The ceiling hadn't changed once in the three months she'd been staring at it, and yet still the Emissary was watching it like it was the most fascinating thing in the room.
She wanted to be angry. She wanted to be furious that the Doctor had sent her away while he died. She couldn't find it in herself to be angry with a dead man, though.
She sighed, rolling her head to look at the clock. 4 am. The red numbers felt damning in some way she couldn't define. 4 am and she hadn't slept. She hadn't slept properly in weeks.
Not since she'd been woken up in the middle of the night, a month after Rose left, by the Doctor's voice in her head. All he said was 'I'm sorry'. It had been faint and strained, and she'd heard nothing since.
Radio silence for two months.
The Emissary continued to stare at the ceiling.
