i.
"How long are you going to stay with me?" he asks, still not facing her.
"Forever," she says, and then she takes his hand — it's not about the feel of his skin on hers, it's about the promise.
Forever, she thinks. What bullshit.
ii.
"And I suppose, if it's my last chance to say it, Rose Tyler I —"
"Oh, shut the fuck up and kiss me," she snarls, and then there's silence. Neither moved, and she realized they were alone, on this beach, right now, saying their goodbyes and almost declaring their love. She could have laughed.
Once, a long time ago, he told her that he can feel the earth move, and now she understood. She looks at her feet, the slow movement seeming to wake him. The brief pause had lasted only a few seconds.
He shudders as a breeze from the ocean passes over them. "Do you still want me to..."
"Obviously."
He crashes into her.
iii.
He dies on the Monday morning before the two year anniversary of their first date.
Two goddamn years.
That's all she gets to have, and it's nowhere near enough.
iv.
How long are you going to stay with me?
The same question echoes through her dreams for a month after his death. And the therapists haven't been helping, none of them.
So she takes his leftover prescription medicine (emptying his section of the cabinet was never an option for her) and gets into their bed on his side (untouched for a month — she's been sleeping on the couch). She counts them out. Seems like enough.
This isn't about the loneliness or the heartache — it's about a promise.