She had expected to feel empty when he disappeared. Expected to feel a chasm in her ribcage, a hollowness in her stomach, a blankness in her mind. She expected to feel like a shell, caving in at any semblance of impact. After all, he was gone. He was gone for good, wouldn't - couldn't - come back. Her entire plan for the rest of her life had shown up on a beach, flickering like a ghost, said her name, and vanished into thin air. Unreachable. Unretrievable.

And yet, she was not empty, though she wished at times that she was. No, she was human. That's what he had said about her so often. It was strange... With everywhere she had been, everything she had seen, everything she had learned, she almost felt as though she were something else. But she was human, after all. Full of perfectly human love, still, she felt it rip her to shreds as she crumpled onto the sand. And for days and months later, she still felt him. Yes, she felt him seared onto her heart and growing in her lungs. But she felt him on the outside, too, pressing into every inch of her skin, pulling at the hands that longed to touch him just one more time.

She was not empty. She was overflowing.

"Rose," Mum came into her room one evening. "Rose, you've got to eat something. Your dad ordered dinner for us, aren't you hungry?"

She shook her head. She was too full to be hungry.

But Mum left her with the sandwich Dad had ordered for her, and she ate it for her parent's sakes. No chips, she noticed. Good. She might break down completely if she saw chips.

Then she slept. It seemed to be all she wanted to do lately. Her brain worked overtime, desperate to find some solution - some escape. Every day it was research and poking around and fighting and clawing to get back. And when she slept, she slept deeply and soundly. It was like what drinking was to some: it helped her forget.

Still, she caught glimpses of him in dreams sometimes. The tail of a tan trench coat disappearing around a corner. The sound of the screwdriver endlessly screaming at her from another room. Lately, the glimpses had been more painful. Flashes of brown eyes. Tips of his soft, feathery hair that stuck up on his head like he had either forgot to comb it or spent too much time doing so. The feeling of a hand that could only be his wrapping around hers, gripping until she felt her bones would break. She would try to squeeze back and wake to the pain of her nails digging to deeply into her palms.

She never saw him fully.

Never.

Never until that night.

It was a week after she hadn't had chips. She had nearly gotten in trouble for asking too many questions to a person who looked like they might have some answers. The dead ends had started to chip away at her piece by piece. Hope was a fragile thing.

Then she saw him standing in front of her in her dream. It was almost too real. She had to fight her brain telling her to wake up. It felt pain; something must be wrong. But it was a pain she couldn't stand to be without.

All around them was a London street, emptied by the dark of the night. A good view of the London Eye was just over the water. She remembered it well. It was where she and her first Doctor had walked once on their very first escapade, searching for where the Autons were hiding themselves away. And now, her Doctor - the Doctor she was the first to have ever seen - stood with his back to her. He leaned on folded arms over the wall and stared at the Eye.

She ran. The ground slipped under her feet. The world tilted, then steadied.

The Doctor seemed to notice this. His head perked up and he looked around.

She tried to shout his name. It came out in a muted whisper at the back of her throat, no matter how she forced it. It was still a dream, no matter how real it felt. But when she began to cry - to sob, really - that's when she could be heard. "Doctor. . ." It came out muted, but this time it was choked out by her own tears.

Nevertheless, the Doctor spun around. She saw his face - searching and bewildered - and sobbed again. He was looking right at her, and he couldn't see her.

"Rose?" he called, desperately.

"I'm here," she answered. She screamed it. "I'm right here! Right in front of you!"

"Rose, I can't hear you!" he screamed back. "Where are you?"

"Here!" she answered. But, of course, he still wouldn't be able to hear her. She tried again to move towards him, lifting one foot and planting it firmly in front of her. But the world spun and began to fold the minute her heel hit the ground. "No!" she cried. But it was too late. The Doctor was already fading, just as he had before.

"Rose!" He called for her one more time, before vanishing entirely.

And then she woke up.

Tears had soaked her pillows. It wasn't unusual. She often cried in her sleep. What was unusual was the way her head was spinning. Of course, it had to have just been a dream, but no dream had ever felt like that before. So real and unreal. But surely, it was just a dream.