The man in the bowtie recounted the hash marks on the wall of the cell – 627 days. If his memory served him right, and it always did, then today was the day. He would come today.
The eleventh doctor tried to tidy himself up, to appear as presentable as one can be after being locked in a cell and periodically beaten and tortured for the better part of two years. He smoothed down his wild hair and ran his fingers through his unkempt beard. His shaking hands straightened his bowtie and fastened the few remaining buttons on his tattered shirt. He rolled his sleeves down to hide his raw, bloody wrists, there was no need to frighten his visitor anymore than was already necessary.
The eleventh doctor huddled in the corner, waiting, doubting himself. He didn't know what he should do; he only knew what he had done, what he would do.
He heard voices in the distance, feet shuffling in the hall, and that familiar, beautiful, excited voice – babbling, joking, flirting – anything to distract from the fear, the uncertainty. The eleventh doctor knew that tactic well.
The heavy door opened and the new captor was unceremoniously thrown inside. He caught his balance before hitting the floor and straightened up quickly. Smoothing down his pinstripe suit, he eyed the man in the corner curiously, taking note of the bloodstains and dirt, all the evidence of time and mistreatment.
The eleventh doctor looked up at his former self warily, hating what he had to do, what he had always done. He knew exactly where the tenth doctor was in his timeline, the deceptively good days with Donna, after meeting River, but before Rose's return. The downhill spiral would begin soon, on this very day.
The tenth doctor cleared his throat and hesitantly moved toward the feral looking young man. "Alright then, I'm the Doctor… are you alright, mate? Who might you be?"
The eleventh doctor's lack of a response only made the tenth nervously continue on, "how long have you been here? Don't worry I'm going to get us out, I've got a plan, I will have a plan, I'm sure there's a plan. I'm good with plans…"
The tenth doctor stopped short as the other man attempted to talk, quietly croaking, "I'm sorry," from his dehydrated throat before springing to his feet quickly and lunging at the tenth doctor. He pushed the tenth doctor to the opposite wall and planted his fingers again his temples, whispering a mantra of apologies as he began to show the tenth doctor his future.
He showed him everything, the details of his imminent escape from the cell, Rose's return, Davros' return, the sacrifice of Rose's second exile, Donna's rueful fate, Captain Adeleide Brooke. The tenth doctor was struggling, yelling, frantically trying to push the other time lord away. Trying to free himself from the pain of the paradox and his heartbreaking future. The eleventh doctor just kept whispering his regret and flooding the other's mind. The Master's return, the Master's sacrifice, once again sending Gallifrey to its end, his mother's tears, the pain of his eleventh regeneration, Jack's heartbreak, Martha's death by Sontaran, Amy waiting for him, beautiful days with Amy, the star whale, the Silurians, Rory's death, Vincent van Gogh, Rory killing Amy, the fear of being locked in the Pandorica for eternity, Rory waiting for Amy, all the death at Demon's run, losing Amy's baby, Lake Silencio, Amy waiting for Rory, marrying River, beautiful, beautiful nights with River, the recent torture, pain, despair and guilt, so much guilt. The guilt came at the end in a wave of images, drowning them both.
The eleventh doctor released the other time lord, wet eyes and wet cheeks only beginning to describe his remorse. He had shown him so much, too much, omitting only the circumstances of his death by Wilfred and River's real name.
The tenth doctor slid down the wall dejectedly, his head in his hands, chest heaving. After a few moments he looked up at his next incarnation, "why? Why would you show me?"
The eleventh looked down on his former self calmly, as if considering his response, "because he showed me, when I was you," he mumbled sadly before making his way to stand by the door.
"But I don't want to know this, any of this. I don't want to live through this. How can I?" The tenth doctor met the other's eyes through their mutual tears, but received no answer.
The eleventh doctor could hear the footsteps coming for him now, but he only felt relief. The burden was finally gone. Their captors opened the door and quickly dragged him out. He heard his former self screaming and pounding at the door, just as he had done, but he could only smile. For the first time in hundreds of years he didn't know what was to come next for him. He suspected it was the end, but that didn't matter. Death would only be a gift.