Title: The Impossible Choice
For: Livejournal's writers30days
Theme: Alternate Reality
He thought he had fixed her. Saved her from what had been done during the year that never was. He was wrong. With gritted teeth, he raked his fingers through his hair. Everything was red. Screaming, pounding red. The Doctor wasn't sure if it was the change in lighting that had woken him or the ever present droning that was emanating from the very walls. A constant beat, so hauntingly familiar. One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four. The TARDIS was drumming like the mind of The Master.
"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry." He kept repeating over and over, pounding at buttons in his desperation, pulling levers at random. Nothing seemed to work. The drums continued to sound, the red continued to flare, and a dark menacing laughter added itself to the chaotic mix. The Master's laugh.
During the year that never was, The Master had cannibalized her. Turned her into a paradox machine to bring about the end of the world, while he, The Doctor, the once and once again last of the Time Lords, had to sit idly by and watch. Helpless against The Master's dark plot. He thought it had all been turned right again. He thought he had fixed her. He thought…
The Doctor was suddenly aware of someone else in the room with him. The voice that sounded from just behind him confirmed it. It was soft, seeking to console, not threat.
"I'm afraid you won't be able to fix her."
The Doctor knew that voice. Knew exactly who it belonged to. Oh, how he knew. He found himself conflicted. For so long he has yearned to hear that voice again, but now he wished he hadn't. He ached for it to be her and yet hoped that it wasn't. It couldn't be her. She was long gone, locked away. Only a distant, treasured memory. It couldn't be her, it couldn't be her, oh please be her.
He spun around and his eyes locked with those so familiar to him, so precious, he nearly sank to the floor. His legs shook, barely holding his weight and he swore she could hear his hearts break. From the sympathetic look she gave him, perhaps she had.
The Doctor tried to call to her, but no sound came out. His throat had gone dry. He wanted to run to her, to bury his head in her shoulder like he had when he was just a boy, but he was immobilized. His legs refused to move. He could do nothing but stand there gaping, shaking.
Fear boiled inside him. In her present, paradoxical state, the TARDIS could do anything. She could destroy the time lock; bring back The Last Great Time War.
The scanners called for his attention and with a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, The Doctor knew instantly that was exactly her plan. Knew, even before looking, where the TARDIS had taken him. Somewhere she would never have taken him normally. Somewhere he'd always refused to go, because it hurt too much to see the empty section of space. She had taken him home.
As he watched, his planet pulsed into view. The brilliant, burning orange of the home he fought so hard to save. That he sacrificed so much for. The children of Gallifrey were returning to the universe.
The older woman sighed deeply. "I'm afraid you have an impossible choice to make."
It was a rare moment when the Time Lord had to admit defeat, but this was one of them. He knew exactly what the impossible choice was. He had made a similar decision once before. The Oncoming Storm. The Destroyer of Worlds. The choice nearly broke him, left him in pieces.
The Doctor's chest heaved. Every muscle in his body ached with the pain at what he knew had to be done…again. The TARDIS was breaking the time lock and there was only one way to stop her. With difficulty, The Doctor swallowed the lump in his throat. His voice was a hoarse whisper, barely audible. "The TARDIS must be destroyed."
"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," the woman sighed, smiling sadly at him, her face etched with concern and worry and love. She whispered his name, his real name, tears in her eyes and was gone. Vanished.
The Doctor sank to the ground heavily, head in his hands as a deadly mix of frustration and rage and pain gripped him. Teetering him over the edge of control. He curled himself into a ball as tight as his lengthy form could mange, not sure whether he wanted to cry or scream. He settled for both.