This is for the TPP July prompt "starting/ending the day with a smile." When I read it, a little voice in my head went, "Oh, you could make that the Doomsday prequel to Retrouvailles," which I'd been planning to write this month anyway. Part two with Rose's POV will be coming shortly, but I wanted to make sure I got this posted in July.

The Doctor's hearts seized up. He'd known from the moment he'd set foot in the white room at the top of Torchwood Tower that something bad was going to happen here. The timelines swirled around him, tangling into a temporal nexus that eliminated all hope of a happy ending.

And his wife was here. His precious Rose. He'd tried to get her to go back to the TARDIS, but she'd refused. For a moment, he'd been tempted to trick her into going to Pete's World, but the idea of purposely severing their bond like that made him sick. He could barely stomach the idea of doing that to himself, and he certainly couldn't do it to her.

But in all his wild imaginings of what might happen, he'd never dreamed the day would end with Rose falling into the Void. He watched her fingers slip one by one from the lever and understood what the timelines had been trying to tell him.

Rose, love! Hold on! Please, hold on!

Rose screamed against the pain of being stretched by the Void, and the Doctor winced as the ache reverberated across the bond, making his own shoulders and hands hurt. But as long as she held on, he could take care of her with the sonic, or in the med bay if need be. He couldn't fix things if she fell into the Void.

Not gonna let go, she told him fiercely. I'm never gonna leave you, do you hear me?

The Doctor nodded frantically, desperate to believe her even though he knew she was wrong. She'd promised him forever—she couldn't just leave him now.

But the pull of the Void was inexorable, and her fingers continued to slip. The Doctor could see it all happening, and for once, he hated the occasional hints of prescience his time senses afforded.

Finally, she lost her grip on the lever. "Rose!" he screamed, as if the power of his voice could keep her in this universe. The fear and panic radiating from her hurt more than the thought of losing her. He'd promised to take care of her, and he was breaking that vow.

At the last possible moment, Pete Tyler popped back from the parallel universe. Rose landed solidly in his arms, and safe from the dire fate that had awaited her, she looked back at the Doctor. The expectant hope in her eyes killed him. She thought he could save her, that he would be able to bring her home.

Then Pete hit the hopper, and they were gone. The Doctor stared at the spot where they'd been as the wind from the Void slowly died down. Just like he'd said, the breach closed in on itself, and the walls between the worlds knit themselves back together.

No longer being pulled towards the Void, his feet landed with a thud on the floor. Slowly, almost without being aware of it, the Doctor shuffled to the wall. He could still feel Rose, though their bond was stretched across the distance. Maybe… maybe he just stayed here forever…

He placed his hand against the wall, and yes! There she was. Take me back, she begged him, and the Doctor's hearts broke completely.

I love you, he told her instead, and from the sudden emotional turmoil she projected, he knew she understood what he wasn't saying, why he'd left her plea unanswered. He could feel the walls closing, tighter and tighter. No matter how hard he tried to hold onto Rose, he wouldn't be able to keep her.

The Doctor choked back a sob when the walls closed and the bond broke. The little piece of Rose that had lived in his mind disappeared, leaving a gaping hole where she should be. Pain knifed through his head, and he squeezed his eyes shut as he tried to breathe through it.

Somehow, he got himself back to the TARDIS and into the Vortex, and then he went to their room and collapsed onto the bed. The Doctor been broken like this once before, when he met Rose Tyler. That Doctor had been fresh from the Time War, with the guilt of killing two races weighing him down and the loss of his people in his mind driving him mad.

It had been Rose who'd helped him heal then. Rose who had listened after Platform One when he'd told her, in halting words, about losing his people. Rose who had come to him after they'd left Van Statten's and let him cry because if a Dalek could survive, why couldn't a Time Lord?

And finally, Rose who had asked him that night for a smile. He'd scoffed at that—how could he smile when he was still the only one left? But she'd insisted, and finally, to appease her, he'd pulled his lips into some twisted semblance of a smile.

She grinned back, a warm, tender smile that he didn't often see, and suddenly, his own smile was real. Then Rose had arms around his waist and her head was against his chest and for the first time since the War, the Doctor had felt like he might actually be able to truly live again.

When Rose had pulled back, she'd made him promise—with mock sternness—to smile at least once a day, before he went to bed.

"Don't sleep every night, me," he'd shot back. "Not some ape who needs that much rest."

Rose had rolled her eyes. "Well fine," she'd retorted. "Then smile at me before I go to bed. I mean it, Doctor."

He'd raised his eyebrows at her order, but the next night, after they'd dropped clicky-forehead Adam off at home, she'd paused in the corridor on her way to bed and turned around to look at him.

"Well?"

"Well what?" the Doctor had returned, hiding his smile. He'd make her work for it.

Rose had crossed her arms over her chest, her fingers tapping her elbow. "You know, Doctor," she'd drawled. "He was never my boyfriend."

And his smile had crept out, against his will.

From that night on, it had been a game of theirs. What could Rose say to make him smile, how long could he hold out?

And then one day, the Doctor had realised that Rose was right. Smiling at least once a day hadn't brought his people back or restored Gallifrey, but it had healed a part of his soul that he'd thought was irreparably damaged.

And Rose, more than being the one who encouraged him to smile, became the woman who made him smile. As he'd fallen in love with her, the smiles came more and more easily—because how could he help but smile in the presence of his love?

A sob broke through the knot of tension in the Doctor's chest. It had been so easy then. Even when he'd regenerated and they'd had a few rocky days, he'd been able to smile, because Rose was there. And this body was made to be with her, made to be hers.

The morning he'd woken up and discovered Rose asleep on his chest, broadcasting every one of her emotions for his touch telepathy to pick up, he'd smiled bigger than he ever had before. Rose Tyler loved him. She loved him and she wanted him and oh, he didn't think he'd ever stop smiling.

He'd been worried for a few days after he'd accidentally formed their bond—what if she hated him for essentially marrying her without even telling her it was a possibility? But when they'd finally talked about it—when she'd figured out what had happened and asked him for confirmation—the smile on her face had dispelled his doubts.

Six months. That was how long they'd had as husband and wife. Six months of love and smiles and holding each other close.

And now, even though he knew she was gone, his mind kept stretching, reaching for her. It wasn't right for her to be gone. It was the most wrong thing he'd ever felt, and he wanted to go back to that bloody white wall and beat on it until it broke down and he could bring Rose home.

The Doctor moaned low in his throat and curled up on Rose's side of the bed, wrapped around her pillow. By all the gods, he wanted her back. He needed her back. How was he supposed to live this life without her?

The TARDIS pushed her way into his mind and soothed him to sleep. The Doctor fought against it for a moment, but then he realised she was right. He needed to rest. His mind needed to rest. Even though he'd still feel Rose's absence in his sleep, it wouldn't be this deep, gnawing emptiness that he felt right now.

He'd sleep now, and figure out how to live without Rose later.