A/N Thank you to each one who has taken the time to review with such lovely comments throughout. This story was a pleasure to create, thanks to you.

The ending was a difficult one to write, I must admit, but hopefully will also convey a bit of hope. This story began with the intention of laying the foundation for a post-Doomsday AU, which is already in the drafting stage. So I can assure you that the Doctor and Rose's journey in this 'verse does not end here. There will be much more to come for these two with additional stories in the near future, the first of which will be titled Minutes and Hours. I'll see you then!

Epilogue

"Rose…"

The haunting whisper echoed through her dreams – calling, searching, beckoning.

Rose…"

Still it continued, and even in sleep, her mind saw with vivid clarity the man whose voice was reaching out from afar.

Within her dream stood a wall – starkly and sickeningly white. He stood before that wall, his hands outstretched toward hers. But as she moved forward, as she grasped with a desperate hand to reach him, he faded through to the other side and vanished like a tendril of smoke. All that remained was the unrelenting barrier between them. In a futile effort, she beat her fists against the object that cruelly represented the impenetrable barricade between two universes, the dividing rod that had sliced through her heart and left it in fragments.

"Rose…"

The voice rang out louder one final time, and she awoke with a gasp.

Rose lurched upright in bed, breathing heavily into the silence. The darkened room was empty. She was alone. It had been another dream, the likes of which had haunted her since their separation. Yet this time it had seemed so real. It was as if his voice had spoken directly into her mind, through their bond, on the deepest possible level. The closeness they had attained through their link had become capable of reaching across distances. Perhaps it had just achieved the greatest distance yet.

When working to strengthen their bond, neither had foreseen it one day being used for this purpose. A means to one last farewell.

As her sleep-addled mind began to rapidly clear, Rose knew without a doubt that it had been real. She wouldn't have thought it possible, but he had reached across the divide of two universes and spoken to her from within.

The Doctor was calling her.

-:-:-:-

It had taken little convincing of Jackie, Pete and Mickey to pack up and drive in the direction of the voice, the direction the Doctor had whispered into her mind. Few may truly understand the connection the two shared, but these three knew the Doctor well enough not to question the story's validity or Rose's sanity.

They left that very night.

Rose followed his voice, across the water, for hundreds and hundreds of miles, because he was calling her.

The journey to Norway was filled with near-unbearable anticipation. Would she actually be able to see him again? Was it somehow possible that he was coming for her? Or was this their goodbye? Rose knew what she desperately wanted to believe, but her heart knew what was true.

As she drew ever closer, Rose could sense the very place where she was meant to be, where this journey reached its conclusion. She found herself standing upon a wind-swept beach, the gray sky reflecting the color which engulfed her soul. He was near. She could feel it. Near, but not near enough.

Rose sensed him before she saw him. He had appeared beside her. She turned, and there he stood like a hazy apparition, a wisp that would blow away on the wind at any moment.

She needed to know if he was even real, if he was really here. Had he come for her? Could he return her to where she so desperately belonged? The fact that he had not gathered her in his arms the moment he appeared gave her the answer she feared. But still she needed to know. Rose turned fully toward him, their eyes meeting and locking in the only embrace they were allowed.

"Where are you?" was the brave question she succeeded to put forth. She did not break down or allow herself to be silenced by the sob that threatened to choke her. She was determined to stay strong for him.

His answering voice was but a faint echo. "Inside the TARDIS. There's one tiny little gap in the universe left, just about to close. And it takes a lot of power to send this projection. I'm in orbit around a supernova." His words lingered on the wind before continuing, the pain mounting in his voice as he finished. "I'm burning up a sun just to say goodbye."

Rose fought back the sickening bile that rose in her throat upon hearing the one word that was never meant to apply to them.

Goodbye

"You look like a ghost," she managed to murmur. She didn't know what else to say, really. But maybe this was fitting for the man who would forever haunt her life.

"Hold on," he directed softly, then pulled out the sonic screwdriver, aimed it at the console within the TARDIS and thus strengthened the projection.

Rose moved closer then, first one step, then another, not stopping until they were face-to-face. She ached to reach into his mind and be immersed in him, and their bond had progressed to where she herself could accomplish this through touch. She lifted her hand out toward him with hesitation, as if he might shatter or slip away as he had in her dreams. There was no way, no humanly-possible way she could convey everything she held in her heart through words. She needed to touch him, to initiate the physical connection that would allow her to show him, to speak into his mind.

Her hand rose toward his temple but hovered before touching. "Can I…?"

"I'm still just an image," he answered with soft regret. He knew the restriction this would place on her link to him. "No touch."

She died a little more in that instant. This would not do, she wanted to rage. She needed to touch him, to hold him, to have his hand in hers and thoughts joined as one. "Can't you come through properly?" she nearly pleaded.

His eyes were pools of deep sorrow and regret. "The whole thing would fracture. Two universes would collapse."

"So?"

He laughed briefly at her glorious impudence in the face of the universe's rules, but a part of him screamed the same question. Even if two universes were to shatter, might it be worth the risk to have Rose again? Desperately needing to distract himself from such dangerous thoughts that could drive him to insanity or universal destruction, he lifted his eyes to survey their surroundings. "Where are we? Where did the gap come out?"

"We're in Norway," she answered, eyes still fixed on his, not daring to even blink and lose a single second.

He nodded. "Norway. Right."

"About fifty miles out of Bergen," she continued, drawing a shaking breath. "It's called Dårlig Ulv Stranden."

His eyes darkened with alarm, the name twisting like a knife in his gut. "Dalek?"

"Dår-LIG," she hastened to correct. "It's Norwegian for 'bad.'" His brow was still furrowed, the name settling uneasily. "This translates as Bad Wolf Bay."

Both released a short laugh of irony, but sobered almost immediately.

Rose couldn't stop her voice from breaking with the next question. It was one she never imagined she would ask because she thought she knew the answer as surely as her own name. They were supposed to have forever.

"How long have we got?"

His gentle voice was tinged with anguish. "About two minutes."

"I can't think of what to say!" she blurted out. She was the one who always had the words when they had both needed them, but now words escaped her. Not because they were few, but because they were far too many. How could she possibly fit what was supposed to be a lifetime full of declarations, promises, phrases of significance and simplicity – all contained within her heart for him – into two fleeting minutes?

The Doctor released a short laugh only to keep from sobbing. So much to say but neither of them able. Because 'goodbye' was not supposed to be a part of their vocabulary. He cast his eyes off into the distance, finding some small comfort in knowing that at least Rose was not alone in this world which now held her captive.

"You've still got Mr. Mickey, then," he noted, fighting one last sharp twinge of jealousy, as he always did when thinking of the possibility of Rose with any man other than himself.

"There's five of us now," she quickly deflected, not wanting him to start down the path of even considering her ever being with another, but she did not have the precious time to chastise him for that. Instead she diverged from that topic, and also allowed him to know this one last thing about her family, at least. "Mum, dad, Mickey and…the baby."

His eyes went wide with sheer disbelief, followed immediately by twisting pain. This wasn't something that was supposed to even be possible for them. But then, he could see this final coil of irony being his fate. Yet another life stolen from him.

His hushed voice was barely audible. "You're not...?"

"No," Rose assured him, realizing then what he must have thought. She released a small laugh while trying to keep her sanity. If she could have somehow had his baby, would it have made this better or exceedingly worse? That was something they would never know. "It's Mum," Rose continued, the Doctor releasing a breath of relief tainted with perhaps just a touch of conflicted disappointment. "She's three months gone. More Tylers on the way."

His eyes only briefly left hers to glace off at Jackie and process this news, before fastening again to where they belonged. "And what about you? Are you...?" He trailed off, unsure of where to even begin. Are you okay? Are you living a fantastic life? What will you do and become that I can never be a part of or see?

"Yeah, I'm…I'm back working in the shop," she answered in jest, a desperate tactic to lighten the moment before it killed them both.

"Oh, good for you," he replied dully. But then he realized it didn't matter what she did, really. She was his Rose, and anything she undertook in life would be nothing short of brilliant.

"Shut up," she quipped, falling into that achingly-familiar banter for a fraction of a second before clarifying. "No, I'm not. There's still a Torchwood on this planet…it's open for business." The tears began to fall in earnest then as she looked into the eyes of her husband, the man who was still such a mystery yet the one she knew better than any other living soul. "I think I know a thing or two about aliens..."

Pride bubbled up in him. This was his Rose. The woman who had gathered her resolve in the midst of his unexpected absence and taken charge of her situation rather than letting it crush her. This was who she was. Who she had always been. Who she would always be.

"Rose Tyler. Defender of the Earth."

He stared at her for several moments. His chest tightened to the point that it became painful to breathe as he thought of the life she had ahead of her, contrasted with what remained of her life in the universe she had lost. There, Rose Tyler was but a memory.

"You're dead, officially, back home," he stated bluntly. She needed to know. "So many people died that day and you've gone missing. You're on the list of the dead." Their hearts could only shatter into so many pieces here and now before there would be nothing left, so he added the only consolation he had in this entire situation. "Yet here you are. Living a life, day after day." His joy was short-lived with the bitter reality of his next words. "The one adventure I can never have."

Rose finally broke down then, an anguished sob escaping her. It could not end like this. Not for them. "Am I ever gonna see you again?"

The two words he gave in reply nearly killed him, his throat constricting as he forced them out. "You can't."

"What are you gonna do?" she cried, desperately hoping that somehow, somehow he would still be okay.

What would he do? He would become what he had always been, with loss the only constant in his life. "Oh, I've got the TARDIS. Same old life. Last of the Time Lords," he answered with as much strength as he could possibly summon.

Her voice cracked as the thought of his loneliness overwhelmed her. She still had her family. He had no one. "On your own?"

He nodded, his pain tangible.

Their time was nearly gone, and if there was just one parting phrase to leave him with, there was only one option for her. "I lo–" Rose choked on the words. She had thought she could assure him of this every single day for the rest of her life. Now it was the final time she ever could, and she resolved to say it, even if this single fact served to make the pain of their separation unbearable. "I love you."

He swallowed thickly, forcing down the excruciating pain rising from his hearts and into his throat as he attempted to give her one last smile. "Quite right, too."

Rose nodded and smiled faintly, having lost the battle with her tears.

The Doctor knew he could not let it end there. He was suddenly overcome with regret for not taking every opportunity to say this when he had the chance. He had said it once. Just once. And that was not nearly enough. The only thing capable of easing the regret was the desperate hope that, during the time they had been allowed, he had adequately shown her. "And I suppose...if this is my last chance to say it..." His eyes were locked with hers, willing her to feel this and carry it in her heart for the rest of her days. "Rose Tyler..."

Time dealt them its final blow, and like a vapor of mist on the wind, he was gone.

The words were still on his tongue, bitter and sweet, as Rose faded from him forever. He closed them back into his mouth as he sealed them in his hearts. His eyes closed and the tears fell.

On a gray, desolate beach stood the only one who could fathom the depth of this pain, the tears shared and shed in equal measure.

-:-:-:-

The journey back from Norway had been made in somber quiet. Rose did not speak of her loss. She did not weep uncontrollably. She did not rage against the universe with the question of 'why.' No one tried to force her to open up or talk about it. She was numb and dazed, it was assumed. Rose's loved ones were giving her time to grieve, and respected her need for silent reflection.

Rose was not grieving, though. No, grieving this loss meant accepting this loss, and she was not prepared to do that. She had not for one moment given up and passively accepted her circumstances when it appeared as if she had lost the Doctor once before, and she would not take this lying down now. With each mile that passed, her resolve grew stronger until it solidified into a single determined fact: This would not end here. If she had to catapult herself across two universes to be with the Doctor again, she would.

Somehow, someway, she was going to find him again. Of that she was certain.

-:-:-:-

There was a time when the Doctor believed that words had power.

Four words: The Stuff of Legends.

Three words astoundingly imparted to him, even if his tongue could scarcely return them: I Love You.

One word more impossible than the rest but one he had just begun to believe that maybe, maybe could be true in some miraculous form: Forever.

He no longer believed in the power of words. They disintegrated to dust, just like everything else around him until there was nothing left. There had been a brief moment in time when he had hope, he had love, he had a reason to endure. There had been a time when he had Rose.

And then everything fell apart, lost in battle, as his life seemed cursed to repeat.

In the end, they had held off in making that fateful return to Earth. As a result, they had been able to have precious, additional time together before all was lost. But even if the time they had together had been decades, it still would not have been enough. All the time in the universe could not have prepared them for their ultimate separation. It was so sudden, their severance. It overtook them in an instant and was unstoppable. In a breath, they had been torn apart.

There had been occasions past when the Doctor considered just what he might do without Rose. He had told himself when that day came, he would pick up the pieces left of himself and move on. Always moving on. The only other alternative was to lie down and stop living. Rose would never want that. And as much as moving on hurt, stopping was unbearable. He had to run in order to stay at least one step ahead of the pain. And so he did. He had no choice, really.

As the Doctor attempted to move forward, he had never once intended to return to Zobulan. Certainly not when his pain was still so raw and intense. Yet something about the place – the very thing that had brought him and Rose closer than he had once intended – was drawing him in. Maybe he was just looking for closure. Whatever the reason, this was his first stop after returning alone to the TARDIS after having just encountered a fiery ginger-haired woman who had briefly happened into his life at his lowest point. She had left him with a parting question, to which he answered simply, 'Her name was Rose…'

The unexplainable pull of that name, the one he desperately hoped could keep him fighting in the days to come, guided him back to this place. The Doctor's solitary footsteps led him into the dark cavern that had once held the light of such promise. His restless journey didn't end until he came to a stop before the inscribed stone wall which he beheld with reverence and pain. The words proclaimed him and his beloved Rose to be the stuff that legends were made of. In light of their ending, this should have felt like a mocking slap. Maybe their story was one of legendary tragedy.

And yet, seeing these words somehow sparked a feeling of inexplicable hope to flicker to life deep within him. He recalled with clarity the moment the two of them stood in this very place and solidified their fate, timelines converging into a single path that felt right. That path had led to their ultimate separation.

But maybe their story wasn't quite finished just yet.

As his trembling fingers reached out and traced the words he thought he had lost faith in, his hearts held to the ones he still believed in – the ones spoken by the woman he still believed in. Rose had told him that if the day ever came in which they were separated, she would not rest until she found him again. He knew this was impossible. But then, maybe impossible was one of those words that lived to be disproved.

The Doctor had all but lost any faith he once held, but he still grasped tightly to one thing. Just one thing.

He believed in her.