I don't own Doctor Who (but I wish I did.)

Rose just stared at the Doctor as he looked into her eyes, his light brown eyes listless as they betrayed his age. "I'm fine. I'm always fine," he said to her, his usual level of enthusiasm missing from his words. She wouldn't have believed him even if he had been bouncing around the control panel as he usually did, his exuberance emanating from every movement of his restless body. She was used to the fidgety nature of this new body, and to see him without it just drove home how not alright he was. That wounded Rose more than she could ever hope to put into words.

The entire dynamics of 'The Doctor and Rose' were based upon the ability to understand what wasn't put into words between the two of them; it was how it had worked since the moment he had grabbed her hand and said 'Run'. Up until recently, Rose had been sure the Doctor felt something for her beyond the simple complex of 'friends', even if it had never been put into any sort of words. Actions spoke so much louder than words, a hard lesson Rose had learned before, and was learning once again.

To her credit, Rose just nodded and averted her eyes before walking quietly away. She wouldn't let him see her heart breaking in her eyes, wouldn't show him just how badly she had been shaken and wounded by him in such a short time. Normally, he would seek out consolation after a particularly nasty adventure, and Rose would be in the library, waiting for him with a copy of fifth Harry Potter to read together. This time though, she knew he would seek comfort from the TARDIS, and wouldn't stop by the library, not that he would find her there this time.

No, she wouldn't let him see her like this.

Her steps were slow as she focused on the task of walking the corridor to her bedroom, counting the length of her breath to stave off the worst of her tears. Already tears were distorting her vision and her cheeks were heating, but she wouldn't allow her tears to fall, not until she was secure in her bedroom.

Once the heavy dark wooden door shut quietly and the silver lock clicked into place, her shaky control collapsed, and she flung herself onto the bed, not even trying to control the waterworks. Her heart hurt so bad in her chest, the shards digging deep into her chest and sending out pain across her body. There was no stopping the tears, so she just let herself cry out the pain and hurt holding onto her soul.

Honestly, how had she ended up in this mess all over again? Crying her heart out over another boy that she had truly believed had loved her. How much poorly placed faith could she put into a person who would just turn around and break it?

Was this one her own doing? Did she project her own desires onto the Doctor?

Memories danced before her mind, the look of adoration he would occasionally wear when he didn't think she was looking, the look of fear as he saw her in the heart of the Dalek's fleet, the look of cold determination that he would save her, the look of disgust when he realized Cassandra had control of her. She remembered the nights spent in the library where they would read and laugh at the terrible films she would always pick out for them to watch. How his hand would reach for her hand just as often as her own would seek out his.

No, she realized, her tears starting to ebb. She hadn't projected onto the Doctor, the signs were all there.

All of the signs for human affection, her mind reminded her of that little fact.

And that was the thorn of the entire thing: the Doctor wasn't human. He was a Gallifreyan Time Lord, an entire species that looked human in appearance only. He knew the social customs of Earth, of how humans interacted with one another, had demonstrated his knowledge often enough, even if he ignored it in favor of being rude.

Rose dried her eyes on her bedsheet before she got up to go to the loo for a tissue for her nose and to wipe away her ruined makeup. He certainly was male enough to act like a human male, she thought bitterly as she blew her nose repeatedly. Madame De Pompadour was just the latest in a line of pretty faces that had turned his head. How long had he spent in Paris while she and Mickey had been in danger? He mourned her loss so keenly, too keenly to just be a passing thing.

Would he have mourned her if he had been too late, or would he have used it as an opportunity?

Nausea swept over Rose and she had to grab ahold of the counter to keep herself steady over the sink. Rose couldn't believe that he wouldn't use that as some sort of sympathy card with a woman. She couldn't be sure of anything anymore, not when it came to the Doctor.

Staring down at the sink, the truth sunk in, and she dumped the meager contents of her stomach into the sink.

Rose felt sick, her heart hurting worse than it ever had in the past, her stomach sore from retching, and her limbs weak with the realization that her world was built on old truths. Once upon a time in their relationship he would have sacrificed the world for her, now he would sacrifice her on a whim to spend time with another woman. Her faith had been solid in him, now it was nowhere to be found.

At least he had known Sarah Jane for a good length of time. He had only known the Madame for short spurts starting when she was just a child.

Sarah Jane.

Rose's anger flared hotly, cutting through darkness of Rose until all that was left was the outrage and humiliation. And that's what he had done to her wasn't it? He had abandoned her to be parts on that fucking ship, except he had conveniently returned at just the moment before her dismemberment. Swanning off again while she was left grappling with her human emotions and being blamed for feeling as she did. She didn't blame Madame De Pompadour for any of it, her blame lay squarely on the Doctor's flightiness and susceptibility to a beautiful woman.

He was going to leave her behind and not even bother with a second glance, or even seeing if he had even left her in the right damn city.

No, Rose would not make the same mistake again. One abusive relationship was enough for a lifetime; she would not be seeing this one out to the end too. Promise or no, Rose Tyler would not be another willing victim to someone who made her feel like she wasn't worth her true value. Let him find someone else to use and discard, she was done with his greed.

Anger fueled her movements as she yanked open her personal wardrobe door and grabbed out the dusty rose colored pack she had snagged from the wardrobe room weeks ago. It held inter-dimensional pockets, which had been the reason for snatching it up; she could have her own bag to carry her own things rather than be restricted to a handbag and her jean pockets. The Doctor could hunt her down if he really wanted it back (if he even noticed), but for now, she would make use of it.

Rose only packed things that were hers, choosing to leave behind the clothing that rightfully belonged in the wardrobe room, even if they were some of her favorite. She packed away the knickknacks that decorated her room and her pillow, though she left her favorite blanket behind as well as the casing for her pillow. Only the bare essentials of makeup went into her bag, the more audacious things she had bought in hopes of attracting the Doctor's attention were left on the counter, including a shade changing lipstick.

The last thing to go into the bag was where Rose's anger faltered. She stared at the wall to the side of her bed, where she had built her own collage of mementos from their adventures. Mostly it was pictures that had been taken, but there were a few dried flowers she had pressed between two heavy tomes, a couple of tickets to different cultural exhibits they had only saw parts of, and scraps of paper with notes written on them about a variety of things. Grabbing a small box, Rose carefully pulled down the dry flowers and notes, then stared at the photos.

The pictures were taken all across her time with the Doctor, many having an alien landscape but a few had the familiar backdrop of Earth. Mickey and Jackie helped to occupy most of the Earth pictures, while her, the Doctor, and/or Jack occupied the rest of them. Not every adventure was up there, as she didn't think to start taking pictures until just before meeting Jack, and pictures of prison cells would ruin what she had been trying to create. The pictures spiraled outward from a focal point, her favorite picture out of all of them.

It was one of the first ones taken, before the Gaming Station and the Doctor's regeneration. Rose was part of the photo, leaning over a railing for a cliff side overlooking the dapper purple evening sky of an alien world, her back to the camera but her face looking up at the Doctor leaning beside her. His trusty leather jacket had been set aside in favor of just his deep blue jumper, his arms crossed across his chest, looking almost naked while still being completely covered. Had he been scowling at her or looking exasperated, it would have looked like some of the others that dotted the wall. But Jack, bless him, he had been quick with the camera, and had captured her favorite moment on film for all time.

Encompassed in that photo was the Doctor relaxed, closer to Rose than best mates should be while not wearing his armor. It showed the way Rose used to look at the Doctor with the awe and love she felt for him, like he had hung the stars for her, while he smiled down at her with one of his rare smiles that lit up his whole face and chased away the shadows that were so often found there. That slice of time was a window, a view of the forever she had promised and the possibility of a future together.

At the time, it wasn't a lie. He had needed her as much as she needed him. They were close in the few others of him with his blue eyes, but they only hinted at the intimacy that her favorite one displayed openly.

Rose's eyes fell to those of the newer face the Doctor wore. Rose was held closer in all of these, his arm slung around her shoulders or him standing closer as a couple might look in a photo, but they lacked something, which she could only see now. The Doctor's usual exuberance was there, but his smile was just a touch too bright, like he was trying so hard to hide the fact that he wanted the snap to be over so he could be away. All of them looked that way, she realized sadly. He looked like he couldn't wait to escape. Even in the gruffer ones, he never looked like that. There was always a secret joy to him when she took his picture, even if it could only be found in the glint of his eyes and the slight curve of the corner of his mouth.

How had she been so blind?

Growling at her own stupid ape-ishness, she snatched down all of those of her blue-eyed Doctor, those of just her and Jack, any that didn't have the pinstriped Doctor in them. She took down the two tickets that were also tied to his prior self, and left the rest tacked to the wall where they were. They were just painful reminders, and the open wound on her heart was reminder enough. He would do with them as he pleased, though she wouldn't be surprised if they ended up in the waste bin. The box went into the bag and she did up the zip, only slightly disoriented when the bag hardly weighed anything on her shoulders, despite holding the entirety of her life in it.

On a whim, just before she walked out of the room forever, Rose turned back to the bathroom. She picked up the tube of wasted lipstick and placed it to the mirror.

Actions speak louder than words. Treat her better.

Rose didn't look at herself as she wrote the simplest message, not wanting to see the mess that crying had made of her face or the brokenness of herself in her eyes. She just set the tube back down on the counter and walked out of her room, feeling the weariness of her choice starting to creep up on her as she shut the door with her name in circular writing for the last time.

Rose didn't have a plan on how to get the Doctor to drop her off back in her own timeline. There probably be some kind of confrontation, some pleas for her to stay (maybe), or just a yelling match of words that would cut her much worse than she already was now. Her anger still kept her moving, but it was a low simmer and her weariness of being foolish was at the top. She just wanted to go, no goodbyes, no fights, just a silent retreat.

Which, as it turned out, she would get with only one problem: the Doctor was elsewhere in the massive ship and the hum of the engines meant they were in the Vortex. Tears prickled her eyes as her temper heated. Why couldn't she just have this one thing? Rose stomped over to the console, just to circle the mushroom shape in case he was hiding under it, which to her dismay, he wasn't.

Exasperated, Rose pressed her palms on the console, trying to think of a next step. She could go searching for the Doctor, but the TARDIS was just too big and Rose wasn't that familiar with the bowls of the magnificent ship. There was the chance she could just wait here long enough; he was bound to return eventually, but then she wouldn't be able to get away without the dreaded goodbye.

A tickling sensation ran the back of her skull, causing Rose to each up and scratch her scalp with one hand. Honestly, how hard could navigating the TARDIS really be? She'd done it before, but the memories were hazy and filled with a singing she hadn't ever been able to identify. It sounded so soothing too, as Rose tried to recall what to do with the console. She should just be able to turn this dial slightly, shortly followed by cranking…

It seemed like a surreal dream, Rose's fingers dancing across the console in a rhythm she had no idea was there in her head. A soft little song found its way past her lips as she moved, wondering how much more there could be to piloting. After all, there really was no pattern to the Doctor's movements; it seemed more like he was seeing what he could do and what the outcome would be.

Is that what she was doing now?

The tickling sensation was back, only it faded into a warm feeling that spread around her mind, leaving Rose momentarily confused as the dreaminess faded back to the vortex. When she looked up, the Time Rotor had ceased moving, and the lights had dimmed fractionally.

Oh.

Rose looked down at the console, noticing her hands were still lingering on the controls. "Am I in the right time?" Rose asked cautiously. She had never really communicated with the TARDIS, though she had picked up the habit of talking at the TARDIS without thought of her responding.

The lights brightened briefly and the warmth in her mind grew, like her being was wrapped up in a maternal hug. Rose let out a sigh before reaching up and stroking the Time Rotor sweetly. "Thank you," Rose said, lingering for a moment until the warmth receded. She hiked her pack up higher on her shoulder and headed for the door.

Stopping at the door, Rose turned back to the TARDIS console, noticing how the lights dimmed just a small amount. "I'll miss you. Take care of him," she said softly before she turned and walked out the TARDIS blue doors and back to the slow path.

The TARDIS doors shut quietly, the controls moving on their own as the old girl dematerialized into the Vortex once more. Everything Rose touched at the TARDIS's unconscious bid were put back exactly, the air in the room suddenly cycling to purge the scent of the pink and yellow human from the room. The lights didn't brighten back up for a few moments as the ship mourned, the future beyond her capability to see.

The TARDIS had asked much of Rose, nearly taking her life in a bid to save the Doctor's, as Rose willingly would have sacrificed for him. To see the Bad Wolf, the creature who had brought life back to the Doctor, so broken would have broken her own heart, had she the true capability to feel emotions. Doing this, she was giving Rose a chance to run, even if it would hurt the bonded pair to do so.

Rose wanted freedom, and the TARDIS would make sure she was given her freedom. The bio dampener on the human's thumb was just extra insurance, as the TARDIS began weaving her own brand of security for her wolf.

The Doctor deserved what was coming, and the TARDIS could feel the echo of anger in her wiring that would make sure she fought against him for what he would do.