"No, no, no, no, NO!"

His hands slam against the white wall, harder and harder, trying to break through the solid surface.

"Come back!" he screams. "Go back, go back!"

But it's useless and he knows it, his fists slamming once again on the barrier, before lying flat, trying to feel something, anything from the wall.

But there's nothing and he knows it, hasn't been able to feel anything for hours, days, weeks, months as he's stood here like a spectre.

There's silence behind him that deafens him and he refuses to turn, because to turn around would be to accept that it's happened. To leave this place would be to acknowledge that she's no longer here.

To believe that she will never be again and it's more than he can take.

It hurts, it hurts, it fucking hurts.

He leans his forehead against the cold wall, cursing in every language that he knows and some he makes up.

But even the fluid pungent expressions of hatred, derision and obscenity aren't enough to stop the pain in his throat, in his hearts.

His voice is thick and full of tears that he can't quite shed. "Have to find her." He breathes and the answer echoes.

I can't.

"It's Rose," he insists plaintively. "For Rose."

I can't.

He slams his palms against the wall, delighting in the stinging sensation in his fingers as they slap, the noise echoing around the room and he feels the eyes at his back, drilling holes of disapprobation through him.

He doesn't care.

Has never cared for other's opinion and doesn't want to start now. His mind is fixed on one thing and she is crying a universe away where he can't pull her to him and make it all better.

Inside he's crying and screaming and begging but the words just won't come and he's glad. He allows the bitterness to well up and drown out everything else until all that's left is a ball of loathing right at his centre, ready to choke him.

"All we did. All I did. All she did. It can't be for nothing!" He almost spits in his rage.

Not nothing. Never nothing.

"I sacrificed everything to keep her safe. She would have destroyed the world for me, changed time, shattered dimensions. She should be here."

She's with her family.

The reminder makes him sick and he retches before he can answer. "I am her family! She left her family for me. I heard her; she was never going to leave. I heard her. "

She's safe.

"She never wanted safety," he sneers. "Not my Rose. She wanted life and excitement, galaxies and gateways to another world. She was stagnating in that pathetic safe life."

She's safe.

"It's not enough," he maintained stubbornly. "It'll never be enough. She should be here."

I tried.

"Not hard enough." He stumbles back from the wall and rubs hands over his face. "Never hard enough. I took her hand and promised her the universe and she promised me forever."

A promise neither of us could keep.

"You never tried particularly hard, did you?" he yells, his teeth gritted with anger. "Keeping her at arms length, never telling her what she…" he trails off.

What's the point? She's gone.

Maybe it's for the best?

"Bastard," he spits, hatred colouring his voice. "Don't say that. Never say that. Rose belongs with me. She needs me, I…"

Need her far too much, it isn't healthy.

He suggests something anatomically impossible, for any species, and sags, his back against the wall.

He remembers the first time he took her hand, saving her life.

And the last time she took his hand, saving his.

In all that time, all those words that he thought he'd have plenty of time to say and never did.

In all that time, all those ways he could have shown her that he cared and hoped that she understood.

Because if she didn't …

She did.

She had to.

Tears stream down his face and he throws his head back, delighting in the pain that explodes when his head smacks against the wall.

The twinge is nothing compared to the gaping emptiness in his chests.

How is he supposed to live without her, his friend? His love? His breath?

He senses people coming towards him but he doesn't move, hating them as much as he hates himself right now.

"We should go," a kindly voice says and he shakes his head.

"No, I'm staying."

"My dear boy, the—"

His eyes flash open, rage and something not quite sane glittering in their depths. "I'm staying!" he growls.

None of them are particularly shy, nor do they retreat from danger and they stare at him with pity.

"There's nothing you can do." A stately accent grates and he swallows the instinctively rude response.

"Nothing any of us can do."

"It's impossible."

"She's gone."

"No!" he explodes and slaps at the hands that try to comfort him. "There's got to be a way. We don't do impossible, remember?"

"Destroy universes for the sake of a girl," an old man tuts. "That isn't the way, nor, I believe, is it what she would have wanted."

"Then you weren't paying attention." He barks scrubbing at the wet tracks still falling down his cheeks. "None of you and especially not him."

"Attention or not, it is his turn."

"He screwed it all up."

His temper, never quiet erupts and he turns back to the wall, slamming his fists against it. "I saw you! Pushing her away, that French tart, the companions, bloody Mickey Smith! You ruined it all and now she's gone and I can't ever see her to fix your mistakes."

I know.

He's crying openly now, not caring at their expressions, some uncomfortable, some sad, all understanding.

He doesn't need understanding.

He needs Rose.

"He can find a way back," his voice is pleading, even though he knows it's impossible. "I thought I'd lost her so many times. She's hard to kill is my Rose. He has to try."

"I would go back for Ace," says one.

"Sarah-Jane," says another.


"Susan," says another and they all agree.

"It's not the same," he chokes and they step back, allowing this man his distance. "We…"

"We know."

And they do.

His pain is their pain is his pain and, even in his rage, he can feel His pain through it all, ringing clear as a bell with tendrils of regret and longing and he feels a savage pleasure that He's hurting.

He deserves to hurt.

"We must leave."

He allows them to take him by the hand and lead him back into the quiet, back into the darkness, back to where it doesn't hurt quite so much.

Before the door shuts he turns to face the blank white wall.

Empty like his life.

Hollow like his chest.

"Find a way to say goodbye … give her that much."

The door shuts behind him, leaving the white wall all alone in the white room.

I'll burn up a sun, just to say goodbye.