It's silent as he walks the corridors of the Norwegian hotel, the long night stretching before him as he jams his hands in his pockets, clenching his fists as he does so. He misses the hum that had been a constant in his head for oh so many years, almost as much as he missed the thoughts of his people after they had gone (after he had killed them all, he corrects)
He shivers, the hairs on the back of his neck standing up as he relives the terror he had felt as he slept (such a waste of time....but he has time enough to waste now, nowhere he has to be but here, with her, his Rose) and he feels another kind of fear creeping up his spine - the fear that he will not be enough for her, that he is but a pale copy of the man (alien) she really wants beside her - the one now travelling on his own in a beautiful blue box through time and space; the one who is now all alone once more.
He knows this - that he is alone again - as sure as he knows that he loves her, (that they both love her), he can feel him still, inside his head - feels the anguish of their parting ripping through his hearts as if it was his own pain (and he has enough of that himself - he had destroyed another race....The Destroyer Of Worlds as Davros called him was the truth)
He stops suddenly, bent double with grief as the agony of the truth knifes through his one, human, heart. He feels it then, a soothing presence in his mind, calming him...and he realises with a start that it is him, his Time-Lord self, reaching out to him in his pain, and he knows now that he is not entirely alone, that another shares that same pain. He remembers the words on that beach, just a mile away, spoken by his other self - "He needs you - that's very me" and the truth of this stabs his heart.... they are the same man, after all.... he does need her. He needs her as much as he needs to breathe.
A soft footfall penetrates through the grief-induced haze he is in, and a soft touch on his shoulder makes him jump. He turns his face toward the young woman in flannel pyjamas crouching down beside him, the light behind her blonde hair making her look like an angel (she is his angel, his saviour and his love, he thinks), the concern written on her face vying with the love in her eyes as she helps him up, slips her hand into his and silently begins to lead him back to their room.
She makes him sit on the bed as she removes his blue suit jacket, slips off the red Converse trainers and the thick socks underneath, then gently pushes him to lie back against the pillows, crawling over him to lie at his side, her head resting on his chest, her small hand reaching to hold his once more. Her eyes watch him carefully as she whispers one word.
He feels himself relax into the soothing feeling of her fingers brushing through his hair, his eyes beginning to close of their own volition.
"Not yet," he whispers back. "But I will be," and feels her nod against the fabric of his shirt."Just give me time."
He wishes that she could.