Billie started asking when they first got the script.
“Are you gonna say it?” she smirked, beaming at him over the stack of crisp white pages.
“Hm, I dunno,” he replied, eyes returning to his lines.
She asked again a few days later, over pints at the pub.
“Has Russell said if he wants you to say it?” she smiled, apples of her cheeks rosy from the booze.
“He says it’s up to me,” David muttered, taking a long pull of his beer.
Billie tried again the next morning, legs tangled in his sheets.
“But you must have an idea of if you want to say it,” she bit her lip, sunlight glistening off her tousled hair.
“I’m going to see what feels right in the moment,” David yawned, rolling her onto her back.
She made a last-ditch attempt that afternoon, while the makeup artist dabbed at her face.
“Just tell me, I don’t want to be surprised on camera,” she peered at his reflection in the mirror.
“Well the sound guy said the mic wouldn’t even pick it up, what with the wind, so there’s no point really,” he said, finishing the dregs of his coffee.
The next question she asked him was from Rose.
“And you, Doctor? What was the end of that sentence?”
Her hair lashed at his face as he leaned down to whisper in her ear.
When she kissed him, it wasn’t as Rose.