A/N: First off, I'd like to apologize for how long it's been since I updated this story! It's been like, four months, or something, and I hadn't intended for that to happen! Secondly, I'd like to explain why. There's fact that this is the last chapter (I always find last chapters the hardest, so if this chapter is just terrible, that's why), but I've also recently had an old friend, who was only my age, pass away, and that's been kinda hard, and delayed a lot of things in my life, including this.

But, anyway, here is it. The last chapter, which I've rewritten so many times that it hurts.

Four months later...

The happy, excited screams make her jump, nearly losing her footing as she stumbles backwards, away from the entrance. The lights are blinding and her ears are beginning to ring from the loud noises. She forces a smile and squeezes her eyes shut, blinking until she can see properly. Shareen is immediately by her side, eyes shining and grin stretching from ear to ear. Someone throws confetti in the air, and Rose throws out a giggle to appease the guests.

Jackie rushes forwards, throwing her arms around her. Rose gasps in surprise, awkwardly attempting to hug her in return. "Happy birthday!" Jackie squeals, and Rose's lips twitch in amusement.

"Thank you!" Rose replies, brushing her hair from her tired eyes. Her gaze travel around the room curiously. A lot of people - some she doesn't even know - are standing around, grinning and chatting happily. Mickey is in the corner with his new girlfriend - Rose forgets her name. Shareen has swanned off to talk with old high school friends. There are several balloons - red and green and white - bobbing around above their heads.

A few relatives are drawing near, and Rose suddenly feels a bit sick. She isn't used to attention. She hasn't had much for a couple months - although, that's probably her fault. Someone that Rose doesn't know envelops her in a hug, repeatedly wishing her a happy birthday. Rose smiles wearily and nods and thanks them.

Mickey smiles and waves, and she pulls her lips up in something that isn't quite a smile. He flashes her an expression that she thinks is meant to look sympathetic, but instead just looks like a tipsy, flirty smirk. Her eyes feel heavy, and honestly, she just wants to lay down. Her head is pounding from her long day at work and her body feels sluggish. Would they notice if she just... slipped away?

Uncertain, she tries to subtly make her way to the hallway that her bedroom is in, but she is quickly swamped by more people. Someone maneuvers her to the couch and sits her down, and Rose sighs and shudders, rubbing at her forehead. Shareen plops down next to her, rambling on about some new guy she's just met, about how perfect he is how much she adores him. Rose doesn't pay much attention, feeling too overwhelmed to do so.

Someone hands Rose a piece of cake, but she just sits it down on the coffee table, swallowing hard and trying to keep up with all the questions being thrown at her.

"Hello, Rose! How's the new job?"

"Happy birthday! Twenty one now, wow! You're growing up so fast."

"So, any new men in your life, Rose?"

Rose clenches her hands into fists, choosing to ignore the questions and comments. It's weird being around so many people. For the past four months, she's been rather secluded, avoiding people who she knew. Of course, she had to speak with people at her new job (a business she didn't actually remember the name of - she didn't like it much, but it paid well), but even then, her office was mostly separated from her co-workers, and all she did was read over papers and play the part of her boss's bitch, fetching him coffee and such.

Yet, it still manages to tire her out every day.

Rose flashes a nervous look at her mother who simply raises an eyebrow. Rose shrugs and slumps down, averting her eyes from the people in the room. Her head is aching and everyone is talking and people keep talking to her and Shareen is touching her hair and her clothes and talking way too fast and -

and someone slaps her on the back - far too hard - and Rose jumps to her feet with a yell, her patience shattering. The room falls silent, and Rose instantly feels a blush creeping up onto her cheeks and spiraling down her chest. Swallowing, her gaze flits around the room. She takes a deep, shuddering breath, and quietly, keeping her head down, she walks swiftly towards the door, closing it gently behind her. She hops around for a minute, peeling her black heels from her feet. She dumps them by the door, and then starts down the stairs, ignoring the metal digging into the skin of her feet.

Her black dress, which reaches her knees, is a little too thin, and it's beginning to get chilly outside. She shivers, squeezing shut her eyes. The rocks dig into the pads of her feet and she bites her lip, jumping around to avoid further pain.

Eventually, she reaches smooth sidewalk. She keeps her head down, her throat feeling tight. She's desperately fighting the insistent urge to cry. She hadn't wanted a birthday party. She'd specifically told her mother that. But, of course, to Jackie Tyler, no birthday was complete without a party and probably a bit of alcohol.

Rose had grown used to not talking to people over the past four months. Four months ago, she had locked herself in her room and stared at the wall, void of emotions. She'd come out only to use the bathroom, eat and drink, and shower on the rare occasion. And that was only because of...

The month after that, she'd been forced into life again. Her mother had signed her up for a job, which Rose desperately needed. So, she had cast anything - thoughts, emotions, memories - involving him into the back of her mind, where she locked them away for a solid three months.

She was almost back to herself the fourth month. Almost. She was still Rose Tyler on the outside, but on the inside, there was a large, gaping hole, and it could no longer be filled. And, she no longer tried.

Rose pauses in the middle of the pavement and lets out a deep breath, reaching up to rub at her forehead. Her heart is pounding - she must have been walking quicker than she had thought. She glances around, frowning and trying to work out where she had ended up. As it slowly dawns on her, Rose begins to feel sick. This is not where she wants to be, at all.

The colour drains from her face and she clenches her jaw, wrapping her arms around her waist. Her lips press together into a line as her eyes scan the single word on the sign, over and over.

Cemetery.

And not just any cemetery... it won't be 'just a cemetery' to her for the rest of her life. Because he is here. There's a lump forming in her throat, and it suddenly seems a lot colder outside. Her eyes are stinging and she fights to hold back tears. She hasn't cried since...

Rose hasn't actually cried since the night the Doctor died. She isn't sure why. All she knows is standing here, right now, is giving her the worst feeling in the pit of her stomach, and the only thing she can identify it as is guilt. Guilt because she didn't try to save him. Guilt because she just sat there and cried. Guilt because she has never actually visited his grave.

And she knows she should have, at least once, but she could never bring herself to. She found that she never really wanted to remember the Doctor. He had been everything to her, and she had found herself trying to deny not only that he was dead, but that he ever existed in her life.

Before she can second guess herself, Rose walks through the entrance. Her jaw is beginning to hurt from holding back tears. She walks unsteadily down the path, knowing exactly where the Doctor's grave stone is (in the back, separated from all the rest - because who would want a criminal to be buried near the "good" people?). She stops a few feet away from it, feeling as if she's going to collapse. Her body is stiff and her head is pounding and she's panicking, she wants to leave, but can't. She can't, no, not now. Not when she's so close.

Would the Doctor have been upset that she had never paid him a visit...?

In reality, probably not. He would have been happy and relieved that she was trying to live her life, without him. Yet, for some reason, she feels as if he would have scowled upon her. Sucking in a deep breath, Rose settles down in front of the grave, blinking.

It's just a stub in the ground, a shiny, marble stub. There's no writing on it, nothing to say that this is his.

She hates that. She hates that it's so... so simple. That wasn't the Doctor - he was far from being a simple person. No - a grave like this wasn't going to work for her. Her eyes scour the ground, and eventually she picks up a small, sharp stone. Biting her quivering lip, Rose bends over, placing one hand firmly on the gravestone. Her palm is sweating, and it slips a little. Sniffing, she wipes off her hand, then places it in a better position. Then, in the corner, she begins to scratch two, simple words onto the stone.

Words that would mean nothing to anyone, save herself.

'My Thief'. The letters are messy and uneven, but they're readable.

Her hand shakes as she scratches it into the stone. In fact, her whole body is shaking. She sits back heavily, finally letting the tears slip down her red cheeks. Her stomach churns and she tries to swallow the lump in her throat. Quickly, she puts a hand to her mouth to muffle a sob. She heaves for air, her chest beginning to hurt. Her throat is tight and she can't see past the liquid swimming in her eyes.

She blinks it away, wiping the wet from her cheeks. "Alright..." she says aloud, fixing her gaze on the ground in front of her. In the brief moment, she lets herself remember. She lets herself remember the way he'd held her, like she was the only thing in his life that mattered. How he'd grin at her, and dance her around the living room, throwing his head back in laughter as she stumbled around. The grin he'd give her when she'd said just the right thing, or the sneaky arm he'd wind around her waist while they were walking.

She inhales; exhales. She unsteadily shifts so that she's sitting with her legs crossed. Quickly, she runs through her day, making sure to note tiny details; times, flavours, scents, everything. The Doctor had loved the longer tales. "Alright, Doctor," she whispers, a small smile playing on her lips. "I'm going to tell you a story."