Fan Fiction Reading Conditions Request: Listen to 'Four Knocks' by Murray Gold from the Doctor Who Specials Soundtrack on repeat.
The Doctor felt a chill through his bones, Wilfred watching; his eyes a pain drilling in the Doctor's head. The balance of the world was kept through the indifference it has about an individuals existence, his insides retched and salvia accumulated in his mouth; the world was truly unfair.
He couldn't handle this magnitude of pressure anymore, he never asked for help; never asked for sacrifice in others, he'd never been able to ask that of another; yet his hearts raced and the moment make him choke as he released words that he'd never conjured to say, as Wilfred began to understand the obvious.
"Just leave me"
"OK! I then I will!"
His body began to shake, his broken ribs pulling him forward; his cheekbones bruised and sore as he spoke; a passion of rage escaping him selfishly for the first time.
"Look at you! Not remotely important!"
An inch of The Doctor's hearts snapped; as the words pored out, his shield of glory breaking; yet how could he always be expected to be so strong? Hope, hope was what also ways kept him going, The Master had given him hope; but now he was gone; sucked and destroyed by his own insanity and suffering. The fear in his eyes, as tears formed behind them, as The Doctor pointed a gun at him, the lust and distress combined to create the only man The Doctor has ever truly loved; his Lord Master. He'd never asked, could never ask for a sacrifice, yet he'd sacrificed for him; The Master had sacrificed himself for The Doctor.
The emotion took over him, the feeling of heartbreak and wrath like fire leaving his lungs; the Time lords were cruel; they were indifference to the life around them, and most of all they were harsh. They were the definition of the life; and life they had taken from The Master, from their future together; from their love.
His chest heaved and his breath came in heavily, his mind screamed… Oh Master!
"I could still do so much more!" thumping his chest in an animistic like manner; unable to remain composed, unable to accept reality; unable to face the choice he knew he has to make. He though of The Master, the fleeting moment that The Doctor has been the cruel one; had been the one to face the other with a gun, that must had been the first time The Doctor had ever face a gun to The Master. His Time lord had coached him on cruelly, as one expected him to; digging into the weakness he knew The Doctor had, to never kill, to never harm him; after all he knew he had done; after all that he knew he had killed; he would still love him.
But it hadn't been The Master's fault! It hadn't been, it never was!
"But this is what I get!" He spluttered, digging his broken ribs into the desk; the pain filling him with what he wanted-
"WELL IT'S NOT FAIR!" and screamed, hot, guilty tears ran down his face, guilt that he was releasing how he truly felt, that he was unable to control himself any longer.
The wet words left his mouth and a sudden release washed over him, a silent acceptance creeping through his body. He once again looked up at Wilfred and realised the obvious, his hearts melting; the old man watching him with not fear, but with sympathy. He was sympathetic, he was understanding and willing to sacrifice himself; and he was not fearful of death.
"Oh…" the Doctor wept, accepting finally
"Live to long…" it was indeed time for change, but that did not mean forgetting.
Wilfred watched The Doctor walk closer towards the opposing door, his cries falling on deaf ears as The Doctor understood what he must do; sacrifice is but such a beautiful thing. The other man began to yell as he grasped the handle, he looked up at him, his face composed and dry; he was The Doctor, he knew what he must always do, and his heart race increased as Wilfred watched him such passion, love and care; the man The Doctor always sought to be.
"Wilfred" he shook, "It's my honour" and a peace began inside.
"Better be quick!"
The door was suddenly closed and the radiation began; a stream of hot and cold sensations, agony through his body, through his mind; what was he doing again? Who was he? Remember your past, remember your hope! There will be more to come, there's always more to come- AGH!
The Doctor wanted to grasp something, hold something; someone, he needed his own Doctor, he needed his Master; why? Why can you not just hold me? I shall just think of your arms, your mind; flowing through mine, hold me Master, in the red grass; just hold me…
The Doctor grasped himself, like a small child lost and forgotten; but now The Master was holding him, Rose was holding him, Martha was holding him, Donna was holding him; love was holding him now…