Just a warning, this is an angsty piece, but I'm thinking of making it an opener to my own happier version of Series 1-5. Tell me what you think.
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It ate at him without reprieve…
The anguish and the regret.
The fact that he was the last of his kind, and nothing he could say or do would make that any less of a reality. In all realities.
Gallifrey was gone in every way imaginable. Sealed off permanently in all ages and eras. He couldn't even go back in time to save it, he thought while slamming his fist into the paneling of what appeared to be one of those blue police boxes that had been so common in the 1960s.
His last memory of his beloved home planet was one of fire raining from the heavens; fire born of his own hand.
"It was the only way!" The tall man in a dark leather coat waged an epic battle with his conscience while the sentient ship that new him so well turned his thoughts in another direction; trying to prove to him that it may have been his doing, but it was not his fault.
The man slumped to the ground next to the police box as an all too familiar scene is played out before his eyes.
A young boy, not even ten years of age, is forced, as are all young Time Lords and Ladies, to look into the Untempered Schism. To force the mind of child to not only see, but attempt to understand time itself in its infinite possibilities is inhuman. But worse, is to make that child understand those things which under any and all circumstances must come to pass.
It was a child of eight years who saw one of these terrible facts and absolutes of the universe and the part he himself would play in its completion.
It was in that instant that this young boy came to the resolution that he would spend his lifetimes avoiding this seemingly destined and preordained future.
And he ran. He never allowed himself to stop.
The man pulled himself back to the present. "Because running solved all of my problems in the end," he muttered darkly.
He jumped to his feet, and uncaring of the fact that he was in a populated area, raged at the stars. "What more do you want from me! It came to pass just as I was shown! Gallifrey is gone! And NO! I couldn't stop it from happening! I let it happen! My world and my history burned before my very eyes!"
A gentle brush of his ever-faithful TARDIS against his mind encouraged the man to pull himself up off the ground he occupied in one of London's working class neighborhoods and drag himself into his ship. After removing the leather coat he thought spoke of the dark place his mind was in, he threw his weary body onto his bed, but sleep was not quick in coming that night.