Tis I, with another oneshot. I've never written anything from Mickey's point of view, so I thought, eh, why not? Also this idea came to me suddenly and I didn't think it was too bad.
Post Journey's End AU. Very angsty.

Contrary to popular belief (and a deliberately misleading nickname), Mickey Smith was no idiot.

He may not be a two-hearted, face-changing, time-travelling alien, but he didn't need to be to protect the earth, and he didn't need said alien, not anymore.

As a freelance, alien-fighting human, Mickey Smith had done pretty well for himself. He defended the planet the best way he could, alongside his very beautiful and wildly intelligent wife. All in all, he was happy with his life as it was. He was fairly certain, given the chance, he would not change too much. He no longer travelled in time and space, but that was alright. He and Martha had travelled the globe to defend it from potential invaders, often accompanied by their long-time friend and Mickey's best man, Captain Jack Harkness.

Neither man had been left untouched by time. They had both suffered unimaginable losses, many of which encompassed the same people. When Mickey thought of loss, he didn't only think of his gran, though he missed her dearly and often felt guilty for her passing – at least in this universe – but he could dull the guilt by reminding himself that he had done his best by her in a parallel universe and been a better grandson than he ever had been here. It didn't right the wrong, of course. He was certain the guilt would never fully subside. But it was something. He had tried to make things better, to correct his actions. To his gran in another world, he had made a difference.

The sharper pain was Rose.

Time had yet to dull the unrelenting feeling of loss when he thought of his childhood girlfriend and otherwise best friend. The ache remained frequent and unexpected – he often picked up his phone to call or text Rose to tell her about something that had happened, whether funny, sad, or simply ironic. He wanted to tell her about the ridiculous things he saw, about Martha's sharp wit, about Jack's usual unusualness. His fingers would freeze as he began to type her name into the recipient bar, and waves of loss, sadness, and anger would crash over him with terrible force.

Rose was gone.

He had imagined, at first, that Rose would have stayed on board the TARDIS, choosing to remain in her original universe after all, much like he had himself. He had waited for her phone call, for her to let him know that she was alright, for them to catch up after what felt like years of separation. While they had both resided in the same universe, most of their time had been swallowed by the dimension cannon, and neither was ever away from Torchwood for very long, leaving little time to talk about anything except the project.

He'd given up, finally, and phoned the TARDIS himself. He didn't have the number, but Martha staunchly refused to delete it from her phone.

"Mickey, hello!" the too-cheerful voice of the Doctor answered after three rings.

"How'd you know it was me?" Mickey asked suspiciously.

The Doctor had not lost his condescending tone, and Mickey certainly didn't need to see the alien's features to know he was sporting what Rose had dubbed the 'dribble-on-shirt' look. "Really, Mickey. You think I have a ship that can travel in time and space but I don't have caller ID?" He joked scathingly, though there had been no real venom in his tone.

"Suppose." Mickey acquiesced. "Rose in?"

Silence.

"Doctor?"

"What?" The words came out a strangled whisper on the other end, and Mickey stared at his phone in confusion.

"Rose, Doctor. Is Rose in?"

More silence.

"No." The word held a painful finality.

Mickey frowned. "Well, where is she?" The Doctor didn't reply, and Mickey felt his heart begin to pound uncomfortably in his chest. "Doctor, where is Rose?"

"With Jackie."

Mickey suddenly found it very hard to breathe. His lungs contracted sharply and painfully, making him exhale loudly, and he found they wouldn't refill. He was completely frozen, eyes wide and unseeing, mouth hanging open.

"She's gone, Mickey."

"October 15th, 2008."

Neither the Doctor nor Mickey had moved in several minutes.

The Doctor was dressed in his usual brown suit, his heavy, brown trench coat sitting regally on his shoulders, the ends flapping in a slight breeze. He stood as though he expected to be attacked at any moment, braced and stiff, his feet slightly more than shoulder-width apart. His hands were tucked into his trouser pockets, and if Mickey didn't know him well, he might have thought the Doctor was relatively at ease. But there was no manic smile or flirtatious grin on the alien's face. In fact, he seemed to be keeping his features carefully expressionless, waiting for Mickey to make the first move.

Mickey was standing defensively, his arms crossed over his chest and his black gaze direct and unwavering. Dressed casually in jeans and a comfortable black jacket, Mickey was perhaps not as imposing as the Time Lord, but he would not be intimidated by the Doctor. Frightening as this man may be, he had nothing on old big ears.

Neither man had spoken since the Doctor had stepped out of the TARDIS at least 3 minutes ago, each waiting for the other to speak first.

It was the Doctor – impatient and restless as he was – who spoke first. He lifted his gaze briefly to the sky and said, "she's gone."

"You said." Mickey growled dangerously, his eyes not leaving the Doctor for a moment.

"She's safe." The Doctor tried again, shifting his weight from foot to foot slightly, unaccustomed to being still for so long at a time. "With Jackie."

Mickey snorted, and the Doctor looked at him in surprise. "She's safe, is she? Because Rose Tyler has a habit of staying safe when she's left alone. That sounds about right."

"She's not alone."

"You and I both know that Jackie isn't enough to keep Rose out of trouble, Doctor." Mickey snapped. "You left her. Again."

The Doctor advanced suddenly, the Oncoming Storm ranging in his eyes, and stopped only when he was within inches of Mickey's face. "Don't presume to know me, Mickey Smith!" The Time Lord snarled, bile and rage making his voice harsh. "I kept her safe, just like I promised her. I did what I had to do to keep them safe."

The plural was not lost on Mickey, who refused to back away. "Them?" He repeated, his voice low and his eyes glinting with barely contained anger.

The Doctor stepped away. "I left her with the metacrisis. The other me. She'll have the life she wants - the one I could never give her. She can finally be happy."

Mickey's lips pulled back into an angry grimace. "Tell yourself what you want, Doctor." He hissed to the other man. "But the only words I cared to hear were the first three. You left her. Again. She nearly tore reality apart to get back to you, and as soon as she did you dropped her back off with a copy of yourself and went on your merry way."

"You don't know – " the Doctor began to shout again, but Mickey cut him off.

"I WAS THERE," He bellowed angrily, seeing the Doctor's eyes widen. "I was there for every second. I was there when she didn't sleep for days on end, I was there when she would barely eat, I was there at Torchwood when she refused to leave. I was there when she was hospitalized for malnutrition and dehydration. I was there when she cried, when she couldn't even say your name, when she woke up from her nightmares, screaming. I was there for every second. Where were you, Doctor?" He spat. "It's you who doesn't know. It's you who doesn't realize that you leaving her nearly destroyed her. I hope she can survive a second time.

"He is me," The Doctor insisted, although the fight seemed to be gone from his voice.

Mickey snorted. "He's both you and Donna. He's a Time Lord mind in a human body," his gaze was cold. "How long did Donna last?"

He had been cruel to the Doctor, he knew, but he couldn't find it in himself to be sorry. The Doctor, as usual, hadn't bothered to consider what could be lost or the feelings of anyone but himself, and Mickey would not apologize for telling him the truth.

He and Jack had spoken extensively about the metacrisis, and both had shed tears when they'd realized Donna's fate. If two humans had been able to figure it out, Mickey reasoned bitterly, the Doctor should have been able to.

He had resigned himself to never seeing his best friend again, but the longing didn't go away, and Mickey knew Jack felt the same. Neither had seen the Doctor since their argument, which had been almost a year and a half ago, and Mickey couldn't bring himself to care.

He didn't hate the Doctor, per se. He wasn't sure if he could ever truly hate the man who had shown him the stars, because though Mickey didn't care for his choices, he knew that the Doctor always tried to do what was best, even if he couldn't understand who he would hurt in the process. But he didn't want to see the alien. Not if he didn't have to.

Martha helped, of course, as she always did, with softly spoken assurances and warm touches, knowing when he needed her at his side and when he needed space to grieve for his lost family. Mickey knew that she'd once unjustly hated his blonde ex-girlfriend, but after fighting the Daleks together and seeing how the Doctor looked at the blonde without her rose-tinted glasses, Martha had turned her dislike into a respect that Mickey was certain Rose would have returned. Martha would never know, for certain, how he felt, having lost everyone he's considered his family, but she supported him the best she could, and he loved her for it.

But this was the longest he'd gone without speaking to Rose in his life. They'd only been in different universes for about a year, and even when she'd been isolated by Jimmy Stone, she'd always found ways to send him texts to assure him that she was alright. When he'd been accused of murdering her, he'd known that she was travelling with the alien in the strange box that seemed to fly, and had never truly believed her to be gone

He'd never missed anyone so desperately in his life, and the dull resignation that he would never see him again did little to curb the pain.

So he fought aliens, he defended the earth, and he loved his wife. He refused to let himself sink into depression, refused to linger too long on bad thoughts and bad dreams, and pushed on. He might not have the Tylers or his gran, but he had Martha and Jack, and for now, that would have to be enough.

Rose, who was always better at looking out for others but not herself, would never have allowed him do anything else.

He wondered, though, if he would ever stop to examine blondes who seemed to match her height, if he would stop hearing her laugh in the back of his mind, if he would ever forget what is was like to bask in the warmth of her honey-hazel eyes.

He wasn't sure he wanted to.

Please remember to review, to let me know what you thought!