A Dark Future.
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For one last time, he faced the darkness, and showed no fear, though he knew what was coming. His own death, if he failed, or even if he succeeded.
For one last time, he stood against the darkest evil's the universe had ever produced, and saved them all. All his friends, who otherwise were doomed. All of those who relied on him to help them. The Doctor did help them – he saved them all, fought back the darkness. And for one last time, he fell, his body broken, his TARDIS shattered. Death came for him, and he let it come. He thought he would fall forever, into that darkness so deep and inescapable that no-one could escape it, not even him.
The darkness of death. He had avoided it. Tried to stop it. But here and now, his own failure was made apparent to him, his own arrogance in thinking that he could stand against it.
And yet…
Even as he fell, he felt the familiar light shine, the familiar feeling as his body turned itself inside out and back again.
But as the feeling came, everything else went, and the memories that made him who he was left him.
Susan - gone.
Gallifrey - gone.
Rose - gone.
Bad Wolf Bay - gone.
Martha and Jack - gone.
Donna Noble – gone.
Jackson Lake – gone.
And even his own self was going, losing himself to that light, that change.
And all that stayed was the name, the name that changed him from jittery old politician to hero of the universe, the name that made him who he was...
The Doctor.
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He awoke, alone and forlorn, no longer himself. He felt it in his very being, the feeling that he was not whole. He couldn't remember who he was.
So who was he? He set his fragmented mind to the task.
The Doctor, he thought instantly. That much was certain.
But that wasn't enough for him - Doctor... what, exactly?
Doctor Who?
He looked himself up and down; tattered pinstripe suit, brown, sports trainers, blue shirt, tie… all seared, as if he had been through a fire.
But he felt fine.
He looked up, at the blue Police Box that he had been lying next to. It seemed, somehow, very familiar to him, very old, yet very new, because try as he might he could not place where he had seen it.
He stood up, and placed his hand upon it, and it felt alive beneath his fingers, humming...
He took his hand away from the box with a jolt. Through his mind a burning message had rung out.
DON'T.
He put his hand against the box again, testing a growing theory.
DON'T.
Now he was annoyed. Nothing could keep him from knowing what he wanted to know. Nothing should keep him from what he wanted to know. And to be fair, he knew very little, so it was only understandable that he forced himself to push that door open…
And a blinding white light seared across him…
--
He awoke with a start. It took him a moment to remember who he was and what he was and what he represented and why he represented it.
He was Dr John Smith, young country Doctor with a practice in a lovely little village called Stockbridge. He did it because it was helping, and because it was peaceful, and because it didn't require him to have any adventures.
Yeah.
That was right.
He smiled contentedly, and went back to sleep.
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