Work Text:
The Doctor works alone. He'd always been alone. And that's how it should be.
Sure, there'd been all sorts of aliens and other life forms (and the odd human), but they were only passengers. Hitchhikers. Tourists. Acquaintances.
Temporary.
And then he met Rose Tyler. Of course, only a human would be daft enough to go along with a complete nutcase of a stranger, all the while risking her life and not knowing what's next, exploring the great cosmos and seeing all the fantastical things out there and saving the world, one life at a time.
Only a human.
She was only a human.
Humans. So fragile, so easily broken. Yet so strong, strong beyond belief in their darkest hours. So sensitive, swayed by the littlest influence, but so cold, hard, unfeeling, and unspeakably cruel. So good, so clever, so absolutely wonderfully bright, and also casting one of the darkest, longest shadows he'd ever seen. All these contradictions, rolled up into little tiny packages of meat, skin, and bone.
She was only a human.
A compassionate, bright, funny, clever, daring, determined, courageous little human. So strong. So beautiful.
But all things have their time. All things must end.
So he buried those words, the words he'd never said, in his soul and vowed never to forget, even if time forgot. He locked up yet another portion of his heart and carved Rose's name into it, so deep he knew the scars would never heal. He wiped the tears from his cheeks and closed his eyes. He saw her face one last time in the darkness. And he moved on.
The Doctor works alone. He'd always been alone. And that's how it should be.
But he wishes it isn't.