But You're No God
Rating: Will probably get a little darker in later chapters but there shouldn't be anything that wouldn't be appropriate for the show.
Disclaimer: Doctor Who, Torchwood and all related characters and concepts were created by and belong to the BBC.
Summary: Donna had been right all along. He needed help. He needed someone to stop him when he went too far.
Follows the events of 'The Waters of Mars', the Doctor goes to an old friend to regain some of the perspective he seems to have lost, only to find himself involved in something even bigger than himself.
A/N: I'm notorious for abandoning projects early on, partly because I get a little too ambitious and, subsequently, intimidated by the whole idea, and partly because I usually have no clue where I'm going or how to get there. But this is different. The minute 'The Waters of Mars' ended I knew exactly where I wanted to go with this story and, better yet, I knew I could actually include sort of a decent plot. Usually, I rely too heavily on character development rather than plot development and, let's face it, you can't have on without the other. So, this is me learning from my mistakes. I just hope you guys won't have to suffer too much for it! :D
Beta'd: No! And I really hate posting things that haven't been properly beta'd by a third party, if only because I'm hopeless when it comes to spotting even obvious mistakes in my own work. Any volunteers would be greatly appreciated! Just send me a PM and I'll get in touch. Harsh (but justified) criticism is more than welcome! Especially since I'm new to Doctor Who fic-writing, so anything you have to say can only be an improvement.
But you're no God.
You're no God.
And you will never leave this place,
And you will always feel alone,
And you will never feel quite clean
In this new skin that you have grown
Until your old and broken bones
Are laid into their resting place
Just like the rest of the human race.
- You're No God - Laura Marling
---
"You can't know that! And if my family changes, the whole of history could change, the future of the human race. No-one should have that much power!"
"Tough."
"You should have left us there..."
"Adelaide, I've done this sort of thing before. In small ways, saved some little people. But never someone as important as you. Oh, I'm good!"
"Little people? What, like Mia and Yuri? Who decides they're so unimportant? You?"
"For a long time now, I thought I was just a survivor, but I'm not. I'm the winner. That's who I am. The Time Lord Victorious."
"And there's no-one to stop you?"
"No."
---
Prologue: Life on Mars?
"The Time Lord Victorious is wrong."
Oh, and was she right. They always were, weren't they? Humans. For all their mistakes, their anger, their passion, their violence, none of which they could see in themselves, they were always brilliant at picking it out in others. In him.
Adelaide was so right. He just... He couldn't help himself as he walked away from them, their desperate screams ringing in his ears over the open communications channel, all the while knowing that they'd never make it. He'd given into temptation. And after all, hadn't it been a good thing? He was saving their lives by the simple act of intervening, of stopping history from repeating itself. Now they could live on, be the wonderful humans that they were, discovering, creating. Living. That was all he wanted in the end.
But... he was still wrong.
Whatever his intentions might have been, whatever he'd thought he was doing, he knew that some dark little part trapped inside of him had been thrilled at the prospect of beating time. It had taken so much away from him for so long, forced him to run and to keep running from one universe to the next that for one sickeningly ecstatic moment, he'd thought he'd finally gotten something back. He'd finally beaten it.
Except he hadn't. In a flash of blue light, Adelaide had stripped him of his brief victory, leaving him naked and vulnerable out in the snow. He'd felt his hearts skip a precious beat as he slumped onto his knees, lost and alone and beaten. And his stomach had churned as he realized that it wasn't her death that had his hands shaking or had the cold sweat collecting on his brow, it was his loss. He didn't care, not really, that she'd killed herself. He'd barely known her for a day, she wasn't anything to him except another blip in time and space.
And, as he listened to himself, he knew he had to do something. He wouldn't let himself turn into an antiquated monster, full of unfounded arrogance and self-importance. Donna had been right all along.
He needed help.
---
"If you're just getting up, it's seven minutes past six. The fourteenth of November already. You're listening to Radio Two, and here's an old classic from 1968..."
Martha reached for her alarm clock and shut off the horribly cheery tune of Manfred Mann's Earth Band. She couldn't even begin to think about appreciating it so early in the morning, at least not until she'd had her toast and a cup of tea. But she wasn't a stranger to early mornings, not after years of university and her internship, but it was still a struggle some days, particularly when it was so bloody freezing outside.
She reached for the dressing gown she'd flung over her desk chair the night before, wrapping it tightly around herself in a poor attempt to at least keep in a little warmth. Her bare feet didn't really help matters. She trotted reluctantly to the bathroom, squinting against the bright light and the sight of her own groggy reflection peering back at her.
Last night had been a mistake.
It had been yet another family dinner, which had become increasingly frequent since... Well. They were entitled to a bit of closeness, she supposed, after everything they'd been through. But all the same, all that wine hadn't really be necessary.
She turned on the tap, letting it run for a minute while the water warmed up, the steam fogging up the mirror above the sink. Her parents had made an announcement last night, much to the expectations of their children. Martha and Tish had suspected that things were starting to move along for a while now, they just hadn't really been too keen on the idea of broaching the subject. Thank God they hadn't needed to.
Her parents were moving in together. Again. To see whether or not they'd be able to make another go of it but without the hassle of having to get married. Again. To be honest, Martha wasn't exactly enthused by the thought of becoming a bridesmaid. Mustard just wasn't her colour.
Ten minutes later and she was at her chest of drawers, taking out her plain tracksuit bottoms and an old t-shirt, ready for her morning jog. She'd made a habit of taking a run every morning since experience had taught that it could come in handy every now and again, though she was only a little disappointed to note that she hadn't had occasion to run for her life recently. Still, no harm in being prepared.
Thump.
... Someone at the door? This early in the morning? The postman, maybe... No, it couldn't -
Thump.
That wasn't her front door. That was coming from her living room. She'd be sorry for thinking she was bored now, wouldn't she?
Martha was quick to reach for the gun she kept in her bedside cabinet in case of emergencies. Torchwood had insisted on giving her some basic weapons training. As a precaution, they'd said. At the time she'd thought it was ridiculous, she was a doctor not a soldier.
Thump.
She snuck her way downstairs in her dressing gown, careful to skip the third step from the bottom. She needed to get that creak fixed.
Cautiously, her gun in front of her, ready to aim at whoever it was that had broken into her house, she reached for the handle of the door to the living room. She swung it open.
"Whoever you are, you better clear off! Or - or I'll --"
She stared at the man staring back at her. He just watched her with wide eyes, a spoon halfway to his mouth, dripping milk into the bowl on his lap.
"... Cup of tea?"
Martha blinked at him, at his ridiculously spiky hair and the sideburns and the... Why was he in pyjamas? Stripy pyjamas. With slippers. Eating the last of her Coco-Pops.
"Doctor?"