"I dreamt of you," he whispers into the darkness, into the empty room. "Even when I was him, a human, who didn't know you, had never seen you..." He laughs darkly. "Then again, you've always been the girl of my dreams; why would that alter with a silly thing like changing species?"
There's no reply, of course. No gasp of surprise and no applaud of gratitude or praise. No of course you dreamt of me, no good, I'm glad you did, no I know. No shy, bemused, really? No hug. No kiss.
"Of course, these dreams, they scared the life out of him as well as thrilled him," he continues, swallowing past the lump in his throat to tune out the silence of his bedroom. "You see, I – he – dreamt he was this fantastic adventurer, this madman with a box that flies through the universe and a girl who flies, runs, laughs right along with him. A girl he calls Rose, his perfect Rose, for no other name could ever, will ever, possibly fit more perfectly. A girl who holds his hand - " he breaks off, inhaling deeply.
There's a silence which stretches on for a few minutes, but then he finds it in himself to speak again, to try and ignore the fact he's not got her holding his hand now, not got her thumb stroking over his, not got hers to stroke back. "You know, if you hadn't walked away from him – me – every time...in the dreams, I mean...if you hadn't always walked away, maybe he'd've believed you were real. Maybe he'd've believed there was something, someone, worth changing back for."
He closes his eyes. "Mind you, now I'm back Time Lord again, I have much more vivid dreams, which is something, I suppose. Weeelll, when they're not nightmares of levers and letting go, that is. And it's funny, because you never leave me in my dreams – except for the nightmares, obviously – because that's not your way, really, is it? You never did walk away from me, not really. Not ever. As a human, even the happiest, most brilliant of dreams ended in you fading away; as a Time Lord, the interesting and weird thing is, you never do. Until I wake up, of course, which is arguably even worse. Is even worse. My Time Lord subconscious is so clever that I believe what I dream is real, and so I dream that you'll be staying by my side the rest of the night. But of course, come morning, I open my eyes and you're not really here, and that...that's..."
He opens his eyes again and blinks the tears down his cheeks and continues, "...that's even worse than if I didn't dream of you at all." He pauses; shakes his head defiantly. "Weelll, no, that's not true. I'd never not dream of you and I'd never want to not dream of you."
He stares up at the ceiling and wants to be staring up at her. "I just...I wish you were here," he murmurs softly. "I miss you, Rose."
There's still no reply, though he knows, deep down, that she must miss him too, whatever she's doing in that parallel world, whoever she's with. Because they've never been able to let go of one another. He doubts they ever could move on, not completely; perhaps not at all, in his case. And however much he wants her to be happy, to have a fantastic life...he selfishly never wants her to not remember him, or not dream of him, or not wish she could still be with him.
It's those kind of thoughts that remind him how stubborn she is. It's remembering how stubborn she is that makes him think, hope, just for a moment, a tiny, tiny, moment: maybe she won't listen to his words you can't. Maybe she won't take impossible at face value. Maybe, just maybe, she's stronger than him, braver than him, cleverer than him: maybe she'll command the universes to let her back through, let her come home. Maybe. Maybe.
"Please come back to me."
His whispers are begging now; or maybe praying. If there's one thing he believes in, it's her, after all. He shifts onto his front and inhales the lingering scent of her on the pillow.