Michael

Very early the next morning, Mike opened his eyes in the predawn darkness. He'd never needed much sleep, not as much as most humans. He lay on his back for a while, watching the fog outside the balcony doors slowly light up with the dawn.

Is this all my life is now? Is this all there will ever be? Books and tea and holidays by the seaside? There used to be so much more...

The lightest of snores came from his right, and he turned that way to look at Donna's profile. He'd heard her crying, very softly, last night after they'd gone to bed, but when he'd put a hand on her shoulder, she'd pretended sleep. Now, at least, she looked peaceful.

Of course I love her, he answered his own internal interrogator. She's my wife, my partner. We're part of each other, always have been. We're comfortable with each other.

So why am I so unhappy?

He sighed and turned back the other way to watch the fog again. You're supposed to be content, nitwit. You're living out the Doctor's dream: a simple, single, finite human life. The perfect retirement after nine hundred years.

He snorted softly. Right. Who am I kidding? I got the retirement, he got the prize.

As always when his mental train reached this station, he suddenly couldn't sit still any longer. He slipped silently out of bed and pulled on a pair of running shorts and a sweatshirt, lacing up his Converse – some things never changed. Then he snuck downstairs and walked quietly through the breezeway, doing his best to ignore the TARDIS in the corner.

Reaching the beach, he realized the visibility through the fog was down to only a few yards at a time, so he grabbed one of the chairs from the circle and brought it out to face the ocean in front of the boardwalk as a signpost for his return. Then did a few stretches, and began walking south towards the lighthouse on the distant point, sending its pulsing, mournful warning out to passing ships. His usual routine was a mile walk, eight or ten running, then walking the last mile back.

Slipping in and out of patches of fog, he'd gone about a quarter mile before the footprints registered. Someone else was already out for a morning walk along the strand – well, many of the other houses along this stretch also had their summer inhabitants.

A bit further and he spotted the shadowy figure ahead of his unknown companion, walking much more slowly with their head down. He didn't want to startle whoever it was, or intrude on their thoughts, so he began to swerve seaward to go around them when suddenly he realized who it was and halted in his tracks, hesitating.

Just as he did so, she also stopped, turning to face the surf barely visible a few yards away. She wrapped her arms around her torso – then reached one hand up to wipe at her face, and Mike realized she was crying.

"Rose?" he called softly, still not wanting to startle her. She gasped, then turned her face away from him, hunching her shoulders. He walked closer. No matter what else, seeing her cry tore his heart out. "Rose, what is it? What's wrong?"

She snorted softly, then shook her head and started to turn back towards him. "You know what's wrong. Why can't we... Oh. Mike." She turned quickly back away from him again, wiping at her face and sniffing.

"You thought I was him."

"Well, your voices do sound remarkably similar," she replied after a moment, trying for a light, teasing tone and failing miserably.

"Imagine that!" he tried to help out, and also failed. "Rose. Tell me what's wrong. What's going on?" He reached her side and, feeling greatly daring, put one light, tentative hand on her shoulder.

Her eyes screwed tightly shut, tears squeezing out the cracks. She pressed the knuckles of one hand against her mouth and struggled to breathe for a moment, then finally turned back to him. "I almost lost him the other day, and I'm not handling it well."

"Lost him...?"

She nodded. "There's a reason he hasn't taken off his shirt. He's got a bandage underneath it, where he was shot. He almost..." She couldn't say the word.

"Almost regenerated?" She nodded again. He sighed, helpless.

Her face twisted. "I'm so afraid of losing him..." she sobbed, and the tears came in earnest. He reached out then and gathered her up into his arms, and she stiffened just for a moment, then gave in, sagging against him and letting it out. For several long minutes he stood there and held her, one foot in paradise, the other in hell.

When her tears slowed, she pulled away, and he let her go. She didn't look at him as she turned back to face the water, and simply sank down to sit on the spot, bringing her knees up and wrapping her arms around them. He tucked his long legs up and sat beside her, shoulders not quite touching, and watched the waves, now growing steadily more visible as the early morning sun began to burn off the fog.

"Am I selfish, Mike?" she asked softly. "For hoping I die before my husband does?"

He shook his head. "I don't think so."

After another long silence, he had to break it. "Rose, I..."

She was shaking her head. "No. Please don't."

His heart was breaking all over again. "Please. Let me say this, just once, and then I swear I will never mention it again. I just need to say it, just this once."

She closed her eyes, but didn't say anything. He took that as permission.

"I love you, Rose. I always have, and I always will." He shook his head, even though she hadn't moved to protest. "It's got nothing to do with my love for Donna. Yes, I do love her; she's my wife, the mother of my children. But I love you, too. And there's nothing I can do about it. Never was. I was born to love you." Turning back to the water again, he sighed deeply. "I know you belong to him, and always will. I know that. I just want you to remember one thing. If you ever... need a place to stay, there will always be a place for you, wherever I am, on whatever terms you dictate." She looked at him, then, and he saw she understood the significance of the last phrase. He held her eyes with his a moment longer, then gave her the tiniest rueful smile. "End of spiel."

She looked down at the sand and nodded, and for another long while they sat in silence. Spying a curved edge by her bare feet, she fished out a perfect, unbroken sand dollar and held it, running her fingers over it like a talisman.

"Can I ask you a question?" he broke the silence. She nodded, and he went on, hesitantly. "Do you think... if he hadn't come back... do you think we could have made it?"

She took a deep breath, considering, then finally nodded. "Possibly. Yeah. At least... I'm sure we both would have tried our very best."

A beat, then he whispered, "Thank you."

She glanced sideways. "For what it's worth... I'm sorry, Mike. I'm sorry for everything I've put you through all these years." She put the sand dollar into his hand, and started to get to her feet – then halfway up, leaned over and kissed his cheek. Then she swiftly rose up and began walking back towards the house.

He pulled himself up and watched her walk away. Again. As always.

When she was gone, disappeared into the mist, he stood there for several more heartbeats, then sorrowfully turned to return to his run.

And stopped cold. There, several yards away, staring at him with agony etched deeply into his face, stood the Doctor.