A/N: I heard the quote on Criminal Minds, and I was trying to think of a story to write based on it...and I finally thought of The Doctor.

Disclaimer: I don't own Doctor Who.

The Reluctant Hero

"The noir hero is a knight in blood caked armor. He's dirty and he does his best to deny the fact that he's a hero the whole time."
-Frank Miller-

High on a hill in the rural most reaches of Britain stands a tall, blue, Police Box; an obvious heirloom from 1960's London, complete with a small phone hidden behind a square door on its side. The phone has not rung in years, not since World War II. And even then, it was the first time any sound had emanated from the small object.

He can remember that night, the man who lives within the box's walls. He remembers clearly how beautiful a night it was. It was a night when no one was lost. Every one of those he and his companion had been trying to save, all of the lives that could have been ruined forever, were returned to whatever their state of normal had been.

"Everybody lives, Rose! Just this once! Everybody lives!"

One man's foolish actions had not had the harsh consequences that the box's inhabitant had come to expect.

Death is an everyday part of this man's life. He has seen many lost to atrocities such as war, experimentation, and much more. His nine-hundred plus years of existence have not helped to desensitize his hearts and soul to the pain he feels when he fails to save even just one life.

All he wanted to do was travel the stars, he never meant for all of this bloodshed. The danger and the anger that follows him from planet to planet, from solar system to solar system, he never meant for any of it; but he has no control. Ever since the Time War…no, even before the Time War, he always found himself in less than desirable situations. From facing down aliens bent on race-purification to fighting back plots to destroy the human race and take over Earth.

He knows a man, a master, who would blame it all on his soft spot for humanity; but the box dweller will never believe that. He spends too much time watching Earth's inhabitants to be duped into thinking they are inferior. They have far too great a curiosity to be called such, and though he knows The Master will never see it, he will always try to make him. To make them all see.

But they never will. They see only a planet behind the times, not even fit for space travel. A race to be wiped out of their way, destroyed to make room for more suitable inhabitants; or something equally inhumane. They always will.

So this is why he fights, why he always finds himself facing life or death situations. This is why he has to race to save the innocents surrounding him, why he calls himself The Doctor. A healer, a giver of hope: The Doctor.

He could not save his own planet, his own people. He was forced to watch the last of them die, felt the life leave The Master's body, and watched his eyes grow dull. Now, once again he is the only one left.

He is the last of the Time Lords. And this time for real. No one's hiding away in a dark corner of the galaxy waiting to relieve him of his loneliness. There are no more messages of hope from the Face of Boe, he is the last.

He has tried to stave off the loneliness, picking up companions to travel with him. Showing these humans what's out there, giving them a taste for the galaxies. He just needs someone. (Martha said it once, he remembers well. He was trapped in a human form, astonished that she knew the reason she was there…)

"What exactly do you do for him? Why does he need you?!"
"Because he's lonely."
"And that's what you want me to become?!"

She knew. She knew and she didn't care. She stayed with him, no matter how selfish his reason for asking her to come in the first place had been. Granted, all of his companions stayed with him for as long as he could, but none of them had ever known him quite so well as Martha had. Not even Rose had realized…

Now, however, even Martha is gone. He tries not to dwell on the past; he resigns himself to traveling the stars alone again. He feels that, in a way, it's necessary. He is now, in all ways, truly alone. And still, at every turn he finds himself fighting for survival.

And every time, every damn time he loses someone. Some innocent bystander gets caught in the crossfire and he has to watch them, helpless, as they die.

He wants to give up. He wants to stay on his little hill in the London countryside and watch the world turn around him. He wants to live out the rest of his days as that hermit those children speak of. He wants to watch the human race, this fascinating race, as they go about their days. He wants to stop fighting and let life take its toll.

But he knows, even if he stops, those who would destroy will not. So he goes about the galaxy, he fights his way from plane to planet, and he always comes back to his little hill. It is where he finds peace. From planet to planet and always back again…and, on every planet he finds himself listening through dulled ears to the awed voices of those he has saved telling him he is a hero. Praising him for all he has done.

But, no matter how many people tell him he is a hero, he will never see it that way. He will never believe them.

He has seen too many people die. He has seen first hand just how unfair the world is. From watching Rose disappear to another universe, to sending Martha Jones to walk a broken Earth in hopes of creating a better future; he has seen too much.

He is not a hero. He will never be.