= adult rating (For longer fics, this likely only applies to some chapters.)
Ratings are updated to the best of our knowledge, but please always check author’s notes first.
This list includes fics portraying intoxication from alcohol and/or drugs, as well as a variety of party/drinking-type games (e.g. truth or dare, never have I ever, spin the bottle, etc.), though drinking may not be involved for all of these. If you are sensitive to any of this, please heed author’s warnings.
Although it’s not truly a list if it doesn’t list anything, is it? And it’s impossible to list the possible ways to get Rose Tyler back by his side if the ways are nonexistent, isn’t it?
The only difference between the white paper and the white wall is that he can only feel Rose on the other side of one of them. So he pushes his list away—not a list?—and goes back to the wall instead. Except she’s no longer on the other side.
She could be dead by now, given the timelines.
For just a moment, he wonders if he’s alive and then he becomes acutely aware of the pain and, yes, he must be alive, because the dead don’t feel. Perhaps he’s almost dead? Perhaps he’s on the borderline of hell, the tips of his toes teetering over the edge?
(And he’d gladly go to hell if somehow the pain would stop, if somehow his hearts would stop aching in a way he’d never quite felt before. He’d leap into the welcoming abyss.)
But no, he must keep moving.
Days, weeks—years? centuries?—pass, and the list—(is it a list? please, please let it be a list)—is still blank. One day he finds a sun that he could burn without consequence to see her again, but he’s not sure whether or not it would be better to live with uncertainty than to find out that she’s dead.
The worst scenario, he decides, is failure.
Failure is not an option.
And as he debates whether or not to burn the sun, whether or not to take the risk, she’s in front of him. Her head is on his shoulder and her scent is intoxicating, pulling him in, and he wonders if this is the edge of hell that he was standing on? Wonders if he hugs back, if he wraps his arms around her and never lets go, if he’ll be gone forever?
(Or maybe it’s real?)
No, it can’t be real, because he wakes up on the grated floor and she’s no longer there. It’s just salty tears and a wrinkled purple blouse providing the illusion, and yet he’s thankful for it. Because her touch had felt warm and inviting and if that’s a fantasy then he’s not sure he wants to be a part of reality anymore.
He burns the sun.
She’s standing in front of him, then, and this time he’s certain it’s real.
She tells him that she loves him.
He’s afraid to respond in case she’s fake. Afraid of everything about her, afraid of what she does to him, afraid of what he’s done to her.
After all, she’d travelled the stars, and now she was grounded and there was so much lost potential and how, how, oh god, how would her life on Earth ever compare to her home among the stars?
And how would his life among the stars compare to his home with her?
She loves him, but maybe she means the stars or his ship or his ability to show her the universe or anything, anything but him. Because all he has done to her is break her heart, and, no, that claim is justified, because he had known that this would happen all along, has known that one way or another they’d be separated.
Forever. It was a lie they had spun like a silken web and he’d caught himself in it on accident, unable to free his feet and his arms and his mind.
And he wonders about being human, wonders about the Chameleon Arch and the possibilities of a shortened lifespan, how much more he could do with one hundred years than thirteen lives.
If the universe offered him a trade: his ship, the stars, everything he knew for Rose Tyler, he wouldn’t blink. The universe owes him this. He is owed.
He travels without direction. Someone joins him.
The list—(is it? he’ll have to ask Martha if a list is a list if it doesn’t list anything)—is still in her bedroom, on her soft pink sheets. The bed isn’t made, as if she’ll be back tomorrow.
(Please, please be back tomorrow.)
His knuckles are red as he grips the pen.
His breathing is soft as his eyes flicker from page to wall, page to wall, page to wall.
His gaze shot to her mouth for a split second, then returned to meet her eyes. Taking another step forward, he reached out and grasped her hand in his, his fingers curling down around her wrist lightly. If she hadn’t felt fixed to the spot by his presence, the contact between them certainly did it. ‘Rose Tyler,’ the Doctor murmured, ‘are you accusing me of not liking your mother?’
She realised, then, that what they were saying was absolutely meaningless; it was just backdrop, white noise. Something to carry them forward as he drew further in, and he had, the distance separating them no more than a few centimetres. All that mattered was the feel of her hand in his, skin touching skin. The closeness of his body, and the way he was looking at her: openly, his eyes searching her face for agreement, she thought, and for reciprocation.
His thumb traced a slow circle around the sensitive skin of her inner wrist and she shivered, releasing a shaky breath as she felt the caress all the way up her shoulder and down her spine. There was so little space (and it was taken up by things like shirts and jumpers and ties) that all the Doctor could really do was tip his upper body forward slightly, holding her hand against his chest. Underneath her palm she felt his hearts, a slow and steady pulse that echoed, fainter, on the other side. That’s an improvement, she thought: the last time she’d listened to it he’d been comatose, and she’d been worried and scared and furious.
And when those blue snowflakes are falling That’s when those blue memories start calling
“Merry Christmas, Mr. Copper.” The Doctor smiled vaguely, turning back towards the open door of the TARDIS.
“Happy Christmas, Doctor,” replied a very familiar and decidedly feminine voice.
Impossible. Wishful thinking. An auditory delusion in the chilly night air, surely born from a bit of mental fatigue at saving London yet again on Christmas, bringing memories of her to the forefront. Still, he froze. Because even imagined, hers was a voice he could never walk away from.
“You don’t really want to be alone, do you?” The voice continued. “You’re completely rubbish when you’re left on your own.”
“Thanks,” he muttered sarcastically, ducking his head. “Came all the way across the void to tell me that?”
And then he felt like he could hear her smile. In his mind’s eye, he watched the corners of her lips curl upwards, exposing her teeth and her little pink tongue peeking out between them. He forced himself not to turn around. Imagining her voice was bad enough, seeing her would cause him to sink further into the fantasy.
“Missed the mark by about… well. Can’t tell you that, can I? But since I’m here, I figure if you need a good lecture.”
The Doctor did turn around, then. Because this particular arrangement of words has never come up before. Dream-Rose never kept secrets or lectures him, she just… well… ahem. Standing about five feet away in the probably-not-snow was probably-Rose, looking a little older, a little worn around the edges. She was wearing blue leather and a tired smile.
“You’re here,” he breathed, completely flabbergasted.
He had no explanation for this and oh, that was rare, wasn’t it? Not knowing. And sometimes he liked not knowing but never when it came to Rose Tyler.
“Not really. Not yet,” she drawled cryptically. “But for now, yeah. So you don’t have to spend Christmas alone.”
She gave him a watery smile, tears pricking at the corners of her eyes, and that he could believe. Because this was Rose completely overwhelmed and uncertain about their impossible reunion and that made sense, because it mirrored his feelings exactly. Cautiously optimistic. Because if she really was here, this was the best holiday he could ever imagine, but if not this was the cruelest nightmare he could think of.
The Doctor’s expression turned just a bit hopeful. “Rose?”
At her name from his lips, she broke; laughing and sobbing as she smiled brilliantly despite the tears running down her cheeks. “Oh, c’mere.”
No sooner had she motioned him towards her did he have her crushed in an embrace. She was warm and solid and very, very real. The scent and feel of Rose was all around him and the Doctor’s hearts were torn between the utter joy of having her with him and the devastating knowledge he’d have to let her go. She’d warned him right off this wasn’t permanent.
“How long to we have?” he asked, just a whisper in her ear and she shuddered at the feeling of his warm breath against her skin.
“Couple hours, maybe,” she answered quietly. “S’not really an exact science, this.”
His mind raced with all the things they could do even in that short time; all the things he wanted to tell her, share with her. Including one very important thing.
“Rose, I–”
“Don’t,” she cut him off quickly, placing her fingers gently over his lips before he could say anything more. She swallowed, looking apologetic. “Look, I can’t tell you anything about me, or why and how I’m here, all right? So… don’t say anything important, not yet. Okay?”
He looked a bit crestfallen, but nodded in understanding. She pulled her hand away.
“You can tell me about what you’ve been up to,” she suggested.
He chuckled dryly, thinking back on Martha and how they’d parted. “You’d probably just lecture me again.”
She rolled her eyes and shook her head, but her smile never faltered. “Blimey, Doctor. What did you do?”
The Doctor stared at her, entranced. She was really here, just chatting with him as though she’d never left. “I’ve missed you, Rose,” he told her, voice wavering with sincerity.
“Yeah?” She worried her lip nervously. “Me too,” she said sadly.
“Right, sorry.”
He realized he had no idea how long it had been for her or what she’d faced since being trapped in Pete’s World. He didn’t even know how she managed to get here now, what sacrifices she had made and the consequences of even this short time together.
Hoping to snap him out of his melancholy, Rose wrapped her arms around his waist, pulling him close. “Tell you what we can do. You tell me about all the trouble you’ve got into, eh? And I’ll lecture you, just a bit. How’s that?”
The Doctor returned her hug, dropping his forehead to rest against hers.
“Fantastic,” he said, grinning. His eyes dropped to her lips, regret making him bold. “But first. Can I…?”
She smirked. “Probably shouldn’t.”
He nodded absently. “Probably.”
But Rose had given him the most amazing gift in all the universe, and he wanted to return it. To show her exactly how much that meant to him; what she meant to him. So on a not-quite-snowy Christmas night, the Doctor finally kissed her.
Title:Illusions of the Sunlight Rating:K+ Pairing:Rose Tyler/Tenth Doctor, implied Rose Tyler/Ninth Doctor (all human) Summary:Everyone always thinks death is the end. Unfortunately, the death can’t always leave until the living let them go.
Notes:This….this is just angst. I’m sorry. This is pure angst.
James gritted his teeth as he listened to the funeral director hassling his wife, trying to get her to buy the six-thousand pound coffin. It would be so much better, he was saying, and James wanted to punch him. Who was he to take advantage of a poor, mourning woman?
“Listen, bub,” Donna cut in. “We gave you our budget and this coffin wasn’t in it, so move on.”
James had never been more grateful for his sister than he was in that moment. He watched her drag Rose off, the hapless funeral director sputtering and trying to keep up.
Poor idiot didn’t know what hit him when Donna Noble walked through his door.
He had been dead for days, and everyone knew it. Everyone except Rose. He had stood off to the side and watched her argue uselessly with his mother, demanding that they keep him on life support for just a little longer. He could still recover, she insisted.
It was an odd feeling, standing next to his own, prone body (broken and useless), and watching Rose fight to keep him alive. He wasn’t quitedead – he was still sitting here, tied to his body. He couldn’t move on as long as Rose was holding on to him.
And he was strangely okay with that. He didn’t want to move on.
“Rose, listen to me.” Donna had stepped in to take over when Sylvia had failed. James knew Donna would succeed. She was harsh, but gentle when she needed to be. “You know Jamie wouldn’t want this. He wouldn’t want to be kept alive by machines. He’s gone. He’s not going to recover.”
And that was when Rose finally snapped, breaking down sobbing in Donna’s arms. It took her another hour to finally sign the forms and let James go.
And it took another hour after that for his body to finally die. As soon as his heart stopped beating he was swept away…
But of course, that hadn’t been the end. He’d reappeared in his the bedroom he’d shared with Rose for so many years, watching helpessly as she cried into one of his shirt. He had reached out to touch her, only to be horrified when his hand had gone right through her. He wasn’t sure what else he had been expecting – he was dead, he could hardly comfort her.
He was dead. That was weird.
And he had been following Rose ever since, unable to get away from her. Not that he would have wanted to – he had promised he would never leave Rose and he had meant that. He was literally tied to her, though. He couldn’t leave her side for even a moment – whatever cosmic forces were controlling this mess compelled him to follow her at all times.
This was probably Hell. Not that James had ever believed in such a thing. But if there had to be a Hell, following Rose through her mourning was probably it.
* * * * * * * * * * * *
“Rose, sweetheart, come on. You can’t keep his stuff forever.”
If anyone knew what it was like to bury a husband far too early, it was Jackie Tyler. And James honestly respected what she was trying to do for Rose.
Rose… didn’t respect it as much.
“He’s been dead for a month, Mum.”
“I’m not trying to set you up on a date, I just think it’s time to pack up his clothes. You can donate them. People always need clothes.”
“I don’t want to do this.”
“I know you don’t, love.” Jackie’s voice was soft. “I know you want to keep his stuff forever. So did I. But your grandmother came over and started packing all of your dad’s stuff without even asking me. At least I’m giving you a choice.”
Rose curled tighter around the shirt clutched in her fingers. She had been sleeping with it every night, clinging to it like a small child would cling to a teddy bear.
It was hard to watch.
“You don’t have to get rid of every single thing. Let’s just start with his clothes for now, yeah?”
Rose let out a shuddering sigh, finally rolling out of bed and shoving the shirt under her pillow, making it clear that that wasn’t going. Jackie didn’t argue.
* * * * * * * * * * * *
Sometimes she had nightmares. Those were the hardest times. During the day she could call her mother, or a friend, or Donna, and have someone to comfort her. And James didn’t feel quite as bad for not bein able to help.
At night she was alone. And there was nothing James could do.
He wasn’t sure what the nightmares were about, but he could guess it was the accident. How she had gotten out of it relatively unscathed – some busted ribs and a broken leg – James would never understand. The physical damage would heal fine.
The psychological damage… not so much.
“JAMES!” She screamed a she shot awake, tears already streaming down her cheeks. James reached out automatically touch her, pausing right before he touched her. Sometimes he forgot, and didn’t stop until his hand had already gone through her.
He hated that.
Rose curled up tight in bed, sobbing into her knees. “Come back…” She whispered. “Please come back… come back…”
“I’m right here,” James said in response to her pleas. “I’m here, Rose. I’m right here. See me, please see me, I’m here see me…”
But of course, she couldn’t.
* * * * * * * * * * * *
“Why don’t you come over dinner?”
It wasn’t quite a suggestion, and if Rose had been paying attention she would have heard Donna’s tone. James certainly did.
Rose didn’t care, though. “No thanks,” she mumbled, and Donna sighed.
“Rose… you know he wouldn't–”
“It doesn’t really matter what he wouldn’t want, does it Donna?” Rose snarled, whilring to glare at her sister-in-law. “He’s gone, so his opinion doesn’t count for jack, does it?”
Donna, to her credit, didn’t instantly snap back. James was grateful for that. “It’s been seven months, Rose,” she said quitely. “You can’t lock yourself in the house and mourn forever.”
“Go away.” Rose’s voice was harsh in a way James had never heard it before. It hurt. So much. Donna sighed again, shoulders falling.
“Alright, Rose.”
She left. James knew that wasn’t the end of it, but Donna usually knew how to pick her battles. Rose was shaking as she stormed into the living room, locking the door with more force than what was necessary. She started back to the kitchen, pausing when she walked by their wedding photo, hanging on the wall. They had been so happy that day.
It seemed cruel now.
“I hate you!”
James jumped as Rose screamed, ripping the photo off the wall and hurling it across the room. The frame shattered against another wall, and for a moment James could just stare.
“You… PROMISED!”
Another picture – this one from their honeymoon – was taken and thrown, going right through his head before it hit the wall.
“You said you would never leave!”
Another photo flew, and James had a very bad feeling about their photo wall.
“I hate you, I hate you, I hate you!” A photo with each I hate you, glass and wood shattered, and James could only watch, helpless, as she destroyed photo after photo.
She probably needed this. It had been building it up for a while. She needed the release.
It still hurt to watch.
It took nearly ten minutes for Rose to tire herself out. She had grabbed another photo off the wall, but this time she paused to stare at it, breathing heavily. It was of them, of course – the day they had moved into this house. The house they were supposed to live in together, forever.
“I hate you…” She whispered, shaking. She collapsed against the wall, holding the photo tight to her chest, and she slid down to the floor. “I hate you… I miss you… god I miss you…”
“I miss you too,” James said quietly, kneeling beside her. “I miss you too, Rose. I miss you so much. I’m so sorry.”
She couldn’t hear him. He didn’t know why he was even talking.
He was useless.
Eventually Rose dragged herself off the floor, still crying as she called Jackie. Jackie, god bless her, came right over, and didn’t question the destruction at all. She simply made some tea and set to work with cleaning up the glass, salvaging the photos from the wreckage.
“I never really hated you,” James told Jackie as he watched her. “I think you knew that, though. I hope you knew that.”
He’d had plenty of differences with his mother-in-law. But he had never hated her. Jackie sighed as she looked at the pictures in her hands.
“You idiot.”
“Oi! I take it back, I do hate you!”
But there were tears in Jackie’s eyes. She wiped them away quickly, letting out a shuddering breath. “Idiot,” she said again as she finished cleaning up the glass, and this time James heard the affectionate note in her voice.
“Love you too, Jackie.”
* * * * * * * * * * * *
Jackie sort-of lovingly forced Rose to go to a grief group after that. She was… not pleased, at first, and refused to talk for the first few sessions. James didn’t blame her. He probably wouldn’t have spoken either if someone had forced him to go to a group like this.
He was proud of her when she finally started opening up, though. She even made a few friends who dragged her out to eat after the sessions.
And that seemed to be exactly what she needed. She finally took Donna up on one of her numerous offers for dinner, and started going out with her friends again, a little by little.
It was taking time. Small steps. But she was making progress. And James loved her so much.
“There’s this new doctor, I think you’d like him,” Martha said thoughtfully, sipping her tea.
“I don’t think so, Martha.” It had been a year and four months. Jackie had been pushing Rose to date again. She didn’t want to, though. She didn’t think she was ready.
James wasn’t sure he was ready, either.
“Just give it one chance,” Martha said. “Go on. What could it hurt?”
Rose sighed shakily. “Fine. Just… just for coffee or something. Fine.”
* * * * * * * * * * * *
James was trying very, very, very hard not to be jealous. He knew he couldn’t keep Rose to himself forever – he was dead, she was alive, and she did need to move on.
But god, it was hard to watch.
“Rose?”
He gritted his teeth as a rather tall man in a leather jacket approached the table. He was certainly more built than James, and his hair was cropped. Rose smiled as she stood, holding a hand out to him.
“John, right? Nice to meet you.”
James was stunned when his vision started to go black – just like it had when he had finally died. He was fading away again.
And something told him it was for good this time.
“I love you,” he whispered as he watched Rose and John sit down. “Be happy. Please.”
Like he’s listening to something. Someone. Sometimes he mutters to himself, a little bit, like he’s carrying on a conversation the rest of them aren’t privy to.
(Or, Ten, during Day of the Doctor. You can thank helplesslynerdy for this one. Thanks for the prodding, Ashley).
He’s talking to himself.
Well,he isn’t. Except, well – he is, actually. He’s been talking to the past and future versions of himself for quite a while now, and it’s just as much of a headache as it’s always been. Of all the past faces that could’ve turned up, it just had to be this one, the one he’d rather forget about.
That’s not quite what he means, though.
“Doyou remember this?” he asks the older him, after the queen and the girl whose name appears to be Clara come to collect them from the Tower. The two of them are bringing up the rear of the odd procession, while the younger him, the one whose jacket still smells of rust and ash and burning dalekanium, trails behind Clara and the queen.
“Bits and pieces.” The older him won’t meet his eyes while he answers. “It’s coming back as it happens. You know how it is, being on the tail end of something like this.”
“Well, I don’t remember any of it. Being him, seeing this.”
“And you won’t, because I don’t. Didn’t.” His older self wrinkles his nose in annoyance – an expression he recognizes on a face that he doesn’t. “Blimey, I’d almost forgotten how quickly everything gets turned about when I meet myself.”
“Have you noticed that there’s–” He searches for a way to articulate what he’s been noticing, ever since the younger him showed up. “There’s something wrong with him.”
The older Doctor does look at him then, with a dark expression that clearly says understatement, mate.
“Really, though.” The Doctor points to the man in front of them, hoping that he’s not being too conspicuous. “Just look. It’s like–”
Like he’s listening to something. Someone. Sometimes he mutters to himself, a little bit, like he’s carrying on a conversation the rest of them aren’t privy to.
As if to illustrate the Doctor’s point, the younger him cocks his head to the side and nods, an answer to a question that no one else can hear.
A hot shiver runs through him, like fire in his veins, and for a moment the shuffle of their feet on the rushes sounds like music; like hushed voices, softly breathing out the notes of a song he’s heard before. “I know we’re not exactly the picture of sanity, but–”
Elizabeth – or the Zygon that looks like Elizabeth, he’s really not sure where they stand on that front just now – cuts him off before he can finish the thought.
(Out of the corner of his eye, he sees a flash of something gold).
—
It’s nothing new, seeing things out of the corner of his eye.
He’d barely been able to go five minutes without thinking that he’d seen Rose, right after Canary Wharf. Every sight and sound and smell was practically radioactive, toxic, for all that it was saturated with memory. Waking, sleeping, eating, breathing, living, all of it was wrapped up in her, and–
This body was born looking at Rose Tyler. It hadn’t quite known what to do without her.
So of course he’d fancy that he actually saw her, sometimes. There’d be a spot of gold in his peripheral vision, or a bit of pink and yellow lost quickly in a crowd, and his hearts would seize up for just a moment – surging with hope and love and promise every time, even though it always turned bitter in the end.
He’d hoped that Martha would make it better. Instead, she’d made it worse, though it hadn’t been her fault. It’d been his, really, and he ought to have told her – something. Something to make it better. To apologize. He can’t think what, though.
Donna had made it, had made him better. Had made it all hurt a bit less. He’d still gotten that pins-and-needles feeling every now and then, though – the skin-prickling, hearts-stopping sensation of hope and panic and impending, inevitable disappointment all rolled into one.
Then Rose had come back. And then he’d let her go.
After that, he’d stopped seeing her in crowds and corners – though not, as it happened, in his dreams.
Those dreams add years to her age and lines to her face. She’s older and wiser, with hair that’s just a little darker and a smile that’s just a little wider. Sometimes there is a ring on her left hand, and sometimes that hand is holding a smaller one. The hand of a child, with brown hair and brown eyes and a nose that he recognizes as the one in the mirror.
The Doctor hasn’t tried to convince himself that he might be seeing her in a very long time. He doesn’t want to – or doesn’t want to want to. Rose belongs in his dreams, in the hazy-edged world where forever is a promise they can both keep.
But the longer this particular adventure drags on, the more on-edge he feels. The flashes of gold and the song in the air and the way his younger self’s eyes stare at empty space, when he thinks no one’s looking–
(Like someone walking on your grave. That’s the expression, isn’t it?)
—
He’s talking to himself again. Younger him, that is.
They’re standing around the Moment – he doesn’t remember it being a big red button, but then again, he doesn’t remember any of this – and his hearts are pounding double-time, a far-too-rapid quadruple beat inside his chest, because there might be a way out after all.
“She didn’t just show me any old future! She showed me exactly the future I needed to see!” His younger self is ecstatic, pressing his hands to his head and smiling wide enough to crack his face in half. “Bad Wolf girl, I could kissyou!”
He’ll realize, later, that while he’d been busy spluttering at his younger self, brain freezing and hearts stuttering, there’d been a brush of ghostly fingers across the back of his neck – that while one heart jumped and the other sank, not sure whether to be elated or scared out of his wits – he could hear the echo of a song.
Title:Echo Rating:K+ Pairing:Rose/Fem!Doctor Summary: –Doomsday AU– For a wild, mad moment the thought of just letting go and joining Rose in her descent – because what was life without Rose Tyler? What would it matter if she survived if there was no Rose Tyler in this world with her?
Note:This is a companion piece to my story Empty. Read that to understand this.
Trigger Warning For: Implied Character Death
This was how she was going to die.
It was terrifying to think about – she was barely twenty years old, she’d had so much she wanted to do – like spend the rest of her life with the Doctor, for one.
She was going to break her promise.
All of that passed through Rose Tyler’s head in the few seconds between her fingers slipping desperately from the lever, and her fingers finally letting go, sending her plummeting toward the void. She thought she screamed – she must have screamed – but any noise she might have made was completely drowned out but the terrified shriek of her name coming from the Time Lady she was leaving behind.
I’m sorry, Doctor.
And then she tumbled into darkness.
That should have been the end of it. The void was nothing. Nothing could exist there. That was what the Doctor had said.
Rose knew falling into it would mean death.
Opening her eyes again was something of a surprise.
It took Rose a moment to realize she had opened her eyes. Everything was…black. It was an impenetrable, as far as she could see – it went on forever, unbroken by anything.
Except.
Except for the faint golden glow that seemed to be surrounding Rose. She tried to look around, to get a good look at the glow, but it shifted every way she turned her head – like she was trying to see something out of the corner of her eye and it kept moving with her.
She couldn’t see it. But she was sure it was keeping her alive. Although what kind of existence was it if she was going to be trapped here forever?
“Doctor….” She whispered, almost on reflex, as if the Doctor could somehow hear her. As if she would come sweeping into the void and whisk Rose away from this hell, just as she had done that day in Henrik’s basement.
But of course, there was no rescue. There was no magical Time Lady sweeping in to take her hand and whisper run this time.
There was no one coming to save her.
Tears slipped slowly down Rose’s cheeks, and for the first time she realized how cold it was. Every single part of her felt like ice. She shivered, curling up tight on herself as the tears fell faster.
“I’m sorry, Doctor,” she whispered, squeezing her eyes shut. “I’m so sorry.”
The words reverberated in the silence, echoing back to her and reminding her how very alone she was.
How very alone she would always be, trapped here. Forever.
