(A/N I WROTE THIS FOREVER AGO OMFG LIKE IN NOVEMBER BUT I DIDNT REVISE IT SO IM SORRY IF THERES PLOT HOLES BECAUSE THERES TWO DIFFERENT VERSIONS OF THIS. I'm uploading one to Teaspoon and I was excited about it when I had the ideas but I'm realizing that I kinda hate it so I'm taking this one in a completely different direction)

The Doctor's hearts raced, although his blood ran cold. What if there was something I missed? What if she never comes back? Oh, god, please don't let that be the last time I see her, he thought; What if there really was something wrong that she didn't even know about?

After setting his coordinates for a steady drift through space, the Doctor let loose and slammed his foot into the base of the TARDIS console. This resulted in a droning from the TARDIS and him muttering 'sorry'. He covered his face and slid down, his back against the place he's just kicked.

He thought back to nearly four days ago when he and Rose were running from a witch. Well, she wasn't really a witch, but she possessed all of the same powers as one, with the addition of green, scaled skin and a tail.

They were making great headway down the pavemented side of a canal in 1850's France. At first, he thought that Rose had tripped over her own foot, but not from the way she was falling; naturally, he reached out to catch her. She looked a little dazed, so he carried her back to her room on the TARDIS.

"Rose?" he had said, noticing that she was slowly passing out as he made his way to their room, "Rose, sweetheart, stay with me."

"You sound like my mum," she'd whispered, not that she could talk any louder.

"Rose, I'm as worried as your mum is right now."

"Don't be, I'm fine."

"You're not fine."

"Yes I am. Let me try to walk."

"No, you'll fall and I don't want you to hurt yourself."

"But--"

"You're taking a nap."

"I'm not--"

"Rose." He waited for her to argue with him; when she didn't he continued, "It'll just make me feel better. Look at me."

She squinted and then blinked, which was when he saw that her pupils were dilated. A couple of seconds later, her head lolled back, which caused him to run to their room. He tucked her in and sat next to her, above the blankets. He watched her until she stirred, which was about half an hour later.

"Doctor?" she had asked.

"Rose?" he shot up, "Yes, I'm here."

"What-- why am I in bed?"

"You passed out."

"I guess my head was hurting..."

"Are you sure that's it?"

"I'm sure."

"Is there anything I can get you?"

"I'm okay, just a little cold."

"Is that all? I'll be back in a sec--" he said, starting to get out of the bed, but she held onto his arm.

"Come on." She rolled big, brown eyes.

"But I won't help you feel better, I'll--"

"Yes you will. Now cuddle with me."

"But, Rose, my body temperature is one and a half degree lower--"

"It doesn't help any if I'm colder than you are."

"I just want you to feel better."

"You'll help speed that process up. Promise."

"If I really have to..." He smiled and got under the white bedspread that they'd shared for the past eleven months.

"Yes, you really have to." She kissed his cheek and he held her to him.

"You scared me."

"Sorry."

"Don't be sorry, just tell me the next time you're feeling sick."

"I will."

The Doctor stared at his feet while recalling this memory from just days ago. He drowned in his own thoughts and theories and worries.

He didn't know how this happened. Maybe she didn't really love him at all; but you can't fake that kind of love. He didn't know that you could ever feel like that about someone before Rose. He didn't know that the universe could ever seem new again with her, even though he'd seen it a million and one times.

Rose couldn't have faked it; why would she? Unless he was just a taxi driver for her, transport around the universe. But then, what reasons would she have to love him? He was so... Broken. The Time War was always on his mind, but with the way that his thought processes worked, he could think about dozens of other things at the same time. Still, the guilt was unbearable, but in the past seven years, he'd gotten used to it. Almost.

Rose had helped him so much, on every grey day he had, she was right there with him. Being so wonderful and kind and beautiful and patient and warm and strong and courageous. He remembered each and every one of her countless traits in four seconds flat, which only made his sadness greater.

His hearts ached, he knew that they had nothing to do with being painfully in love, but maybe he was about to regenerate. This was the worst he'd felt in so long and he couldn't stop it. He wanted to know where Rose was; he had dropped her off in Cardiff because he figured that Jack would be easier to talk to than her mum or Mickey.
Of all of the things that ran through his mind the most, it was the way she looked into his eyes when they-- oh, god, he was making it worse thinking about every moment they'd ever had together.
He must have been on the ground for a couple of hours before his mind went blank. It cleared of everything and he could breathe again. The pain seemed to dull as he held his head in his hands and pulled at his hair. He felt tears slowly escaping from beneath his eyelids and made no effort to stop them. What was the point?
Everything came back to him seconds after going blank when he remembered one of their fights from months ago. They had just been to Pompeii and he, in fact, had caused the eruption of Mount Vesuvius. He hadn't saved anyone; everyone was lost in the fires of Pompeii.

"Rose, I'm sorry."

"Well, If you're so bloody sorry, go back and save them! Go back and let me warn them!"

"I can't, it's a--"

"It's a fixed point in time, I know! It's the same damn line every time! Doctor, you could have just saved one life! One! You caused it, you owed it to them!"

"There's nothing I could do, I told you, it was Pompeii or the world." His forehead creased and he closed his eyes.

"If you're so clever, why didn't you think of something then? You used to care about people dying!" she yelled. The words hurt so badly, but he could never say anything like that to Rose, no matter how hard he tried, he could not break her heart. It was his job to protect it.

"There was nothing I could do."

"Only one," her voice broke, "That's all I ask."

"Rose, you know that I can't. I am so sorry."

"You have a time machine, you can still go back! You can go back at any time! What the hell is the point of you doing this?" she was screaming at him now. This was his only memory of her ever screaming at him, even when they'd first met, she had kept her cool.

"I can't." He looked like a soot-covered puppy as he watched her tense movements. His hair was matted with ash and sweat and his suit was torn and scorched.

Suddenly, she snapped out of it and saw what she was doing to him; that he was retaining her words. "Oh my god, I'm sorry," she had said as she rushed over to hug him.

"It's okay," he rested his head on hers, "You're right, I should have saved someone."

"No, no, I'm so wrong, you couldn't have. You were thinking about everything and everyone. You made the right decision."

"How was that the right decision? There was no right decision."

"But you were right to."

"They were innocent."

"The rest of the world is too. You did the right thing."

"The children... Two point four seven billion." He slipped.

She had known that this was the number of children on Gallifrey that day, not in Pompeii; the number was too large. "It's okay." She tightened her grip around his back and dug her head deeper into his neck.

"Rose," he said breathlessly, realizing what he'd said seconds earlier, "I didn't mean to--"

"Do you want to talk about it?" she asked.

"I can't. I couldn't."

"Do you want to?"

He shook his head, but eventually they sat and she coaxed him to tell her. He told her about everything he missed, everything he lost, and everything that he would die for to get back. He told her that he planned on dying with everyone; that this was never the life that he wished for, that he had wished for no life at all.

Rose had listened so intently to all of it and he wasn't sure if it would change anything. It kind of did; they never had another fight after that, not even a little spat. She sometimes thoughtfully looked at him, but never judgingly. She had to have truly been in love to have had that level of compassion for him, that amount of understanding.

The Doctor eventually gathered himself enough to go to bed; not that he would sleep. He would just lay there thinking about the girl who could so easily slip through his fingertips; who could so simply leave him without looking back.