Title: The Tragedy of the Doctor
Rating: T (for dark themes)
Summary: The Doctor's thoughts about the Time War, in comparison to quotes from Macbeth.
Disclaimer: I am not Shakespeare (he's dead) or Russell T Davies.
Author's Note: I'm studying Macbeth for English, and this idea just came to me.
The Tragedy of the Doctor
"He is full so valiant."
To many, he was the saviour. He'd saved the lives of people from all over time and space. He was a friend to everyone.
"Art though afeared to be the same in thy own act and valour as thou art in desire?"
This was it. This was his chance to get rid of the Daleks forever. He'd wanted this for so long, ever since his first encounter with them all those years ago. He hated them, despised them. Now with the push of a button, they'd be gone. That button controlled their fate. But he was afraid. If he pushed it, he'd be sacrificing his planet and his people too. Was he a coward or a killer?
"Are you a man?"
It was taunting him, mocking him. This was a test to see if he could stay strong.
"I am in blood stepped so far, that, should I wade no more, returning were as tedious as to go o'er."
He'd been through too much with this war. He'd killed so many, and it would be just as hard to turn back.
"I am afraid to think what I have done; Look on't again I dare not."
It scared him to think of himself as nothing more than a murderer. He hated himself for what he'd done. He'd become someone he didn't know … or like.
"What's done is done."
Nothing could bring his people back, so what was the point of moping about it? He had to get on with life.
"Consider it not so deeply."
It wasn't a big deal, right?
"A little water clears us of this deed."
By bringing on a regeneration, he could start again. A new life with new memories. A new accent, a new face, a new outfit. It was going to be fantastic.
"Yet here's a spot. Out, damned spot! … What will these hands ne'er be clean?"
But he couldn't get it off his mind. His conscience would not allow him to casually dismiss it. The blood of his entire race was on his hands, and he'd never be able to forgive himself. He was more aware of death than ever before, and he could smell the blood in the air wherever he went. He couldn't escape what he had done. He was the Doctor, and he was a killer. Nothing would change that.
"All the perfumes of Arabia will not sweeten this little hand."
Fin
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Something different to my usual fics, which is a nice change. Please please please review.