After Tony and James said their goodbyes and went down to the hospital shop for a coffee, there was no sound in the room but the rain on the windowpanes and the muted beeping of the heart monitor.

Beep

Beep

Beep

One heart. One heart for him, one heart for her. She held his hand in hers, stroking the soft wrinkled skin with her thumb.

"What's that?" he whispered, turning his head to look at her. "Don't cry, love. Don't you let me go seeing you cry."

She wiped her face clumsily with her sleeve. "Sorry — I just —"

With a great effort he raised his hand and cupped her cheek. She held it there, against her skin.

"Don't cry, Rose," he whispered. "We had a good run, didn't we? The best of times. And James... little Jamie! I reckon he's got a good run left if he's as good as his old dad." He gave a dry chuckle.

Rose's mouth twitched.

"Was that a smile?"

"Doctor..."

"That was a smile!" His face turned serious in the washed-out hospital light, watching her with an intensity in those ancient brown eyes that had broken gods and watched whole galaxies fade and turn to dust. "I'm so very old," he said. "I'm tired, Rose, I'm so tired. I've lived too long, I've seen too much, and I'm tired. But there's one last thing I want to see. Just one. So, please... give us a smile."

And she did, she smiled for him. A watery smile, but radiant, still young, still so young compared to him.

"I love you," she whispered.

His eyes drifted shut. "Quite right, too," he breathed. She still held his hand to her face and he savored the warmth of her skin, his Rose.

"Don't leave me," said Rose, leaning in. "Please, Doctor, don't leave me."

He opened his eyes halfway and drew her in, her silver hair and liquid eyes that held more starshine in them than all the galaxies he had ever explored. And that smile, the best thing of all, which was struggling to stay on her face. He wanted that smile to be the thing he closed his eyes to, and he wanted her voice to sing him to sleep.

"Don't leave me, Doctor..."

"Never again, Rose Tyler." He beckoned her in close and kissed her softly. "I'll be waiting. Whatever there is where I'm going, I'll be waiting and I won't move until you find me."

She wanted to ask what he did believe, what god he prayed to, if any, because in all their time together she had never thought to wonder. But she bit her lip and pressed her forehead against his and felt the rhythm of his breath with hers in silence.

At last his hand shifted on her cheek.

"Rose Tyler..." he whispered, and drew a difficult breath. "Rose Tyler, oh how I love you, but it's time for me to go."

She had to work to get the words out. "You aren't... going anywhere... without me. You aren't a Time Lord anymore. You're my husband... and I'm... I'm not..."

"Oh, Rose, don't do that. Have... a good life. Finish it... strong. And when... you get tired... I'll be waiting. And we can go... together."

"Do you really believe that?"

"I believe... in you."

She shut her eyes tight at the words, her brow pressed to his, their noses touching, sharing breath and heartbeats. She could feel his thoughts drifting through her forehead, into her skin, thoughts of age and living and loving and death, and, at the very last, a name.

But names didn't matter, really. They had never mattered.

"Together?" she murmured. There was no response. But she thought she caught a thought, a fading thought from his mind to hers, and it told her yes, together, together we will go. But no words and no breath came from his mouth anymore and she was alone with the patter of rain and his cooling skin.

She didn't open her eyes or move away. She was old, too. Old and tired, although perhaps the Doctor hadn't understood just how tired. A grandmother and a great-grandmother, and she could see her own sunset on the horizon, if she closed her eyes long enough.

"I'll finish strong," murmured Rose Tyler. "I'll finish strong, and I'll see you soon."