Just a short story that gives an insight into the mind of the Eleventh Doctor and shows the biggest monster he's ever had to fight – himself.
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It's night when it starts.
It's always night.
Why at night? That he didn't understand.
It wasn't like the night time was any less beautiful than the daytime; in fact he even found it more beautiful.
This peaceful serenity, the few noises only adding to the calm and reposeful atmosphere.
Maybe that's why he hated it so much – because it took from him the possibility to enjoy the night time, to enjoy the beauty of it.
It took everything from him.
He couldn't breathe, he couldn't speak, he couldn't move – he couldn't do anything.
He could merely sit there, crouched on the floor, while the tears rolled down his cheeks.
Thank God, nobody ever saw him like that.
What would they think? The mighty Doctor, defeated by no other than himself. His greatest enemy, bigger than the Daleks, bigger even than the Timelords.
He was his own worst enemy and the worst thing was that he couldn't even fight it.
He's always had a plan, he was always there to save the day but what was there to do if the one person you had to destroy to save yourself was yourself?
Nothing.
There was nothing to be done.
Over the last few decades he'd learned to live with it, learned to live with the pain and the agony that came every day, pardon me, every night.
It was something that he was equally looking forward to and dreading at the same time.
He didn't know why he was looking forward to it – but maybe that wasn't the real him, maybe that was the part of him that hated himself so much.
It was hard; some nights the pain never seemed to stop, soon it would be getting light again and he'd still lie there on the TARDIS floor, more lost and desperate than ever.
"What are they going to think when they find you there like this?" the voice in his head taunted him. "Maybe they'll finally realise that you're not worth it, that you're not worth anything. You're just a madman pretending to be this incredible man, this wonderful Doctor."
He had to stop himself from clenching his hands any further than he already was because eventually that would leave marks.
There were already a lot of them on his, oh so very old, body – marks that was.
But they were hidden, nobody would ever find those lines, the traces of his despair and misery, spreading all over his body like a map.
God, it hurts!
Today was a bad day. He doesn't know why but even though it came every night, there were some nights that were worse than others.
This night was one of them.
Which was great considering the fact that he wanted to show Amy and Rory one of the most dazzling and magnificent sunrises he could think of – the one on a planet called Sambiana.
But what do sunrises imply? Exactly, you had to be early if you really wanted to get a good look.
But how was he supposed to do that when he was currently lying in a crumpled heap on the ground, paralysed by this hate, by this infinite guilt and loneliness.
"Get a grip on yourself! They'll be down any minute and you don't want them to see like you this!", he said to himself. "Or maybe you do, maybe you want them to worry about the old man. Maybe you want them to help you."
A bitter laugh escaped his dry, chapped lips. "You don't deserve any help from them. You don't even deserve them. So get a grip before they come down!"
He took a deep breath, trying to control the shaking of his body and the tears that seemed to flow without end.
Slowly, so very slowly, he regained control over this monster, over himself.
He closed his eyes and mentally pushed this part of himself behind locked doors where it would wait until it was time again.
He licked his lips and straightened his body. The TARDIS made a quiet whirring sound, alerting him that Amy and Rory were about to enter the control room.
Calmly, he buttoned his shirt and picked up his jacket that was lying crumpled on the floor.
His demeanour was the complete opposite to the one merely a few minutes ago.
The monster made him lose control, it made him curl up in a ball and rock forth and back while crying uncontrollably, only barely concealing the heart-wrenching sobs.
It was disgusting.
It was pitiful.
But that's what he was – a pitiful, pathetic being without any worth.
Acting like cheery oversized kid while occasionally fighting the bad guys.
But nobody knew that the monsters they say him fight at day were nothing compared to the one he's been fighting at night. Maybe that was why couldn't win.
Sure, he managed to sustain it during the day but maybe that wasn't his doing but the monster taunting him, lulling him in a false sense of security. He didn't even care any more, he's lived with it for so long now.
There are nights when he's too tired to fight it, where he just lets it roam freely in his mind, tearing everything apart and slowly cutting away at his hearts.
That's what it felt like at least.
If I let it, maybe one day there won't be anything left to destroy?
He'd rather live with the emptiness than the guilt and the hate. But he didn't deserve that, did he?
He didn't deserve to be saved from the agony, he knew that.
Every minute and every second of it was something that he'd earned.
His lips curled while his eyes just stared into nothingness and he put on his beloved bow-tie.
There he was again.
Perfect.
The mighty Doctor.
It felt like a suit of armour, his clothes.
An act.
"Doctor?," he could hear Amy shout. "I'm ready to see some sunrises!" She laughed while entering the control room of the TARDIS, Rory in tow.
"Alright, then, let's go, Ponds!" He operated the levers and sent the TARDIS flying.
Another day, another adventure – like usual.
Out of the corner of his eye he could still see the spot where he'd been crouched all night, calling him, waiting for him to return – like usual.
If you enjoyed it, please leave a comment, it'd mean the world to me! :)