Someone had to say it. She didn't know why, but it had to be said at least once: the final commitment to permanence in the moment when everything was falling apart. When he appeared ghostly and insubstantial before her, Rose already knew what he was going to say, so the rest was up to her.
The wind was whipping through her hair, brushing it up into her eyes, but she ignored it. There were tears she could already feel gathering in her eyes, and tears she could see plainly in his. But she ignored that too. Her feet were sinking into the sand, and the graying sky foretold rain. But it really didn't matter.
She knew she was talking to him, holding a conversation, but a part of her was running away from it as fast as she could. That part of her raised her hand to his face, wanting to touch him. That part of her was silently demanding that he rip apart the universe that was so damn unfair, but that part of her was shrinking back into the devastated corners of her mind and could only come up with a feeble protestation of "So?"
They both knew that she didn't belong here, standing on this frigid beach with a human family and a human car and human baggage. They both knew that she wanted to be a universe away and doing anything but saying goodbye. They both knew that he could rip a hole in the universes and drag her away, fleeing the destruction and somehow surviving. He was the Doctor…he could do anything. And wasn't that the problem? He could do anything, but he wouldn't. And neither would she, but, standing on that beach, Rose wished that for once in his very long life and her very short one they could be selfish.
Screw saving the world, they wanted to save themselves. But that wasn't the way it worked. They were the ones that sacrificed and covered up the loss by running their way across time and space. The Doctor and Rose. They were the ones that loved that life and loved each other, and it really didn't need saying because they already knew. In every laugh and giggle and hug and smile it was obvious. Every time they sat in the library huddled in blankets and with each other and every time they danced comfortably around the kitchen making breakfast and a nice cup of tea, they both knew what had never been said. It was one of those things they never really needed to acknowledge.
So here she was, standing on this godforsaken beach, saying those three little words that didn't need to be said. But she thought if she said them, just once, the universes might give them a break. If she said them just once, they might be able to survive.
Sometimes she really was a stupid ape.
The Doctor faded from view, and they were both left crying alone as the empty expanse of the universe looked on with indifference.
FIN
a/n: here's my take on the Doomsday beach scene. Please, I'd love to hear what you think of it.