Only Martha Knows

I've seen him love everyone but me.

Rose and Joan, memories and a simple human.

The Master. Jack. Compassion for everything but the things he cannot and will never understand.

Mickey is not second best to him – I love him. He loves me back, and we are, in fact, happy together.

But sometimes, just sometimes, when the night is dark and quiet, when the stars seem to fade into the clouds, giving off the illusions they aren't there, I feel my heart ache, I feel my eyes burn, and I think of him, forever alone, never finding his Mickey, his Other Self, his Ianto, his own Doctor.

What I did learn from all the time I've known him is that no one can never ever truly know him. No one can see his heart, and understand his pain, and that's what makes him so very, very alone. So completely different from me, or Rose, or Donna, or Jack.

My heart aches for him, not for the unrequited love from the past that's now gone, but for his loneliness, and emptiness, for his constant and always present losses.

Mickey once said the only reason he had for not hating the Doctor was he pitied him, for having the whole of the time and space on his reach, but having no one to truly share it with.

I realized I was truly over him when I agreed with Mickey.

So very wonderful, so very brilliant, so very fantastic.

So very alone.

R E V I E W !