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Echoes of Time

Echoes of friends ghosted around the console in the dim light, flashes of many different colours danced in the corners of his eyes. Traces of memories lingered on the controls, sending uncomfortable tingles rushing through his hands as he wearily pulled levers, pushed buttons, and twisted knobs that minutes before he hadn't had to move, because others were doing it for him, with him. The trickle of rain off his soaked suit was deafening in the silence of this space where silence should never be. Silence didn't belong in this room, this ship really; silence was disastrous. Quiet was uncomfortably doable, but silence was horrid. Silence meant he was alone. He had learned long ago that being alone was a very bad thing. Being alone meant traveling alone, which meant he ran alone which meant there was no one to stop him, which meant he did things that he always, always regretted.

The Doctor shivered.

He rolled his shoulders as water dripped off his hair. Strange, he was rarely cold in the TARDIS, most certainly not from the rain. Maybe she was on to something when Don…

A shower, he needed a shower. Nice things showers, good at warming people up. Tea was good for that too, maybe he just needed a cup. He could shower in tea! No, no that was silly, someone should've tol… Shower, right. He was going to shower.

He stood under the water for 43 minutes and 27 seconds, focusing on every drop of warmth that fell on his skin. He didn't think. He didn't want to think.

Sara Jane and her son.

Jack and his team.

Mickey.

Jackie Tyler.

The second him.

Martha.

Rose.

Donna.

Their faces came unbidden to his mind as he tugged on his familiar brown suit and coat. His mind buried itself in the comfort of fabric familiarity and tried to reassure himself with the fact that they were all still alive. Not unharmed, not unchanged, scarred and fearful, but alive. Home, with family, following their own paths through time, and alive. Alive, alive, alive, alive, alive.

His jaw snapped shut when he realized the word was echoing aloud with each step he took down the TARDIS' metal grate stairs.

Pale hands gripped the metal bar deep in the rarely visited depths of the ship, ragged breaths misting the metal in irregular bursts. After moments that felt like hours but he knew were only seconds he burst away, dashing back up toward the main console as quickly as his long legs could manage the grated steps.

The TARDIS turned off the lights in the room from which he fled, leaving the only remaining suit of deep blue to hang in silence. Not lost, not destroyed—he couldn't bear to lose anything more—but hidden away, out of sight best he could manage.

Because just because he didn't want to forget, there wasn't a guarantee that he necessarily wanted to remember.