He'd lost enough times to be used to this, to sitting next to someone and watching them drift away into oblivion. He was used to the mixture of love and grief and goodbye. He was even used to losing her- he'd done it so many times when he had both his hearts. He should have gotten used to the helplessness, the sorrow.
But this was the first time he was losing her for good. This was the first time he was human, sitting in the hospital with a loved one. The nurses had given him a look of pity and left him alone. Jackie and Pete had been notified and were on their way.
It was not supposed to end like this.
A cup of coffee, a goodbye, a kiss. A crash.
Heroes don't die in car crashes.
It's not fair, was all his mind could manage. It's not fair it's not fair it's not fair.
A single heart beat in his chest as he watched the machine that monitored hers. He knew the meaning of the long beep, almost like fatal background music. They'd watched enough sad movies with that beep, curled up together on the couch. During all those movies, the thought of losing her never occurred in his mind.
Human hearts were so fragile. When one stops, others break.
His broke as he watched her. An empty shell. Still yellow, and even a little pink. He pretended she was asleep, but the pink wouldn't last for long and soon she'd grow pale, and after that, she'd start rotting, and there'd never be a pink and yellow Rose to grace this world with her existence again. Never.
He did not move, speak or cry out. He stayed still, allowing the tears to trickle down his face.
Most importantly, he did not move his hand away.
'You promised forever!' he wanted to shout. 'But of course you'd disappear one morning and leave me alone!'
It wasn't fair.
With one heart, he thought he could escape that fate, at least. The fate of loneliness. He shouldn't have fooled himself. Alone was his only constant companion.
Her hand was growing colder in his. He forced himself to keep looking, to take in all the pink and yellow he could get, because this was the last time he could. No more flushed cheeks and laughter after a good drink, no more mornings together, no more spontaneous drives to Bad Wolf Bay, and her warm hand in his, or wrapped around him as she kissed him. No more nights spent together, talking or touching or just being silent. No more Rose.
He was the Doctor, and this was the first time he felt so irreparably human.
Her body was lifeless, cold. The pink was gone from her cheeks. He didn't move. He didn't let go of her hand because in all the universe, all the planets and vast stretches of black, stars and civilizations and all of time- the one thing he couldn't grasp was the idea of never holding it again.