Title: "Lonely Gods"
Author: Shaitanah
Rating: G
Timeline: post-The Christmas Invasion
Summary: Shortly after his regeneration the Tenth Doctor muses about his destiny and Rose. Please R&R!
Disclaimer: Doctor Who belongs to the BBC and a bunch of other people. I wouldn't mind having my own TARDIS though.
A/N: My first DW fanfic. And wow, look at that, angsssst! This show can toss me between tears and hysterical laughter within a second.
Dedication: for Kris. Just so. You can read it now.
Lonely Gods
He walks alone. Always has, always will do.
It's fun, that kind of loneliness. His kind of loneliness. Sometimes he loses himself in it, for he is a man of many faces – quite so literally speaking – and his own face does not always meet his expectations, and he can't always say that he knows himself. And if he doesn't know himself, who else will?
It isn't the kind of loneliness you can nullify by sharing it with someone.
There is nothing to share.
He examines his new face in the mirror, sweeps his new slim fingers over his nose (it's sharper than he remembers it) and mouth (the lips are definitely thinner), ruffles his hair (it's softer and also longer and –yet again – not ginger), smiles and licks his teeth (slippery; new teeth, new throat, new tongue – all that makes sounds different).
He can't possibly share it with anyone.
No one will understand how much he still loves walking through life, centuries after – smiling, laughing, chattering at supersonic speed, articulating vividly, goggling his eyes and making funny faces. It simply makes him feel alive.
No, it's not a question of sharing.
You don't share the burden of being the last of your kind with others. It's not a matter of arrogance, or fear of being rejected, or ludicrous pride. It just… doesn't happen this way.
And he is the last Time Lord, returned to life once again, with a brand new face and the same old memories. Old people say that long life can be tiresome. Well, he still has several lives to live and he intends to live them to the fullest.
Her face flickers briefly in the mirror. She flashes him a quick smile, and he smiles back even though she's already gone too far to notice it.
He knows she is not the constant in his life. How can she be? She is but a speck of shining dust in the void of space (and he's shown her that void, oh yes!). She is human. Humans are tiresome creatures; they fidget in their development all the time, calling it evolution – but that's why he likes them. He likes them wide-eyed and breathless with exultance and speechless and completely swept away.
Like her.
He feels close to someone then.
He knows Rose Tyler will go away. Maybe not tomorrow or the day after tomorrow – but honestly, these notions are degraded because time doesn't matter that much when you jump from one period to another like from a footpath to a traffic area. The point is, Rose Tyler will be gone. Even by the most idealistic calculations, how much time do humans have on their hands?
And he, the Doctor, will live on. He's not eternal (though sometimes when he recalls how much he has been through he starts believing he will last forever – if there is any sort of 'forever' at all), but he will have tens of years after Rose is no more.
He probably won't even be alone, he tells himself.
She's just one of the many. She's not the first and the last. She's not the constant. She's just…
Rose Tyler.
The Doctor screws his eyes shut, then opens them abruptly and smiles broadly at his new reflection.
She's here now, isn't she? She hasn't been scared away by his new looks, and that's got to count for something.
For someone as lonely as him, it sure does.
August 13, 2008