Title: Phoenix Rising
Author:
Gillian Taylor
Rating: PG
Characters: Eighth
Doctor, Ninth Doctor, Tenth Doctor
Summary: Fire defines
him. Burning and rebirth, an endless cycle.
Spoilers:
Gallifrey go boom, PotW, Children in Need episode
Disclaimer:
Don't own them. I just like playing with them...a lot.
Archive:
Sure, just let me know.
A/N: Thanks, as always, to my lovely betas NNWest and WMR for both their encouragement and suggestions.
"Phoenix Rising"
by Gillian Taylor
Flames.
All consuming, never ceasing.
Flames.
Emotional. Physical. He watches Gallifrey burn.
Flames.
A scream. A shout. A protest of fathomless proportions. It was not supposed to end like this. This was not how it was supposed to go. His people. His planet. His life. They all burn.
He burns.
Flames.
The TARDIS creaks and groans in protest as he sets the coordinates. Gone. They're all gone.
Only the coward, the Destroyer of Worlds, the Oncoming Storm, the rebel survives. He is the last. They're all gone.
It burns.
Fire ripples down his arms, heralding his death. They're all gone. And yet he survives. By the miracle of his people, he will survive. But what was it for? What was it all for?
Flames.
He burns.
His universe burns, and he screams, but no one is there to listen.
He burns.
And dies.
His ninth life begins out of the ashes of his eighth. Pain, though only emotional, ripples through his soul as the haze of regeneration fades. They're all gone. He's all that's left. Why, when his people burned, did he survive? Why should he survive? His life was not worth it. Not worth them. Not worth the destruction of Gallifrey. Not worth his surviving the genocide of his people.
This was his fire: depression and guilt. This was his immolation: pain. This was his punishment: another life.
Why?
He wants to scream the question, demanding answers that the universe could not give. Why should the Doctor survive? Why should he survive when his people burned? He burned them. He killed them. His life should be his sacrifice. His future regenerations should be forfeit. He should just die. But Time is not done with him yet. She can't lose her Champion no matter how much he wants to be lost.
No more. Please. No more. Not again. Not another life. Not another life of knowing, of remembering, what he had done. The flames. The fire. The confusion. The burning. The death of everything that he knew. The death of everything that he had loved. Oh, he had professed to be a rebel. He had denied the Time Lords before, but in the end, when it counted, he still loved them. He still came to their aid in the War. He still killed them through the Doomsday device. He had still pushed that button. It burned. It still burned. It would always burn.
They were dead.
And he still lived.
Why?
The universe would not answer. Could not answer. Would never answer. The summation of his existence in one word: why? He lived. He should be dead. He should have burned with his people.
He lived.
Why?
What was it all for? Would the rest of his lives be spent within this fire? Would he continue to burn from within because of his guilt? Would he die once more knowing that in the end it did not matter? Would he regenerate with more blood upon his hands? Barely regenerated, entirely new, and already considering his next death. What did that say about this life?
He still burned.
Would always burn.
His people were gone. Gallifrey was gone. He lived. But he was still consumed by the flames.
This was his curse.
This was his fire.
This was his life.
He burns.
Only this time, he chose this fire. This time he welcomes it.
He burns.
Immolation comes in many forms. Regeneration. Fire. Change. Rose.
He burns.
It hurts, but he welcomes the pain. He chose this death. For her. For her to live, he had to die. It was worth it. This fire was worth it. Worth every second of flames that ripple across his skin. Worth every second that he can see her - with these eyes - smile at him. These flames were worth it, because of something else. Something that was far stronger than pain. Far stronger than the torment and depression that had characterised the beginning of his ninth life.
It was worth it because of love. His love for her. Her love for him.
He burns.
It was worth every moment. Every second. Every touch of her hand held within his.
It was worth it.
He burns.
This was his goodbye. This was his final gift. For her to live, for her to survive, he burns.
She was worth it.
They were worth it.
He burns.
And out of the ashes, he will rise. A new man. A better man, perhaps. But different. Changed because of her. Because of her fire. Because of the immolation of Rose. He was crafted by her, forged by her, and so he will die for her.
He burns because of a kiss.
And it was worth it.
His tenth life begins out of the ashes of his ninth. Fire still burns within him, but this fire does not scorch. This fire does not hurt. Instead it consumes all in its wake, destroying the remnants of the pain and torment of the beginning of his previous life. This fire has a name.
Rose.
This fire has a purpose.
Love.
This fire has a meaning.
A new beginning.
This fire defines him. This fire gives him purpose. This fire gives him life.
This is what he is called: the Doctor, the last Time Lord, Gallifreyan, the Destroyer of Worlds, the Oncoming Storm, the rebel, the coward.
This is what he is: fire, the phoenix, the protector of innocents, Time's Champion, the man who loves Rose Tyler.
This is his fire.
This is his immolation.
This is his new life.
It burns.
And that is good.
FIN