A/N: This should never have been written. Seriously, folks, product of a diseased mind right here. You probably shouldn't read it…but if you do, just remember, it's crack…so fair warning, OK?

I'd also like to say thanks to all the people who read and reviewed – it has been so much fun to write this story for you, and you have all fed my addiction beautifully!

PEDRO'S PERSONAL LOG, ENTRY 154/2/EPSILON

There was a time in my life when I was trapped by an egomaniacal madman and tortured for his amusement. It occurs to me now that it wasn't such a bad deal, really.

This is, perhaps, the most trying time of my entire life, but I must, above all else, remain patient. That is what Rose would want.

The equivalent of fifteen Earth days have passed since the Time Lord managed to send a message to her through the last remaining crack in the walls of reality. Despite the power of our combined intelligence and months of effort, we have been unable to find a solution that would allow safe travel through the void to reach her. However, I for one refuse to give in to despair, and I remain hopeful that, with time…

Pedro stopped typing as music began playing through the console room. Seriously, Snow Patrol's Chasing Cars? Again? The Dalek sighed and rolled his eye as he leaned over to peer around the view screen at the Doctor.

The Time Lord was leaning against the central console, brooding. His blue suit—"the color of mourning!" he'd explained—was very much in evidence, and in his hands, he clutched a piece of purple fabric like it was the only precious thing left in his life.

OH, LORD, HE IS CUDDLING HER SHIRT AGAIN, thought Pedro despairingly. PERHAPS I SHOULD JUST EXTERMINATE HIM. REALLY, IT WOULD BE FOR HIS OWN GOOD… The Dalek mused over that possibility for awhile before rejecting it. NO, I MUST REMAIN STRONG, IF ONLY FOR ROSE'S SAKE. THIS IS WHAT SHE WOULD WANT.

Pedro scuttled along the edge of the console to where the Doctor was standing. He patted the Time Lord on the arm. LET'S GO SIT DOWN, he projected kindly, pointing toward the jump seat.

The Doctor let Pedro climb on his forearm before heading over to the jump seat. With a melancholy sigh, he threw himself down on it. Pedro slid off his arm and moved to sit next to him, leaving one tentacle in contact with the Doctor's arm to facilitate communication.

"It seems like it's been so long since she left," said the Doctor mournfully. "And really, barely any time has passed at all." He lifted Rose's shirt and rubbed it against his cheek sadly.

WE MUST NOT LOSE HOPE, thought Pedro firmly.

"You're right," said the Doctor. "It's just…so hard." He sniffled and wiped a hand over his eyes as the song got to the needing-your-grace-to-find-my-own bit. "At least you're here, missing her with me," he said, placing a hand on Pedro's tentacle. "Don't know what I'd do without you." The Doctor leaned back and tilted his head up toward the ceiling. "I wrote another poem about her in my journal. I'll show it to you. I mean…if you want."

PERHAPS LATER. UM, JUST OUT OF CURIOSITY, thought Pedro, PLEASE REMIND ME—HOW LONG DOES YOUR SPECIES LIVE?

The Doctor's face crumpled and he burst into tears. "Practically forever," he sobbed, throwing his arms around the Dalek.

THERE, THERE, thought Pedro patiently, hiding his own mental wince as he patted the Doctor on the back with a free tentacle. THERE, THERE.

"You know," said the Doctor, once he was recovered enough to sniffle and wipe his eyes, "I hadn't noticed before, but you must have incorporated quite a bit of Rose's DNA."

YES, THAT IS CORRECT. THE MUTATION HAS CONTINUED OVER TIME, ALTHOUGH ITS RATE HAS SLOWED SIGNIFICANTLY.

"It's just… You…you almost smell like her."

UM… Pedro eyed him warily and tried to subtly scoot slightly farther away on the jump seat.

The Doctor turned to him with heartbroken eyes. "Do you think you might want to…" But he trailed off.

MIGHT WANT TO WHAT? Pedro prompted nervously.

"Well, maybe you could…put her hoodie back on?" The Doctor held up the shirt he had been fondling. "'Cause it's starting to lose her scent."

Pedro looked back and forth between the purple shirt that the Doctor was dangling hopefully in front of him and the broken eyes of the grief-stricken Time Lord. Finally, he stretched out a tentacle to take it. FOR ROSE, he thought desperately. FOR ROSE.

"Thank you," said the Doctor, tearing up again even as he leapt off of the seat. "I'll go get the mascara," he called as he raced from the room.

Pedro slowly pulled on the shirt as the TARDIS hurtled through the Time Vortex. Tapping in to the inherent stubbornness of his race, he braced himself for the difficult and trying road ahead. For Rose's sake, he would keep this ridiculous Time Lord company for all eternity, if he had to.

But as the Doctor came back bearing Rose's make-up and his journal of horrible emo poetry, Pedro reflected mournfully that reaching the end of eternity was probably going to take a long, long time.