He always thought the whole only-one-heart business would be the worst thing to get used to. But he didn't reckon on what being stuck in one place would do to him.
First came the silence.
Him and Rose, Rose and him. Always together but never really speaking. It was always Jackie, finding activities for them to do, to keep them occupied so they wouldn't realise what a bloody mess the Doctor had left them in.
Because it was alright for him; he got this magnificent, poetic, tragic life; a life without Rose, where he could sit and sigh and mourn the fact that he had to be selfless.
But the Doctor knew nothing about hardship. Nothing at all.
Hardship was the gritty reality of realising that human error is the worst of all. Or rather, Time Lord error, on such a grand scale as this. Hardship for them was having to wake up every day, both of them knowing that neither had what they really wanted.
"But he's not you."
He'd never forget the way her voice cracked when she said that to the Doctor.
And she was right; he wasn't him. He didn't have a TARDIS, he didn't have two hearts, he needed to sleep and eat and rest and do all the things he never had to before. Not to mention his new fangled Cockney accent.
And as for him ... well, being grounded was as terrible as he'd always imagined. Waking up day after day in the same room, house, town, country ... on the same planet. The claustrophobia was killing him. He needed space - but how much space was enough? Another country, another planet?
Another universe?
He thought often of his old universe, the one where this whole mess began.
But it wasn't always a mess. Him and Rose, Rose and him.
It used to be beautiful. He used to love her.
He used to love her.
He tries to tell himself he still does. That she's the reason he should stay here.
But he can't. She can't be bothered to even pretend that he, the consollation prize, is good enough. So why should he?
Then came the anger.
He used to be so controlled. He only ever raised his voice to the tyrants and the villains, to the ones who had killed or maimed or tortured. He soon found himself raising his voice to her, shouting and yelling through his frustration.
When he couldn't raise his voice any more he raised his fist.
It only slammed down on the table, but the gesture was still there.
The Doctor would never have become violent towards a woman - he was a pacifist! So maybe he wasn't even the Doctor any more?
He doesn't know who he is.
Then come the tears. Every time he looks at her, touches her shoulder, tries to comfort her or say sorry, she dissolves into tears. The worst thing is that this lamentation was often accompanied by protestations that it wasn't his fault. She just misses Mickey, she just wanted to talk to Jack ... she skirts around the elephant in the room.
She just wants to talk to the Doctor.
But he is the Doctor. So why can't she talk to him?
He doesn't know what he should have expected. That she'd love him? They'd get married, have children, the works? That everything that came before would just be an amusing tale to tell the kids about how mummy and daddy met?
It just didn't work like that. How could either of them ever forget Before?
He should have known that tying Rose down in this world would be a disaster... almost as bad as tying himself down. Maybe, just maybe, if they could emulate something of Before ...?
It's with shaking hands and a sweaty forehead that he knocks on her bedroom door with a cup of tea and the words, "Do you want to go travelling?"