When the void closes itself off, he thinks it's a joke.

The universe couldn't be doing this to him. After all he had lost - after he had sacrificed everything - it had taken away the only light that had shown through his darkness. He stares at that blank white wall, only seeing her face, her beautiful face, giving him one last remorseful look. Like she was sorry. Rose Tyler, apologizing for something she couldn't even control. He could almost laugh.

When he finally let's go of the magnaclamp - the clamp that he had clung to for life - he breaks his gaze from the wall and looks at the ground, fighting back tears he didn't even know where coming. He watches his feet move towards the wall, and he raises his gaze once again. He can almost see her, on the other side, banging her hand on the wall and screaming for him.

He knows it's just his imagination. Why would she cry so udesperately for him?

He lifts his hand to the wall and places it where his brain sees her, and he rests his face against the wall. For the first time since he met Rose, he feels tired - so tired - and he can feel the energy draining from inside him. She was his light and his reason for living. He had sacrificed his life for her, and he had been born out of love.

And then, he can feel her calm presence tingling in his mind. Her light, her beauty, her soul, lingering where it's always had a place, and bringing him an eerie sense of calm. It's like she's pressed up against him, like she can feel him, too. He can feel her tears on his face and he wants nothing more than to just kiss them away.

He wants to sleep. He wants to spend the rest of his days numb.

He doesn't want to wake up and remember she's gone.

But the feelings and Rose and his hallucinations of her on the other side get to him, and he has to step away from the wall. He gives the blank, empty white wall another lingering glance before he turns, and walks away brokenly.

And he's numb. The agony is gone, and in its place is nothing. He thinks that maybe he's swallowed the void, and that's why he feels so empty. He's not sure what he's doing or where he's going, or how he got there. He's a ghost, occupying the shell of a broken and lost man.

When the numbness finally subsides, he almost wishes it would return. He finds himself on the metal grating of the TARDIS console room, sitting next to a broken picture and holding one of her t-shirts. He is quickly overcome with anguish and it's like he can't breathe. His lungs have stopped working and his brain can't function properly and remind them how to work. He gasps for breath and clings to the t-shirt like a life line, despondent to the tears that stream heavily down his face.

And the anguish is replaced by a swelling rage, as he thinks of what has happened. He lost his savior, his salvation. His Rose Tyler. He had loved her with everything he had in his two hearts. He would have followed her to the ends of the earth. Where had his fault been? He have her everything and she had healed him, and now he was broken beyond healing.

But had he ever told her? He had never been able to confess how ardently he had loved her. Everything inside of him had burned for her. Now, the flame had been put out, suffocated by his folly and fears. Now, she's gone.

He lurches up off the ground, clutching the shirt tightly in his hand. He moves around the TARDIS rapidly.

"This can't be the end," he mumbles, almost insanely. "It can't end like this. It can't."

And so he spends his days, every hour, minute, second searching for a way back to her. Reality didn't matter. Rules didn't matter. Rose mattered. He can't stop until he finds a way back.

He'll tell her, when he finds her. He'll tell he was sorry for ever leaving her. He was sorry for every time he had ever left.

He'd tell her how lovely she is, all the time. When she wakes up and her hair is larger than her head, or when she's in the TARDIS's best ball gown, ready for a night in town.

He'll tell her how much he needs her. He'll tell her how crazy he's gone without her, and how much she had healed him, and how desperately he needed that healing again.

He'd admit that he had been terrified, and that his fear had made him a fool. He'd admit that he knew it wouldn't ever be easy for them. He knew it would always been hard and scary and dangerous. He'd tell her that he knew that's the way it's supposed to be.

And he'd hold her in his arms and kiss her forehead and cheeks and nose and finally, her lips. He'd press her close to him and hold her tight and never let her go.

And he'd tell her.

He would tell her that he...

He'd tell her how much he...

Oh. She knows.