An empty TARDIS, a new body, and an empty feeling where there should be thousands of voices, millennia of history, and worlds that never were but should have been, wiped out of time now. The empty feeling doesn't go away.
"See you in hell." That was what he said the last time, and he's never going to see him again anyway, but there's still all that technology in his room, and they need it now. Rose won't go in, so he does. No dust, here in the TARDIS. Just blasters and transducers and assorted scraps from a hundred planets, and too, too many memories.
A letter tucked into his pocket, an entire day spent in the TARDIS while outside it rains so hard he can hear it in the console room, and he can't stop thinking that he always did like France...
Rose stays with her mother for a day and a half. The Doctor doesn't move the TARDIS from inside her flat, and from the console room, he quietly shuffles Mickey's room deeper into the TARDIS, along with several dozen others, dark and unused now but never really forgotten.
Sitting cross-legged on a bed, in a room all in pink. He meant to clear out some of the things in Rose and Jackie's flat - bezulium, souvenirs, things that shouldn't be left lying around. He ended up here, tossing that bezulium from hand to hand and staring at pink walls for no reason he can say.
All by himself, with just the flames and the darkness, hot on his face and chilly night air on the back of his neck. For a moment he thinks he almost hears the rhythm of the drums, but no. He shakes his head and it resolves to nothing more than the beating of his hearts.
A dozen Christmases, all in a row, all with snow - real, proper snow - and not a disaster in sight. It seems only appropriate, although a little hollow with no one along. Without someone to share it with, he feels all these Christmases somewhat miss the point.
Two hearts, and neither of them are beating. He doesn't move for a long time, sits there beside her body, watching, there among all the green and gold, almost like the console room of the TARDIS. He won't admit he's waiting. He also won't admit the moment he lets them take her body is the moment he's actually given up.
A hug, just like the last time, an order for her to call him if she needs, and then he turns and walks away. Any more is too much. Any more is like saying he really will never see her again, and that's not true - they've always been like this, they'll always be like this, swinging towards and away from each other, never coming quite close enough. This isn't really goodbye.
"See ya." A rainy night, hair and clothes dripping as he moves to the console and sets the coordinates, and he doesn't bother drying off. He wanders down the hallways without conscious thought, realizes eventually he should probably lie down, and when he does, it's in a room that's not his own, but there's a bed, so that's all that matters. It takes him a long time to realize the sheets and pillow smell like her, when she'd wrap him into a hug, and he can only close his eyes, trying to forget an empty farewell.