A/N: Oh, fuck everything. I hate myself for this. Dear Rassilon, what have I done? Here I am, listening to an upbeat Doctor/Master fanmix and RPing the same pairing via e-mail and this hellspawn decides to come waltzing out of my keyboard. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.
Summary: The Doctor's innermost thoughts at the start and end of his regeneration.
Warnings: Angst like, woah. Major DoctorWhump.
Let's get this over with…
His entire body felt as though it were engulfed by flames, though his mind was reeling with everything never said. It was starting to give him a splitting headache, though it may have been the radiation. He had never told Rose Tyler that he loved her; never told Martha Jones that she wasn't useless; never told Donna Noble that she mattered; and never told himself that he was worth the curse of life. But as the poison surged through the Time Lord's slim figure, seeming to seep through the essence of his very soul, he knew it was too late for that. As he staggered through the glass door, he stared at the man who had been his ultimate downfall. But he guessed that caring too much was just part of his curse that had killed him so many times over. Shaking hands lowering to reveal the sudden disappearance of the bloodied scars lining his face, he remarked something half-heartily in a stern voice surprisingly devoid of emotion. He just didn't care anymore, what else was there to lose?
He knew he couldn't hold it off any longer; he was going to regenerate, and that would be the end of everything he was. An emotionally broken Time Lord visiting the human friends he had ultimately lost, how very iconic. What was the point of it all, anyway? Nine hundred years, and it was always the same thing; making friends, losing them; falling in love, losing them in a horrifying accident; repeat. Maybe it would be better if he just didn't wake up at all, he'd simply been alive for too long. But as the golden shine of regeneration energy lit up his hands and face, only one thing registered in his scarred mind. Five words, uttered in the most sincere voice he had ever used in his near-millennium.
"I don't want to go."