A/N: You can assume what you will, I'm assuming the Doctor and Rose were secretly married before Doomsday.
The silence in the room had remained unbroken for years. Rubble lay everywhere lit by a soft blue light. Boxes, wires, cables and piping covered in dust and cobwebs. An odd sort of respectful mood hung in the air, the feeling of something of great importance having taken place. The sun shining weakly through the rain that ran in rivulets down the glass outside the wide window at one side of the room, intensifying the dim light. There was a loud creak and a door was pushed open. The blonde head of a young girl poked around it and she looked curiously into the room for a moment before deciding it was worth investigating and wandered inside.
She’d only been gone a few minutes, five minutes and sixteen seconds to be precise. She didn’t think they would have begun to search for her yet. Her mother had been in deep conversation about some alien race with her grandfather and when they began discussing alien races the girl knew she had plenty of time to explore. Her family ran an organisation called Torchwood that investigated alien races and things. She normally found it all fascinating and usually when her mother and grandfather were busy she would run down to see what new things had been discovered and given to the scientists. But today she had felt like exploring.
She’d never been to this room before, hadn’t even known it existed. Perhaps a bit unwisely she had ignored the yellow and black strips of hazard tape over the door. But she’d always been far too curious for her own good. Like her father, Mum would mutter. It was one of the few things she knew about her father. No one talked about him much and whenever he was mentioned her Mum grew very quiet. A few times when she was little her mother had crept into her room late at night and begun to tell her stories about her father. She had thought her little girl was asleep but she hadn’t been. She lay very still and kept her eyes closed listening to her mother’s voice weaving wonderful tales of adventure. The stories always trailed off too soon when her mother reached a memory too painful to voice and grew quiet. Those were the memories the little girl most wished to hear.
She’d cracked an eye open a bit once to see why her mother had stopped mid sentence to find her arms hugging her stomach as though some great pain lay within her. A small tear rolled down her cheek. The girl bit the corner of her lip and reached an arm out to pat her mother’s shoulder, but before her fingertips touched the material of her mother’s top her mother had stood quickly, brushed the tear away and hurried out of the room, leaving the little girl lying on the bed. The girl began to cry. She ached for her mother to tell her more. More about the father she had never known and would never know. She wanted to feel his arms around her, his hand holding hers. She wanted to know what he thought of her, did he love her? Did he even know she existed? She longed to run through the universe with him as her mother had said in those night visits.
Looking around the room she began to step carefully around the boxes and piping. There didn’t seem to be anything dangerous here. Maybe they’d put the tape up so long ago that they had forgotten the room existed. Now the danger was long gone and the room remained silent and waiting, waiting for her. She peered into a few boxes and found nothing of interest. She was beginning to give the place up for boring when she felt a strange pull coming from one end of the room.
She looked up and stared at the far wall. It was blank. There was nothing noteworthy about it. Perhaps it was a bit of an oddly decorated room with the poles growing diagonally out of the floor and into the side walls and two huge levers beside them, but the feeling that drew her was coming from the blank wall at the end. She walked towards it, curiosity and excitement played in her mind.
When she reached it she stopped and watched it for a moment. And then seeing that it was just a wall she reached out and touched it. Hard and cold beneath her fingers, the white paint was dusty like the rest of the room. But then there was something. A feeling calling her. Drawing her. Someone was on the other side. She knew that was silly because the other side of the wall was the outside of the skyscraper, and yet. She leaned forward and pressed her cheek against the wall. The person wanted her, longed for her. She pressed her whole body against the wall, trying to get as close as she could. She could feel him in her mind.