It had been weeks since the Doctor last slept. To be exact, it had been three weeks, four days, six hours and… twelve minutes. That was because exactly three weeks, five days, three hours and seventeen minutes ago, he was forced to say goodbye to Rose Tyler. That was the thing about being a Time Lord; he was especially perceptive to the time passing around him, making each moment without her even more agonizing than the last. Of course, he wasn't alone for long; Donna had come, but she'd gone just as soon. Now the Doctor found himself in his reasonably sized bedroom lying on his reasonably sized bed in the TARDIS. He wanted to sleep. Oh, he wanted to sleep more than anything. But all he could think of was that one night after New New York when Rose had experienced a terrible nightmare and he'd invited her to sleep with him for a while. When she'd asked if his bed would be big enough for the two of them, he automatically had responded with, "It's bigger on the inside," causing them both to erupt into a fit of quiet laughter. He'd made her smile, and that had been his goal. But now he felt as though he may never smile again.

He should have talked faster at Bad Wolf Bay. The thought taunted him endlessly these days, and tonight in particular it caused him to groan miserably and bury his face into one of the pillows. He should have told her. He should have just plucked up the courage, not rambled and told her. Rose Tyler, I love you. The words were forever known to only him, never to finish rolling off of his tongue in her presence. He wanted to scream it to the universe, but the thought only pained him because, even if every single living thing in the universe heard him, she would not, because she was gone; in another universe entirely. The one place he could never go to find her.

Miserably, the Doctor had dragged himself out of bed and down the hall, opening the door to Rose's room- old room- and looking inside with a forlorn, lonely expression.

"How long are you gonna stay with me?"

"Forever."

The words echoed in his head, and he squeezed his eyes shut, hitting his head lightly against the doorframe.

"I love you."

He whispered it, weakly opening his eyes and walking into the room, crawling into her bed- old bed- and just lying there, burying his face in her pillows in the fragile hope of catching a bit of her remaining scent as his salty tears stained the fabric.

"Rose Tyler, I love you."

…

It was dark, and she was lying in some foreign bed in a room she would never bring herself to call hers. Jackie had settled in just fine in Pete's World, but Rose just couldn't. She couldn't get used to living here when her thoughts, and her heart, were still in the TARDIS and likely always would be. She couldn't take not knowing if the Doctor was alright, how he was getting on without her. Had he found someone else to travel with? She hoped so. She hated the thought of him being all on his own. Same old life, he'd assured her, and she didn't want him to live that way. A man as brilliant and as self-sacrificing as he was should be allowed to be happy and to have someone, even if that someone wasn't her. It pained her to think of him moving on, but it wasn't quite as painful as thinking of him being all alone.

But she was alone, too, in a way. Her mother had Pete, and, sure, she had Mickey, but it wasn't the same. It wasn't the life she wanted to be living. For starters, this place wasn't home, and although he looked like him, the man her mother was in love with wasn't her father. Her father had died in her arms. He was gone, just like the Doctor. Rose was alone in a sense that she just couldn't bring herself to be happy here. She didn't want to. She wanted to go home. Not to London, but home; to the TARDIS; to the Doctor. Her mother would be fine here, and so would Mickey. They'd get on with their lives without her, just like they did before; more easily on Jackie's part this time around, because she wouldn't be so lonesome with her gone.

Peering out the window at the moon up in the sky, a tear slid down Rose's cheek. Oh, she missed that crazy man more than words would ever be able to describe. She loved him even more than she missed him, if that was possible, and it made this whole situation hurt even more.

"Rose Tyler, I-"

-what? Rose Tyler, I what? Did he feel the same? Her heart was certain that he did, but she craved that confirmation more than anything. She craved his embrace more than anything. She missed her best friend more than anything.

"Find me…" she whispered brokenly as she stared out the window, willing him to hear her even though she knew it was impossible; he was an entire universe away. "Doctor, please… find me…"

…

Universes apart, the only time the Doctor could find Rose was in sleep. More often than not, he found they were lying on that field of apple-grass again, but it was impossible to know whether New New York could be seen in the distance; he was always too focused on her. He'd grab her in his arms and hold her protectively tight, and she'd curl against him and clutch him just as tightly. He knew he was dreaming and that these moments were fleeting and painfully short, but he took what he could get of his pink and yellow human, because he missed her; he missed her so much. Whether he had Donna or Martha with him didn't matter; they were brilliant, but they weren't Rose. They'd never be Rose.

"I wish it didn't have to be like this," she'd whisper, and he'd only hold her more tightly, pressing kisses to the top of her head. He hardly ever saw her expression because he was too afraid to loosen his grip on her, because his dream could switch to a nightmare and she might slip away again.

"However far away I am from you," he'd whisper in response, softly stroking her blonde hair and kissing her head with each pause, "I'll always be looking. I'll always come find you. I'll never let you go…"

I'll never move on, was always his unspoken statement, and she'd hold him tighter, tearfully whispering, "Come find me faster… I miss you… I need you… I…"

Her voice would break, but he knew what she meant. Leaning down so his lips where by her ear, the Doctor would whisper, "Rose Tyler, I love you," and on this one, brilliant, painfully wonderful occasion, she'd lifted her head and kissed him. It had felt so real, and he'd almost forgotten it was a dream.

When Rose Tyler awoke, the tears were still leaking from her eyes, and she brokenly whispered into the night, "I love you, too."