Tap. Tap. Tap.
With one hand, the Doctor tapped out seconds on the wooden arm of his chair. Absentmindedly swirling tepid soup with the other.
Fifty-eight, fifty-nine, sixty, sixty-one. Thud...
It had arrived.
The spoon slid into the bowl, slopping crimson soup over the brim, as the Doctor let it fall and ran. Sprinting across the cavernous hall like a gazelle. Echoing footfalls flurrying around the empty room in a symphony of instinct.
The creature. The ghost. The corpse. The whatever-it-was in a veil slid from the shadows, putrid hands outstretched, and ambled after the Time Lord. The Doctor was running for his life, tearing this body's aching knees to reach the other side of this hateful, capricious castle. He touched the far wall of the library gratefully. The furthest point. It had taken him barely a minute to get here but the adrenaline now tangling painfully in his veins had made it feel like an hour. Room Twelve still eluded him but the Doctor had found Room Twenty, the library.
Huge shelves groaning with volumes and a warm, comforting fire made this a tempting place for the Doctor to pass the eternities, awaiting his fate. But no, of course not. Every book turned to dust at his touch. But he couldn't rule out that one of them might be useful. The Doctor climbed the ladder and began touching books experimentally. After all this time, he was in the F section. He stretched his thin arm across a shelf, tapping each book with a bony finger. Moments later, a dozen small piles of dust sat in their places. The Doctor began climbing up to the next shelf when a glint of gold leaf caught his eye.
Inhumed between two mounds of soot, a single book remained. Trembling, the Doctor reached out and plucked it from the shelf, shaking away the remains of its neighbours. The gold lettering on the front spelled out a single word. A word that had caused him the most joy and the most pain in his long existence: friends.
The Doctor slid down the ladder and laid the book on a nearby table. He stared at it for a long time, expecting it to dissolve too. This place, giving him hope and then snatching it away. Eventually, he gently prised the front cover up and peered into the gap. There were no words, it was a drawing. Black ink, crude but unmistakable: two humans. Both tall and well-dressed. A woman with dark hair and a warm expression. Beside her, a stocky man with a pleasant, stupefied demeanor. Barbara and Ian.
There were more sketches of his friends. Katarina, Jamie, Alistair, Jo, Sarah, Tegan, Peri, Lucie, Rose. Even some faces he didn't yet recognise. That's OK, Time Lord brains did that sometimes - memories faded before they were made. Wait, not everyone. The humans. The ones from Earth anyway. No Adric or Nyssa, no Turlough, no Jack. No Susan…
The Doctor knew a lot about Earth's history. It was his specialist subject on Mastermind. His friends had taught him so much about life on that planet that he could happily settle there if he needed to. Maybe he would, someday, if he survived. As he flipped through the sketches he stopped at the sight of a round-faced teenage girl with tightly braided hair. Ace used to call him "professor". He'd pretended to hate it. But really he liked the sound of it. Maybe, when he made his inevitable daring and magnificent escape from this place, he'd take a break. Go and teach something. When would be a good time to settle on Earth?
The Doctor jumped at the sound of the door creaking. Had the Veil found him? So quickly? No, the castle was moving again, pivoting around one of the main turrets, and the vibrations had swung the door open. As the Doctor calmed himself, he saw the number on the door: twenty. Earth 2020? Many stories about the planet Earth in 2020. Some of which he'd been able to help out with: the Silurian awakening (taken care of), Judoon invading Gloucester (she'd get around to it), possibly a Dalek invasion (we'll see).
There was, of course, the big one. The fixed point. A time he'd seen humanity in despair and been powerless to help. Stuck in one place, nothing to do, hiding from a silent enemy. Alone. And they'd been brilliant. They didn't need the Doctor, they had real doctors. Brave, dependable doctors who'd protected mankind. Even when they couldn't embrace, they'd reached across their darkened world through technology; sang songs together, told stories, sketched, laughed, danced. Held each other more tightly than ever. And when it was all over, well...some things never change, but others do.
The Doctor closed the book and clutched it to his chest. He'd see them again. Every single one of them. Even the rubbish ones like Adam or Kameleon. He'd share that last brandy with Alistair, timelines be damned. Take K-9 for walkies. Be an usher at Luke Smith's wedding. Comfort Rigsy, who had to be strong for his tiny human. Apologise to Peri and Ace and Mickey and Martha...
Oh the things he would do when he got his freedom. He had so much to make up for.
But first he needed to win...