He missed the stars. Of course he missed the stars. He missed the freedom. He missed the Time Vortex. It was wrong of him to be trapped as he was. Not right. Not good.
Why was he here?
She didn't want him. Not really. He was a salve. Her Doctor was out there, and she was longing for him. In the end, he had just left. She hadn't minded. He wasn't her Doctor, no matter what he looked like, no matter how many adventures he tried to remind her of. In the end, he had given up. She had made him worse, not better. He longed for her to care about him, but she never would.
He had taken to wandering the Earth. He'd bought a little flat in London. Bought a car. Driven around. He'd tried to find fun in this new world, but it just… wasn't. So mundane. So normal. Not what he wanted at all.
He missed the freedom of the Space Time Vortex. He missed the beauty of the Eye of Orion. Above all else, he missed the TARDIS. That brilliant TARDIS. His TARDIS. The TARDIS of his true self.
But there was no sense moping over it. He had already started growing a new one, but he would be dead long before it had finished.
He wasn't the real Doctor. He wasn't even a good copy. He was just… nothing. Rose hadn't wanted him. His special knowledge was useless. He wasn't needed by anyone. So.
He had taken the only option left to him.
A great big transmitter tower. Of course. When one has the intention of killing oneself, then one should go somewhere where it works.
He climbed the tower – it was night, and no one noticed him. He stepped up to the very top. He looked down on the world.
And he fell.