They both got faster with writing with their left hand as they waited for Rose's arm to mend. By the time her six weeks were up and she could get her cast off, they were proficiently ambidextrous. Even though they could return to their dominant hand, they often used their left hands in order to utilize both arms as writing surfaces.

As spring marched on and left behind all traces of winter, James was amazed as he watched Rose's spelling and handwriting improve exponentially.

I've been reading, she explained, so I can talk to you easier. And Mummy and my teacher help to.

His chest felt warm as he beamed at his arm, so proud of Rose, and so humbled that she was working so hard so they could talk more easily and about more things.

As the end of April approached, James was counting down the days left of school. He loved school, he really did, but he wasn't very fond of his classmates. Well, his classmates weren't very fond of him, rather. A lot of them made fun of his accent or his bookishness or the way he looked, what with his disproportionate, buggy eyes. But after the Christmas holidays, their teasing grew worse when they realized he had a soulmate that was half his age, whom he was absolutely obsessed with.

As much as James adored Rose, he was unhappy that he had given his peers yet another thing to tease him about. He tried to curb his enthusiasm, and he didn't talk to or about Rose anymore unless he was alone or at home, but it was too late, and everyone at school knew about Rose.

"Just seven more weeks until I'm back in the UK," James wrote to Rose after he crossed off another day on his calendar, then went to the kitchen for breakfast. "It'll be easier to talk to each other when I'm back home."

James poured himself a bowl of cereal and plopped down at the table as he waited for Rose's answer.

Yay! Guess what?

James smiled at his arm as he shoveled a spoonful of cereal into his mouth.

"What?"

He had nearly finished his breakfast by the time Rose wrote, Its my birthday soon!

James stared at his arm. Her birthday. Her first birthday since they'd met. What was he supposed to do? Was he supposed to get her a gift? Was he supposed to be extra special nice to her? Short of proclaiming his undying love and appreciation for her—which he was 99.9% sure would scare her off if he were to do that—he hadn't the foggiest idea of what to do for her birthday.

"That's so exciting! Which day?" he wrote before he hurriedly slurped down the dregs of soggy cereal and milk, and placed his bowl into the sink.

He then wandered down the hall and to his parent's home office. James knocked on the open door, and his dad looked up from grading papers.

"Dad, did you do anything for Mum when it was her birthday but you hadn't met yet?" James asked. "Rose's birthday is coming up, and I don't know what to do."

His dad leaned back in his chair and capped his pen.

"I would send your mother a card and flowers, usually," he answered. "But we were both a bit older than you and Rose."

"Would Rose not like flowers?" James asked, confused.

"She might," his dad allowed, "but she is only five."

"She'll be six," James mumbled defensively, feeling the tips of his ears go warm.

He didn't know what else he should get her. Besides, he thought girls liked getting flowers. Rose certainly loved drawing them. He unconsciously rubbed his fingertips across the latest row of flowers she had drawn.

His dad noticed the drawing, and he smiled reassuringly. "You know what. Never mind. I think she'd love flowers."

"Yeah?" James asked, a slow smile creeping over his lips. But his grin fell slightly as he sheepishly asked, "Can you help me order them for her?"

His dad was already packing away the half-graded exams and firing up the computer, gesturing for James to come around and sit at the desk with him.

James grabbed one of his dad's pens as he rolled up his sleeve.

April 27. You?

"October 27," he answered. "What's your address?"

His dad had already searched for florists in London, and he waited patiently until Rose replied with her address.

But we're not allowed to meet yet, James.

"I know. But that doesn't mean I have to completely ignore your birthday" he wrote, watching as his dad found a couple of florists within a few miles of Rose's home. He and James skimmed the reviews, price range, and quality before settling on a place a few blocks away from Rose.

With his dad's help, James phoned the florist and placed his order. He stubbornly refused to let his dad pay for them, and instead gave his own fledgling bank account information. After confirming the order, the address, and the date no less than four times, James finally hung up.

For the next six days, James worried that Rose wouldn't like his gift. Maybe he should've gotten her a toy or something, or an actual gift that a six-year-old might want or use.

But Rose reassured him that she would love it, no matter what he'd gotten, and more than once she tried to wheedle him into telling her what it was.

"No, no," he grinned, "you'll just have to wait until tomorrow. It should be there by breakfast. Goodnight, Rose."

oOoOo

Rose could hardly sleep, excited as she was for her gift from James. He refused to tell her what he had gotten for her, and the suspense was driving her mad. Finally, the morning of the twenty-seventh dawned and Rose was awake far before her usual wake-up time.

She automatically glanced at her arm; James always had a message waiting for her. Today it was 'Good morning, Rose! Happy Birthday!'

Beside the words was a poor drawing of two stick figures, both in party hats and holding hands while a lop-sided birthday cake sat in front of the smaller stick figure she assumed was supposed to be her. Six tiny candles were atop the cake, but James must have misjudged the amount of space he needed, because only five fit perfectly across the top of the cake, and he had forced a sixth one that angled out at the corner.

She loved it so much, and she wrote back, "Thanks, James! This is lovely!"

The smell of cooking bacon finally wafted into Rose's room, and her stomach gurgled hungrily.

Her mum was already up and working on a birthday breakfast for Rose.

"Happy birthday, sweetheart," Jackie murmured into Rose's ear as she knelt down to scoop Rose into a hug.

Rose giggled and hugged her mum tightly.

"Smells good!" Rose said when Jackie released her.

"I hope so. A proper English breakfast," she said proudly, flipping the bacon and putting bread in the toaster.

As Jackie was clearing up the mess from breakfast and Rose was off brushing her teeth, there was a knock at the door.

"Yeah, just a mo'," she called, shutting off the water and drying her hands on a dish towel.

Rose came racing down the hall, her eyes lit up in excitement as she reached to unlatch the deadbolt.

"Oi," Jackie said, grabbing Rose's arm before she could open the door completely. "What do you think you're doing, opening the door without checking who it is first?"

"James said he sent me something and that it would be here at breakfast," Rose said. "This must be it."

"You gave our address to a stranger?" Jackie said flatly.

"He's not a stranger, Mum," Rose said exasperatedly. "He's James!"

"I don't care who he is, I don't want a pubescent boy knowing where my daughter lives!"

Rose scrunched her face. "What's pubescent mean?"

Jackie rolled her eyes. "Ask James."

Another, more insistent, knock sounded, and Jackie grumbled about the impatience of people as she swung open the door.

A young man was at the door holding a small bunch of dark red roses.

"Delivery for Rose Tyler," he said, his eyes automatically going to Jackie.

"Me!" Rose squealed, reaching up for the flowers.

"Careful of the thorns, sweetheart," Jackie said as the delivery man handed Rose the flowers.

"And this," the man said, holding out an oval-ish shaped wrapped brown package.

"Thanks," Jackie said, taking the package.

She latched the door and followed an excited Rose to the kitchen, unwrapping the brown package as she went. It contained a simple glass vase.

"Aren't they beautiful, Mummy?" Rose squealed, sticking her nose in the bunch of roses and inhaling deeply. "No one's ever gotten me flowers before!"

Jackie smiled and filled the vase with water, added the plant food, and helped Rose stick the six roses into the vase. A little card fell out of the flowers, and Rose picked it up.

"Six perfect roses for my perfect Rose on her sixth birthday," she read slowly through a wide smile. "A very happy birthday to you, and to many more to come. James."

Jackie had to grudgingly admit that this boy certainly had quite the romantic streak. With the way Rose was beaming and bouncing around everywhere, she couldn't be anything but happy for her daughter.

"C'mon, love, you'll be late for school," Jackie said, shuffling Rose to her bedroom to find her shoes.

Rose ran to her room, and instead of looking for her shoes, she uncapped her pen.

"Thank you for the flowers and the card!" she wrote enthusiastically. "They're really pretty!"

She heard her mum hollering for her again, and she guiltily stuck her feet into her shoes and sloppily laced them before rushing out so her mum could walk her to school.

oOoOo

After the success of Rose's birthday, time seemed to go backwards for James. The entire first half of May seemed to take several eternities, butfinally he'd hit the three-week mark until school was over, and he was giddy with excitement.

Just three more weeks until he was back in the UK, he thought happily as his dad called him to dinner. Just three more weeks until he was back to being in the same time zone as Rose.

James tripped to a halt at the entrance to the dining room. A steak and kidney pie, his favorite, was on the table, and James could see a banana chocolate chip peanut butter cake cooling on the counter. A little white box with a blue ribbon was sitting at his place at the table.

"What's all this about?" he asked cautiously, wondering what had prompted his parents to make this dinner in particular and get him a gift.

His parents exchanged a glance that did nothing to calm his nerves.

"Let's enjoy dinner first," his mum suggested, gesturing to the steaming plates of food. "Don't want it to go cold. I know it's your favorite."

James was still a little wary of the occasion, but tucked into dinner with gusto. He managed to stuff down two helpings of food, and he wondered if he would have enough room for the cake.

"So what brought this on?" James asked, gesturing to the empty dishes.

His mum rested her hand on the back of his dad's neck.

"We have a bit of news for you," his dad finally said after he swallowed down the last of his wine. His eyes flickering to the handwriting on James's arms. "I know you were looking forward to being back in Europe next year."

"Edinburgh, right?" James asked, his stomach knotting as he willed his parents to confirm the plan.

His dad sighed and he said, "Well, another university just gave us a better offer, one we couldn't refuse. We've signed a contract with Berkeley."

"I don't understand," James whispered, hearing his pulse roar in his ears.

"I'm so sorry, mate," his dad said. "I know how disappointed you must be. We'll be spending the summer in Scotland, though. And the Christmas holidays."

"You promised me we'd be in Scotland for the entire school year!" James exclaimed. "You promised!"

"I know, sweetheart," his mum said. She leaned forward and pushed the little white box closer to his hands. "We're so sorry, Jamie. Here, we thought you should have this. We'd hoped it might make this a little easier on you."

James didn't want any presents. He wanted his parents to tell him that they were living at home next year as planned.

"May I be excused?" he asked stiffly, glaring down at his empty plate. His dinner was an uncomfortable weight in his stomach.

"Yeah, sweetheart."

He pushed himself out of his chair and stomped to his room, closing his door with more force than necessary. He knew he was acting childishly, but he had been so excited to finally be home in Scotland, where he and Rose would share the same time zone and be able to talk more easily.

He wished he could talk to Rose now, if nothing else than to vent, but she was asleep. Because she was five bloody hours ahead of him.

He collapsed in his bed and stared at his ceiling. His room at home had constellations drawn on it, courtesy of a three-month project he worked on with his dad. He wasn't allowed to do that to this room, because they were only renting it for ten months.

He growled and punched at his pillow to get it to better support his neck before he grabbed his book from his bedside table and lost himself in the latest Stephen King horror.

Nearly two hours after dinner, someone knocked on his door. It was his mum, with a plate of cake and that little white box.

"Jamie, darling, can I come in?"

He nodded and sat up, dog-earing the page he was on and setting the book on his bedside table. He eyed the cake hungrily. His mum made the best cake, and she had made his favorite, just because she knew how upset he would be with the news.

Guilt rippled through his stomach. His parents did their best to make him happy and to make all of their moves as easy on him as they could be. This time in particular, they'd tried extra hard to break the news, and he'd gone and stomped away.

"Sorry about earlier," he mumbled in embarrassment as his mum sat on the edge of his bed.

She set the plate on top of his book and wrapped her arm around James.

"It's okay, sweetheart," she whispered, squeezing his shoulders as she pressed a kiss to his hair. "Your father and I really did try to stay in Europe. But Berkeley phoned and offered a lot of money for your father to lecture and for me to do research. New strains of a fungus that only used to be prevalent in Europe have started cropping up in the trees all along the West Coast. Botanists, plant pathologists, and geneticists around the world are setting up shop in California."

"I understand," James said, smiling in spite of himself at his mother's enthusiasm for her work. "Really. I'll be okay. How long are we there for?"

His mother hesitated, and James's shoulders slumped.

"We're not sure," his mum finally answered. "We've signed a year-long contract as of now, but it takes much longer than a year to research this type of problem. But we'll play it by ear. And if you're really unhappy there, we can leave after the year is over. Okay?"

James nodded and accepted the plate of cake his mum offered him.

His mum sat with him as he ate his dessert, occasionally stealing a bite for herself, until the plate was clean.

She then handed him the tiny white box.

"Here," she said. "We hope this will make it a little easier for you and Rose to stay in touch as often as you can."

He opened it and saw a gorgeous silver pocket watch nestled in black velvet. It was thicker and heavy than he had expected it to be, and he hefted it in his palm for a minute as he admired the intricate interlocking circles decorating the outside of the watch. When he clicked it open, he saw that the clock face was already set to his local eastern standard time.

"We were going to give this to you for your birthday," she explained. "But your father and I thought this might be a good gift to give you now, as our way of apologizing for breaking our promise and not getting you back to Europe next school year."

"Er, thanks," James said, a little confused by the gift.

His mum noticed, because she smiled gently and said, "This isn't an ordinary pocket watch."

She reached over and pressed up on what James had assumed was a thick base. But there was a hidden hinge, and when that was flipped up, it revealed a second clock face hidden beneath the first one. This one was set for five hours later. Rose-time, he realized with awe.

"Your great-great-grandfather was a watchmaker," his mum said. "When his daughter realized she had a soulmate that lived half way across the world, he designed this watch for her. It's been passed down each generation, and your father and I thought it was time you had it. We can't get you closer to Rose yet, but we can at least try and make it easier to know when to talk with her, so you aren't having to mentally keep track of her time as well as yours."

"Thanks, Mum," he said earnestly, wrapping his arm around her waist.

"You're welcome, sweetheart," she whispered, pressing her lips to his forehead.

James went to bed shortly after, not particularly tired, but not really wanting to do anything. He scrawled his familiar good morning message to Rose and slipped beneath his sheets.

After a few restless hours, he deemed he slept long enough, and he rolled over for a pen, content with chatting with Rose until his parents got up.

Morning, James!

He smiled, and consulted the time with his new pocket watch: 6:15am, his time, 11:15am, Rose's time. He sighed. Sleeping felt like such a waste when he could be doing more important things, like talking to Rose. His heart ached with the thought that in just a few months, there would be an even bigger time gap between them.

"Morning," he wrote.

You're up early, she noted, and he had to smile. She was so observant.

"Couldn't sleep," he said, then he paused. "Got a bit of news last night. Turns out, I won't be in Scotland in the fall. Mum and Dad accepted a different job in California."

Oh. Where's that?

James drew a rough—very rough—sketch of the United States on his forearm. He circled the top right part of the country. "This is Boston, where I am now." He then put an X on the left edge of the country. "This is California. I'll be even further away than I am now. It's an 8-hour time difference instead of 5."

Oh. That's okay! I like that you travel a lot. I wish I could travel, but mummy doesn't have the money for that. So I like hearing about it from you.

James stared at his arm. Rose was accepting this much more graciously than he had, and she had chosen to focus on the positives of this, rather than dwell on the negative, like he had. He smiled; she must be his soulmate if she was able to look past what he had gotten hung up on.

It was so difficult not to write down those three little words he'd been wanting to say when he first met her, but he wasn't sure she was ready to hear them. Or if she wanted to hear them. Six year olds weren't exactly looking for love.

So he instead said, "I didn't think of it like that. Thank you, Rose."

For what?

"For focusing on the positives, and for making me feel better," he said.

Well, yeah. You're my soulmate. I don't like it when you're sad.

There were those three words again, right on the tip of his tongue and at the tip of his pen.

"Still, thank you," he wrote, "for making me better."