"One last day with your beloved… what day would you choose?"
Kazran flipped through the old black and white photographs as he lay back in bed. It had been three years since his last Christmas with Abigail; three years since she had smiled softly and told him she didn't want to be put on ice again, but wanted to lay down next to him and sleep, sleep forever. He had watched her drift off, had stroked her hair until she had taken her last, shaky breath. Oh, how he had cried. How he had held her until he knew he couldn't anymore.
He was sick now, as sick as Abigail had been. The doctors had given him weeks, at the most a few months, but he knew it was really less than that. He could feel his heart slowing with every beat, his muscles working harder to move than they'd ever had to before. He had gotten his affairs in order quickly, and now spent most of his time thinking of Abigail, and the eight Christmas Eves they had had together.
Her family would inherit his empire, as he had no remaining blood relatives. He had never married, nor had children. There had been no one other than Abigail in his 80-odd years. How could there have been, with the knowledge that his beloved was merely a few stories away, in her living casket?
It would come as a shock to them, he was sure. He didn't have any contact with them, not after the day he rang their doorbell to tell them Abigail was dead, and to hand them a letter she had requested him to give to them, explaining in why she had volunteered to be the security deposit to their loan. He had seen her sister cry, and cry hard. He stood in the doorway awkwardly, until he decided he had seen enough, and walked away.
He was sure Abigail would be happy with his decision.
In the bottom of the box of photographs was the Doctor's screwdriver. He held it to the light, and contemplated activating it. Perhaps he should say goodbye. But something told him the Doctor didn't particularly like goodbyes. He put it back, and buried it with the photos of their time together. Maybe Abigail's sister would find the box, and would be happy to know how much fun her sister had had before her death. Maybe it would be a consolation.
He picked up his favorite photograph of Abigail, the one he had taken that first Christmas together, and placed it next to his pillow. He placed the box on his bedside table, and turned off the light. The faint glow from his window illuminated the room just enough so he could make out the photo next to his head. With shaky fingers, he traced her face one last time.
His servants found his body at 5:45 the next morning, a smile on his face. It was Christmas Day.
As a living soul, of course he had pondered what happened to one after death, especially after Abigail's passing. Perhaps there was an afterlife, perhaps not. He didn't know what to believe, but he hoped it was the former. He couldn't bear to think of Abigail as being truly gone.
His eyes fluttered open, surprised to find himself in a field, full of wildflowers, lined with trees and basking in golden sunlight. He stood up easily, and turned in a circle. "Where am I?" he whispered, not really expecting an answer.
"Anywhere you want to be," a familiar voice answered. He could almost hear the smile he knew would be gracing her face. He spun around.
"Abigail."
She lifted a hand to his face. "Kazran."
Her eyes shone with unshed tears, every bit as beautiful as he remembered. He lifted his own hand and mirrored her movements. She leaned into his palm and placed a kiss on it. "I've missed you," she said as a tear slipped out of the corner of her eye.
He quickly wiped it away, and grabbed her by the waist. He spun her around, moving as the spry young man he hadn't been in ages, but appeared to have returned to. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew if he looked in a mirror at that moment, he would look every bit of 22, as he had been on that night of the California Christmas Eve.
He set her down gently, and pressed his lips to hers. She responded with a fervor he had missed, her hands winding in his once again thick hair. Her waist felt so small underneath his large hands, and when she shivered with delight he couldn't help but gripping it harder.
They finally broke apart. "Is this a dream?" he asked as he rested his forehead on hers.
"Maybe," she smiled, "but if it is, would you want to wake up?"
He grinned. "Never."
For a long time neither said anything, too busy reacquainting their bodies with one another. They at long last rested together, lying side by side in the field. He looked away from her face up to the sky. He could make out the fish swimming lazily above. "I've only read about places like this in books, you know. I never left the city," he commented.
She gazed at the sky, too. "Me, neither, though I wish I had. It's beautiful."
"More beautiful with you." He once again turned his gaze to her face. "Have you waited long for me, Abigail?"
She smiled at him. "It seemed so. But it could have been just my impatience. It's hard to keep track of time here."
"Where is here?"
She stroked his face. "Heaven, perhaps. Or a second lifetime."
He pulled her closer. "I suppose it doesn't really matter, after all. As long as I have you."
She nuzzled her face into his chest. "How long will you stay with me?"
He buried his face in her hair. "Forever."