Rose couldn't care less about the many rules the Doctor was spouting. He always had a bunch of rules, and she never cared to follow them, and she didn't plan on starting that any time soon.

Although, she probably should. This Doctor was not the same that she knew, as much as she wished for it. She was already on thin ice since the day they met, and her actions certainly hadn't helped her cause.

But, this new revelation brought on two new ones. One, she got an infinitesimal chance of still travelling with the Doctor. The chance that she had of the TARDIS malfunctioning right at this moment was so incredibly small that she didn't really believe it was an accident. She was a bit confused as to why the TARDIS was on her side, but she figured it made sense.

Two, she'd never see her family again. And, so far, she didn't care that much. She already hadn't seen them in a few weeks when she left, and she was used to not seeing them for a long time. She was even ready to give them up for her entire life to be with the Doctor. She had .

But now, it was different. She could likely never see them again, and as much as she loved travelling, that always weighed through. Not yet, though. She was still too taken aback by the fact that this was happening in the first place, but she knew, somewhere, deep down, that at some point that would hit her, right in the chest, and it would hurt so much she would break. But it was not yet that day, and so she didn't yet have to deal with it. So she didn't.

She looked up at the TARDIS. She smiled at her, softly, thanking her for this. She knew the effect that she had on the Doctor, and considering this was his previous regeneration, he was still torn up and broken from the War, it made sense, really. He needed someone. And her equivalent hadn't shown up with him, so either she didn't exist, or he didn't want her. Both options suited her.

Or she had died.

She ignored that.

She was in the blooming TARDIS! With the Doctor, the one she met back when she was 19. This was exactly what she wanted. And he didn't want her, but the TARDIS meddled so she could be here, and… she'd fix that first part soon, right? There was a reason he had wanted her along for so long.

If it hadn't just been loneliness.

She also ignored that.

"Got that?" he asked. His arms crossed, his natural defensive position. She also saw that his eyes were the same. A bit different, but she was probably just remembering it wrong. He was mostly the same, and just a bit the Doctor was enough Doctor for her.

"Yep," Corin responded, popping the p.

Well, okay. Retract that previous statement.

She nodded thoughtfully, even if she had no idea what he had said in the past few minutes. She could guess, though. Don't touch the console, don't go in that one really old library, and don't go wandering off.

She wondered how much time it would take before she was the exception to everything again.

"Alright. Rose?" the Doctor asked, letting his arms fall to his sides.

There it was.

Then he extended his hand. Waiting. She blinked at him. Wait, what did he want? No way he was asking for her hand. Maybe she should've paid attention, actually.

He raised an eyebrow.

Ah, uhm.

Now at a total loss, she went with her first, repressed, instinct. She put her hand on his.

He stared at her for a long second before sighing. "That's sweet and all, but give it here."

She would just have to ask. No way she could guess what he wanted from her. Not that she had much, to begin with. "Give… Give what?"

"The TARDIS key," he said casually, if sternly, like he didn't just ask her to give up one of her most prized, personal possessions.

Her hand instinctively went back over to her chest, where the key used to hover closely to her sternum. Not that it was there anymore.

She wasn't sure what she had agreed to. This was it, apparently. She didn't expect it, to say the least. If that's what it took to be on the TARDIS, she'd do it, but she had to ask. "Why?"

"Did you not—" He cut himself off, shaking his head. "I don't trust you. You could band together with that guy," he said, pointing to Corin, who was innocently standing aside, "and steal my TARDIS or something. I'm not taking that chance." He seemed to read the hesitation on her face quite clearly, because he immediately shut it off. "If you don't, I'm throwing you in the vortex."

"Okay, wow," Corin interrupted, voicing her thoughts. "That's a bit—"

"I mean it. I don't know who you think you are," he said, looking back at Rose, "but the TARDIS means more to me than you ever will, alright? For some reason you both have your heads up your bums, but you mean nothing to me."

And as if the shock (and hurt, on Rose's part) on both their faces wasn't enough to cool him, he repeated himself. " Nothing. I'm not risking my precious TARDIS on the likes of you."

He put his hand out again towards Rose. "Now, give me that."

Whether it was the shock or the haze, she wasn't sure, but before she even knew what she was doing, the TARDIS key—the one she had held on to for years, the only remnant she had of the real him—was in his hand, and then gone from sight in his pocket.

And that was that. He left.

He just… left.

And she was alone. Well, physically, she wasn't, but she undeniably felt like it. The TARDIS was there, but she had been distant the whole time—which was rather fair—and Corin wasn't… Corin.

Corin?

Like she suddenly remembered he existed, she turned to him. He was looking at her with a tight smile, trying to look sympathetic.

Oh, what a headache.

She shook her head involuntarily as she passed him. She could feel lonely in her room—she didn't need a spectator for that.

Walking through the TARDIS was very weird. She recognised the places, but for some reason, they all felt different. Unused. Unloved. Unchanged.

Everything was so awfully clean that it looked like no one had lived in it for years. Which, she supposed, was actually the case. It felt lonely. Which was fitting. She wondered if that would change over time. If one they, they could, like before, sit in the library, silently, doing their own thing while still enjoying the other's mere presence. Or expect him to be sitting in the kitchen when she'd go for breakfast in the morning. Or… anything, really.

She'd just have to see. She certainly hoped that eventually something could work out. It kinda had to. They were stuck together now. And then there was Corin, too.

That was going to be a pain in the backside. Just her luck.

Corin was, all things considered, minding his own business. He'd gotten pretty good at pretending he didn't care when Rose wouldn't even bat an eye towards him. He wouldn't bat an eye back and hoped that at some point, she'll actually look his way. Fat chance, maybe, but he didn't have anything else.

A blip in the console exploded, leaving out a spark.

Well, he did have the TARDIS. He smiled a bit, but it was forced. He was glad the TARDIS was still finding ways to communicate with him, albeit a bit…unconventional.

But that was a loss he didn't know he had. It felt weird how empty everything felt in the TARDIS. It used to be the place he felt most alive, considering the outside had been so cold and empty and lonely ever since Gallifrey got shot out of the sky, and now it was just a place. A place like any other.

It wasn't home anymore, and that, no matter how he cut that cake, hurt. At least he didn't feel like he was about to be ripped apart any second despite not having anything in his head. It was an odd feeling; missing such a huge part of yourself, yet knowing it never was actually part of you.

This telepathy nul was just something he'd have to get used to. He put a hand to the console, petting her.

He hated how empty it felt. Like she wasn't even there. He knew, logically, that she was, but…

He sighed and took his hand off. He didn't have anywhere to go. Gallifrey certainly didn't exist anymore, the TARDIS was empty to him, he had no one on Earth, and Rose—

He didn't want to think about her anymore. He'd done that enough. He went through the TARDIS hallways. Everybody else had left and went on their own way, so he figured he'd do the same. He wasn't sure what the rules were, or when they were supposed to meet up again, but it'd work somehow. He shrugged to himself.

After a few minutes of walking, he thought he was going to go insane. It was so silent. Just the clacking of his soles against the grating, but that was it. Even the darn hum was gone. He would've thought she died if it weren't for the doors still shuffling to screw with him.

The hallway in front of him disappeared and a door appeared on his left.

That was a bit on the nose.

He recognised it. It was some guest room that the TARDIS had made when she didn't care enough about the people aboard to give them a personal room. Like Adam Mitchell. Like Mickey Smith.

He now had the same position as them. An obvious third wheel to a disaster waiting to happen.

Fitting.

He entered it, putting the harsh tank to his ego aside. A basic white room welcomed him, with all the furniture also being an almost blinding white.

Great; white room torture. Been there, done that.

The lights shut off for a second. When they turned back on, the whole room was painted in dark blue, instead.

Cheeky. He put a hand to the wall, trying to send his thanks to the TARDIS. Not feeling anything, he tried again. He put all his mental energy towards this, just trying to send out something. Anything.

Even though he knew it'd be in vain, the silence hit him like a truck. Silence. Numbing, never-ending, empty silence.

He took his hand off in defeat and staggered a bit backwards. This would be his new normal, and he'd have to get used to it. At least he was glad that this was his new normal, and not those painstaking two weeks he spent with the Tylers. At least Tony was lovely, but the rest… He shook his head trying to forget about that whole ordeal.

But he couldn't. It had been too painful. He was glad he found himself in a situation where he'd be with Rose again because those two weeks passing in self-loathing and uncertainty, practically being unable to do anything but think and pray, would've ended up killing him if it had been any longer. He barely slept a wink, and food had that odd taste again where it was all just mush and odd textures without tasting at all as it should've—whether that was the dread of the whole being human part was anybody's guess—and generally not being able to do anything…

It had been slightly pathetic. He was fairly certain only adrenaline was keeping him awake—or alive.

But it'd get better now. It had to.

He remembered when he had broken into her apartment. That spider plant from so long ago, he'd even forgotten the name, torn up and thrown under some dusty cabinet in the corner, forgotten. He remembered the plant well, albeit not its name. The small blemish it had on that one leaf that wouldn't grow for the life of it, despite everything else being fine. She had loved it. He gave it back when he was his old, old self, quite mindlessly because he didn't know what to do with it, just knowing he didn't want his other self to have it anymore, and she had loved it. He wasn't particularly a gift-giver, so the few times he did give anything, she cherished them.

And so did he. After the battle of Canary Wharf and a whole other battle in his mind, he went to her room again and that was the first thing he saw. That planet, thriving, despite everything. He vowed to keep it safe, even if it was just some stupid plant that he didn't care about— she had cared about it. He remembered watering the thing. Even when it was hard to move or do literally anything, that stupid plant had given him a reason to get up and go do something useful with his life.

Even still after she was gone, a part of her helped him to not just waste away mindlessly for all the rest of his days. That stupid plant had kept him going because suddenly he had a reason to care for anything else than himself. And even when he gave up on himself, he just couldn't give up on her.

And now it was dead. Lying under a pile of dust. It hadn't really set in at the moment since he had been way too worried about her to care about that plant, but it hurt. Because he knew it represented more than that. Poor thing looked like it had been thriving too, so she had really been caring for it.

His head full and empty at the same time, he failed to realise that there wasn't any way for Rose to have gotten Hector through conventional means.

He looked back at his room. Maybe he should get a plant. It looked impersonal and bland, and he wanted to at least add a bit of personality to it.

Maybe not a spider plant, though.

He emptied out his pockets. Those two darned rings he still wasn't sure why he took, and the TARDIS piece he'd ripped out a few hours ago. He put them on the empty shelf and took a step back.

…This was pathetic. Neither of these objects were something he wanted anyone else to see. The shame of it. He'd need a good place to hide it.

The lights flickered and he looked up. "What?" he called out. He remembered a few silent seconds later that it didn't work that way anymore. He sighed. Getting used to this was going to be very tough.

At least he had Rose.

Kind of.

Which is to say, not at all.

He didn't have her at all. Not that he ever did, really, but now, they weren't even friends. Barely acquaintances that waved at each other when you saw them randomly in the street.

The room, without the presence of the TARDIS and with that nagging feeling in his stomach, suddenly felt very lonely. Like the whole room had turned into unwelcoming ice. At the temperature drop, he wanted to get out of here. But where would he go? He wouldn't feel the TARDIS anywhere, and neither of the other two occupants would want to be anywhere near him.

He was just… alone. Even when he'd lost Rose he didn't feel like this. Even when he was regenerating and got the idea he didn't feel like this.

He could always convince himself of something. That she didn't want to go, that she would be happy, that this was the right thing…

This wasn't the right thing. She didn't want to be near him. And if she was happy was anybody's guess.

Part of him didn't care if she was happy. He'd wait a lifetime for her, and then she'd be happy. He just had to bite through the uncomfortable passage now—for both of them. She'd be happy eventually, so it wasn't selfish at all. It was for her, it also just happened to perfectly align with what he wanted.

He wasn't a selfish man.

He wasn't.

He stared at the rings next to the TARDIS piece. He chuckled to himself and took one of the rings and slipped it on his left ring finger. It hadn't been activated yet, so it was way too loose and fell down completely, but he didn't mind. He smiled at it.

Yeah, they'd be alright. He'd make sure of it.