Here is the first chapter of 'Echoes: Reflections of a Time Lord', which will be a series of vignettes related to characteristics of the Doctor. This one is influenced by 'Doomsday', yes, but delves a little into past history as well. Feel free to remark on whether or not this is true to the Doctor, as this is my first fanfic for the character and I haven't really written much in the abstract sense before.
Disclaimer: I do not own the Doctor or 'Doctor Who', it is a property of the BBC.
Stand
"Rose Tyler-"
And then he faded away.
The Doctor's words caught in his throat as he felt the loss of the connection and as he felt the solar energy fizzle…the supernova was over. The TARDIS was floating in the darkness of space once more, the only light coming from other distant suns and stars billions of light years away.
He stood for a moment, in spite of himself, stunned that he had wasted time like that…he almost considered trying to find another fading star and accelerating it into supernova, but he couldn't do that, not quite right. No, one shot was all he could take advantage of and he had blown it…that was the show, that was the last big bang, and he had accidentally left before the final curtain call.
The Doctor stood…the incandescence of the walls flickered slightly, the time rotor's pumping paused and throbbed, but then everything settled down as usual…that was as far as the TARDIS would acknowledge the loss of Rose. The Doctor lowered his head slightly, staring at the metal grate floor…it would bruise his knees, if his legs collapsed. The palms of his hands would be scratched by the grooves as he caught himself in the fall and then his knuckles would be crushed as he pounded his fists again and again at that floor in his fit.
The Doctor stood.
Wherever he went, across time and space, he held his own ground when it came to his own determination, if he chose a side in a fight or in a debate, that was where he stood unless there was a fault. Usually, there was no fault, no way to persuade him to bend and give way on his own opinion. Of course, he wasn't always perfect when it came to his decisions, but he didn't waver in what he had done and he sometimes even faced the consequences. He stood, in the midst of a crowd of cheering people; he stood, in the face of a council of Time Lords, sentencing him to exile…either way, shame or glory, he left.
Still, should there ever be a peaceful moment, either by himself or…or with a companion, he or they might stand still and look around at where they had ended up…it might be crowded, it might be secluded around them. The view might be majestic, it might be crude; it might be advanced, it might be simple; it might be an artificial sight, or it might be a natural landscape, but whatever it was, they would take a moment to stand still and gaze.
Time…passing, all of these years and centuries and eons, around and through him to become the Doctor, the moments and the hours and the days, where did winter go when it was spring, from day to night in an instant, how could he live when so many lives faded? Susan, Katrina, Jamie, Sarah Jane Smith, Harry Sullivan, the Brigadier, Romana, Adric, Ace and so many more…like so many plastic bags, being blown past him by the wind as he stood on a street corner. The Doctor lifted his head now and gasped, feeling how empty it was, how meaningless were all of these losses, now with cherished Rose amongst them…all of these partings, often so jarringly abrupt like this one, with so much pain and so much left unsaid.
The Doctor felt tears welling…and stood.
He had stood at precipices many times before, literally and metaphorically, though whether or not it was of his own doing depended…sometimes he stepped away from the edge, perfectly balanced, without a thought, but many times he wavered. In those instances, he sometimes did fall, usually because he was pushed, either by force or influence, though once he did fall willfully to see what laid in the Nothingness beneath him. Sometimes he came out unharmed, sometimes there were wounds, though once he did fall…pain and a coldness creeping into him, his vision fading as, before darkness, he saw the faces of his companions and his own face after death…his fourth regeneration.
Other times, he was sure of himself, though he sometimes did have dreams, a bit rarely, nightmares really…he was dressed as a clown, bit of grease makeup, holding an umbrella on one hand as he tried to stand still on a tightrope. Impossible, of course, he had to walk to keep his balance, but he couldn't decide whether to walk forwards or backwards and he had to stop and think…a folly of a Time Lord, perhaps, or just the strange circumstances of dreams. Meanwhile, there were people laughing at him, others were quietly talking about shaking the tightrope to see what would happen, it angered him, of course, but that just made it harder to keep his self-control. He and everyone else was stuck in madness, a fall was inevitable for him and they couldn't understand that he was more than a clown, more than something to laugh at or abuse, not just for the sake of his importance as a Time Lord, he was a living being.
The Doctor slowly nodded, thinking about it, just like any other in existence when it came down to fundamentals…though, otherwise, things got complicated when it came to his advancement, technologically and physically, his knowledge of so many mysteries and of the odd little trivialities like Earth songs. In any case, he still retained some instincts, involving some needs and wants that had to be addressed, they couldn't be denied, that would be monstrous to his well-being…of living.
The Doctor trembled as he stood.
It got hard for him, at times…he had told Rose, not too long ago, that you needed 'a hand to hold' and it certainly was true…first time he went out on the TARDIS, he already knew that it would be hard to travel without some companionship. Naturally, he had brought along Susan because they needed each other, but though he had known it would be dangerous, he hadn't fully comprehended how it would affect him, how even his own stance would come close to collapsing. How, years later, he would sag against the doors of his TARDIS, leaning against it for support as he heard the harsh yells of Daleks, one against so many in the end. How, not too long ago, he hadn't been able to give Rose a hand to hold and she was nearly sucked into the Void…he was relieved that she had been caught before, no words could express the gratitude of that. Yet she was still gone and when he approached that blank wall, he had to lean against it to steady himself…he felt something, briefly, a presence…but the void between the worlds was strong and after that, there was just a feeling of absence.
Absence…in the end, the Doctor had to rely on himself to remain steady for now, for however long it would take for him to cope, and that was all he could do when he had so much to do. The TARDIS was waiting to be taken to its next destination and Time…passing, all of these years and centuries and eons, around and through him to become the Doctor.
And the Doctor stood.
To be continued...