Author's note: 'Nineteen Hundred' the first Doctor Who fanfic I've ever written. Feel free to criticise but kind words are also welcome :) English is not my mother tongue, so if you find any errors or passages that are not clear, let me know. I watched 'Doctor Who' in English and I felt English would be better for it, but obviously I have some limitations here.

This is about a future Doctor - some time in the future, as late as possible, so it does not interfere with any series of the show still to come. That's why I did not assign him any number (unfortunately it's a bit difficult to describe in terms of existing characters). I think he may be 14th or 15th but at some point I'll probably have to revise it. I have the same problem with the title. You may see in the story that '1900' was chosen for a reason, but it all depend on how quickly the present Doctor (12th) ages. If one day there comes an episode (of the TV show, I mean) in which he ages by a thousand years again, I will have to change the title, losing the 19 vs 1900 idea that made me write the story in the first place :)

This is now more or less a complete story now, although there may be some modifications. Let me know if you think anything needs correcting or changing!

'Forever: Nineteen Hundred' is a sequel to 'Forever: The Broken Fragments'. There will be more stories in the series coming (you can find more details at the end of the last chapter).

[Disclaimer: I don't own Doctor Who. BBC does. I only happen to love Doctor Who, which I believe is not punishable by law.]


FOREVER: NINETEEN HUNDRED


THE THUNDER

He was dizzy and disoriented. The rumbling noise around, echoing in his head like a doubled, a tripled thunder, made it so hard to focus.

It was a narrow escape - the TARDIS took him away almost the last fraction of a second before the explosion that would have killed him. Good old TARDIS. His only friend at the moment of crisis.

He thought she hated him. She had shown him her dislike more than a couple of times. Like an obstinate, silly old lady who would not understand that times change, that people change! She didn't like his new ways and he didn't like her anymore. He often complained he was stuck with her, the best and the worst ship in the universe. Every trip with her seemed like a tug of war. She refused to do what he wanted her to, her controls went all mad whenever he really needed her to obey; sirens and lights went off at the most inappropriate moments; he kept hitting her and pushing her, and threatening her until she grudgingly gave in. He started working on some improvements, he even thought of a completely new design, but the work was slow. He may have been a genius but the the design of the TARDIS held too many mysteries for him. At the worst times, he could only bang his head against the control panel in frustration. Deep in his heart he swore that one day he would just scrap the mad old ship in a galactic junk yard.

And now she was the only one that stayed with him.

Now that the barriers between the universes were cracking, realities falling apart, he finally saw with painful clarity how reckless he had been. Playing with fire you get burnt. He used to laugh at that. Playing with fire was what he did all the time. Now the whole world was ablaze, and it was too late.

The realisation was like a bucket of ice-cold water over his head.

He stumbled to his feet, holding on to the controls, relying on them not to break under his weight. They held him, but his grasp did not - the TARDIS was flying hectically, uncontrollably, jolting and swaying violently. Bruised and battered, he landed on the floor again. He wondered what was happening to her. Funny thing, he could almost picture her bumping into asteroids. But he knew it could not be asteroids. She was not a spaceship; she would not be affected that way. She would fly smoothly between them, avoiding any contact, sliding along timelines. This time she seemed to be colliding with something that stood in her way. What could stand in the way of a time machine? What could make time bumpy enough to impact the time vortex?

He knew of one such thing. Or rather, of one such no-thing.

The void.

The walls were crumbling, and the explosion that had nearly cost him life did not help at all. Cracks, fissures, dents, holes. It could have been a matter of seconds, maybe minutes, before the entire universe was sucked into the void. There was no stopping it.

Or maybe?

He tried to shake off the effects of the blast and think clearly for a moment. Perhaps there was still something he could do to repair the damage, after all. Time being one of the main building blocks of reality, it could be reinforced and strengthened, like any material. The proper way of doing it was out of the question. To actually repair damaged time fabric he would need... more time. He laughed bitterly. But there were all those quick and dirty shortcuts. If he could just turn all the safeguards off, fly the TARDIS into the void, and make her heart explode outside of time and space, at the right place and angle, the impact of the time vortex might just close the cracks and at least some of the universes would survive.

The TARDIS would die, though.

An abrupt jolt of the ship caught him unawares and pushed him against the door, hitting them open. Lights and controls went crazy. His fingers fumbled at the threshold trying to hold on to it. It felt almost as if she did it on purpose - letting him go, getting rid of her self-proclaimed driver and killer. She must have heard his thoughts. Or perhaps he was just imagining things.

With a pang of pain he remembered the time he trusted the TARDIS more than anyone else. She always seemed to look after him in a special way. No great wonder there, she was a telepathic being, with her own consciousness, if not a semblance of life.

He wanted to beg her for help: not for himself; for the universes. But deep inside he knew it made no sense. He had earned it. He had worked for it for years. Throwing him out like trash, she was only giving him what he rightly deserved. Why should she even care? Hanging from her open door, he gazed at her: she loomed above him, tall, threatening, ominous, like impending doom.

How did he end up hating and hurting everyone, destroying worlds and people's lives without any remorse? His life went wrong a long time ago, and he couldn't even remember when.

He closed his eyes and remembered the name he used to call her in the good old days.

Sexy? Please…? Let me at least die a good death… Let me…

A massive hit interrupted his thoughts. Lights went off completely. Deafening silence pierced his ears. Everything stopped. Something was very wrong. A moment later, hell was unleashed. It was no longer a bumpy ride - it was a proper earthquake. The TARDIS was convulsing, and he was losing his grasp.

And then everything around exploded.

The heart of the TARDIS must have hit the void and she was dying.

And he was dying with her, his hearts, his body, his mind, his memory exploding to. It was only fair that he would.

His eyes fixed on her scratched blue door, he slipped into heavy, smothering darkness.