A/N: Yes I know songfics are baaaaaaaaaaaaad! I just had to write this, went to see Evita on Saturday and well, a plot was born. I own nothing of Doctor Who or Evita. What happened before the Doctor decided to say goodbye.

I don't expect my love affairs to last for long

Never fool myself that my dreams will come true

Being used to trouble I anticipate it

But all the same I hate it

Wouldn't you?

The Doctor had wandered aimlessly for several hours. The TARDIS remained in Torchwood Tower, he knew he could get back to it when he needed to but right now all he could do was walk. He felt the tears still hot behind his eyes but he fought them back with all the strength he had left in his world weary form. She was safe, he should be happy but he would miss her, miss her so desperately. He finally raised his head from his intimate studies of the floor before him and was shocked to find himself in a familiar courtyard. Several people milled about, recovering from the shock and carnage created by the Cybermen but he paid them no mind as his eyes raised to the flat above him, the door he'd so often stood outside whinging about mothers and domestics. A sad smile twitched at his lips at the memory. He'd miss her too. Without a second thought he began to climb the stairs, knowing he'd never make the journey again.

So what happens now?

(Another suitcase in another hall)

So what happens now?

(Take your picture off another wall)

Where am I going to?

(You'll get by you always have before)

Where am I going to?

The sonic screwdriver opened the front door easily and he stepped over the threshold, almost surprised as he wasn't affronted by a whirlwind of Jackie Tyler insisting on slobbering over him like an over enthusiastic Rottweiler. Again he felt the small sad smile and even allowed himself a little laugh, he'd have got a slap for calling her that. He looked around the room, seeing the scattered tea cups and plates from earlier that day. He paused as he thought back over it, the last time they had really talked to one another without it being a cry of command. Jackie had been excited about the ghosts, thinking it was her father, he'd been loathed to tell her otherwise. He wondered if perhaps he had just allowed himself to believe for a little longer, thought a little harder they would have been safe. He would have saved the world either way of course but Jackie and Rose, his funny little make shift family, they could have still been with him.

He flopped down on the sofa, his arm settling on the back and almost anticipating the familiar weight that would have settled against him. It didn't come, it would never come again he realised. He'd never again feel that comforting weight of her warm body next to his, smell the funny strawberry scented shampoo, moan at her when she fell asleep and left him with smudgy mascara marks on his shirt. He reached over to the coffee table and picked up an photo framed in something ridiculously garish and cheap, he liked it. He smiled down at the picture seeing himself and the three others smiling back. Boxing Day, just after his regeneration. Jackie had set the camera to timer and stood it on the top of the telly while all four of them competed for space on the sofa, it had taken them five attempts to get it right without someone blinking or pulling a face. The picture that had finally been accepted showed them all grinning with repressed laughter, Jackie perched on the arm of the sofa, her arm around Mickey's shoulders as he sat next to Rose, leaning against her side but she leant away, settled against the old friend with a new face sat to her left. The Doctor had his arms around her middle, his cheek pressed to her blonde hair as her hand snaked up his back to hold him closer. He'd enjoyed that day, he'd finally felt part of a family again, however mismatched it was.

Time and time again I've said that I don't care

That I'm immune to gloom, that I'm hard through and through

But every time it matters all my words desert me

And anyone can hurt me

And they do…

He watched the tears pool on the glass, taking a second to realise they were his own. They were all gone now, like the family he'd had before. Gone somewhere together where he couldn't follow. He almost felt jealous, at least they had each other, but he stopped himself, he had wanted Rose to go, to be with the family who loved her even if it meant leaving him. He set the picture back on the table and pushed to his feet, making for the door. He stopped as he looked down at the small hallway table. On it sat a piece of hand melded clay, painted bright red and fashioned to look like a mug but the handle had long since broken. He remembered the night he'd found out about it. They'd come home, Rose, Jack and him, before he regenerated, and Jackie had insisted on getting out Rose's baby photos to show the dashing Captain Harkness. The Doctor had laughed himself silly by the end, revelling in Rose's pained, pink expression throughout the whole escapade. Talk had turned to Rose's school days and Jackie had proudly shown off the mug she'd made when she was five, Rose had blushed even deeper.

So what happens now?

(Another suitcase in another hall)

So what happens now?

(Take your picture off another wall)

Where am I going to?

(You'll get by you always have before)

Where am I going to?

The Doctor picked up the delicate clay creation, smiling at the memory but then his heart sank. Rose and Jackie would both be reported missing, presumed dead when all was said and done. The flat would probably be emptied, their stuff thrown or given away and someone else moved in. He looked at the childish design in his palm, how could he let all those memories be destroyed? He went back into the living room and set the mug onto the coffee table. He grabbed Rose's bag out of the kitchen and emptied the adventure dirtied clothes onto the living room floor, shamefully catching up the famous Union Jack top he'd so mercilessly teased her for before. He wrapped the mug in the shirt and set it gently in the bag. He went round each room, collecting up the things he knew had been precious to them, things he could not bear to see thrown on a tip or taken by someone who didn't know them. He could keep them safe, keep them timeless as they deserved to be. Rose would have wanted it.

When everything had been collected he placed the picture from Christmas on the top of the bag before zipping it shut and pulling it onto his shoulder. Again he made for the door but stopped at the door to Rose's room. He placed the bag and his feet and stepped inside. The place was a tip as always, much like her room on the TARDIS. He looked over to the dresser and noticed a picture on the wall above it. An old black and white photograph, Rose is a long, lacy dress and bonnet, him in his old trademark leather jacket. It was the only picture of them together in his old form. He'd been much more of a photo person this time round but his old form had hated it. Only Rose begging and pleading had got him to have the picture taken with her in the Old Wild West, they'd had to stand still for twenty minutes and his leg had gone to sleep but the look on Rose's face when she got the picture was worth anything. He took the picture off the wall and tucked it under his arm before pulling the door closed behind him. He picked up the bag and opened the front door, stepping out into the too bright sunshine of the day. People had died, Rose had gone and yet the sun shined. The Doctor smiled. The sun was hope, things would get better. He used the sonic screwdriver to lock the door, allowing himself one silent tear of farewell as he heard the lock click.

Call in three months time and I'll be fine, I know

Well maybe not that fine but I'll survive anyhow

I won't recall the names and places of this sad occasion

But that's no consolation

Here and now…

Resting in the vortex had never seemed to silent. The Doctor meandered around the console, his fingers twitching against various buttons but not pressing anything. Usually he would just go, go somewhere, find something, Rose squealing giddily at his side as they tumbled through space and time. How he missed her. His hand fell onto a familiar button and he pressed down, scanning for any spatial anomalies, gaps between the dimensions. He waited for the customary negative beep, it never came. Instead the TARDIS began to sing and trill like he'd never heard before, alerting him to the presence of a gap in space and time, a gap to lead him to her. He set course, smiling in a way he had thought never to again as he raced towards the anomaly. The TARDIS juddered to a halt and with a sadness only an ancient, living machine could muster she beeped out the awful truth. It was too small and too unstable to support any attempt to go through. It would rip the dimensions apart.

The Doctor's first reaction was along the line of screwing physics, his second was of melancholy resolve. If he could get through he would find her, ask her to come with him and she would. They'd come home together but he'd take her away from them, from Jackie, from Mickey, from Pete. He'd be happy but she would miss them, even if she pretended she didn't. If they went on adventuring she'd still be in as much danger as before and there was every chance no matter how tightly he held her hand, how many times he promised to be there for her, there was a chance that she would die. He couldn't bear that pain. Already his heart was broken for her loss but at least she was alive, loved and safe. She would want for nothing with Pete, she would be protected by those people who had loved her as fiercely as the Doctor had.

There was something he could do though. The gap was big enough to support a transmission, he could say one last goodbye, look upon her face one last time and tell her goodbye. Then he would move on, live his life as he wanted her to live hers. He would always care for her, always miss her but she would be as immortal as he, remembered throughout the decades even if no one heard her name, he would remember. There would be others who would come to him, travel with him, perhaps even hold his hand. He would love them as he had loved them all, show them the beauties of the universe and let them find their way in it but one tiny bit of his soul would be forever hers. His dearest friend who had brought him home from the darkness and given him a family. He sat down in the captain's chair and pulled out of his pocket one of her old necklaces he had saved from the flat. Running it between his fingers he reached out with his mind, searching for the warm bright presence he knew to be her.

So what happens now?

(Another suitcase in another hall)

So what happens now?

(Take your picture off another wall)

Where am I going to?

(You'll get by you always have before)

Where am I going to?

Don't ask anymore.

"Rose."

Fin.

A/N: Fluffy drabble I know but hey, I like it. Oh by the by ladies and gentlemen, I love my reviewers, you make writing worthwhile. I appreciate constructive criticism and if you don't like the story but want to guide me then I love you too because you help me become a better writer. What I don't appreciate however are reviewers that wish only to be insulting and rude and have no interest in helping me develop as a writer. If you don't like it I can accept it but I don't want to hear about it! NO FLAMES! They are pointless and worthless!

Rant over now. So to all my lovely, supportive reviewers I say thank you.

Love always,

Nova x