A/N: I felt like giving our poor Doctor some more angst-fic. I feel mean about it, now. But here we go. Just go read the new Better With Two story I've uploaded to make you feel better after reading this XD
Some days he feels guilty.
He replays the moment over and over in his head. He can't shake it off, this horrifying memory. The flashbacks just keep coming. Along with all the regrets, all the things he could've done to stop it happening.
"I should have been on that side of the room," he tells her photo. Because he can't tell her. "I should have been on that side, because then I could have reached for the lever." He strokes her photographed arm with the pad of his thumb. "I've got longer arms than you; I could have grabbed it and set it right."
He closes his eyes and inhales deeply, trying to stop himself trembling. His hands are shaking as they hold the photo frame, and he wants to still them so he can look at her properly, so she stops shaking too, so she stops falling away from him. His knuckles turn white with the ferocious grip he has on it. Overcompensating for a time he could not hold onto her.
Finally, he's calmed down enough to open his eyes. He still can't see her clearly, because moisture is swimming in his eyes making his vision blurry. But he sees her outline, her blonde hair, her pink top, and a wracking sob leaves him before he's had a chance to tamper it down. He stills, astounded at himself for losing control of his emotions again. He'd thought he'd been getting better at pretending he's alright. He'd thought he'd been getting better at not crying for who he's lost. But the pain's set deep in his hearts and he's not sure he'll ever not feel it.
"Rose," he whispers, his voice cracking. "I'm so sorry."
Some days he feels angry.
He storms into his room in such a rage the walls vibrate as he slams the door. He can't bring himself to apologise to the TARDIS. He can't bring himself to do anything but shout.
"Why?" he exclaims loudly. "Why is the universe so fucking cruel?"
He's not usually one for swearing, but he can't bring himself to be surprised when the very human word slips from his mouth. He's so incensed he could scream.
"So first, right, you take her from me!" he announces to no one. Or everyone. No one in the universe can hear him but he's shouting at all of them. "Then, then - because that's not devastating enough - you torment me even more, by showing me her words, scattered through space and time? Again and again again again, and that's just - " His hands are wild in his hair as he paces back and forth. "That's just...how am I supposed to get over this if you won't even let me try!"
He's actually been out and about a bit this week. He wishes he hadn't, because wherever he goes he sees things that remind him of her. The things she does, little habits, little things he's always adored about her, or things she's said, or how she's laughed. Places he's taken her, and places he was planning on taking her. Places he'll never get the chance to take her.
But today really took the proverbial biscuit.
The words, a message she wrote to herself all that time ago, bad wolf, scattered everywhere. But it doesn't mean anything anymore. He can't even get his hopes up that it does. All his energy is directed to fully-fledged anger. He can't stop to consider that maybe it means something else, something more, something now, because he genuinely has no hope left that he'll ever see her again. The walls have closed. No more Rose.
He catches sight of the photo frame on the bedside table and lunges at it, pointing at her photo-captured form in accusation. "And you!" he cries. "You – you're...! Why? Tell me why you had to be so bloody you, and try and pull that thing back up? You could have just left it, and I'd have dealt with the consequences later! But you, no! As soon as that Dalek knocked it offline you thought, oh, it's alright, I'll be able to reach it. Well guess what Rose - "
He breaks off, his heaving chest gasping for air. He glares at the photo as if it's personally responsible for him losing his senses. He abandons his earlier tirade and just whispers, voice low but firm, "Come back."
She doesn't answer, of course, so he says it louder. Orders it. Commands she return.
"Come back! You can't just leave me like that," he tells her sternly. "You can't, it's not fair. It's not fair. It's not fair."
Silence heavily fills the air and he snaps at the empty sound of nothing. His hand shoots out and he strikes at the photo frame, watching it fling across the room, hit the wall, then drop to the floor. Broken. Smashed glass everywhere.
He stares at what he's done in shock for a long minute, his mouth hanging open, his eyes wide.
Then, he feels ashamed.
"Rose!" he cries, launching himself over the other side of the room. He hastily picks up the cracked frame and stares at her picture longingly. "I'm sorry," he whispers, pressing a kiss to the photo. He cuts his lip on some stray glass but he barely notices it.
He sits cross-legged on the floor amongst his destruction and his jaw clenches tightly.
"I'm just so scared," he confides. "I think I need you. With you not here, I don't know what I'm going to do. You have to stop me. I need you to come back so you can stop me. Please."
Some days he feels nothing at all, just numb, so numb. And those are the worst days.
Sometimes he cries, sometimes he lashes out, sometimes he does things he'll regret for the rest of his life. Sometimes he talks to her, always he dreams of her, and always, always he misses her.
Forever he loves her.