I really don't know where this came from. I never write like this.

I don't own Doctor Who

This probably takes place about a month after The Waters of Mars, but still long before The End of Time Part 1

Enjoy!

It is a cliché-ly known fact that in space nobody can hear you scream. Nine times out of ten at least this was true, as far as the Doctor could see it. If he really wanted to, he could make himself heard. Vacuum or not Space didn't stand a chance.

Space was nothing.

Space was easy.

He'd fought Space before and won.

But out there in the rain, as it poured into the dark of night, he defied anyone to see him cry. Now, tonight, he didn't want anyone to.

Crying didn't have to be about pain.

Crying was cleansing, something nobody he'd ever travelled with seemed to understand.

When people cry, humans especially, others think something might be wrong. When he cries, people look for the unstoppable asteroid heading for earth. The 'some terrible thing' he's given up on trying to stop and now is waiting for the world to end with miserable reverence. Because for some reason, humans take crying the wrong way. Humans don't understand.

Then again neither did Time Lords; nine times out of ten.

It was just by chance he'd ended up here tonight, on this rural road to nowhere on some planet he didn't know. The rain pounded down on the dirt road and mud splashed up in reddish brilliance, reflecting the warmth of the summer moon in every drop of glorious life. Wherever he was it was late in the dry season, the smell of long desiccated earth quenched by rain.

Oh, it was marvelous. And he'd started to cry. There was no one to see him, out there alone in the dark, in the rain; crying and cleansing and being and living. Soaked to the skin and feeling every moment of wonderful, beautiful, powerful life. People didn't do this often enough.

He felt everything, the good, the bad, the terrible and the awesome. Exhilaration and pain, love and sorrow coursed through his mind and hearts and filled whatever planet this was. His life had been intense and amazing, heart-wrenching and terrifying. That first moment when he knew he'd lost and the first moment he knew he'd won. He washed it away into the darkness, at peace with the feelings and ready to let them go. They were his feelings and his life. He wouldn't rewrite a line of them, not a word. Not even the bad things.

When he'd been destroyed over losing Rose.

Martha.

Donna.

Himself.

When he'd been ready to kill and ready to die.

When he had died. When he'd been reborn in a new body, watching the old one walk away like nothing had happened

He remembered it all, and it pained him more than anything to know he had needed to keep it hidden for so long. Deep inside so it wouldn't destroy him. Destroy them. Destroy the world or the Universe. Because they were that strong. Himself that powerful.

Here in the rain it ran through him like ice and burned like the hottest star. It saved him. But the Good thoughts. The winning. Those thoughts twisted their way in, raw and untendered in the night. When he made it in time to save the day.

The days when nobody died.

The days when the weather was fair and everybody lived.

He needed more days like that.

Days when he won in the right and when there was nothing to do but hug the person next to him and cry out in joy and love. Days when there was peace in the universe. Not that the Universe was ever a peaceful place, and not that he ever wanted it to be.

As much as he hated to admit it, peace was boring.

And the Universe was not a boring place.

Thanks for reading!