Warning: Contains major character death

Author's Notes: AU set sometime well after 'Journey's End'.

Time can be rewritten.

But there are some things that just can't be changed.

Not even by me.

Day 2398.6 of the Yellow Jacast Calendar

I'm the smartest being in the entire universe, if I do say so myself.

I'm also evidently a complete moron.

I generally devour information at such a rate that odds were always pretty high that, given enough time, I'd run across something like this without meaning to, and most definitely without wanting to. I should have realised that possibility long before it actually happened. It would have occurred to any rational person, surely.

After all, she's not exactly low-profile – the 'stuff of legends' much more so than myself, at least as far as I'm concerned – so of course cultures all around the universe would write about her. Bound to happen. She's note-worthy. I'm surprised there's not a whole book devoted just to her. Actually, there probably is somewhere out there. Just because these Accomé authors had something a little different on their minds the day they typed this book up doesn't mean that someone out there isn't at this very moment telling The Rose Tyler Story.

Of course there are people who would know things about her life that even I don't. I never really went looking, did I? I didn't want to know.

Yet now I do, all the same.

I don't have a 'how', or even an exact 'when'. But there's a place. And a date. And the knowledge that I can't let that future happen.

I'll never steer the TARDIS anywhere near there ever again. That's all. Easily solved, I tell myself.

A sense of worry lingers.

93rd Moon of the Harvest, 27/Pear/33

Rose giggles as the dance ends and she's finally let down from the shoulders of the two Ereka Warriors who seem to have decided that she should be the guest of honour at tonight's festival.

She places a chaste kiss of thanks on both of their cheeks. Twelve years or so ago that would have sent me into a fit of less-than-successfully-internalised jealousy. Today I just smile slightly.

I have nothing to worry about and I know it. It's a feeling I only just recently realised I've been wanting to experience for most of my life. In a way, I've been waiting for her since before I even heard the word 'human'.

"I thought you'd be dancin'," she tells me once she crosses the maze of the dancing circle to my side. "You know, showin' 'em how it's done."

"Oh, don't you worry," I say. " Let them have their fun for now. It's only fair that I give those puffed-up 'warriors' a while to believe that they're the best this crowd has to offer, before thoroughly trouncing them all later. I mean, it wouldn't be kind to pop their inflated egos so early in the proceedings, would it?"

"Speakin' of egos..."

"You love it," I say.

She doesn't outwardly agree. She doesn't have to. I already know how she feels.

"It's a shame, really. Not that I'm really complainin', mind – I love visitin' places like this all the time – but have you noticed it's been months and months since we last visited Earth? I've got such a cravin' for milk, you don't even know. And chips. I'd do a lot for a plate of chips slathered in vinegar. And so here I thought maybe we could head out for a snack before it gets too late. But if you've got these big plans to dance circles around the locals..."

Suddenly I don't feel much like dancing at all, truthfully.

"Oh, you're definitely going to see something much more interesting tonight than some bog-standard fish 'n' chip shop," I tell her. "I wouldn't dream of taking you back to Earth yet, and let you miss all that."

With an expression that's half-invitation and half-taunt creeping onto her face, she holds out her arm to me and indicates the dancing area with her free hand. "I don't much care about them, actually, but I'm dyin' to see whether you can outdance me."

My breath of relief that her attention has been so easily averted (this time, at least) goes unheard over the ruckus as a new song is struck up.

As she drags me into the throng of people, though, I wonder how much longer I can continue to put it off.

27 August 2018, 10:10 a.m.

The TARDIS dies silently.

It's debateable whether she also dies suddenly. The signs have been there for relative weeks, I realise in retrospect, if only I'd thought to truly look for the deeper problem. It had just seemed easier to ignore the little niggles that kept springing up, knowing I didn't have the parts or any adequate substitutes (a paper clip and some chewing gum just wasn't going to cut it this time) to fix her up. She's always had her aches and pains. I just thought it was more of the same.

It briefly occurs to me that this might be forewarning, but having to face the tragedy of the present moment pushes that thought away quickly enough.

For her part, Rose presses a hand to the coral and bows her head for a moment, then walks out the door without a word. I thank her just as silently, for although I'm sure she mourns as well, she still can't quite share the depth of loss that I feel. All I want right now is to be left alone in the darkness to grieve the only companion who has seen me through everything, and whom I thought (or maybe just hoped) would never leave me.

In all my lives, it's been a very rare thing for me to really cry, beyond a stray tear every now and then. Today, I'm sobbing so hard that I worry my body will shrivel in on itself and Rose will return to look for me only to find that I've perished along with the TARDIS; a matched pair, as always.

Of course, it's all just mad fancy. I live on just fine. I don't even regenerate. The worst that happens is that my eyes swell and redden slightly and I'm left with a dry mouth and a strangely full feeling in my throat.

I finally say my last goodbyes as I'm collecting a few mementos of my life with her, knowing I'll never be able to bring myself to walk back through those doors into the dead core of her.

When I join Rose outside, I find that – of all the places in the universe – we're in London, and early 21st century London by the look of it.

The TARDIS must have used up the last of her energy to get us back to this second home of ours. I'd thank her, but not only is she no longer able to hear me, but I'd really have preferred that she didn't go to the bother, actually.

For all that this planet and this general time period became the only more-or-less stationary place I ever truly felt like I belonged even before Gallifrey burned, right now it's the last time and place I want to be stuck, with no way to escape.

15 December 2019, 12:01 a.m.

This time last year, Rose and I were still sorting ourselves out in the new flat and the eight-to-five (for her) and whenever-the-mood-strikes (for me) jobs. We were so busy with it all that I didn't even know what day it was from moment to moment. In fact, money was too tight for us to even buy a calendar, since Rose has refused to let me use the sonic on an ATM ever since that one time that I somehow accidentally cleaned out the finances of an entire credit union branch (even though I gave the money back!). And though I have no real need for calendars anyway – I could easily have used my senses to accurately tell time to the quarter-second – I really had no personal desire to keep track.

So last year, this date came and went without me ever even noticing.

If only I could be so lucky twice.

15 December 2020, 11:55 p.m.

I pull Rose into the sort of frantic kiss we haven't shared in months, having more or less settled into a companionable kind of tenderness. I won't say I miss the long-ago days of frequent jealousy and uncertainty, but there's perhaps something to be said for the kind of passion those emotions have always ignited between us.

Not that I haven't loved every minute of our time together, of course, from sitting together in perfect silence and stillness to our roaring fights that must certainly have woken the neighbours.

Not that I wouldn't give anything for another hundred years just like these.

I know all too well that that's yet another wish I'll never see granted, though. She's human. The early expiration date is, unfortunately, an inextricable part of the otherwise extraordinary package.

For now, though, she's still so very alive, and I hold her close to me as if to prove it, refusing to come up for air until the new day has well and truly been rung in.

A red letter day has just passed us by entirely unremarked by anyone but me.

"What was all that for?" Rose finally gasps, clutching at my shirt in a prelude to tearing the buttons open.

"Do I need a better reason than this?" I ask, indicating how she's even now pushing me onto my back and straddling me.

It's not a lie; she deserves better than that. It's just also not the whole truth.

6 March 2021, 8:17 p.m.

I join her on the couch and she smiles at me, reaching out and linking our fingers just the way she has most nights for seemingly forever (for all that it's only really the blink of an eye in the context of my lifespan).

She's here, with me. She's fine. She's happy.

There's still time.

I'll find a way.

15 June 2021, 10:33 a.m.

"For the... you know, I've lost count of how many times I've said it, actually. I'm fine. I don't feel sick. I didn't feel sick last week when you made the appointment, either. In fact, I haven't so much as had a cold for over a year, which you know, yeah? So what gives?"

"They don't call me the Doctor for nothing," I joke weakly. She doesn't look particularly amused. "You know, by the time there are noticeable symptoms it's often too late. So just humour me? Please? I worry about you without the TARDIS around to check on you. And while the sorts of dodgy medical practices they call 'cutting edge technology' on 21st century Earth don't exactly measure up to even the most out-dated piece of equipment on the TARDIS' worst day, it's still better than nothing. Well, as long as they don't go cutting you open, of course, because that's a rubbish way to treat people, and in just a short six hundred years they'll rightly refer to it as 'torture therapy'. But they won't do that to you, obviously, because I won't let them. So it'll be fine."

Rose doesn't look all that assured, but I've played my trump card, so she goes along anyway.

None of their scans reveal a thing. I don't know whether I'm disappointed or not. At least if I could be shown something tangible to fight against...

But no.

Today is the day that I have to start counting down.

7 November 2021, 7:45 a.m.

Rose pauses with her spoonful of cereal raised halfway to her mouth.

"All right. Spill."

I look up at her, startled. "Sorry, what?"

"Exactly. You're so zoned out lately that you might as well be hoverin' out near that café that orbits Jupiter. And this mornin' you look like a truck hit you. Maybe even a couple of trucks in a row. So what's wrong?"

I choose to tell her the least of my problems. "I haven't been sleeping well."

She frowns, confused. "All right. But you never do. So..."

"Well, when I say 'not well', I might actually mean 'at all'. Maybe."

"For how long, exactly?"

I sigh. "I haven't really been keeping track. Let's just say a long time. Maybe a month... or two. Maybe more."

"Is it the nightmares again?"

If only my biggest problem these days was still seeing Gallifrey go all but nova in my dreams.

"I'm all right. I'll burn out soon enough, and then I'll probably sleep for three days straight," I assure her.

Her lips twitch. "Like that time when you landed us in the 68th century and then promptly went all Sleepin' Beauty on me? I still have the photos, you know."

"Right. Like that. So just keep your camera handy, and any day you'll be getting the opportunity to make yourself a fresh batch of blackmail material."

"All right," Rose says, still sounding just a little sceptical. "If you say so. Just let me know if you keep havin' problems, hey?"

"You'll be the first one I tell," I say. I'll never tell a soul, you included, I think.

Personally, I think it's scary how good I've become lately at technically telling the truth while not giving away anything truly important.

Apparently satisfied, Rose leaves for work twenty minutes later. As soon as she's out the door, my head falls to the table top with an audible whack. I don't much care about the pain that shoots through my forehead. In fact, it's a nice distraction.

I've been working on this for months. I don't have enough information to go on. It would probably be funny if it didn't make me want to tear all my hair out a couple of strands at a time – me, of all people, beaten by a shortage of knowledge.

But there's not much I can do about it, in this case. I'm stuck here, separated from what I need by light-years.

So yesterday I finally began to accept just how insurmountable the task before me might be.

It's no wonder I look like rubbish this morning.

13 December 2021, 6:02 p.m.

"We should go to Spain," I announce. "Barcelona, maybe; we still haven't been there. I mean, it's not the Barcelona that has the dogs with no noses, but the one on Earth has its own hidden treasures that I could show you. More so than a lot of places on Earth, even. Definitely worth a look."

"Sounds good," Rose says distractedly, biting her lip and scanning through the document on her Torchwood-issue SwitchTab 3. "I can probably get some time off in a couple of weeks, I think, barrin' alien invasion."

"Actually, I was thinking tomorrow."

Rose finally looks up. "Huh? Tomorrow. As in, tomorrow tomorrow? The tomorrow where we're goin' to Steve and Christine's weddin', which you promised me you wouldn't skive off of? That tomorrow?"

"Oh." I'd completely forgotten, actually. I doubted she could blame me, if she had all the facts. "Well... we could catch a late flight out."

Rose snorts. "Sure, and be there for a whole half a day before I have to fly back in time for work Monday mornin'. That'll be a great vacation."

"Oh, forget Torchwood. They can call you – us – if there's anything major going on. Besides, you've earned a break at least five times over."

Rose sighs. "You know all the favours they owed me were used up when you sent that power surge through the building that completely wiped out all the tech on the fifth floor. Anyway, my unit's already down a person for the next two weeks."

"It'll just be a couple of days."

"And at the end of them, I won't have a job to come back to. I'm tellin' you, I can't take leave just now."

"Then quit!" I'm surprised at how vehemently the words come out.

So is Rose, it seems.

I lower my voice. "Sorry, but since when are you so worried about some job? You don't have to work. We could leave London altogether without any problems. In fact, we should. We've been in one place for way too long already, don't you think?"

"Sure, I guess," Rose says. "You know I never really cared about location as long as it's the two of us there. So yeah, you're right. Time to move on. I'll talk to my boss on Monday about a transfer to one of the other offices. I think there might even be one in Barcelona. Not that I speak the language or anythin', but... well, language barriers, for you and me? That's nothin'. We can figure anythin' out."

Oh Rose... how I wish that could be true.

"Then we should at least scope out the area before we up and move there," I suggest. "So, quick trip tomorrow night and Sunday, done."

"Um, no, not done. I already said no, didn't you hear? I've got work to do. Maybe I don't need the job, come to that, but I like it. I want to keep it. A few days away, even with you, isn't enough to justify just givin' it up."

"All right, not as far away as Barcelona, then. Maybe we could head for the coast? Just a day trip, that's all."

Rose glares, and I know that she's not about to agree to so much as a trip down the street to the grocery store on Sunday unless she good and well feels like it. She's dug her heels in already – my fault for pushing so hard – and I've learned that if anyone can out-stubborn me, it's Rose Tyler.

Maybe I should just kidnap her. It wouldn't be the first time I'd done something like that. I'd only have to keep her away for twenty-four hours, and it would be well-worth the chewing out she'd give me.

Or I could just tell her that we need to get out of London. Maybe I could even tell her why.

Anything to get her to be elsewhere.

But in the end, I say nothing.

Because as much as I might want to pretend otherwise, I secretly know that just being in a different city isn't going to be enough. The insignificant details can always be rewritten, and the location was never the thing that really mattered.

I can't keep fooling myself.

14 December 2021, 2:49 a.m.

I thought I was being silent, but I'm probably pacing in the kitchen rather louder than I realise. I've never been particularly good at being quiet since my most recent regeneration. Nor was I very well practised in that skill in most of my earlier bodies either, for that matter. I've always been better at grabbing attention with both hands than slipping under any kind of radar.

So, on reflection, perhaps it's not exactly surprising that she's noticed my restlessness and is drawn out from bed to attempt to soothe it.

"Can't sleep?" Rose asks, rubbing blearily at her eyes in a way that proclaims that she herself could have happily slept on for many more hours, all things being equal.

"Don't want to," I correct her.

"What else is new?" she mumbles. "So is this just the usual 'I'm a Time Lord and sleep is for the weak' thing, or is it somethin' we should be talkin' about?"

I deftly avoid a direct answer by saying, "Don't worry, I'm not having nightmares anymore." And I'm not. These visions are vivid enough in my imagination while I'm awake. I don't dare risk trapping myself in sleep, where everything is so easily magnified.

"All right," Rose capitulates easily, apparently too tired to notice my duplicity. I worry that I won't be able to get away with it in the morning, or for the rest of the day, once she's had her proper eight hours of rest. There's no one in this world or any other that knows me better, after all. Not anymore. And I'm finding it harder to keep my composure.

I let her wander back to the bedroom, barely avoiding knocking her shoulder into the doorway as she passes through. The door shuts a little too hard after her, and I feel the vibration of it deep in my chest.

I stare at that door, suddenly desperate to be on the other side of it where I can see her and touch her.

The hours are ticking by.

14 December 2021, 8:23 p.m.

I hold her close and sway against her to the slow melody of the music. This moment almost makes me glad that she forced me to come along to the wedding after all. I love dancing with her. I always have.

The band will wind down soon, and perhaps the newly-weds will take off even sooner. As soon as either of those things happen, Rose and I will be out of here. I'll have her all to myself again, safe and sound at home.

Until then, I can't help but want to just live inside this moment, enjoying it, and ignoring everything outside it.

If I could wish for anything at all... well, this wouldn't be it, but since this might be all I get, I won't let it slide by without a fight.

She's warm in my arms.

15 December 2021, 6:29 a.m.

I almost wake her up at midnight, wanting to make the most of the day, but I manage to restrain myself until a somewhat decent hour. It's light out, for all that the sky should rightly be so storm-ridden that the sun wouldn't dare to pierce its way through.

"Nngh. Oi, it's a Sunday," Rose complains when she pries one eye open to glance over at the clock display. "I know you don't really do this whole 'sleep in' thing, but you've lived with me long enough to have learned there's no such thing as before nine a.m. on weekends."

"Yes, but you also taught me that holidays are the exceptions," I reply brightly.

"Um, but it's still ten days until Christmas," she says, slightly bewildered.

I shrug. "Well, sure, but you know I'm not good at being patient. I've got all your presents bought and wrapped already, and so do you, right? There's food in the fridge, and the decorations are up, and since we're all the family we have and we're both already here... Well, come on, why not? Besides, time is relative. If we still had the TARDIS, we could just skip ahead and avoid all this useless waiting."

I hate using that play against her, but it's the one argument that will get her to agree without question. She has a pretty good idea by now of how much not having the TARDIS hurts me, even beyond the drudgery of being stuck on the slow path.

"Yeah, okay. Just... can I have a few minutes to make it all the way to this side of consciousness?"

"Of course!" I say. "In fact, you stay right here. I'll bring you breakfast."

She laughs. Perhaps she thinks I'm joking. Admittedly, I've only brought her breakfast in bed four or five times in the whole time she's known me. Though I'm not sure why that is, given that the tray always gets chucked aside long before she's finished in favour of me licking syrup from her skin, and really, I've been an idiot not to have been taking every possible opportunity to do that.

But in the end it seems she doesn't feel the need to look a gift horse in the mouth.

"I love you," I say before I leave.

She just smiles back silently, because normally that would be enough.

But today... today I wish she'd say the words.

15 December 2021, 7:56 a.m.

I trail the towel over her skin almost too lightly to soak up the beads of water, but she doesn't seem to mind how ineffectual I'm being. This is yet another thing that I haven't done often enough. Usually after sex I'm bounding off back to the latest thing that's captured my attention, and she's drifting off to sleep alone. It's been ages since we've showered together at all, and longer still since I've physically cared for her quite like this, for no other reason than that I can.

It occurs to me that I could have been using the last three-and-a-bit years to much better effect, knowing what was coming. I wonder when exactly it was that I let myself be blinded by the illusion of permanency, forgetting along the way that every moment with her is precious. If only I'd been able to stop obsessing about ways out of what I knew was coming long enough to do something more productive, like telling her I love her every few minutes just so she could never doubt it again...

She doesn't doubt it, though, I remind myself. She hasn't for a very long time. I may have done many things wrong, and been able to do an even larger number of things better if I were given another chance, but that... that is one of the things I know I've done right.

I've never been good with feelings, but I made sure she knows. I didn't push her away when she finally made it back to me. No matter how much the idea of eventually losing her ate at me, I didn't sabotage what little time we might still have together by shoving her back into that other universe with her family, letting her go before she could do it first.

Of course, if I had she couldn't have possibly been here on this exact date, so maybe my choices weren't so 'right' at all. I could well be deluding myself.

But if she knew all of what's at stake, she'd still say it was worth it. She would have chosen to be with me. I know she would. That has to count for something.

15 December 2021, 8:23 a.m.

I imagine my expression must look downright hungry as I watch her face light up with each gift from under the tree she opens. I stare at her intently, as if memorising her face. Whether it's to look back on her image fondly or to torture myself over it, I honestly don't know.

If she notices my gaze, or the fact that every Christmas present she unwraps is something that she can use immediately, today, she doesn't mention it.

In fact, she seems all too happy to put some of the toys to use straight away.

And again, if she mentally remarks on the strangeness of the sense of immediacy I'm giving off – driving us both through endless hurdles of pleasure so soon after the last time – she says nothing.

Just as well. I wouldn't be able to say anything in return. Her mouth on my skin has made me temporarily speechless, and I have no complaints about that.

Speech doesn't matter. Thought doesn't matter. For a time, the only drive is this almost animal need to possess her, and for her to be reminded just how thoroughly she possesses me as well.

15 December 2021, 9:39 a.m.

There's something about hugging Rose Tyler that's always felt so right. Her body heat emanates around my slightly cooler form. Her soft curves conform to me. Yet even after the first time we made love, these embraces never really took on a sexual overtone. It's always just her and me giving each other comfort – asking and receiving in one swift move – the exact same way we have for almost as long as we've known each other.

Any excuse for a hug, as Jack used to say.

And honestly, if there's ever been a better excuse, I certainly haven't heard of it.

I cling to her for so long that I let time fade away into a blur of nothingness inside my mind. Nothing matters but the two of us.

It's a hug that could last a lifetime.

15 December 2021, 10:14 a.m.

"You really want to watch Spice World?"

Now, of all times, I want to say, though I obviously can't.

"Why not?" she asks. It's almost a challenge. "Don't even try to claim you don't love it."

If I could pick the one film that I would want to watch right now... Well, it won't actually be made for another couple of centuries, and I never did lay hands on my very own copy, so I suppose Spice World will have to do.

Besides, it's what Rose wants. It makes her smile. What else matters?

Even though I'm insanely tense and I can't concentrate on the movie (which really doesn't matter much, given the overall lack of plot), it's strangely enjoyable to just sit around with Rose and do something so normal.

I stroke a hand along her hair as she leans against me, humming to the music and occasionally even proudly joining in with the words.

This, I think. This is what I'll miss the most.

15 December 2021, 12:46 p.m.

Hope clearly does spring eternal; even if mine has been on a steady decline for some time now, it turns out I still can't just sit back and do nothing. I have to at least try.

So every electrical product in the house is now unplugged.

The stove doesn't run on gas (I actually didn't know this before, which just shows how much of the cooking I do), so there's no risk of a leak.

There are no slippery patches on the floor, and I can find nothing sharp that's not properly stored away.

I tested the water and the food, and there's nothing of concern there either, even for a fragile human constitution.

Every window is shut, because Rose once told me she's 'sort of a little bit' allergic to bees, and I don't trust the accuracy of such a wishy-washy description at a time like this.

Rose isn't running a fever, or feeling any pain, or looking peaky in the slightest.

Everything's as low risk as I can think to make it. Or so it appears.

If I find out that it was something just lying in wait for her all along – something that those idiots who call themselves 'medical experts' could have seen when I had her tested six months ago –

No. If that's it, then I don't want to know. I don't want to find out what I'll do to whoever or whatever is revealed to have caused this. Better if it remains a mystery, all things considered.

After all, it doesn't really matter, does it? The end result is the same.

The real concern isn't that I can't find any obvious causes to battle against; I didn't expect to at this late stage, really. It's that Rose doesn't even look surprised that I'm running a basic physical, asking seemingly random questions and running about the place disarming every single potential hazard I can find, even those that wouldn't even really be particularly worrisome to a two-year-old. To be honest, it terrifies me that none of this perturbs her. I'm acting like a madman; she should be telling me to sit down and occupy myself by playing with one of my experiments (all of which went out with the trash a week ago just in case one of them decided to suddenly become prone to exploding).

It's downright strange that she doesn't seem to care what my motivations are.

Unless, of course, she already knows.

15 December 2021, 1:09 p.m.

There's no such thing as fate. But it's nonetheless a nice catch-all word for lower beings who haven't yet come to understand the intricacies of the universe. And, in the end, it all amounts to the same thing.

The three writers who banded together to create the massive tome known as The Comprehensive History of the Accomé didn't really have the right words to convey the meaning 'fixed event in time', but as a Time Lord I know how to read between the lines. They only devoted the briefest of descriptions to the events that occurred on 15 December 2021, but even a superficial reading made it clear that their entire history revolved around this moment.

It should have been an odd idea, that a single person can have such a broad influence throughout time and space, without even meaning to, through some incredibly convoluted series of future events that just frankly don't matter in comparison to what's happening right now. Suffice it to say, one person can be the first domino to fall. But then, I've always known that humans are never as small or unimportant than they might seem at first glance.

She's the most important of all. At least, she is to me.

And, apparently, to the Accomé.

I wonder whether it would amuse her to know that she's inadvertently founded a whole multi-galaxy society.

Maybe I should tell her that after all. And, if I'm going to, sooner would be better than later.

15 December 2021, 1:17 p.m.

It could be any second now.

I curl around her, shaking.

She doesn't ask why.

15 December 2021, 1:51 p.m.

She places a kiss on my forehead.

"You're gonna be all right, you know," she says softly.

If there was any doubt whether she's guessed what's going on, it's just been erased. It's all there in the tone of her voice.

And yet she doesn't ask why, or how, or beg me to stop it. There's no bargaining or denial. She's all acceptance, as if she's known for a while now. Maybe she has.

Still, I don't understand it. I've been trying to deal with this for years now and I'm still deep in the midst of that battle, even at this late hour. How can she be so calm?

But I know why, deep down. She understands that I'd never have let it get to this point unless there's no way around it. If it can be solved, the Doctor's the one who can do it – she's told that to dozens of people over the years. She trusts me just that much. With her life, in this case.

But even if she doesn't think so – if she believes I've done every tiny little thing that I possibly can – I've let her down.

I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I want to tell her that. But even saying those words would be nothing but cold comfort, meant more for my benefit than hers. It's far too little.

If I were a braver man, I would offer her something more. I would stay with her. I would be there for her throughout, and find some tiny way to make these last hours more bearable. I've witnessed a million deaths or more, some from afar and some right in front of my eyes, but she's different. She always has been.

Today would be a brilliant day to stand up and proclaim that I refuse to continue being a coward.

Instead, I bolt from the room.

15 December 2021, 3:21 p.m.

All right. Yes. I can do this. For her.

I finally get up the nerve to go back and face her. To face it. I've let her down in so many ways, but not this time. Not today. I've taken her away from everyone else she truly loves, but I'll be damned if I let her be alone now when I'm right here.

The door squeaks slightly when I push it open.

"I'm sorry." This time it actually feels like the words are meaningful. I have something solid I can apologise for. Maybe she can even forgive me for running out on her.

She looks to be sleeping. I can hardly blame her. It's been a frantic day, even if she hasn't shown it on the outside.

"Rose," I say softly, coaxing.

She doesn't immediately roll over and smile sleepily at me, holding out her hand for me to join her even though she knows I won't let her just drift happily back into her well-deserved nap. She ignores me, or perhaps simply isn't that easily woken.

"Rose," I repeat, a little louder but still patient. She's tired, and she's always been slow to get up.

And then more insistently: "Rose!"

Suddenly my hearts are pounding.

I want to reach out and shake her, but I've used up my stash of bravery just walking through the doors. I just can't bring myself to reach out and touch her only to find...

There's no evidence of foul play. No sign of an accident. Nothing in the slightest to hint at a cause; at anything that I could have prevented if I'd only tried a little harder.

Of course there's not, I tell myself. Because nothing's happened. It can't have. Not yet. Not when I was just off bumbling away like a useless idiot in the other room. Surely.

A sound of denial claws its way up from somewhere deep in my chest, though it emerges sounding more like a strangled wail.

"Rose..."

When the TARDIS passed, I broke down entirely. But this is beyond tears. Because if it's true...

If she's gone...

"Rose," I gasp. "Rose. Come on. You... No. No. Rose!"

She's so beautiful when she sleeps. But I still want more than anything for her to wake up. Wake up. Now. Please.

Please.

"ROSE!"

15 December 2021, 3:43 p.m.

The bedroom is silent but for the sound of one person breathing.

~FIN~