Disclaimer: I don't own Doctor Who, or Theta or Koschei or anything, just my interpretation of Gallifrey. If I did, there would be a book series about them, a spin off TV show, and I would damn well make sure 12 is ginger. And I wouldn't be wasting your time with this disclaimer. I do own red converse and pjs though! :P

Alright, just a few notes:
The song lyrics that are repeated are a song Fitz Kreiner wrote for the Eighth Doctor. If you don't know who Fitz is, go and hire a book or buy one or something, because he is awesome and slash is almost canon. The lyrics can be found in The Year of Intelligent Tigers by Kate Ormon, and most likely somewhere else that I don't know about.

And for those who don't know, Eighth Man Bound is a Gallifreyan game where the aim is to be given an identity crisis by a group of people, enter a dangerous fugue state, and catch glimpses of your future incarnations. Its dangerous, because you could also trigger a regeneration by playing it, so either way, in some cases your screwed.
The Doctor played Eighth Man Bound and saw up to seven, though he didn't in my head canon, and this is my head canon.

This could be taken as slash if you like. Of the Koschei/Theta variety, of which there isn't enough of. I reckon its preslash or good friendship, but its up to you, whoever you are that is reading this.

So, read on, and review!

Sail on, sailor, sail on
Still listening to your siren song
Tomorrow is your only home...

He was floating in a sea of darkness, being rocked in a boat, consciousness lapping at his mind. Around him, there was only darkness, and a haunting six note melody which penetrated his senses and mind, calling forth bright, brief bursts of information, sense.

Sail on, sailor...

Deep inside the blackness and calm of his mind, he stirred.

Blinking open his heavy eyes, he stared sightlessly, seeing only a swirling pattern of constellations from all over the galaxy dancing in front of his eyes, creating the sky. The brilliant blues and greens, the reds and gold's, the colours of the rainbow glistened in his mind's eye like a gleaming gem. Lulled, his eyes began to droop closed again.

Still listening to your siren song

The contact, when it came, was like someone had thrown ice cold water over him. The strength of the bond tore at his drifting mind, and the bright images swirled faster, forming faces among the surreal starlight.

A short man with black hair and mischievous eyes...

The point of contact burned with the sensation of someone's mind joining his own.

A tall, dignified man with a ruffled shirt...

A consciousness advancing towards his own; he thrashed, screamed, the boat rocking.

The tail end of a long scarf, looped around a neck, a shock of brown curls and a large grin...

The voice was forming now, and the stars were swirling brighter and faster than before...

A stick of celery, attached to a cream lapel...

Now, a rendition of a name, a title, echoing around the vast, chaotic place he called his own mind.

Bright, bright colours and a shock of blonde curls...

He curled into a ball in the boat, the unseen water beating against the sides in tandem with his heartbeats.

An umbrella, and a sly mind...

An alien mind touched his own, searching for a way into his safe zone; he screamed and rallied against it.

Long curls and velvet, and sad, sad blue eyes, forever searching...

There, a chink in his armour; the invader rushed forward, a section of his stars went out.

Impressions now; a broad grin, an allon-sy, a bowtie, sharp blue eyes; so cold, a warm brown, a pair of red shoes, a leather jacket...

The mind seized his own, and pulled him up, out and away, and he watched in dim recognition as the constellations above span into nothingness, forming a dismal black sky, an impossible impasse at the end of the universe.

Tomorrow is your only home...

And fire, endless fire, burning, burning; and the shrieks of the dead, of the enraged, of the dying, bouncing and echoing around the cavernous darkness that he had been plunged into...

He screamed, and woke.

"...ta?"

What?

Geronimo!
Allon-sy Alonso!
Fantastic!
These shoes! They fit perfectly!

"Thete?"

My dear Ace...
Carrot juice, carrot juice, carrot juice...
Don't forget to put your shields up!
Would you like a jelly baby?

Someone whimpered, and something cool and alive touched his arm. "Theta?"

A tear, Sarah Jane?
Oh my giddy Aunt!

"Theta! Theta Sigma! Open your eyes right now!"

Doctor Who?

He blinked, opening his eyes, and was met with a worried blue gaze hovering over him, a pinched expression adorning his friends' face. Koschei's dark hair was ruffled, in contrast to his normally slicked back perfection.

"Ko...?"

Koschei's eyes gave way to relief, and he watched through confused eyes as Koschei brought his hand to his cheek, cupping his face, stroking his thumb over his lips. The contact tingled, and with a great effort he roamed his eyes around the room.

He was in the Academy Infirmary, with its plain white ceiling and the humming of the emergency TARDISes in the background, their mental presence a soothing tickle in his mind. The bed he was lying on was hard, and uncomfortable, machines whirring at its side.
Looking back at Koschei, he was startled to see a healer looking down at him with a distant expression, assessing his condition.

The healer nodded, and patted his hand after holding his gaze for a moment, the movement indecipherable to his tired mind. "Can you tell me your name?"

He blinked, and took in Koschei's worried expression returning, fear coating those blue eyes. After a long moment, he cleared his throat. "T-Theta."

"Good." The medic noted, and patted his hand again, before turning to Koschei. "He'll be disoriented for a while, but he'll be fine. Just keep an eye on him." The healer turned back, the man's dark eyes unreadable, but a small sympathetic smile played on his lips. "I don't think you'll be playing anymore Eighth Man Bound for a long time to come, young Theta."

He moved away, and Koschei took his place, brushing his hand over his cheek again, the other grasping his hand tightly.

"Thete?" Koschei's voice was hesitant. "W-What did you see?"

Fire, fire raging, and Koschei – no, the Master – laughing, tapping out the drums, "Look at us now..."

Theta Sigma stared at him for a long moment, before rolling over onto his side, facing his friend, and closing his eyes tightly. "Nothing," he whispered, voice hoarse, his hand clutching Koschei's so tight that blood rushed away, "I saw that there was nothing."

Sail on, sailor, sail on
Still listening to your siren song
Tomorrow is your only home