He disappears without saying the things she’s been silently begging him to say for all their time together, and she’s not even sure how long that was, and she’s never asked because it’s never mattered before. Passing birthdays and ticking clocks are just reminders of time she’ll never get back.
It’s not the words unsaid that get to her though, nor is it yet the knowledge of lost time.
It’s the transparency of his image before he sonic’d himself solid - the transparency that reemerged as he opened his mouth and disappeared - that haunts her memory now. Imprinted in her mind, the way she could have reached through his body and not felt a thing.
No victory hug this time.
It’s over, the battle lost, and she is left alone bent over and clutching herself as sobs make their way through her body over and over like a broken record. Like a broken record, over and over and over and over she sees him disappear, feels the air the way he wasn’t there. He was present, but he wasn’t punctual, wasn’t tangible.
And he couldn’t save her. And she couldn’t save him. There is no Bad Wolf on this bay.
She couldn’t even touch him, couldn’t feel the impossibly aged lines on his youthful face, couldn’t pull his arms around her and feel their hearts beat out a waltz to the cold music of the sea.
No victory hug is shared in a battle that everyone loses.