This was written in response to ~tamerofthewildrose's piece "Broken Floodgate" on DeviantArt. [http://tamerofthewildrose. deviantart .com/art/Doctor-Who-Broken-Floodgate-52942138] She had asked for a story behind the picture, so this is what I wrote down. It could be post-Adric, or not; it doesn't have a specific time and I consider it non-canonical.

Fifth Doctor-centric.

Disclaimer: Doctor Who belongs to the BBC. Peter Davison belongs to himself. I own nothing.

Broken Floodgate

The rain pooled around his feet, small islands in the rapidly rising water. He stared blindly at his shoes, at the ground; he just stared down. He welcomed the rain silently, accepting its washing. Vivid memories flitted before his eyes, filling his vision. He shook his head, trying to ignore the recollections, but they were too strong, too real.

The water covered his shoes; his socks were soaked through. He lifted his head and looked into the distance unseeingly, cursing the tears that obscured his sight. So much pain…so much loss. He struggled to remember the good things, the happy days, but the beautiful, joyous memories stung like a two-edged knife; it was both the pleasure of remembering all the wonderful things shared and the agony of knowing it has been ripped away forever.

Rain pelted his face, disguising the tears flowing from tortured eyes; he stood in water level with his knees. He didn't notice. He didn't care. It was all gone now—so soon light lost to the eternal night. A quiet sob escaped and he dropped his head again, squeezing his eyes tight shut. The unfairness of it all hit him hard, as it always did, but he would never be used to it. It is my life, and this is how it is, he rationalized. Of course it would end this way.

He finally realized how high the water was; it covered his hands clenched at his sides. He stared at the water, face blank, and a new thought began to form in his mind. He turned the idea over, pondered it. Why not? He'd lost everything again. Why not? He had no-one left waiting for him. Why not? His eyes, now focused, fixed on the clear water. Why not? he asked himself one last time. Why not?

The water rose higher, lapping around his waist. He took a deep breath and relaxed his hands. He looked up at the weeping heavens and, releasing his breath, slid under the water. Finally there was a silence.

The rain kept falling, disturbing the surface that concealed the past, hiding events that transpired. The rain knew, the land knew—all silent witnesses, sworn never to tell.