A/N: Hello lovely people :) If you have the DW soundtracks, listen to all the songs relating to Rose and the Doctor when reading this. That's what I did as I wrote it. Doomsday was particularly inspirational. And the Song for Ten reprise on the End of Time soundtrack. And Rose's Theme. And by 'inspirational,' I mean: 'OH I love these two so much, why oh why did they get torn apart? it's more tragic than romeo and juliet! *CRIES. A lot.*' I'd be really grateful if you let me know what you think of this. I feel strangely nervous about posting it. I hope you like x


I'm Hoping That You Know


Someone once said that love is not a fancy or feeling.

I agree, Rose.

It stays, while other things will change.

You'll lose your youth, and I'll lose my mind; and yet the love I have for you will never fade.


Oh. Oh no, this can't be it.

You can't...

I'm not ready for you to leave. Well, I never will be.

You can't -


It's cyclic, this want and need and love.

I wake up, and I want to kiss you, tell you, make you understand.

I fall asleep, and I dream of you. And in my dreams you know.

I'll wake up tomorrow wanting to kiss you again, but I won't be able to, because by the end of the day, you'll be gone.

I fall asleep eventually, and I dream of you. I always dream of you.

I just wish that in my dreams, you'd stop walking away.


I miss you, Rose Tyler.


It's rare that I admit this, even to myself, but I really wish I'd had the chance to see you age.

Ungracefully, I bet! And oh, how I would have teased you, when you'd be cheeky and clever and witty, even at eighty-four. That twinkle in your eye, that smile on your face; still there, I reckon.

And oh, how I would have loved you, still, and found you beautiful, even then.


Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks
Within his bending sickle's compass come,

Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,
But bears it out even to the edge of doom.

I wish I'd taken you to meet Shakespeare. He says things so much better than I ever could.


Well, no, actually, maybe not.

He doesn't know what it is like for a Time Lord to love, does he? He doesn't know what it truly means. He does not know, could not possibly ever write into words the way I feel for you, and the way I feel with you gone.

I have no illusions that me loving you is the most powerful wonderful terrifying painful thing in the universe. That's not me being arrogant.

It's just a fact.


It's cyclic, this want and need and love for you. But I don't think you'll ever know, will you?

Will you, Rose?

Do you?


Do you know that every motion I ever made was for you?

Do you know that every wonderful, beautiful planet I ever took us to was to see you smile?

Do you know that I want to make love to you beneath the birth of new stars and the supernovas of old ones, to prove just how exquisite you are in comparison?

Do you know that I wish, with every atom of my being, that I could, indeed, tear the universes apart just to be with you? Because I do, Rose. I wish that so very much. But I can't be that selfish, can I? I can't be allowed the only thing that's ever mattered, because that would mean the universe has forgiven me.

And that just cannot be.


How many people do you think I need to save before I'm allowed you back?


How many friends do you think must come and go before you come home?


I miss the way you gave this subtle little signal off to various people, letting them know you're with me. It made it easier to cope with my own jealousy when anyone else was around you, knowing that you feel it too.

Of course, I'd rather feel that burning jealousy than this. This hollow feeling of

want but can't have

is far worse than it ever was before I lost you.


There's this reoccurring dream I have where you stand beneath a soft waterfall on a planet untouched by the rest of the universe. And you reach out your hand, and you beckon me closer.

When I get to you, you entwine your fingers with mine and pull me backwards, into a cavern that glistens with precious stones lining the walls.

And then you smile, and it lights up the space. And time, it slows down. And you draw yourself up on tiptoes, and you press your lips to mine.

And that, that's all pretty good, right? But that's not even the best part.

You wrap your hand around my favourite silk tie, the one you bought me that time you bought a gift for your mother

the day before the worst day of our lives

that could tell the weather by warming up, or cooling down.

And then you tug me down, down to the ground that's inexplicably gentle, inexplicably warm, for a stone cavern. Maybe that's the first sign this isn't real.

Breath hitching, soft sighs, reverence, impatience, love, lust, finally.

And as my hands tangle in your golden hair, as my sense of everything but you fades away...

I wake up before I have a chance to say your name like it should be said.

(That is, accompanied by an I love you)


How many nights must I sleep and dream and wake up wanting, before the universe becomes a bit more kind?


How many mornings must I turn on my side and face empty space, before I go mad with the melancholy of it all?


I miss the feel of you in my arms. I miss our hugs, our cuddles, our snuggles.

Ooh. Don't tell anyone I just said the word snuggle. Or cuddle, actually. I don't think I'm supposed to say things like that

(even though we did do those things. And I miss them so much.)

Oh well. It's you. You've probably heard me say all sorts of things I shouldn't have, and not nearly all the things I should.


I hope you still think of me.

It's selfish, though, me hoping that. I told you once to live a fantastic life, didn't I? A fantastic life, do that for me. That's what I said. And you will, because you're brilliant, and I don't want you to be unhappy.

But I hope you still think of me.


There isn't a star in the sky I would not trade to see your smile just once more.


It's funny, how I never knew what I was missing before I found you. How could I have lived nine hundred years without knowing the true meaning of living? How could I have lived nine hundred years without your hand in mine?

It's all I seem to notice, now. This cool and empty palm of mine, hanging loosely at my side.


I miss your golden hair. Even when the roots come through a bit and you forget to dye them. I miss your hair, full stop – even when it went pink that time, do you remember? When you fell in that swamp and your hair decided to have some sort of allergic reaction to it? It looked a bit silly, but anything would suit you, and after the eight days of pink were up I thought you were really starting to work it, actually.

Though I do prefer you pink and yellow, as opposed to just pink.


You know that I'm not that good with words, not really; not the ones that mean things. It's a horrific kind of irony, that it's only now that I've lost you that I'm finding so many hundreds of things I never realised I wanted to say to you, but now have. Now I will never get the chance.

It's all sorts of things, really. From the silly to the romantic. And I just wish you could be here to hear me say them. Because I want to make you laugh again, Rose Tyler. I lived for the days I made you laugh.

There are memories upon memories of you here, in the TARDIS, and I treasure them, each and every one; but nothing, nothing, can echo your gorgeous little giggle.


How many of your belongings do you think I will stumble across before I stumble across a way to find my way back to you?


How many photos of us that I didn't know you'd taken do you think I will find, before the pain in my chest stops aching?


I miss the cheeky glint in your eyes. I miss the feelings inside me it could inspire. I miss –

Oh, I miss.


Do you know, I've never appreciated the joy of what having a family could bring, until you showed me yours and they welcomed me in.

Oh gosh. Don't ever tell Jackie I said that. Or Mickey.

Honestly, this being separated by a void in time and space business is really playing havoc with my reputation.

(I do miss them, though.)


I miss the way you tease me. You're so playful. I miss that. I miss the games we used to play; the games we used to invent. We could've started a gaming revolution, you and I. We could have published a book, even! '100 games to play when you're stuck in a cell with no way out in the foreseeable future,' by the Doctor and Rose Tyler.

Has a ring to it, no?


Talking of rings...

Don't get married.

No, I don't mean that. Sorry. You can get married if you want. Be happy. I want you to be happy. Have children! You'd be a wonderful mother, Rose Tyler.



Don't get married and don't have kids yet. Not yet.

Get back to me, first.

And then we can live any life you want.


I love you, Rose Tyler.


I wonder what you're doing right now. Are you having your own adventures? Defending the Earth? Being terribly clever and preparing a way to come home? I hope so. Be magnificent, Rose Tyler, and work out what I can't seem to. Work out a way for us to be together again.



Hope is a good emotion, I like hope. It's a better emotion than anger, at any rate, and I'm quite angered-out, to be honest. No one ever got anywhere by just being angry at the universe, shouting at it to change and bend around and transcend nature and logic to bring back the people that fall out of the world sometimes. I should know, I've tried it.

No one listens to my shouting.

So I'm going to employ hope for a bit, and pray it stops the anger.


Remember the days we'd try and find somewhere that sold chips?

We never did decide on which place made the best ones, did we? There are so many fish and chips shops in the universe that I've never even taken you to.

We'll resume our quest to find the best ones when you come back. But do you know, I suspect it might be Earth. That first one we ever went to together, in London - do you remember?

Our first date. And several dates after that. We kept going back there, so the chips must have been amazing.

Or maybe the chips weren't better there. I don't know. Maybe it's just the sentimental reason of being the place within which I fell in love with you that makes me like those chips the best.


Do you know, you're the only person in the universe – well, wait, no. You're the only person in every universe that knows how to just be there for me? You never even had to say anything. You'd just hold my hand and squeeze. And stroke your thumb across mine. And then everything would be better, and the nightmares of the War which used to plague my sleep would just...fade away.

I miss that.


But I miss your smile most of all.