Disclaimer: I do not own Doctor Who
He has come again. This time Martha is with him. They have only just met, this much I know. So many people come with him. So many have died because of him. And so many live.
What is it? What is it about him that makes women grow weak at the knees? Why is it that every man seems to feel the need to prove themselves in his presence?
Is it that that aura of mystery? His features and personality that change with every life that he takes on? How he can make you rise to occasion with almost no more effort than an encouraging smile or a sadistic jab?
His traveling companions' certainly seem to think it is one of these. It is so strange that many a soul, brave or weak, will charge into battle under his name. They trust him so much tell him their deepest secrets and fears in the end. Yet he tells them nothing. No one has really known him. Even those he loved are clueless with the rest of us. So many put their lives in his hands, whether they are willingly given to him or whether he puts them in his care himself.
But he never gives anyone his life. He holds theirs and his own. Only very few times has he failed. And when he does, he makes a vow for only him to know, that he will not make the same mistake twice.
Perhaps he takes on these people to fill the growing void in his heart. A void that only true friends can fill. The same void that grows each time a- companion? friend? lover? leaves him whether it be with death, from free will, or he forces them.
He hardly takes the same person twice. Maybe it is fear of the backlash of leaving them behind that strikes fear into his hearts. Or perhaps feelings that he thought were long gone would come back with a vengeance.
He does not take to a family, for he knows the horror of watching people he loves ripped from him. True joy is a foreign concept that few have made him feel. The TARDIS does all she can, but it is never enough.
Yet he goes on in his life, picking up people, traveling to places one can only dream about: all in the feeble hopes that he can capture a single second of bliss before he wallows in the sadness that is his heart.
So he travels on, perhaps in the hopes that someday, he shall joy instead of sorrow.