He'd kept the letter, of course. The one addressed to him by Reinette some point before her death. She still loved him, still called him her lonely angel. Wanted to see him. He had wanted to see her, too. He wanted to take her places, but couldn't. Wanted to show her the universe, but could not. Wanted to spend---
That was one of his biggest problems with Byron. He got to do what the Doctor could not. See Reinette. Have a connection with Rose. Have a planet as a home.
Reason tells me that you and I are unlikely to meet again, but I think I shall not listen to reason.
His own words bit at him as he stared at the paper. He didn't need to look at the words, he'd long since had them memorized. All the same, Reinette's flowing handwriting haunted him, even from the console room.
Godspeed my lonely angel.
Something pricked at the back of his mind. It was the TARDIS, a warning. An engine core was started to fail, down the corridor to the left. Without even thinking, he moved down the corridor towards the problem, his jacket and the letter abandoned in the console room in favor of a damanged timeship that needed him.