A/N: So it's been a rather long while since I've written. I decided I needed to get back into it, so I used an idea I've had for a very long time about the Doctor's bedroom. If you enjoy it, please leave a review!
A Wholly Remarkable Room
Somewhere, in the black of space, there is a blue box.
It is and utterly remarkable blue box, flown by an utterly remarkable man. It's bigger on the inside than the outside, and goes wherever it is needed in time and space. It is, on the whole, remarkable.
The blue box's owner comes from another world. He is old, older than you or I could ever hope to be, but he looks like a very young man. He's been on many adventures, earned many names, and made many friends and enemies. He is known by many, but he is a lonely man. His people and his planet are gone. The blue box is his only home now.
There are many rooms in the blue box, each more remarkable than the last. There is a closet ten miles deep, a swimming pool in a library, and a kitchen stocked with little more than fish sticks and vanilla custard. The passages and hallways twist deep into the center of the blue box. At the heart, where few but the remarkable man have ever been, is another room. Compared to the other rooms, it is small, plain, and decidedly unremarkable.
It is four white walls and deep blue carpet. A four poster bed sits on the wall opposite the door. There is a wardrobe, a night stand, and a desk. At first glance, there is nothing more.
Looking in from the door frame, the view is plain, simple, and entirely forgettable. The view from the bed is anything but.
On the wall opposite the bed, to the right of the door in the corner, is a collage. It takes over the entire wall, from the height of the remarkable man's knee to well above his tall head. The collage consists of photos and mementos of days gone by.
Each photo has a different face, and a little note pinned to it. Some are full descriptions of when and where, others are simply names. One is of a blonde girl, inscribed Jo Grant, Earth, 1973. Another is of a stunningly pretty black girl named Martha Jones, from Earth in 2007.
These are the remarkable man's friends. These are the people who make his long, lonely life in the blue box worthwhile. Some stay for a long time, others only for a trip or two. Some have died. Some have forgotten him.
On a small shelf in the center of the collage is a collection of framed photographs. These are the remarkable people that the remarkable man misses and loves and regrets most of all. Nine mismatched frames sitting in a line collecting memories and dust and sorrow. All of them have small bits of paper stuck into the frames, labeling them, just like all the others. The captions, written in a loopy hand, are Jamie McCrimmon; Zoe Heriot; Brigadier Alistair Gordon Lethbridge-Stewart; Sarah Jane Smith; Adric; Rose Tyler; Donna Noble; Amy Pond and Rory Williams, in-laws; and River Song, wife.
Some are dead. Some are missing. Some, through no fault of their own, can't remember him at all. And they are all remarkable.
He loves them all, desperately and beyond reason. He misses them, and he hates himself for letting them get hurt—for hurting them himself.
They hurt his hearts.