Firsts and Lasts:
Nine was born in flame
His first sights were ash. His first word was "No." His first feeling was pain.
His TARDIS was safe. Thank Rassilon for that. Wait- should he even say that anymore? After he…
No. Saying that would be admitting it. He didn't do this. He didn't burn them. He's not- he can't be. And she's not alone. His TARDIS isn't alone. Neither is he. Right?
Yet no matter how much he denied, he couldn't deny the burning planet beneath his feet. The empire that would never again breathe.
He led them into war. They thought they'd win. He promised they'd win. A good general goes down with his men. A good Time Lord would fight to the death to save his people. A good man would die with them.
He's none of that, he never will be. He's not good. He can't save them. He watched them burn. He sparked the flame. They're still burning. They'll burn forever. His people, reliving the same for as long as the universe exists. And maybe even after that.
And the worst part is he knew. He knew this was going to happen. He always knew. At eight years old, the Untempered Schism can hold wonders for Gallifreyan children.
Ushas was inspired.
Koschei went bad.
Theta Sigma ran. And he's been running ever since. No one asked why. He went missing for a full week after that day.
He saw. He always knew. At eight years old he watched Gallifrey burn. And he watched a man stand above them.
The Doctor's heart broke when he looked into the mirror.
His first sight was ash. His first word was "No." His first feeling was pain. His first thought was a mix of the three.
And died of love
Rose fixed him. He doesn't know how, but she fixed him. He loved her. So he saved her. She's on Earth now, hundreds of years in the past with Jackie and Ricky. She's safe. She fixed him. He repaid his debt. He saved her life. Now it's time to die.
He was born in the fire sparked by the Daleks.
Let him die in the same blaze.
He fumbles around the wires, knowing what's coming. He's going to die. It's going to end. No more guilt. No more life. He can sleep.
Oh he'll burn. In a way, he's glad. He'll know what they felt. Their own soldier, turning against them. He'll know how it feels to die one last time.
He doesn't know when he spoke. Some say he doesn't even know if he spoke at all. The words still escaped him, regardless of whether or not he knew.
"Can you hear me? I'm coming. I'm sorry." He never acknowledges his own words. For the rest of his life, he'll ignore that plea for forgiveness. His death bed will be the first time he remembers it. He'll repeat it.
And then the TARDIS comes back. And Rose kills the Daleks. And for a split second he thinks he can use her. She'll break the time lock. This 'Bad Wolf' can kill the Daleks. She can stop them. He won't be alone. They'll stop burning.
He'll hate himself forever for these thoughts.
He doesn't know what happens. He blinks, and his lips are on hers. His body is aflame. It hurts.
His last sight was her. His last words were "You were fantastic. And you know what? So was I." His last feeling is the fire being put out. And his last thought is "Thank Rassilon."
Ten was born of love
His first sight is her. His first word is "Hello." His first feeling is strange.
He's new. Brand new. New eyes. Vision's a bit blurry. Not fun. He may just need glasses for special occasions.
Ooh, new ears. Probably smaller now! That's nice. He didn't really like the last pair.
And teeth! That's weird. Never getting over that feeling. New teeth. It's like a new- never mind. He hates thinking about that part.
Uh new… hair! He's got new hair. He better be Ginger for once. Nine bodies, never once Ginger. That's just rude.
His jacket doesn't fit anymore. Sad. He liked that thing. It doesn't matter. He'll get new clothes. Hopefully they won't look like a clown threw up again. He's been through that faze.
He stumbles and smirks. He doesn't pay attention to what's spewing out of his mouth.
Faster, faster, faster! You can do it, TARDIS. Get her home for Christmas.
Something's wrong. He shakes his head. Bad thought. New him hates bad thoughts. Go away. Only good things. Like speed. Go faster!
It's definitely wrong.
He steps out of the ship and sees Jackie before him. Wow, haven't seen you in a bit. You look new. Different. Wait, so does he! He doesn't know what happened when he hits the ground.
And died of hate
He doesn't want to. He really doesn't. The four knocks, repeating over and over again in his head. They'll replay long after Wilfred stops banging.
He missed the signs, didn't he? He will knock four times. He's been focusing so long on stopping Gallifrey he hasn't even remembered. The beats in the Master's head. This is his last adventure. He didn't even recognize the fact. He'll die hearing those drums.
His own heartbeat condemned him. And his friend is the executioner.
"Any help here?" Wilfred asks. Or something along those lines. He doesn't care. He's going to die. He doesn't want to go. He's stopped banging. It doesn't matter. The damage is done.
Knock-Knock-Knock-Knock.
Time to die, Doctor.
Knock-Knock-Knock-Knock.
Time to start burning.
It hurts, but that's pretty obvious. Dying usually hurts. He should know that by now. This is only his tenth real death. He should be used to the pain.
But it burns. It always burns. Ever since the Time War, everything burns.
He leaves Wilf behind. Deal with Donna. Don't let her burn. He'll do that enough for the world today, he promises.
He doesn't want to.
He watches his former companions. He gives them hope.
Rose Tyler.
Donna Noble.
Mickey Smith.
Martha Jones.
Wilfred Mott.
Jack Harkness.
Goodbye.
And then he slips through those blue doors, and takes her to the stars. His last goodbye. Goodbye old friend. Goodbye, TARDIS. He's already burning.
His last sight was his TARDIS. His last words were "I don't want to go." His last feeling was hate. Hate of the new him. The him about to be born, waiting for his death. And his final thought was "No."
And the Tenth Doctor dies alone.
Eleven was born of hate
He was born learning how to hide. He hid from his first breath. He's the body built from guilt.
Nice title. The Guilt Ridden One.
He just has to choose who he is now. And… wait. Fingers!
So many fingers! All ten intact. And his legs are in place. He was worried about that. He does need to run, after all. He has a feeling he'll be doing a lot of that this time.
He's got hair. A lot of hair. At least he's not like his Ninth self.
No, no, no. Too much hair. He's not a girl. No, he didn't. Please no.
No, he's a boy. He was really worried there for a second.
New chin. Blimey, it's giant. Almost as big as a planet. And he was worried about ears in his last incarnation.
New teeth? Don't care this time. Right.
Vision's good. He doesn't need glasses. That's a relief.
Something important, though. Fire, burning, the TARDIS is burning, breaking, throwing, hah! He has it! He's crashing! He's rather excited. He's never crashed before. Not immediately after a regeneration.
No wait, yes he did. Would have been fun though. At least it's safer. He wouldn't want to kill himself just after being created. That's just reckless. He won't even know this one well enough. He has a feeling he might like it.
And it's off on steering.
He wishes he knew that before crashing into the controls.
Maybe the TARDIS will regenerate. Her screws were a bit loose last time. And by a bit, he means that every time he touched a button it would pop off. Not fun when trying to fly a planet to its rightful position in the universe.
He's crashing. He should fix that.
He blinks and he's climbing up a ruined TARDIS. He didn't fix that. He can't help but smile at the little girl who's staring at him with wide eyes. Apples, he needs an apple.
After all, an apple a day should keep him from crashing into her yard again, right?
And the Fall of the Eleventh is soon