A/N: Just a quick one-shot (I say quick, the ending was giving me grief, couldn't get it right). I've been revising most of the day and had an exam this evening, so I thought I'd try and write something before I have to start work again on my last project. Hope it's alright.

As of Monday, I'm done with Uni for the year, so I hope to try and update a bit. I've still got part 5 of my 'A Calendar of Stories' series to write and that'll be up before the end of the month, and, also, I want to get the next chapter of 'Back to Our Reality' up as well (I've got the beginning bit done and have had since I wrote chapter 10, but 'Revelations' became my main focus), so hopefully that'll be up some time in June (if all goes well).

Anyway, I'll leave you with this for now and I'll see you all very soon!

Could it be minutes; hours – maybe even days – since he lost her? Or was it longer than that? Had a month passed? Two? Had a year flown by without him knowing? What did it matter, anyway? He was alone now, once more. You'd think it'd get easier, wouldn't you? But the truth is, loss, in all its forms, hurts. Regardless of what is lost, or who, or how often, the pain is still felt; it's still there. It never goes away.

Time heals, they say: but how much time? And, even if such a time could be given, what would be the use since there are times where five minutes can feel as long as five years, whereas others it would feel like no time at all? It's all relative. And yes, Time heals, but she doesn't cure.

So how long had it really been since he found himself on his own again? Well, there was no way to tell. And maybe that was for the best. Maybe it was better not to know how long he had spent in the console room, working out calculations that might give him some kind of chance of seeing her again. He had worked day and night, but for how many of each, no one could say.

Eventually, enough time had passed and he had found an opening. It wasn't much, but if it was his only chance to see her again – to say goodbye – then he wasn't about to turn it down.

Two minutes. That was all he had. Just two minutes.

He had been in situations before where two minutes had felt like a lifetime. Times when he could have saved the world and still had seconds to spare.

But not this time.

This time, it wasn't nearly long enough. There were things he had wanted to say – things he needed to say – but neither of them knew where to begin; neither of them knew how to put their thoughts into words. And so Time just passed, never lingering long enough for them to say everything. She just flew by.

He thought he had more time – just a few more seconds – the two minutes surely couldn't be over yet.

But he had miscalculated and Time just wasn't on his side.

And he faded away, a sentence still unfinished, the two minutes passed.

Time passed again slowly after that; the next two minutes passing by slower than the last, every second feeling like an eternity. It almost felt as though the universe was mocking him, laughing at him for ever thinking that Time was on his side.

He had always known that Time was relative, but it was only at times like this that he stopped to realise just how true that was.

Because Time never stopped to linger when we needed her. No, when we needed her the most she was never there; never on our side; never considering that we'd give anything for just a few extra seconds.

Time was relative alright, but sometimes, just sometimes, she got it wrong.