Written for the 2013 Fic Advent Calendar.

A/N: It's a little sad, and for that I'm so sorry. I also got out of my comfort zone where tenses are concerned. Please tell me if you don't like it or it feels a little wonky. I'm iffy about it.

Disclaimer: Not mine.

It happens two years, five months, one week, and three days after their goodbye. Their final goodbye.

Rose Tyler starts to forget.

She never expects it happen, but that's exactly when it does. She's stirring her tea and a thought begins to form at the back of her mind. It's nothing at first; over time she's learned to suppress all her thoughts regarding him. But as she takes the first sip and the warm liquid cascades over her tongue and slides down her throat she finds that the mug has become unsteady in her hand, tea splashing over the sides to scald her skin and make ugly, dark splotches on the white kitchen tile.

She sets the mug down and braces herself against the counter, both hands gripping as hard as they can, anchoring her to this reality. She takes a deep breath and turns to look at her mum, who's busy trying to get her baby brother to eat his dinner with utensils, rather than his hands.

"Mum?"

Jackie turns abruptly at the panic in her daughter's voice. The woman before her is pale and on the verge of tears. "Sweetheart, are you all right?"

"How did he take his tea?"

The question confuses Jackie, and it's not until after Rose has repeated it that the meaning sinks in. But she is distracted by Tony's antics, and she doesn't answer with the normal delicacy that she devotes to conversation about him. "Well, I don't know Rose. He liked it so sweet it's a wonder he still had teeth in his head. Can his kind even get cavities?"

But Rose doesn't say anything. Instead she has turned back to the sink. Staring out the kitchen window, she can see dark clouds off in the distance. Her shoulders slump a little and Jackie wonders if her daughter is crying. When she speaks, the answer is clear.

"I don't remember, mum. I don't remember how he takes his tea. How could I forget something like that?" She's sobbing now, elbows on the counter, face buried in her hands. Jackie doesn't know how to react. When they had first been stranded it was something she was used to. Rose cried for weeks on end and it nearly broke her heart. But it had been so long. They had been doing so well.

"Rose—"

"Why did I forget that? I made it for him all the time, mum!" Tony takes this moment to make himself known and throws his plastic spoon to the floor. He laughs gleefully and begins to eat his peas with his hands, much to Jackie's disappointment. She gives her son a disapproving look and turns back to Rose. She places both hands on her shoulders.

"Sometimes we forget, Rose. When your granddad died I didn't think I'd ever forget him. My own dad! But sometimes I have a hard time remembering what he sounded like, or how tall he was. It just happens, sweetheart. I don't know why, but I wish it didn't."

"But it's not like that with me and the Doctor. He's not dead mum, he's out there somewhere." A beat passes between them as Rose swipes angrily at her tears. "You don't—you don't think he'd forget me, do you?"

Jackie pulls her daughter into a tight hug. "Oh Rose, honestly. Forget you? I doubt that!"

She pulls away from the hug and offers her mum a watery smile. "Sorry. Thought I was done with the mood swings. I guess I've just been thinking about it more with the way things are at work right now." She laughs half-heartedly as Jackie dismisses her apology with the wave of her hand.

She pulls a squirming Tony out of his high chair. "I'm going to go give this one a bath. Are you sure you're ok?"

"M'fine, promise." She gives a genuine smile to prove her point and watches her mother climb the stairs with Tony in her arms.

Several hours later, when she's sure everyone is asleep; Rose creeps down to the kitchen. The moon illuminates the room, bathing everything in a milky, cold light. She stares up at it from the window above the sink and reaches into the cupboard for a mug. But she can't quite reach. And even though her fingers find purchase on the mug, as she is bringing it down she can't quite keep a hold on it. It slips from her grip and smashes against the counter, bits of ceramic shards clattering into the sink.

"Damnit." The mess looks distorted as she tries to see through her tears. She does her best to clean it before sitting down at the kitchen table, still clutching a piece of the mug in her hand. A sob escapes her and echoes around the empty kitchen.

"This isn't fair," she whispers as she stares down at the sliver of blue ceramic she's holding. "Help me remember. Please." She isn't sure what she was doing. Praying to a broken mug? She doesn't really believe in god and the only other person she actually believes in is gone.

"Please," she whispers again, tears falling freely down her cheeks. "I don't want to forget."

And then, as if someone somewhere has heard her plea, it comes to her. Suddenly a memory takes shape in her mind. She jumps from her seat and goes back to the cupboard, grabbing another mug. It was something that happened so, so long ago. Shortly after Christmas, after his regeneration. After she had dismissed his new face. She had been in the TARDIS galley, determined to make it up to him. He had entered the kitchen soundlessly, just as she was about to make tea. He startled her and she dropped the mug, shattering it against the galley floor.

He had been worried, asked her if she was all right, if she was hurt. When she had assured him she was fine, she admitted to wanting to make him tea as a sort of apology for rejecting him. Because she had not accepted him as the man she had grown so familiar with and she had come to realize how quick she had been to jump to conclusions. And looking him straight in the eye she told him that she knew he was still her Doctor, and that she was sorry for treating him otherwise.

He smiled then, and he looked so incredibly young. Gently, he removed the mug from her hands as she stated that he'd help her. New taste buds and everything. And together they made his tea. And when she tried to add sugar with a teaspoon, he swatted her hand away and tipped the container over his cup, allowing the sugar to flow in until he declared that that was the perfect amount. After a copious amount of milk, Rose stared into the mug, eyeing the nearly white substance. He let her taste it then, and she actually spat it into the sink as he guffawed over how dramatic he was being.

And now here she is, standing over a mug of milky-white-used-to-be-tea. She forces a few swallows down before pouring the rest into the sink. Even after all that time, it was still as terrible as she remembered it. Stranger yet, is that she can almost feel him there with her, hands ghosting over hers as she holds the mug tightly between both hands. His laughter in her ear as she frowns at the taste. It's the closest she's ever felt to him in this world, and that leaves a smile on her face and warmth in her heart that she hasn't felt in quite some time. Two years, five months, and three days to be exact.

On the days she hates him, on the days when the Dimension Cannon seems to be a far away dream or the days when she's feeling particularly stranded and lonely, she makes his tea. She frowns at the taste, hates the way it makes her throat feel. But she forces herself to remember. Because if she doesn't who will? And even though the brightest lights eventually fade, sometimes all it takes is the smallest of catalysts to spark them back to life. And with that light comes a flicker of hope. And she's clinging to it.

It happens two years, five months, one week, and four days after their final goodbye.

Rose Tyler refuses to forget.