title: Last of the Time Lords

characters: Doc #9, TARDIS

notes: Just before 01x01 ("Rose"). Pretty angsty. Mild bad language from the Doc; he's having a bad day. Not my characters & etc. I love 10 but I still miss Christopher Eccleston.

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He's on the floor of the TARDIS with a splitting headache and the metal grating digging into his cheek. He's not sure how long he lies there before it occurs to him that he should be dead.

Why isn't he dead?

He tries to move and hears a groan in a strange voice he's never heard before. His muscles ache, and he feels like he's going to be sick. He manages to use the console to pull himself to his feet before he looks down and realizes his hands aren't his hands.

"No," he says, and it's that same voice that just groaned. Not his voice. Except that it is. Which means –

"What'd you go and do that for?" he demands, glaring at the console. "I didn't want -- I wasn't –" He stops, frowns. "New teeth. Weird. And why the bloody hell do I sound like I'm from the North?"

The energy from the regeneration is still swimming loudly in his blood as he drags himself over to the screen. "Show me," he says, dreading it, barely breathing. He hits a few buttons and clenches his jaw (new teeth, new jaw). "Show me, damn you!" he yells, hands trembling.

So the TARDIS shows him.

They're in space. The Dalek ships are gone. The Gallifreyan ships are gone. The whole sodding planet is rocks and dust, and the TARDIS is swimming in the aftermath.

Gallifrey is gone.

He looks at the screen, not believing. He watches the rocks float by and wonders which ones are the Academy, which are the fields he walked in as a child, which are his family and friends.

"I told you," he says to the TARDIS in a low, dangerous voice. "I told you we'd end it. Them. Us. Everything. I told you I wouldn't regenerate. I told you –" But he can't go on.

She hums at him, and he picks out the words even though he doesn't want to hear. You had to survive, she says. My Doctor. I couldn't let you die.

"It wasn't your choice!" he says angrily in his strange new voice, slamming a hand against the console. "I couldn't save them – I didn't want –" He chokes. "What the hell am I supposed to do now?"

Live, she says.

"I'm the last," he says bitterly, still not quite believing. "What's there to live for?"

You are a Time Lord, she tells him.

"The last Time Lord," he says, laughing humorlessly. Halfway through it turns into a sob, and he realizes he's crying.

He shuts her out of his mind then and takes them into the Vortex with no intended destination. There's nowhere worth going. He leaves them there and stumbles out of the control room.

Hours, weeks, months later he comes to himself again this time on the floor of the wardrobe room. He doesn't remember how he got there or when he was last conscious of anything. He can feel the TARDIS humming against the barrier in his brain but he doesn't let her in. He's dimly aware of a faded leather jacket under his head. His eyes feel dry and tired, and he realizes he doesn't know what color they are.

He finds the clothes that seem right and puts them on, along with the jacket. He doesn't look in the mirror, but he does look at his hands briefly. They seem strong enough.

In the control room the TARDIS' humming gets louder, and he can see several lights flashing on the console. He takes a deep breath and lets the TARDIS back into his mind. She starts to say something but he cuts her off by leaping over to check out the readings.

"Right then, what've we got here?" he asks loudly. "Nestene Consciousness, is it? What's it want with 2005 London, beans on toast? Better go have a word." He frowns and rubs the back of his neck. "Blimey, I don't know about this Northern thing. What d'you think?"

He feels her smile, and as he reaches over to input the coordinates, he says quietly, "Thank you."

You are my Doctor, she says simply.

He grins. It's a bit weak, but it's definitely a grin. "That I am," he agrees, and he pulls the lever that will take them to London.