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"No worries, we still have time."
Rose makes a frustrated huff. "It's not about that." She gestures to the alien fairground they're at, which is closing soon.
"We can come back tomorrow," the Doctor tells her, scuffing his plimsolls on the magenta pavement. "Or next century! Ooh, that'd be fun!"
"I just said it's not about that," Rose snaps, suddenly fed up with his manic insistence that everything is wonderful and that three weeks ago a literal demon didn't say she'd die in battle. But it's not even about that, entirely. It's this sense she's had, ever since Satellite 5 (though she still doesn't know what happened there); something prickling at the back of her neck, that feels like time, trickling through her fingers. Too fast.
The Doctor frowns, stilling. For one second, his eyes show just how fucking terrified he is. Rose swears, turning away, not strong enough to bear the sight.
But the hairs on her nape stand up; like they did in Scotland when she heard that wolf's howl.
"No worries. We still have time."
He only just manages this before running out of strength to speak. Smiles, rueful, loving. Some days Rose can barely look at him. This man who is-isn't the Doctor. Who is-isn't the man she once fell for, but whom she now loves.
Brain tumour. Inoperable. What a miserably, painfully banal way to die. Or perhaps just miserable and painful.
The one adventure the Doctor can never have. God, she hates him.
But she needs to keep reminding herself that she doesn't hate this man with his face. No, she loves this one. That must be why every single thing hurts inside of her now.
When it's over, Rose is hollowed out. She did so much grieving when he was alive but slipping away; yet somehow there's still more grief left. She scatters his ashes in Norway, releasing him into the dark, briny sea. Free. Her mum tries to be there for her. But she's got Tony, and Rose doesn't want him to miss out on growing up with the best mum in two universes.
Months after the funeral, one day something snaps. Rose breaks into Torchwood, finds what she's looking for, and leaves this reality. Nothing else here for her.
But now, at long last, she has one thing for herself.
Time.
"No worries. We still have time."
This time, Rose says it to a Doctor whose face is not the same. Not one of hers. Yet still the Doctor, and therefore hers in her heart. And that face contracts skeptically.
"But..."
"Shh," Rose soothes. Presses her finger to soft lips, wriggles a little and hums, pleased, when naked skin slides warmly against her own. A hand finds the small of her back, before pulling the sheets up. "Fixed the cannon, remember? No more Torchwood yanking me back. All the time in the world."
"In the universe," the Doctor points out with a faint grin.
Rose grins back. "Not just this one."