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It's six and half months after Rose - since the disaster that was Canary Wharf and burning up a sun to say goodbye.
Five months since Donna Noble and the Racnoss - since he killed thousands of starving children with no remorse.
Four months since Martha Jones joined him on the TARDIS - since he saved the world from the carrionites and brought her to New Earth.
Three months since the spaceship - since he nearly burned up from the living sun and got Martha killed thousands of years away from her family.
Two months since Jack accidentally managed to send them to the end of the universe itself - since he had to look the remnants of humanity in the face and tell them there was no such thing as Utopia.
One month since Martha asked to leave - since he nearly destroyed time itself to be victorious trying to save that brave brave woman from death.
Only ten minutes since his psychic paper gave him the coordinates to a recently abandoned village hidden on one of Earth's many mountain ranges.
The Doctor frowns down at his psychic paper, brows furrowing as he ponders the message. The last person to have used the paper to contact him was the Face of Boe, yet the Doctor highly doubts that the big old face was behind it this time. After all, what would the face be doing in this village only recently destroyed by an avalanche of epic proportions?
Perhaps, was someone trapped in the rubble? A telepathic species of some sort sending out a random distress signal his paper managed to pick up? He shrugs, shoves the paper into his pocket, and grabs his sonic screwdriver from the console. He grins, only one way to find out!
A soft knock rings through the console room, and he blinks, turning to look at the closed doors. Ah, maybe less of a random distress call and more a deliberate one then.
“One moment!” He shouts, as he grabs his coat from its spot draped over a column. He throws the coat on and jogs to the doors. He pokes his head out, expecting to see whoever knocked, but all he sees is a set of footprints in the snow, leading further into the ruined village. His nose scrunches up as he steps from the TARDIS, “Hello?” He calls out, but all that comes is the echo of his own voice. He tilts his head, listening closely. He can just barely hear the soft whisper of footsteps carried on the blistering cold wind. He takes a deep breath - what is that scent? He sniffs, trying to get a read on the familiar yet not scent that carries on the wind. A smell of nostalgia and home and time and familiarity tickles his senses and he narrows his eyes. For a brief second, he's sure he smells something that he can only title as Gallifreyan, but that can't be true, could it? He is the last. He saw his planet burn. He made his planet burn. “...well then.” He mutters, shoving his hands into his pockets, “Allons-y!”
The footprints lead to one of the few buildings to have survived the avalanche. The Doctor grabs his sonic, a shiver unrelated to the cold running down his spine. His gaze flicks around - someone's watching him. From where?
“Hello? Who's there?” His voice is loud against the silent snow, carrying for a distance. No one answers him, of course. A scuffing sound comes from the building before him, and he eyes the door warily. Was someone going to burst out? Were they waiting for him to enter first? He feels his psychic paper move from within his pocket, and he fishes it out.
‘come on in, my dear doctor’ is written on the paper, and he scowls, mumbling, “If we're playing this game then…” The door swings open as he approaches, his arm raised to turn the doorknob.
For a fleeting moment - a brief second where he's unsure if he's merely seeing things - he sees her, pink and yellow, looking over her shoulder at him and smiling that sweet tongue-in-cheek grin that made his hearts beat so fast - and he stumbles forward, eyes wide,
“Rose…?”
She's gone in a flicker of blue - a teleport of some kind. He gapes at the table she'd been standing before. His gaze catches on the silver fobwatch sitting on the table, and he feels some dread-like feeling settle like a lead weight in his chest.
He remembers seeing her playing with that same watch, back when he was all ears and leather, and he never asked about it. She'd noticed him staring at it and put it in a pocket, giving some clearly rehearsed answer of ‘It was my dad's old watch. Still works perfectly fine!’ She never brought it out again - in fact, she seemed to forget all about it. And in all their time together, so too did he, and he never asked about it.
He should have said something. Should have gone with his gut and questioned her about it.
His feet are heavy as he slowly approaches the innocent looking watch. He hesitates for a moment, before he reaches for it, gently cradling the freezing metal. The long chain rattles impossibly loud as he lifts it. His fingers shakingly trace the looping circles etched into its outer casing, giving a name to just who had been contained inside of it.
He knows what it had been. He's always known what it was - he just didn't want to see. He hadn't wanted to believe that his precious Rose was anything other than a brilliant human girl.
Hadn't wanted to get his hopes up just to have them crash down like they were now.
He thought he knew everything he needed to know about Rose Tyler. He'd ignored everything that didn't fit his picture of her - ignored anything that made him draw parallels to the boy he'd once loved so very long ago.
His grip tightens on the inert watch.
He should have asked.