Moments Like Sand

"How long have we got?"

"About two minutes." Two minutes and nineteen-point-one-two-five seconds, to be exact, but it would take longer than it was worth to tell her so. He doubted those 19.125 seconds would matter much to Rose anyway, with her limited sense of time, but to him they were so very important. He had plans for each and every one of those seconds; there was a lot he needed to say, and he would use every moment he was given.

"I can't think of what to say!"

He laughed, because he'd planned every word, had run this scenario through his head over and over again until it was a constant loop in his head, but even that hadn't prepared him for the reality of saying goodbye to her.

"I—I love you."

That was all it took. His entire plan flew out the window in milliseconds flat, and he still had so many things he'd wanted to say, but suddenly they seemed so very insignificant. Of course he'd sort of known ever since Sarah Jane and the tin dog, but he hadn't though it needed saying. He'd spent so much time among humans, yet he still managed to forget their compulsion to say things and the need to have them said in return.

It was silly, really. Just because he hadn't told her that he (loved adored needed wanted cherished) her didn't mean that he didn't. Because he did. Desperately. She knew—she had to know—didn't she? Saying the words wouldn't somehow fix everything, wouldn't make her live longer, wouldn't change the fact that he was here and she was there.

And yet, this one girl—this most precious girl in the entire universe—she deserved to have it said. Even if she already knew, and especially if somehow she didn't, he needed to tell her.

"Rose Tyler—"

It was too late. He'd taken too long, had lost track of the countdown in his head right when it really mattered, and the moment slipped away like sand from a broken hourglass.