A/NHey guys! First Doctor Who fanfic- so I'm kind of nervous. It's pretty short, I wasn't sure if I wanted to continue past what I have here, so I'm going to leave it as "in-progress" for a while and if you guys want me to continue it, I will. I know that this has probably been done before, but I've never read one of those, so... yeah. No plagiarism intended?

Anyways, I hope you guys like it, please leave a review and/or favorite (preferably both...) if you do.

I've had this idea rolling around in my head for a while, begging to be let free, so on with the story!

It was over.

Everything. The war, the fear…his life…all over. Finished.

The Doctor was on his last regeneration, and he was dying. He knew it. The TARDIS knew it. So it wasn't much of a surprise when he stumbled into the console room and collapsed on the bench and she started to transport all on her own. It was an unspoken agreement-they both knew where he wanted-needed- to be.

They'd lost so many people in this war. So many people with would-be futures, lives, pasts and connections, family members and friends who would most likely never find out what really happened to them. And The Doctor knew all of them, had worked with every single one. But in the end, it was worth it, because the universe had been saved. Those few heroes and heroines who'd given up their lives had not done so in vain.

And the same went for him, though he could never be called a hero. He knew that she would argue to the contrary, but she didn't know. She didn't know, not really, how he'd wiped out his entire race. How everyone he loved, everything he touched and affected, was destroyed, or at least irreparably damaged. Donna Noble, brave to the end, had lost her memory and everything that had ever made her believe that she was important. Martha, loyal to a fault, had been hurt and scarred and fallen for the one person who could never love her back. Jack had been forced to outlive everyone and everything, getting older but never changing, watching the world slowly march through its many phases. Mickey, Amy, Rory, Sarah Jane…Rose.

With the thought of her name came a slice of pain through his abdomen, and he knew he didn't have very much time. The poison was pushing itself through his veins, his hearts, his every organ, and he urged the TARDIS to move faster. Had teleportation always been so slow?

They finally landed, much more smoothly than he ever remembered ( maybe he should have read that driver's manual), and the Doctor heaved himself up off the bench and over to the door, as quickly as his dying body would allow him to. He stopped there, staring at the seemingly old and rickety blue door. He knew where they were. But would she want him there? Would she remember him, still love him?

He remembered their many adventures together, leather-jacket him and pinstripe suit him, werewolves and Cybermen and Daleks and empty children and the Devil himself, and wished to go back. Back to the feel of her hand in his, to losing her and finding her and telling her to stay put and knowing that she never would. Maybe, if she had, he wouldn't have lost her. But then, she also wouldn't have been the Rose he loved so much.

He was an old man, so very old, and he wasn't afraid of dying. There wasn't a lot that he was afraid of now, not anymore, but he could not stand the thought of going without seeing Rose again. He began again with her, right after the Time War, and so he would end with her.

He opened the door.