been so quiet, so understanding since she had arrived, smiling and nodding when she'd turned down his advances. Where was this coming from? It was as if he had hit a switch and suddenly all his compassion was gone, replaced by a bitter contempt he was barely attempting to conceal.

"You think he'd want to see you like this?" Mickey took a step closer to her, his finger in her face. "No. He'd want you to move on, he would. Obsessing over time travel? For Christ's sake Rose, you're crazy!"

Rose froze by the doorway and turned to face both of them, her mother and Mickey, their faces solemn. Jackie's was full of concern and understanding, eyes brimming with empathetic tears. 'I'm like a widow,' Rose thought suddenly.

"Rose," Mickey's face was less understanding, his mouth a thin line, his skin tight with frustration. "Wake up. He's gone, forever."

Rose left them then, angry, hurt tears streaming down her face. A part of her knew that they were right, but if there were a chance she could get back to the Doctor she had to take it. Didn't they understand that she had to at least try? That he would do the same for her? She reached her room and threw herself on the bed, burying her face in a pillow. She allowed herself to sob openly and bitterly, the sound muffled by the cushion. She cried for a long time, uncertain if she was so heartsick because they wanted her to be someone she was not or because she could not make herself become that person. They left her alone and she was glad for that; the only person who she wanted near her was beyond her reach.

The knock on her door came later than she expected; perhaps he had finally begun to realize what she'd been telling him for weeks. The door swung open to reveal his sheepish face.

"I brought some wine," he held up a bottle and two glasses as if she needed proof and she couldn't help but to smile.

"Come on then," she said and moved aside to let him in the room, closing it with a soft click. Her room was dark, with only a few weakly flickering candles to illuminate it, but she made no move to make it brighter. She didn't want to be in the light right now. Mickey turned to face her, clenching the bottle awkwardly.

"Hey," he whispered and she smiled again.

"Hey," she echoed, her voice as hushed as his. Although the house was empty aside from them, the darkness of the hour seemed to require low voices.

"Look, I'm sorry for what I said."

"Really?" She quirked an eyebrow and took the bottle from him, pouring it into the glasses.

"Well," Mickey looked dumbfounded, accepting the glass from her with a slight hesitation. "Well, no. I meant what I said. I guess I'm sorry for the way I said it. I mean, I don't think you're crazy, Rose."

"Thanks, I'm not so sure though." She tucked some hair behind her ear and offered him a shrug.

"You're not," he reassured her. "You just need to stop thinking about it so much."

She sat on her bed, crossing her legs beneath her and making room for him to sit as well. "What should I think about instead?"

"Well you could think about all the progress you've made at work." She rolled her eyes. "Seriously! That's all I ever hear about from Hank. That Rose Tyler, she's really moving things along, reorganizing the categorization system, identifying new alien remains, looking sexy in her tight black pants-"

"Mickey!" Rose burst out laughing and he beamed back at her.

"All right, that last bit was me, but the rest was him. Honestly, it gets annoying. You're all he ever wants to talk about."

"How horrible for you."

"Yeah, it is!" His eyes widened at her expression. "It is! I have half a mind to knock him out next time he starts going on about you. All I've gotta do is get his pressure points," he held out a hand and demonstrated lightly on her neck. "I know how to do that, you know."

"Yes I know!" She teased. "Because you're such a big strong man now."

"I always was a big strong man, you just didn't realize it."

"I did," she protested.

"Nah you didn't," he drained his glass and refilled it, making a face at the empty bottle. "You thought I was a pussy."

"What? No!"

"Yeah you did. And that's okay, I was one. But I'm not anymore, am I?

"You never were. And if we're being honest here, it wouldn't hurt you to let some of the old Mickey in more often!" He looked bemused. "I'm serious! Your tough guy act gets a little old." She put her hands on her hips and straightened her spine, attempting to deepen her voice. "I'm Mickey Smith and I don't take no shit from nobody! I'm so tough, I ain't afraid of no aliens!"

He laughed and tossed a pillow at her. "Well it gets the job done doesn't it? I get respect now."

"You always got respect."

"Well it's nice not being the tin dog anymore."

"You were never the tin dog," she said softly.

"Yes I was," he lowered his voice as well. "But not anymore."

He leaned forward quickly, surprising her, and placed his lips against hers. His hand cupped her cheek and when she made a move to back away, she threw them off balance and they fell backward, much of his weight on top of her. She pushed at his shoulders.

"Mickey," she hissed in between his kisses.

"Rose," he moaned back.

She tried to get him off of her again and then reached around, digging her fingers into the back of his neck.

"Ow, shit! Rose!" he pulled back, hovering over her.

"Get off me," she said sharply and he scrambled off immediately. She stood and smoothed out her clothes and he sat on the bed, staring at her in bewilderment.

"What?"

"I told you no, Mickey. It's over."

"Rose…"

"No Mickey. I'm serious. I haven't changed my mind. You and I don't work."

His jaw clenched. "That's because you're not thinking clearly."

"No. I may be a mess about a lot of things, but I am sure about this. I have been for a long time." She sighed and ran a hand through her hair. "C'mon, Mickey. You don't want me. You deserve better. We aren't right for each other, you know that."

"Don't tell me what I want Rose. You and I were doing just fine before-"

"Before what?" she interrupted. "Before I realized I didn't want to be with someone who would rather watch TV and play video games than talk to me? Before I recognized that we have nothing in common and we were just convenient for each other?"

"That's not how it was!" He stood up quickly and glowered at her. "You loved me!"

"Yes, I did!" She stepped forward and put her hands on his upper arms, looking him in the eye. "I did love you, Mickey, but I was a teenager. I'm not that same little girl anymore. Same as you changed, I changed too! We were good together back then and I'll always love you, but I will never be in love with you again." He stared at her. "I'm sorry," she added because she felt cruel.

"I don't believe you," he said and she whirled around, rubbing her temple.

"Oh Mickey come on! I thought you weren't the tin dog anymore? Stop pursuing someone who doesn't want you. And think about it, you don't want me anymore either."

"No, no. It's not about us wanting each other or not, is it? It's about him." She groaned. "No, if you want to be honest, then let's be honest. This is about the Doctor, again."

"It's not. It's about us, growing up, growing apart."

"Really? Because we didn't seem to have grown apart every time you came home or when I was traveling on the TARDIS with you. Then we seemed pretty damn close when you would beg me to sleep with you."

"Beg you? BEG you?"

"Yeah, beg me. You weren't too good for me when you'd sneak into my room or get a hotel with me. I spent hours inside of you when he was in the picture, too preoccupied to even give you a second glance."

"Shut up."

"Now that he's gone, all of a sudden you have to honor him? Let me let you in on a little secret: he didn't want you then and he wouldn't want you now."

"Fuck you."

"Oh you have, many times remember? So tell me why was it that you always came crawling back? After all those travels with him, seeing all those alien planets, you always returned to old Mickey, dripping for me. Why was that if it wasn't love?"

"Because you were safe!" She snapped. "Because I almost died so many times and I was so scared and tense and yes, I wanted sex and I knew if I slept with you I would be safe."

"Safe from what?"

"From falling in love." Her words hung between them.

"So this is what it all comes down to, what it always comes down to: him. He's still running your life from a universe away!"

"No-"

"Tell me, tell me, if he had never shown up in that fucking blue box and taken you away what would we be doing now? Huh?"

"I don't-"

"Huh?"

"I can't know that!"

"Now you're lying to yourself. We'd still be in love, married, making babies. I would have made you happy! He ruined your life! He ruined both our lives!"

"No! He gave me my life!"

"Gave you your…gave you. Dammit, Rose! When are you going to wake up? He didn't give a shit about you! You were just another in a long line! He's probably out there right now traveling with another woman. He won't have any trouble replacing you."

She slapped him, hard, barely conscious that she was doing it.

"You don't know anything about us, Mickey! I love him!"

He was breathing hard, chest heaving. He swiped the back of his hand against his mouth.

"Did you fuck him?"

She stared at him, rage and indignation swelling in her. She chuckled bitterly and shook her head. "Fuck you, Mickey." She turned to go and he stormed into her space until she was backed against the wall, his body trapping her. She shoved at his chest to no avail. "What the hell are you doing? Move!" She pushed at him again but he ignored her, his eyes dark and unrecognizable. He looked down at her, inches from her face. His breath rushed against her skin, carrying the stench of alcohol.

"Did. You. Fuck. The. Doctor." When she shoved at him again, he snatched her arms and yanked them up and against the wall, one wrist in each of his large hands, so she arched against him and cried out in pain and surprise. "Did you fuck him?" He gritted out.

Rose's chest was pressed against his, both of them panting. She looked up at him, eyes defiant. "No," she spat out.

"Did you want to?"

She wriggled in his grasp, her arms crying out from the strain of being stretched so far above her head, but his fingers tightened brutally on her flesh.

"Yes!" She roared, bringing her face closer to his, invading his space as much as he had invaded her own. She wanted to hit him again, to scratch him, make him bleed. They were nose to nose; inhaling each other's spent air so that she began to feel lightheaded. It didn't matter, the alcohol and fury were buzzing in her head, taking up all the room.

"Yes! Yes, I wanted to! I still want to! When I touch myself that's what I think about! His cock inside of me, fucking me, making me scream his name!"

After her shrieks, the air in the room felt thick and heavy, the quiet hung around them, crackling with anger. The only noise was the sound of their heavy breathing. Mickey's lip curled in disgust. His fingers clenched and lifted, forcing Rose to rise to her toes, yelping and tossing her head back against his touch. Her eyes shuttered closed. Mickey eliminated the distance between them, holding his body flush against hers so she could feel his arousal against her hip. She whimpered. His head snuggled the space between her shoulder and jaw in a touch that could almost be considered tender. He dipped his tongue into the hollow of her collarbone and dragged it up her neck. He sucked in her earlobe and then pulled back, biting the skin of her neck so hard she was sure he had drawn blood. His breath was warm and wet against her. Every inch of them was touching. She squeezed her eyes tighter.

"I'm here and he's not," he growled against the shell of her ear and she shivered at the sound of his voice, animalistic and carnal. "At some point you better wake up and realize that or you'll end up alone forever."

The absence of his body was so sudden, she almost fell. The heat that had nestled her being suddenly assaulted by a whoosh of cold, empty air. She didn't hear him leave, the thundering drum of her heart the only sound in her ears. Her wrists ached. Slowly, she opened her eyes. She was alone. The room was silent and dark.

She slid down the wall and lay in a crumbled heap on the floor. Numbly, without thought, she reached into her back pocket and pulled out the stolen snapshot she carried with her at all times. It was bent and tattered, the image faded from overexposure. She did not cry or make a sound. She simply stared at the picture and traced a finger over the worn and familiar path, imagining that it was his face, that he was here and that she was not utterly alone and crazy.

"Doctor," she whispered, but he did not answer.