The Lonely God
Lily McKenzie yawned, rubbed her bleary eyes, and sat up a little straighter behind the wheel in an effort to stay awake. It was two in the morning, and the long, straight stretch of 11th street, devoid of streetlights through much of the town of Geronimo, Oklahoma, wasn't helping matters.
It had been a great party. The Circle's Lughnasadh ritual had left the attendees charged with the wild energy of the Sun, and the revelry afterward had lasted well into the night. They had had much to celebrate, after all, having narrowly escaped being "upgraded" by the Cybermen or "exterminated" by the Daleks. The ritual had focused on giving thanks to the Sun God—whom the Circle called "The Lonely God," for He forever chased, and seldom met, the Moon Goddess, battling the dark all alone—for the victory of humanity over the heartless machines.
Tired as she was, though, she knew she wouldn't sleep well that night if she didn't ground herself properly before she went to bed. Although grounding the energy they had raised was part of the afternoon's ritual, the power of the day combined with the festive gathering of close friends had left the very air crackling. That residual energy left Lily feeling jittery and restless, even as her eyelids grew ever heavier.
Suddenly, she snapped bolt upright in her seat. She had been nodding off behind the wheel, exhaustion finally claiming her, when a… feeling… stabbed through her mind and heart like a spear. She slammed on the brakes, gasping, and pulled off the side of the road. In an instant she was out of the car, her tiredness forgotten as she ran across the fallow field toward the source of the… feeling. Thick black thunderheads obscured the Moon and stars, blotting out almost all light, but on she went, drawn by something even broad daylight could not reveal.
Lily skidded to a halt. Here. She took a deep breath, stretching out her awareness into the strengthening wind, into the Earth still radiating the day's intense heat. With all her being, she listened.
And there it was. A first she though it was distant thunder, but no… it was right in front of her—a sound like a car engine struggling to turn over, a sickly machine's dry wheeze. And to Lily's intense astonishment, a wooden box, about the size of a phone booth, slowly materialized before her. Across the top glowed the words POLICE PUBLIC CALL BOX, and a small lamp blazed on the roof.
The feeling intensified, nearly doubling her over with its anguish. After only a second's hesitation, she tried to open the door, but found it locked. Certain that there was someone inside who needed help, she did the only thing she could do.
She knocked.
Huddled against the wall, his head in his hands, The Doctor gasped for air, reeling. His eyes burned from holding back tears. He wasn't sure exactly where or when he was, and he didn't particularly care. He hadn't changed the time settings—though with their penchant for inexactitude, that didn't mean very much—but instead had just looped around to the other side of the planet and set the TARDIS down in an open field. He had to get out of London, but couldn't summon the energy it would take to flee across the Universe.
Besides, there was nowhere, and nowhen, that was far enough away.
Her voice rang in his ears, screaming for him as the Void threatened to suck her in. How many times had her heard her cry, "Doctor!" and come running to her rescue like a knight in shining armor? But he had no armor, no horse, no sword—only a favorite coat, a TARDIS, and a sonic screwdriver. None of those could have helped Rose. He could only watch in helpless horror as she vanished before his eyes, the breach sealing behind her, cutting him off from her forever.
Forever. To a Time Lord, the word should have been glittering and full of promise, adventure, and hope. But The Doctor saw only an endless black tunnel of despair.
Rose was gone, leaving him completely, utterly empty. Shattered.
Completely alone, he had taunted the Dalek. No wonder you scream.
Was this madness?
Tap-tap-tap-tap.
The Doctor leapt to his feet. Someone was knocking at the door of the TARDIS. In all his centuries and centuries of wandering, he couldn't remember this ever happening before. When most people saw a mysterious blue box, they gave it a curious glance and walked away. Nobody ever knocked.
His first instinct was to ignore it. Nobody's home. He didn't feel like dealing with people just now.
But then curiosity got the better of him. He put on his best semblance of cheerfulness and opened the door. "Hullo, may I help you?" he said brightly.
The young woman standing outside took an involuntary step back, but there was no fear in her eyes. Remarkable. A man in a blue box had just appeared out of nowhere, and she was completely unfazed. "I was hoping," she said softly, "that I could help you."
Despite his outward cheerfulness and charming British accent, Lily could see that the man in the box was a wreck. His voice was hoarse, as if he'd been screaming. He leaned on the doorframe for support, and his eyes were bloodshot and puffy. She stepped forward and held out her hand, marveling at herself as she did so. This man was a complete stranger—for all she knew, he could be a total psycho. He could pull her into that box and rape her, kill her. But somehow, she knew he could be trusted. She just hoped he would trust her. "Let me help you," she said.
The man stared at her, momentarily motionless. Lily stared back, into those fathomless brown eyes. Those eyes were far too old for a man who couldn't have been much more than thirty. Then he shifted, stood up straight, and crossed his arms. "Who are you?" he asked, frowning.
"My name's Lily McKenzie," she said gently. "What's yours?"
"I'm The Doctor," he replied distantly. He seemed distracted, as if he wasn't really sure of his answer.
"Doctor who?"
"Just The Doctor." He pulled his brown trenchcoat tighter around his slender frame as if he was cold despite the hot August night. "Do you want to come inside?" he asked, suddenly animated.
Lily hesitated. He was a total stranger, after all, and that box… "It's awfully small, isn't it, Doctor?"
One corner of The Doctor's mouth twitched upward in what was almost a smile. "It's bigger on the inside." He took her proffered hand and drew her in.
The Doctor watched Lily's face as she took in the TARDIS. She showed little surprise at the advanced technology, and quickly turned her attention back to The Doctor himself. Her gaze made him uncomfortable, made him feel as though she was staring into his very soul. He kept up a steady stream of chatter, telling her all about the TARDIS and what it could do, some of the adventures he'd had, just to keep himself—and her—distracted. But he made sure not to mention Rose. Just thinking about her hurt too much. So on he rambled, wrapping himself in the illusion of a man who was perfectly fine.
Lily, however, saw right through him with those piercing blue eyes. "So you've always traveled… alone?" she asked softly.
The Doctor looked away, the illusion crumbling, his smile fading. "Not always." He found his gaze captured by one of Rose's jackets, draped casually over a railing as though she had just stepped out for a cup of tea. "I had… a friend…" his voice broke, and he had to catch his breath before he went on. "I traveled with her for a while, but she—" He swallowed hard. "She's gone now. I…" He fought back tears, trying desperately not to break down sobbing. "I… she…"
He heard a strangled sort of noise, and turned to look at Lily. To his astonishment, she was crying. "What… what? Lily, are you all right?"
Lily stared up at him. "Doctor," she choked out, "I'm… slightly psychic." She took a deep, shaky breath and whispered, "I feel what you feel."
The Doctor felt a chill run up his spine.
"I don't know how you're holding yourself together, Doctor. Such agony…"
Ever since the devastating conclusion of the Time War, The Doctor had become very good at burying his pain. So good, in fact, that he no longer realized he was doing it. But this girl had seen right through his defenses, and dragged it all up into the starlight. It crashed over him like a tidal wave, all at once, threatening to drown him. He staggered against the TARDIS's curved wall and slid to the floor, overwhelmed. "I… I've had my share of loss," he whispered finally, raking trembling hands through his perpetually disheveled hair. "More than my share."
Wiping away her own tears, Lily sat down beside him. "Tell me. Tell me the dark side of your story."
The Doctor stared at her for a moment, then suddenly reached into his coat pocket. "An empath," he muttered, half to himself, as he withdrew a metal object the length of a pen and twice as big around. He pointed it at Lily, and a blue light blinked on. She flinched instinctively, but when nothing happened, she relaxed. "Are you even human?"
Lily wasn't sure whether or not she should be offended by that. "Of course I am." she shot back, a little more sharply than she'd intended. Then she gently took hold of the lighted end of the… whatever it was, and lowered it. Almost rhetorically, she asked, "Are you?"
"No."
Taken aback, Lily sat in thoughtful silence for a moment. An alien. She had not only met, but was trying to comfort, a real live alien. As soon as The Doctor had started talking about time travel, she had assumed him to be a man from the future. Only now did she realize all that he had left out of his tales. "You look human."
"You look Time Lord."
"Is that what you're called, then?" she mused. "You know, I don't even know your name."
"It's not important," said The Doctor dismissively.
"You're right, it's not," Lily persisted. The Doctor fixed her with that unsettling stare again. How could she ever have thought him human? But Lily would not look away. "What is important is that you give a voice to whatever's eating you alive before it destroys you completely."
For a moment The Doctor didn't move, and Lily could almost see the memories flashing through his mind. "I can do better than that," he finally said, and shifted to face her fully. He took her hands and put them on either side of his head, her palms an inch or so away from his temples. "Fingertips only, there, there, and… there." Then he leaned forward. "Touch your forehead to mine and close your eyes. Picture a door. Let it become real in your mind."
"Got it," Lily said hesitantly. The technique of visualization was familiar to her, but not for the purpose she suspected The Doctor was using it for.
"Are you scared, Slightly Psychic Lily?"
"Yeah."
"Me, too. Open the door."
You are proof, the Cyberman had said, that emotions destroy you.
It felt like releasing a breath he'd been holding until his lungs burned. He tired to stem the flow of images at first—it wasn't fair to unload centuries of suffering all at once on a girl who couldn't have been any older than Rose. But soon the memories wrenched themselves out of his control, and there was no stopping them. He showed Lily the horrors of the Time War, the desperate loneliness that kept him bringing new companions aboard the TARDIS, the heartbreak as each inevitably left him behind. He let her see the despair of being the last of a species in whose blood his own hands were soaked. He introduced her to Rose, and though it tore him apart to do so, relived her disappearance at the Battle of Canary Wharf so Lily could see.
When he opened his eyes, Lily hadn't moved. She trembled, her breath coming in ragged gasps, and The Doctor had to take hold of her wrists again to free himself. But still she sat there, head bowed, as if paralyzed. "Lily?" he said softly.
"You're burning," she whispered as fresh tears coursed down her cheeks. "So bright, so bright… Consumed and consuming… You're at the center of everything, fighting back the darkness though it devours you time and again…"
Terrified, The Doctor tried to stand up, tripped and fell over his long coat, and scuttled backward away from her.
Slowly, slowly, she lowered her hands and looked at him. "The lonely god," she breathed.
The Doctor's jaw dropped open, but before he could protest, a panel on the TARDIS's central console started beeping. He froze for an instant, then lunged for it, grasping the edge and hauling himself to his feet.
"What is it?" Lily asked.
It was tiny, but it was there. "A crack!"
"A what?"
The Doctor leapt for the controls, starting the engine. "A crack, a gap in the Universe, probably the last one left. There's a massive star nearby, no inhabited planets, so if I can project some of the energy of the Time Vortex into the heart of it, I can initiate a supernova, and then, if I can channel the energy through the TARDIS's systems, I might have enough power to send a message!"
Lily stared. "You're going to blow up a star?"
The Doctor paused. "Lily," he said softly. "Oh, Lily, the other flower child. I would blow up a whole galaxy if it meant I could see her again." The TARDIS started to quiver. "But this is goodbye for us, Lily."
Lily nodded, then threw her arms around The Doctor's neck. "Goodbye, Doctor. Be safe."
"Goodbye, Lily. And… thank you."
The wind had grown colder and stronger, and the first drops of rain were beginning to fall. Lightning flickered in the distance, and thunder rumbled in the heavens as the TARDIS disappeared into the oncoming storm.