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Time and Again
By Taleya
TARDIS
Tenth
"Soon get you home! And you can close that coat again!"
Two hearts.
It shouldn't drive him the way it does, but the simple feel of two hearts,
healthy, whole under his hands excite him far more than they should. Gallifreyan
cardiovascular system. Gallifreyan body. Gallifreyan mind under that funky
little hat, alive, whole, not scarred and broken. Memories of a time when his
race travelled the stars and time itself, ridiculously ornate robes, pompous
ceremony, the glorious poofy snottishness of the Time Lord race.
It will take some time to convince himself, but he's not that concerned. He'll
come around. He already has. He knows this, it just hasn't happened yet. Celery
and cricket and youthful exuberance shifted a little by time eddies, but that's
easy enough to fix.
He hadn't counted on the bald patch though. Have to watch that in future. He
can't remember if his people ever did any studies on male pattern baldness
across incarnations.
And then it comes...
The instance of realisation.
'course it's ruined by the cloister bell and imminent destruction of reality,
the universe, and everything else, but that sort of thing happens when you
merrily collide with your own timestream. They don't get as much time as he
would like, but he knows he already has. And it's always good to end on a high
note, saving everything as we know it, a brilliant piece of temporal physics
laid into play...leave it for too long afterwards, and the impressed look fades
and the vague sort of contempt his past incarnations have always held for each
other reappears. He's seen it before.
But he has to let him know, just a bit, how much he shaped him. Because he needs
to know. Because from here on in, all he has is disillusionment. Helpless
decisions. Sad farewells and an agonising death. He needs to know he made a
difference. He needs to know he made the right choice.
The affection in his voice is genuine as he watches himself fade away.
"You were my Doctor."
TARDIS
Fifth
"Check out this bone structure, Doctor 'cause one day you're gonna be shaving
it!"
He stares. In horror, truth be told. He knew he could be annoying on occasion -
something he took great delight in - but this?
His mind reaches out instinctively, brushes and...contact.
Realisation comes. And with it, the Fear. All of a sudden he knows. In
that instant. Everything. The grief in his own mind swirls out, overwhelms him.
Under the deceptive form of the skinny ranting idiot before him there's a pain
that engulfs aeons. Regret. Loss. Gone, all of it, gone. All of them, even poor,
mad Koschei. Gone. Lost. Before his eyes, in his hands, nothing but dust that
shatters in a cold wind. Everything is...gone.
Everything
The cloister bell rings and he's startled back to himselves. Confusion,
brilliance, and in the end there's nothing but a sadly affectionate smile on his
face as he watches himself babble on and on. Almost like Tegan. Except without
the innate hostility. High-pitched voices, sneakers and glasses, boundless
enthusiasm. In a way, he's come full circle, and he's glad he's returned to a
state of near-quixotic innocence. Because he needs that to survive.
As he fades, he promises to make it better for him. He has to try.
Deep Space Prison Station
"I'm not here as your prisoner, Davros. But as your executioner."
Fate has a habit of dipping his way. This time in particular. It couldn't have
been coincidence, not this. The Dalek's Time Corridor had thrown their TARDISes
together, time warped and raped, ripped wide open. Giving him this last chance.
Just this one.
He has to take it.
He shouldn't know his future. He's not supposed to. This single action could
wreck havoc with time and causality, unravel the universe itself. But he has to
try. He has to.
The gun wavers.
"You hesitate, Doctor. If I were you, I would be dead."
"I lack your practise, Davros."
The Kaled stares up at him, twisted, malevolent. Insane. The saviour of the
Dalek race. The progenitor. The executioner of his entire race. One shot. One
tiny, infinitesimal twitch of the finger, and history is changed. Erased.
Rebuilt.
"You are soft. Like all Time Lords. You prefer to stand and watch. Action
requires courage....something you lack."
He has the courage. The courage to change history. Even, ultimately, the courage
to kill. But does he have the courage to face what he already knows will be?
He remembers himself, as he'll be in the future. Impossibly young, impossibly
excited, still so full of wonder and joy, even at himself. And he knows this
moment, this instant, will form the man who survives.
You were my Doctor
He knows the door will seal behind him. He knows this is his last chance.
He walks out of the room and leaves Davros alive.
Gallifrey
The war is nearly over.
He knows it, he can feel it in his bones. No more intrigue, no more safe,
sanitised strategies and plans. It's come to this. To the very end. Down to the
blood and to the bone, as a friend of his once said.
Not like in the early stages, where they fought behind lines of reality,
editing, changing time, millions of races, wiped out, brought back, warped and
mutated, casualties of a war between races they will never have met.
The Daleks have breached the cruciform. Torn Gallifrey into real time. No more
tricks. No more sneaking. It's come down to battle, brutal battle, aeons old,
older than the universe itself, different weapons, but the same hellish shriek.
Rocks and spears. Swords and sabres. Ships and cannons. The stench of death and
the burn of blood
He already knows how it's going to end. He thought he had more time though, he
didn't think in this incarnation, he'd hoped and hoped and...in the end, had
known it was useless.
They were losing
They'd already lost.
Closing his eyes, he presses the trigger.
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