Hey guys! Sorry I've been away from you for so long. I know a week can feel like a year when you're waiting for a good story to continue. I agonized over this chapter a little bit, working and re-working and re-re-working until it felt less wordy[and it still feels wordy]. I wanted it to be a bit longer but I couldn't keep you guys waiting. The next chapter will be considerably juicier.

Just a few notes:

Disclaimer: I own nothing but these words. Trust me, Series 3 would have been A LOT different!

Voicegrl: I'm so glad you like it!

Black Diamond07: I don't want to give anything away, but let's just say that the Doctor's indiscretions aren't so easily forgotten. I'll leave it at that.

Enjoy!

Chapter III

He wasn't stalking them. Not really. Just using his resources to keep an eye on old friends. Without their knowledge or consent of course, but noble intent behind it none the less. At least that's what the Doctor told himself. In truth, yeah, he was spying. And he did it to them all- his former companions. The ones who weren't dead or so fucked up that his guilt wouldn't allow him to see them anymore. His hearts couldn't handle seeing them that way- strung out or struggling to deal with reality. Not after he'd tried so hard to give them something better. He couldn't stomach seeing the monsters that he himself created.

Sarah Jane was doing well. Still hadn't married, but then again she had always been married to her work. At least she had her son to take some of the burden from her life.

Jack had Torchwood. And Ianto. They still saw each other during some intergalactic crisis, but he'd tried to stay away from the Hub- knowing Jack's feelings for him hadn't completely gone. Besides, he got a bad feeling from that place anyway. He never stopped spying on him, of course. Sometimes, he had this look to him, when he left his base alone. A look that said he'd lived too long and seen too much. The Doctor knew that look all too well.

Donna was doing great. Still yelling at the world, oblivious to how many times she had saved it. She was happy, but not fulfilled. The Doctor figured she'd never feel that way again. She'd been so much more than the "temp from Chiswick", but she would never truly know. If she did, death would come soon after. Once a month, he still met with Wilf for lunch at a little obscure diner in town. The same one every time, one old man to another, just catching up. He never missed a date.

Then there was her. Doctor Martha Jones. His personal success story. Just thinking about her almost made all of the rest worth it. Almost.

There was no getting rid of the death and destruction that he sometimes left in his wake- but there was something about Martha's accomplishments that almost seemed to compensate for the rest. Almost.

Martha seemed to successfully integrate into everyday life. Normal house, normal –well not so normal job- but all the same, she was still functioning. She created this life all on her own. And on top of it all, she still remembered him. He supposed that was why he visited her most often. He could still see her and talk to her without the fabric of reality becoming undone. He appreciated that. He had to make excuses, of course, when he got the urge to do those things. Universal calamity or alien invasion usually brought them together. Or sometimes the excuse of a "hiccup in the vortex" usually worked. He was sure that she knew better, but she never let on. Other times he just followed her from a distance or, more embarrassingly, looked through her mail. He couldn't help himself- his pride and curiosity just wouldn't leave well enough alone.

She was brilliant. Really brilliant. She'd saved his life just as much as he'd saved hers. Not to mention saved the world. Not once did she complain or expect reverence of any kind. She was all intellect and instinct and compassion and humility and fire. She was mercy personified and painfully beautiful. She knew when to silently obey and when to openly defy him with an easy confidence and maturity that preceded him. Martha Jones was something different.

She had a curious wisdom about her when they met at Royal Hope, but her selflessness is what drew him to her. Now, he supposed, she was always destined for more than one trip. Of course, she suffered, as did they all. She'd given her life on more than one occasion. But what's more, she was able to sacrifice her emotions for him. It hadn't gone unnoticed. Of course, just like any man, he didn't quite get it at first. But once he'd caught on, he still gave her nothing but heartache. Maybe if he'd ignored it, the feelings would go away- both hers and his own growing feelings for her. She was a smart girl; she knew what happened to those who got too close. She'd have ended up damaged or dead, too.

But she had other plans. She left him. She'd given him her last breath, as well as her heart. And then, just as he had begun to feel for her, entertain the thought that maybe, just maybe he could love her the way he had loved the others, she left. And he couldn't blame her. She'd left him lonely, just as he'd let her feel in her months in the TARDIS.

It wasn't rare that someone left the TARDIS, but it was rare that anyone ever left of their own volition. But there it was: she'd gone and there, in the vast, dark loneliness that he realized just how much he'd needed her. She hadn't needed him quite as much. He'd realized that early on. He needed her more than he ever realized.

So he began following her and "accidentally" running into her in emergency situations and coming whenever she called. Until finally he was ready to tell her. Donna was there, but she's the one who finally convinced him to tell her. Invite her back. Make it work. That was when he saw the ring.

He didn't want to go. He just did what was expected of him. That's what "best friends" do right? Never mind the pain he felt as she walked down the aisle in the stunning white gown. He stood in the back and left the reception early, muttering some excuse about strange atmospheric disturbances. He held her close as she cried after the funeral, her pain manifesting in him as well. He sat with the Torchwood team at her small second wedding to Mickey Smith, of all people, almost a year later. Now that, he didn't hadn't expected. Talk about 6 degrees of separation.

For a Time Lord, his timing was really rubbish. The timing would never be right to tell her of his feelings. Not now that she was a happily married woman. So he continued his secret coveting while she lived a perfectly "normal" life on Earth, if that's what you could call it, and he travelled through all of time and space- getting deeper and deeper into trouble all for the sake of distraction.

It was on one of these many spying missions that brought him to her not-so-humble abode. It was Sunday morning, spring and absolutely beautiful. No cars in the driveway- it was odd that they were both out on a Sunday, so he waited in the playground across the street in their suburban neighborhood. It was there that he saw it, or rather saw him. Mickey Smith, walking up the street to the house, envelope in hand. Why walking? He walked up to the house- his house- and stood for a moment. His hand hovering over the doorbell. Why would he be ringing the doorbell to his own house? Why not just use the key? Mickey seemed to think better of it after that moment, kissed the envelope, and dropped it against the door before walking off in the direction he had come from.

He needed to know what was in that envelope.

After he was sure that Mickey was gone, the Doctor leapt from his seat on the swing and walked briskly back to the house where the envelope had been placed. He looked around, making sure no one was looking while he grossly invaded his former companion's privacy, and peeled open the envelope. After skipping through all the legal mumbo-jumbo, he came across the only three words that mattered in the entire 13 page document: "DIVORCE"... "IRRECONCILIBLE DIFFERENCES". He sat down on the concrete step, his arms resting on his long legs as he read the words again… "DIVORCE"… "Divorce?" "Divorce!" He absent-mindedly shoved the papers back into the envelope and stared at the envelope.

He didn't know whether to be excited at what the turn of events could mean for him or distraught for the woman he loved; she'd been through a lot since she left the TARDIS. This envelope, blank save for her name printed in neat, boxy letters on the front, was going to change her life, maybe both their lives. He was so engrossed in his thoughts, running scenarios of every possible outcome of Mickey and Martha's separation, that he didn't hear the car pull into the driveway nor did he hear her bare feet paddling towards him.

"You know it's illegal to open someone else's mail." The familiar voice brought him out of his reverie. He was taken aback; it was the same old Martha Jones wit, but she sounded tired- haggard almost. When he looked at her, however, she was still the stunning Martha Jones he'd come to love. He let his eyes wander over her body, just briefly: a light pink dress, so shimmery it seemed to glow in the spring sun, adorned her curves: three-quarter sleeved and borderline obscene in length –or lack thereof (though he couldn't say he disapproved). Her make-up was a bit smudged, her hair slightly disheveled, and a pair of black pumps hung from the strap of her small party bag. The shades she'd donned to hide her red, weary eyes and dark bags didn't fool the Doctor one bit. They made a bit of small talk, an apology and a quick joke from Martha lightened the mood, if only a bit.

Then, a sickening realization dawned on him: his Martha hadn't come home last night.

And she hadn't slept alone.