"Please, Doctor. Save yourself, even if you can't save us."

That was something she'd said to him, once. The last thing she'd said to him. He didn't want to listen, then. He didn't want to listen now.

"Romana---"

He reached out a hand, but there was nothing there. Just an illusion, a figment. Part of who he'd been. He wanted her to be real. He wanted that more than anything, but she wasn't.

He closed his eyes and nodded, stepping around her. He could hear her cries of protest, the way she spoke in perfect Gallifreyan. He just couldn't listen.

"Holiday. Cruise. Nothing but pan galactic gargleblasters and rest," he siad.