Title: that which lingers
Pairing: Ten/Rose
Warning(s): None
Summary: His life is a perfect graveyard of buried hopes, and she is just another tombstone

He had braved fierce aliens, traveled through dying stars, and so many other things that would take centuries tell. Out of everything he had encountered though, nothing was as horrendous as this.

Here amongst these white walls he realizes he has become somewhat of a human: he had finally had his hearts broken.

Nothing could be more human.

The first few days are cannot be fully described in words. He tears apart the Tardis like it's nothing more than a child's plaything and not his whole reason for living; damask wallpaper she so carefully picked out is peeled off the walls and clawed at until it lays in shreds on the floor; he shatters all the mirrors because he swears he can see her staring back at him with big brown eyes that he once loved, but will now only haunt him; expensive furniture she lounged in while painting her nails is overthrown and broken in pieces just like how is hearts are.

The heart dies a slow death. Shedding each hope like leaves, until one day there are none. No hopes. Nothing remains. Slowly the heart becomes as skeletal as a bare tree; as lonely as a graveyard.

(His life is a perfect graveyard of buried hopes, and she is just another tombstone)

He visits London one dreary day, and sits on the park bench she loved to eat lunch on, and vaguely remembers her slurping unladylike at a blueberry slush. (And laughing when his lips turned blue when he kissed her) Now it rains and it rains and it rains and he feels the memory become blurred and hazy until he wonders why exactly he came here in the first place.

New companions come and go like the seasons do. He rolls his eyes when they make foolish mistakes she would never make, and sometimes he considers just going solo because something deep within him feels like he's betraying her memory. Breaking with tradition isn't his strong point, and a companion is found even when one isn't needed.

(He hopes she hasn't gotten one herself, because he will always be her companion)

"Tardis needs a bit of a paint job, don't you think Doctor? At least paint my room, maybe the halls," Donna says lazily while leaning against the console.

"Sure. Just don't go painting anything pink."

"Ah well, I was thinkin' maybe white. I've always liked how white walls look nice and clean."

(He leaves her alone with a dejected look in his eyes)

He thinks that this is probably some clever trick by some clever aliens on some clever planet. She is not supposed to be here on this planet by any means. (She must be a robot or a hologram based off his memories and has been brought here to make him weak) Yet, she looks and sounds like her and-

Oh, it's her.

He dashes toward her like in one of those poorly made romance films they used to watch together. (There aren't any wide camera shots, no rain falls from the sky, and no song from the indie-rock persuasion blares during this particular scene like in the movies)

It's just them.

Him and-

Rose.