If I did own Doctor Who, Captain Jack Sparrow, er, Harkness, I mean, would be featured much more often.


He fled again.

Just after another normal visit, as he watched the ship burn, he left, ran, back into his TARDIS, to wherever she might take him, anywhere but here, to try to make him see. She took him wherever he needed to be, yet that still wasn't enough. Nearly a thousand years had passed, and her efforts to bring it into thefront of his mind had been fruitless. He could be just that thick-skulled.

Why had he never noticed all those times when his enemies had all told him the truth, yet he denied, denied, denied! A Dalek had stated, "You would make a good Dalek." Davros had revealed, "You take ordinary people and you fashion them into weapons." But the Doctor had ignored them, justified himself, because he never wanted to acknowledge the truth, because the guilt, and perhaps the inevitable remorse, certainly had the potential to drive him mad.

But it was always in the backof his mind, within his subconscious, telling him to run. Go, the voices said. They'll never be able to catch us if we keep running, he was told. Just don't stop, believing –

He held onto that feeling of excitement, of purpose. The pretense of an adventure kept him steady. He thought he saved lives, but was only wishing he could've saved one more so that he didn't have to watch another person burn, like – like – like –

Gallifrey.


And this ends my debut into the fandom of Doctor Who. Flames will be played with and possibly extinguished before they burn the house down. I wrote the bare bones beginning in math class months ago. It's not as if we were doing anything important, anyway. I found the scrap of paper with it cleaning out my book bag after graduation. More procrastination followed, until I finally did this in under an hour.

Thank you, and behold the bunnies.