DISCLAIMER: I don't own Doctor Who.
THANKS: to JennyLD for the beta and for the prompt that led to this story.
Paint your palette blue and grey, look out on a summer's day, with eyes that know the darkness in my soul
The Doctor slid his gaze away from hers, flicking his eyes over the blue and grey sky. The warm summer's day wasn't right; he should've landed them during winter, harsh and cold and wet. Soft breezes and blue skies were unfitting for his mood, and he wanted to jump back in the TARDIS and head into the blackness of space just to be surrounded by the more familiar, more fitting, darkness.
"Doctor?" Rose pleaded, blinking back tears that she'd shed too many times since meeting him. She swiped at them angrily and sniffed.
When he turned his eyes back to her, he'd steeled himself for all of her accusations and anger, but she simply stared at him.
A moment later, she nodded and took a few steps back. Her feet tangled together in her anxiousness to get away from him and he automatically reached out to catch her, but she ripped her arm out of his grip and he ended up barely grazing the warm skin of her arm before it was gone. "Don't."
Stung, but knowing he deserved nothing less, and indeed, deserved more--more than just her silent anger--he straightened his shoulders and stuck his hands in his trouser pockets, clenching his sonic screwdriver with enough nearly force to snap it in half. "I'm sorry," he said clearly, making sure there were no misunderstandings between them now. This was absolutely how it had to be.
And he had to remember that.
She scoffed and turned to the sky for a moment before finding his gaze again, unshed tears swimming in her eyes. "Yeah, I'm sure you are. You know, you say that a lot, maybe you should think about why."
"Rose." Despite himself, his voice turned softer and his hand reached out to touch her again. When she swallowed with distaste and jerked away from him, he dropped his arm to his side and closed his hearts off to her, ignoring the cracks that were already forming.
This was for the best.
"Have a good life, Doctor." Turning her back on him, she headed for the Powell Estates, hand on her stomach, where their child grew.
He sniffed sharply and turned from her for the last time. It was better this way; he had enemies that couldn't know that he had a son or daughter out there, and a woman he loved more than life itself.
It was better this way.