He didn’t want to mourn like this around anyone, much less his date. He didn’t want to mourn anywhere but in his room, by himself, because it was embarrassing for a man to cry, and he didn’t know how long he would cry. He knew he had to mourn a long life full of mistakes and failures punctuated by an agonizing death. He had to mourn his relegation to the false reality of Milliways, this gift of a false body, this lie of a second life. He needed that catharsis, otherwise he might never move on. He just didn’t want to hold up anyone while he did it. But it seems like he doesn’t have a choice.

Any attempt to focus on the now is met with some image, some experience, some feeling that sends more tears to his eyes, that causes him to cling to Sarah Jane as if she can erase the pain, regret and anger. He closes his eyes, feeling so sick he thinks he might vomit. Luckily for Sarah, he doesn’t. It’s just the nausea he feels from being reminded of his old life, a nausea that, at this moment, only comes out in more tears.



After a few minutes, Simon pulls himself up, wiping underneath his eyes. He doesn’t feel any better. He probably won’t for a while. “I should head back to the bar,” he whispers.