Notes: Here there be angst. Read and review, please.

Disclaimer: Doctor Who, created decades before I was even I have any rights or ownership.
It is a romantic thought.

For a hero to pine for his lost love; to fight against all odds until she is by his side again.

But, he wasn't a hero.

He was The Doctor.

And she was Rose.

No silly fairy-tale princess languishing in angst for a Prince that could never…would never arrive.

She is not special, her grief is not singular; others have lost and loved and yet still lived.

She knows this.

In that moment, when he fades away from her with unspoken words hanging, lost, in the salty air, she has a choice.

She can hold on, clinging to him with all the love she has in her tiny mortal heart, body and soul. Forevermore, with all that is Rose Tyler.

Or, she can let him go.

If someone wants something badly enough they can make it happen.

Perception shapes reality.

Rose knows this.

She knows, that if he had truly wished it, he could have found a way to her. But his reality is one of hardship and trial; he wants to suffer for his perceived guilt.

He wants her, but not enough.

And she is tired.

Love is giving.

And she gave.

With every glance, every whisper of touch, every twining of fingers, every desperate embrace, every living breath and numbered beat of her mortal heart, with every single syllable that fell from her lips she declared her love.

But you cannot create ex nihilio, at least no mortal can; and though she feels selfish she does not know whether she has anymore love to give.

She fears that she can no longer continue to fight against a universe that wishes to separate them and a Time Lord who will not stand with her instead of against her in this battle.

Her reality is unraveling.

And she thinks she lacks the strength to commit the entirety of her being to endeavoring to recreate it.

She knows which path leads to her happiness.

And she is not selfish. He did it first.

How many times must he do so before she returns the favor?

She is not indestructible and maybe, probably, it is even now too late;

She isn't giving up.

She can't give him up because he was never hers, never entirely.

And he's given her up so many times.

So, for her own sake.

Her own sanity.

Her survival.

She's isn't giving up.

She's letting go.