Author's note: A short fic with a healthy dose of angst...
Hope you like it! :)
...
Rose Tyler.
Those were his last words to her. The last thing he would ever tell her. And he said her name.
Oh, over the time she'd spent with him, he'd told her so very many things. Told her about constellations and cultures, told her about sights and sounds. Spent hours rambling on about nothing and everything and all that was in-between. Shared moments of laughter, peace, pain—
And the last thing he would ever say to her was her name.
Her stupid name.
Her brilliant, beautiful, melodious name.
Those two words that signified that one person that meant more than the world. That meant the entire expanse of the universe to him. That name that had and would always, constantly drift around his subconscious as though it was part of his very framework.
Which she was. It was involuntary.
He wished it wouldn't be, though. Right now, with the pain that tore through his chest like a gaping pit, he wished with all his might that she hadn't done what she did to him. That she'd just left him when she saw him. Said, "Oh, look at the sad, broken Time Lord" and moved on, instead of saying, "I'll fix him."
Because she had. She'd healed him just by being there. She'd come along to see the universe and she'd ended up showing him all that was beautiful out there.
That was just the kind of person she was.
And what had he done to repay her? What had he done in return for this impossibly amazing person looking at him and seeing someone worth loving?
Nothing.
In the end, he'd done nothing. Told her nothing. Gave her nothing.
Just Rose Tyler.
How very selfish that was of him. To feel about her the way he did, the way he always had, and to never tell her. To leave it up to her to assume how he felt. Because it was very clear through his actions, at least. She could tell just by the way he looked at her.
Couldn't she?
It sent a horrible shudder through him to think that she wouldn't be able to.
Then he shook himself.
This was Rose Tyler. And Rose Tyler was no fool.
Rose Tyler was…
Perfect.
And he loved her.
He did. With both of his hearts and his mind and his soul and all that was left of his Time Lord anatomy. He loved her and who she was and everything she stood for and everything she did, because whether she was laughing or crying or running or shouting, she was always so very Rose.
And she had to know that those two words, that Rose Tyler that he had given her just before they were ripped apart by fate's cruel design, were the two most important words he could have given her. Those two words would always represent the way he felt about her.
That was it.
For just a moment, the Time Lord found clarity in his imaginings.
Every instance in which he had said those words, Rose Tyler, he had really been saying something else completely. The words had seemed more fitting to him. They certainly bore more meaning.
Those two words were a synonymous, unanimous, resounding I love you.
Those two words were his way of telling her that he did. And by that logic, he'd told her at least once a day.
Yes. That was more like it.
He hoped she understood that. He prayed she did. He hoped she could hear the inherent I love you in every teasing remark or clever quip ending in Rose Tyler. Because he meant it. Every single time. He would always mean it in equal measure, every time he said her name.
And, for once, he felt happy.
His final words to the woman he loved were a poignant:
Rose Tyler.
