This story is dedicated to Mrs. Helen McDonald, aka David Tennant's mother, who passed away on Sunday from Bowel Cancer. I've only just found out, and I'm... distraught, put it that way. :'( May she Rest in Peace, and my prayers are with David and his father. If you believe, please pray with me.

Just hang with me with this, it's all short, so I've uploaded the first three chapters in one 'chapter'. But hang with it please :o) It was totally unplanned. Originally, I had one of my jokey kind of A/N but after finding out about the above, I feel it needed to go. Basically, this idea came to me late last night as I was trying to sleep. End of.

As always, I don't own anything that you might recognise, it all belongs to the BBC and the lovely Russell T. Davies.

Spoilers for the whole of Season 3 – including rather large secrets… if you haven't seen it yet, or don't want to know what they are, wait till you've seen it before reading this, I don't want to spoil it for you :o) – but come back and read when you have... please.

And… before I let you go on, I should probably mention that it's quite angsty…


Chapter One: The Spaceman.

A strange man wandered the universe; drifting from planet to planet. Just wandering. At each familiar stop, he walked a bit, sat and thought. Remembered. He sat in silence, face blank, apart from the seemingly permanent tear stains on his freckled cheeks.

His eyes, once full of life, sparkling with joy and happiness and love, now seemed dull and dead. His hearts, once beating merrily with his exuberance, and hammering with love, beat only out of necessity. His hands, once constantly fiddling, and slotting with hers, lay motionless on his thighs. His love, once overwhelming him, flowing through every pore in his body, was all that remained, but his lover, the Doctor's lover was gone. Gone but oh so alive.

He leant forward and rest his head in his hands, the heel of his hands pressed into his eyes, as though trying to push back the tears threatening to tumble gently from them. He took a deep, ragged, breath and let out a single, solemn, word. The only word he'd spoken in so long.



Chapter Two: The Valiant Child.

An odd child roamed the streets of London. As she walked, a few people turned their heads to look at her, her strange appearance endearing. Clad in dark jeans, Converse peaking from the bottom, a brown pinstriped jacket, a good six inches to big for her and a pink t-shirt, she looked the epitome of mad. But she didn't care. She dressed in a way so she would never forget. He always wore a pinstriped suit, one thing about him as clear as day in the picture of him she had in her mind from that day on the beach. Her blonde hair exactly as it was that day, shoulder length, with a side parting, flowing gracefully around her face. As was custom, her roots needed touching up, but that was how he remembered her, it would stay like that. His Rose.

No longer living there herself, she wandered into the Powell Estate and sat on the bench she had sat on that time he sent her home. She stared at the wall where the words 'Bad Wolf' had been spray painted, pleading for them to remain, her one link back to the Doctor. She knew they wouldn't, but the small amount of hope of them being reunited was all that kept her going.

She sat, hands resting on her knees she breathed in deeply and let her eyes drift shut as a single tear broke free and tumbled down her soft cheek. There was no message. There was no hope. There was no way back.


Chapter Three: The Oncoming Storm.

He walked back to the TARDIS, head down, hands thrust deep in his pockets, meandering through the streets of London. He had parked it where he usually did when they used to park in the Powell Estate, and had wandered around old haunts. He didn't look up until he reached the door, and pulling the key from his pocket he unlocked the door and slid inside. He went to the console and walked around it, pressing various buttons and twisting dials and the time rotor hummed into motion, but not with the same feeling as it used too. She was subdued, just like her Doctor. Since Rose, both Martha and Donna had left, he was alone once again; left to grieve.

Grieving was something the Doctor didn't do well. After the Time War, he didn't cope well. He had destroyed his entire race just to destroy the Daleks, and for nothing. The Daleks survived. Even now, all these years on, he hadn't come to terms with what he had done, and after discovering they had survived, the pain inside him intensified. Then he lost Rose because of them. He remembered saying once "They always survive, while I lose everything." And it was so true. He lost his people, and then he lost Rose.

Being alone again, he thought of the old times. He thought of before the war. He remembered Susan. He remembered Sarah Jane. He remembered those few occasions where himself and previous incarnations were together. He remembered the war. He remembered pressing that button. He remembered the fall of Arcadia. He remembered meeting Rose, saving her from the Autons in the basement of Henriks. He remembered falling in love with her, despite trying his hardest not too. He remembered all their adventures before he regenerated. Dickens, Slitheen, Jack. Oh Jack. A few years on, and he was still trying to come to terms with Jack being the Face of Boe. He remembered the Daleks, and him regenerating. He remembered the Cybermen, the Beast, the battle… He remembered the Daleks evolving. Remembered Jack's secret. Remembered being human. He remembered the Master, remembered him dying in his arms as he cried over the loss of his one last piece of hope that he wasn't alone. He remembered the Titanic just afterwards.

He sat in the 'Captain's Chair' and bought his knees to his chest wrapping his arms securely around them, the way Rose used to do, and rested is forehead on them, no longer able to stop the tears. He sobbed, tears streaming unabashedly down his face into his trousers. The TARDIS lights dimmed, lowering to the tone of the atmosphere within her.