She had sat there, vainly hoped to hear the grinding of the T.A.R.D.I.S. alerting her that he had found a way to come get her from this closed off world. But instead all she heard was the unsteady breathe rasping from her parting lips and the soft condolences aimed her way in comfort. The only thing that marked the passage of time had been the hands of her mother firmly pulling her off the floor and away from the wall she had found herself pressed against. Any strength she had to fight was gone and so she moved in a numb state as they put her into a car and drove to a house that was only familiar from her previous trip into this alternate reality. Vision blurred she allowed herself to be shuffled into a room, not even bothering to turn on a light or pull back covers as she laid down on the bed, back turned to the door as she pulled her legs up against her chest and tried to process what had happened. 

How long she had laid there crying she could not say but by the time she moved she discovered that some muscles were stiff while others were sore from the sobs that had wracked her body. Sitting up she spotted a pair of pajama pants and t-shirt folded up on the foot of her bed. Her mother must have left them there at some point. Unzipping her jeans she wiggled them over her hips, allowing them to fall to the floor. That was when the thud of something hard hitting the floor broke the silence. Jumping around, puffy eyes fell on the small silver object that had been jostled from her back pocket. 

Without thought she quickly bent down and grabbed the phone, her hands shaking as she stared down at the object. Rose’s first instinct was to call him. Tell him to come get her. But surely if the TARDIS could not make it between worlds a phone call stood no chance. The pad of her thumb ran over the buttons, so tempting and yet would certainly disappoint. However, when it came to the Doctor she had long ago proven that she had no resolve and so she pressed down the green button and brought the phone to her ear, sure that she was only bringing herself more heartbreak. 

[ a walk to remember ] ten & donna

Time ran linear, and slowly, especially for those without a goal to live towards.

She dreamt, sometimes, of touching stars and so much further, but with the rest of it only a grief - stained smudge upon awakening, in the dark of which the little flecks of light of which she did not remember what they were softly coruscated. She needed no Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind or soppy hired romcoms to bring her off to tears when, rarely, Amazing Space was on Discovery – and when she one day found herself at the kitchen table, groundlessly dabbing her eyes at a documentary on Mars, Wilfred Mott sat down with her.
“ What’s wrong, sweetheart? ” He’d asked her, in his usual kindly, breaking voice.
And she had told him she had no idea and halfway formulating him that answer suddenly found out and voiced that she just wished to be picked up – oh, not like that – because she couldn’t seem to do so with her life and to herself.

A week later, he had it done.
Just a coffee, he had promised, and she had rolled her eyes because “ Gramps, I said it right wasn’t that I need it to be rainin’ men on me! ” , but she had given in to it still: out of curiousity, out of compliance to her granddad and his sudden great excitement ( picked her an astronomer from his club – probably always wanted another stargazer in the family ), and out of needing to have something better to do than sitting on the couch watching Tellsell and the rehash of the X - Factor all day.

Her date, however, had been quite the unexpected surprise upon meeting him when she was dropped off at the usual café – and perhaps he was a relatively unpleasant to boot, as Wilf should have known this was entirely not her type.
Oh well. Probably as good as it got with nerdy little spaceboys.
“ But I know you! ” She vaguely recalled him being in a different suit the last time she saw him, but then again, she’d only vaguely registered him in that moment, too. “ You were … … Smith. Smith … something. Was is … is it John? … ”