This is a faith based story. If the idea of characters finding hope and truth in the Bible is offensive to you, this one is probably not for you.
Major character death. I've lost two people I love to cancer in the past few weeks, so I think this was a bit of therapy for me.
If this story touches you, please let me know!

Four years, seven months and three days. That's all they had been given. She had promised him forever, and he had gotten less than five lousy years. It was ironic, really. The Time Lord Doctor had left them here to live out their lives together. Similar life spans so he wouldn't be forced to watch her wither and die while he lived on. But they both should have known that the universe could never be that kind. It had always been cruel, always taken from him what mattered most.

It had started with headaches. "Eye strain," she told him, "too many late nights chasing aliens and long days staring at forms and computer screens."

And he had believed her. After all, in this new part human body his glasses were no longer just for looks. She bought some reading glasses to match his, and he grinned at their images in the mirror. The headaches didn't stop though. "Migraines," she insisted, "my mum started getting them when she was about this age."

She rang the doctor for a prescription, and it helped, for a while. But then they were back, more severe than before. "A different prescription," she mumbled, "sometimes it takes a few tries to find the right one."

And still he believed her. How foolish he had been. He didn't know about these human things. He realized he had more aches and pains now. Maybe it was just a normal part of humanity. He continued to believe her until she fainted walking from the kitchen to the bathroom. Then there were CT scans and blood tests and MRIs, and finally a diagnosis.

He knew it was bad as soon as the grim faced doctor walked into the room. Probably he had known long before that. "Inoperable," he had told them. But his Rose was a fighter, and she was ready to take this head on. There was radiation and chemotherapy and more scans, and more grim faced doctors.

The chemo made her lose her hair and her appetite, but did nothing to stop the advancement of the cancer. The doctors shook their heads, whispering apologies. There was nothing more they could do. They gave her a few months left to live. So the Doctor took her home, to die.

It was a Saturday afternoon just a couple weeks later when she asked him to take her to church the next morning. "I know you don't hold to that stuff, Doctor, but I need to go. Please."

Of course he would take her. He could never refuse her anything. He would sail the Bermuda Triangle if it would make her smile. So the next morning, he dropped her off in front of the small church across town. He drove around the city wishing for a miracle, but knowing that even if they existed they didn't happen for him. When he picked her up, she didn't say anything. Just smiled and thanked him for bringing her.

The next Sunday she was dressed and waiting for him to take her again. He repeated the same routine without question. This time when he returned for her, she was wearing a joyful smile and holding a book in her right hand.

And so it continued for the next few weeks. Something had changed about her, he knew. She had not resigned herself to death so much as she had accepted it with bravery and peace. She had a quiet joy about her that he could not understand. Finally one afternoon when they were both sitting down to tea, he asked her.

"What's changed?"

Her face lit up, as if she had been waiting for this question for her entire life.

"I've found it Doctor, the way for us to have forever."

He leaned back, quirking an eyebrow. He was worried. Perhaps she was further along in her demise than he expected and had started slipping from reality. But he stared into her eyes, waiting for her to go on.

"It's all in there," she continued, indicating the book that he had come to realize was a Bible.

He shook his head sadly. "You know that stuff's not for me."

She gave him a watery smile and grabbed his hand across the table. She knew, and she didn't say anything more.

She never brought it up, never pushed him, but she spent more and more time curled up next to him reading the Bible while he tried to find something on the telly to occupy his mind.

There came a point where she was too weak to leave the house. Too weak for her weakly trips to church. Then some of the women would come to their flat to talk and read with her. He would watch from the doorway, grateful for their kindness towards her. No matter how weak or tired she was, she always welcomed her visitors with a smile.

Every day she slipped further away from him. She grew weaker and weaker, and the pain grew more intense. She was put on morphine to keep her comfortable, and she began to slip in and out of reality. Sometimes she thought they were still on the TARDIS, having adventures and saving the universe. When he kissed her during those times, she would smile at him shyly and giggle, as if they were doing something a little bit unseemly.

It was a Friday morning when she looked at him and said, "Help me. I want to go home." He reassured her that she was home, but she shook her head. "No," she whispered, growing agitated, "I want to go home." He gathered her in his arms and held her close until she relaxed into him and fell asleep.

Finally, she slipped into a coma. He held her in his arms for hours as her heart rate slowed and her breathing became erratic. And then she breathed her last and was gone. He curled his body around hers, his body wracked with sobs. He held her to himself, rocking back and forth until they came to take her body. Then he got up, went into his bedroom, closed the door, and lay down in the bed.

He stayed in bed for days, only getting up to use the bathroom or drink a few sips of water. Jackie came every day, trying to get him to eat, or at least drink a little tea, but he refused. He didn't speak, didn't react to her at all. He just lay, curled on his side, staring at the wall. It was as if he had given up and was willing himself to die.

Jackie was afraid that when she came to pick him up for the funeral she would have to drag him forcibly from bed and dress him herself, so she was surprised when he came downstairs freshly showered and clean shaven, his suit neatly pressed. He would have had her fooled into thinking he was doing better if it weren't for his eyes. His ancient dark eyes always so full of life were now hollow and dead. He was a shell of the man he had once been.

He greeted everyone at the service, shaking hands and thanking them for coming. Some people whispered to each other about how well he seemed to be doing, how strong he was. Others thought he must be cold and unfeeling to not even shed a single tear. He heard what they were saying, but couldn't bring himself to care.

Afterwards Jackie begged him to come and stay with her and Pete for a while, but he refused.

"Please, Doctor," she pleaded, "I just lost my daughter, I can't bear to lose you too."

It was only after he promised her that he would not kill himself that she agreed to take him home. It wasn't that he hadn't thought about it. It was, in fact, all he had thought about these last few days while lying in bed. He had come up with 172 different methods of taking his own life, but he couldn't bring himself to follow through. He was afraid of death, afraid of the unknown that lay on the other side. So he would continue on, not because he was brave enough to face another day, but because he was a coward.

Stepping into his flat was like walking into someone else's house. This was not his home. His home had been full of laughter and life, but when Rose died all that died with her. He glanced around, his eyes coming to rest on the Bible sitting on the end table where it had been for the best few months. Anger bubbled up inside his chest. What good was her faith? What had her God ever done for her, for any of them? Taking long strides towards the book, he picked it up and hurled it across the room. It slammed into the opposite wall with a thunk, the pages splaying outward. A folded sheet of paper fluttered to the ground.

Hesitantly he walked across the room and bent down to retrieve the paper, his hands trembling. It was a note to him, written in Rose's handwriting. He slid down the wall, long legs folded in front of him. Taking a shuddering breath, he began to read:

My Dearest Doctor,

I would do anything to stay here with you. Not because I fear death (I don't) but because it breaks my heart to think of you on your own. When you asked me what had changed in me, I told you it was all in this book. I know you don't believe it, but it is true. This book holds the keys to eternity, and oh how I long to spend that with you. I hope you will read it now, just give it a try, for me. I have loved you since "run," Doctor, and I will love you always.

Yours forever,

Rose

A tear rolled down his cheek and landed on the paper. Gently he smoothed it out and set it next to him. Then he picked up the Bible. He had said he would do anything for her. Would he do this one last thing? Taking a deep breath, he thumbed through the pages until a highlighted section caught his eye.

"For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life"

She had underlined the word everlasting three times in pen. He continued reading. She had highlighted numerous sections and written notes in the margins. Notes meant for him to read. Notes from her written directly to him. It was like having one last conversation with her, the conversation he never allowed them to have when she was still alive.

He had never believed before, never even allowed himself to think about such things. If he were honest with himself, he had never seen much use for God, setting himself up as a god in his own mind. But he didn't hold the keys to life and death. He knew that better than anyone. He may have once travelled in space and time. He may be more clever than anyone on the planet. But he was no god. He knew all about physics and chemistry and the laws of time, but there was so much he couldn't explain: love and joy, pain and sorrow.

Allowing himself to cry for the first time in days, he realized that he wanted more than this life. He didn't know what he believed, or even if he believed, but he knew he needed to find out. There was more to life than what he could see here and now. There had to be, and he was determined to find out what it was. And with those thoughts, his eyes slid closed, and for the first time in his very, very long life, the Doctor prayed.