He asked her to come along. She said no. She had a family, husband and a daughter (Katherine, in fact, and the name made the Doctor start involuntarily), and she wanted to be with them. He couldn't blame her. He took her home, went back to his TARDIS.
"Looooonley, I'm Mister Lonley, I got nobody---"
"All the time I thought, there's only me---"
"On my own---"
This was getting rather ridiculous, even the radio stations the TARDIS picked up were against him. The Doctor sighed, flipped on some good ol' Blue Eyes, and went to the wardrobe room to change out of his suit, which was only just about caked in 13th century mud.
"In the wee small hours of the morning, when the whole wide world is fast asleep..."
He flipped through some of the clothes that were piled haphazardly around the room. He'd tried organizing it once, but color or date or whatever only wound up becoming overcomplicated and confusing. His eyes fell onto an aged-looking leather jacket, still folded a little lopsidedly (what else would one expect from Jackie?) as it sat next to the mirror. He ran a hand along the skin of it, trying to remember what it was he liked so much about the jacket in his last incarnation. Was it the protection? The simplicity? He couldn't imagine donning it now.
New new Doctor. He sighed, and turned back to the wardrobe. A smirk touched his lips at the sight of a black A-line dress with red trim. Good couple of memories came out of that dress.
"You lie awake and think about the girl, and never ever think of counting sheep...."
He missed Rose. Loving her was so very simple. She was companion, he was Doctor, and they fit. Her hand in his, the way they laughed in disgustingly cute unison at jokes. It was a slow fall into love, but, of course, by the time he got there, well, it was a bit too late, thank you very much.
With Catherine...it was so complex. He remembered falling so hard and so quickly in love with her that it was almost jarring. Scratch that. It was jarring. It was startling and a good bit scary, too. He felt like a fool and, in retrospect, he probably was.
He sighed, picked the blue suit, and tried not to think about it.
How long had it been for her and his former self? Days? Weeks? More? Less? He tried to remember when it was she called, when he dropped her off on the Eye of Orion. He sighed. A watched pot never boils, and a TARDIS phone with two weeks' worth of staring would remain silent until Time decided differently.