A/N: Angst again! I know there are a lot of post-Doomsday Rose stories out there; I hope this is a little different.

Don't own it. Of course.

Dead Woman Walking

By

Lariel Romeniel

Rose Tyler was dead.

She died on the beach in Norway, but not the instant the Doctor disappeared. No. After the initial flood of tears, she sat down on the sand to wait.

For five and a half hours.

(Always wait five and a half hours!)

Mickey knew what she was waiting for. He sent Jackie and Pete back to the motel, telling Pete when to return. Then he perched on a boulder to watch her wait.

Five and a half hours passed. Nothing.

She rose from the sand, leaving the name "Rose" behind. She couldn't bear it, couldn't bear to hear his last words to her every day of her life. Not when the words "Rose Tyler" would forever remind her of what he didn't say. What she knew he would have said. The thought tore gashes through her heart.

Rose Tyler remained on the beach. Marion Tyler climbed into the car and drove away, vowing never to return to Norway. Norway was for Rose. She was Marion now.

Jackie had trouble accepting it, even though she'd selected the middle name Marion all those years ago. Every once in a while, she slipped and called her daughter "Rose." The first time it happened, Marion gave her a look that said she was wounded to the core. After that, Jackie would be coldly ignored until she learned better.

Pete adapted to the change much more easily. But then, to Pete, "Rose" would always be a little dog. For Marion, having Pete in her life was not as satisfying as wanting him had been. Mr. Spock had been right. But there was no Spock in this universe.

There was no Doctor, either. She searched the files at Torchwood and found nothing at all. She should have expected it. He was unique. There could never be another.

The day she accepted the lack of a Doctor in her new universe, she threw away her TARDIS key. It was only a souvenir of pain.

She didn't know that Mickey had retrieved the key from the trash, putting it away in a safe place.

Marion threw herself into her work at Torchwood. She was intense, exacting and more than a little frightening to her co-workers. They jokingly called her "Maid Marion" to her face – Robin Hood had been here too – but behind her back, she was the Ice Queen.

She never smiled any more. The corners of her lips might turn up at the antics of her new baby sister, but the smile never reached her eyes or her soul. Even at a few months old, baby Violet sensed that and cried whenever Marion held her.

Marion became more and more distant from her mother, her not-father and Violet. Jackie could not bear the shell her daughter had become, and Pete began to feel guilt-wracked for not finding a way to both save her from the void and keep her where she really wanted to be. With him.

Mickey, sweet, faithful Mickey came the closest to understanding. He'd always known her feelings. When her vision became too dark, he was there to wrap his arms around her and kiss away the trembling. Often those hugs and kisses turned into shagging sessions. But when she cried out in climax, it was never Mickey's name she called.

He never reproached her for it. That made her feel all the more guilty. Mickey deserved better. She'd always known that.

It wasn't a fantastic life. Fantastic had vanished with the Doctor that day in Norway.

And the dead cannot live.