A/N: Remember 2 years ago when David Tennant suddenly had this majestic long hair? That inspired me to write this fic. I've posted it before, but decided to rewrite it.
The story is set after season 2 and will contain about 10 short chapters. Reviews and constructive criticism are welcome. Enjoy ;)

Prologue

He hadn't counted the days since the battle at Canary Warf, nor had he counted the weeks, nor the months. He simply couldn't bear to think of time like that. For him, being a Time Lord, time never was a straight line. One moment he could be in London, decades before it would happen, the next he could find himself in the 24th century where the events of that terrible day were long forgotten, but never once could he cross his own time line and go back to that particular day. He didn't want to know the absolute time that had passed. Instead, he had counted centimetres.

Five. That was when it had happened. She had fallen through the void, the blank wall in Torchwood. If only she had held on for ten more seconds... What if Pete hadn't been there at exactly that fatal moment? He'd failed her, he had failed himself, but at least the universe was safe.

At six centimetres he had found a tiny gap in the universe, just about to close, and she had come all the way to Norway, following a voice she wasn't even sure was real. During those precious two minutes he had left to spend with her, he had failed himself again.

Of course he'd been wanting to tell her back then. He'd been thinking about doing that for a long time, but had been waiting for the right moment. Then suddenly this had been the last moments with her would ever have. But he couldn't say it. Of what value are words when spoken as a final farewell? It had taken him too long to understand, seeing her standing on that beach, that she already knew. She had only needed him to acknowledge it and this realisation had finally given him the courage to speak the words.

Too late. He had gotten his one and only chance to tell her what they'd both known for a long time and he had wasted it. He had failed again.

The first decimetre had passed the quickest, and had also been the most painful. He had spend his days alone in the Tardis, desperately trying to find a way to heal his own heart and hers. Maybe he should have decided back then that he should just forget and move on. He always did. But he didn't want to forget. He needed something to remind him of her forever. And so he had started counting.

When he reached seventeen he had thought most of the pain was over. He had started to travel again, exploring time and space, just as he had done before the time war.

At twenty he understood that it had never been a good idea to go back to earth in the first place. He had even tried travelling with a new companion, a nice young bloke called Ivo. He shouldn't have stayed. Not when everything he saw reminded him of her.

On one occasion, in Washington he was confronted with a woman who looked just like Yvonne. Angrily he had lost his mind, ending world war 6 by blowing up 3 continents, before locking himself into the Tardis, leaving the poor Ivo behind.

He had been staying in the void for 3 long centimetres, unable to do anything but sleeping, crying and letting the Tardis take care of him.

How he had reached thirty-five he didn't know. By that time he had built up a new life on a planet far away from earth and had lost it again. He'd gone crazy, begging everyone to kill him, but no one would. He escaped from the clinic three months after they'd put him in it and had run back to the only home he knew.

Forty. He had finally started to come to terms with himself, had saved about fourteen planets and had even considered taking a new, nonhuman, companion. The boy had fallen into a supernova before he got the chance to ask.

The Tardis woke him by softly humming to him. The Doctor groaned and pulled the covers over his head. Today he had reached forty-two. Reluctantly he got out of bed and dressed himself in his grey suit. After Bad Wolf Bay he had only worn his black one and on special days, like this, he covered himself in grey.

After having run the programs for the daily checks on the Tardis and their surroundings he pulled himself together and made his way towards the kitchen.

There it was, the same as all those times before, waiting for him on the table. Only this time the cake had forty-two lit candles neatly placed on top of it. He slowly sat down on the only chair and fiddled with his hair. Sighing he retrieved a band from his trouser pockets and roughly put his hair in a ponytail.

Forty-two centimetres... It had grown so slowly lately. His last "celebration", when he'd reached forty-one, had been at least five months ago.

The Doctor stared into the flames, tears forming in his eyes and blurring his vision. 'Oh Rose-' he breathed. 'I'm so sorry, I'm so very very sorry...' He started sobbing into his hands as he retraced all the memories of her he had collected in his mind.

His Rose, his pink and yellow human, had always been so brave. She was like a light to him, guiding him through the darkness that was left of him after the time war. He had send her home, but she had come back for him and had been willing to die if that meant he could live.

Regeneration, New New York, cybermen, being stuck on a doomed planet, saving each other, flirting, arguing, holding hands, hugging... but never crossing that line. And oh, he regretted flirting with Reinette, he regretted never telling her how sorry he was and how he had never meant to leave her alone on that spaceship, he regretted not being brave enough to cross that thin line, he regretted never having been able to tell her what exactly she was to him.

Eventually he calmed down enough to stop crying. He stared at the cake and closed his eyes, wishing the same as all those times before: Please give me a chance to tell her I'm sorry. Please give me a chance to tell her that I love her. Please give me one more chance to get her back.

He took a deep breath and blew.

TBC...