Before Rose
-NobleWriterofWho
Author's Note: Second chapter yay! Warning this chapter contain suicidal thoughts and actions. I'm not rating it an M because it is in graphic. At all. However, use your own judgment before reading. Thanks!
Disclaimer: I don't own Doctor Who.
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Chapter 2: Oblivion
He didn't know how many days have passed since his regeneration. How many days have passed since he destroyed Gallifrey. He didn't care. Nothing seemed to matter anymore. Things like eating, sleeping, etc, they didn't matter. So he didn't do them. As simple as that. His new body was growing weak already. Maybe it would have been fine if he had drank something, but he didn't done that either. It didn't matter. He was slowly wasting away. Who cares; certainly not him. Plus, the weaker he grew the easier it was to not think. All that did matter was not thinking. The art of not thinking was not something he had ever mastered or been any good at for that matter. His mind raced and thousand different directions most of the time teeming with ideas and knowledge. And memories, so many memories. And so much more. Too much. The point was, it was never vacant. Trying to clear it all away was so difficult. Being a Time Lord made it easier and harder. It was his Time Lord mind allowed for this sort of chaos. Other species couldn't have functioned in his state. But, he also should have had the ability to organize his thoughts. Clear things away. Most Time Lords could. He'd' always been a screw up, especially by their standards.
Not thinking was very hard, yes, but, he was getting better at it. He sat at his spot on the control room floor for a long time not thinking. It took a lot of concentration, so those other things he should be doing he really didn't have time for. The smallest lapse of attention and everything came back. His thoughts had one common trend, to lead him to horrific things. Horrible things led to dangerous thoughts. And left unchecked those became actions. He didn't want to remember, but he couldn't forget. Not with the silence in his mind, and the pain it caused.
"Gone," he whispered. The Doctor wouldn't say he was alive. He existed, that was it. Sitting on the floor. Staring at nothing. Not thinking. Never thinking. No, he wasn't thinking about them. The Time Lords who were all gone. And he was still here. His family, his friends, and everyone else was gone. Because of him. Because of the Doctor. But he wasn't really the Doctor anymore. After what he had done how could he be? What should he call himself now? Except, that didn't matter. The chances of him getting up and walking out those doors to see any part of the universe were slim. Nil. Void. If there was an emotion the Doctor knew to describe what he was feeling, because he should be feeling something, it was void. Void of everything or at least trying to be which meant he wasn't completely void. That wasn't the point. The point was he was a shell of the man he used to be. Not the Doctor; never again. Because the Time Lords were all gone. He was still here.
Wait! "I'm still alive!" he exclaimed so horrified he forgot to feel like an idiot. Not thinking had blocked out this realization however obvious it was. And the sheer weight of it had made it take a long time for it to sink in and for him to comprehend that that was a problem. He was still alive, but he shouldn't be. He should have died with them. That had been the plan. And he'd been sitting on his backside doing nothing to rectify the situation. It was wrong for him to live after so many had lost their lives. All those children. But, he could fix this. For so long in the Time War he had fought; now it was time for him to fight again. For just a little while. And it would be a fight. The TARDIS wasn't going to just let him die. She had proven that a thousand times over. He'd have to do a good job of making sure she couldn't save him. This was too important to screw up. He jumped to his feet wobbling, and struggling to stay upright gripping the console for balance. Once she realized what he was doing she'd hide any potential weapons. He might have to get creative. Sprinting wasn't an option, but he managed to speed walk, pins and needles shooting through his legs with every step. The bathroom. Any bathroom would do. There were plenty of sharp objects in there. It would be painful, but that was good. It should be. Burning alive was in a painless death, and that was what he had subjected his race too. The more it hurt the better. A penance for his sins.
He swung a white door open. This bathroom was closest to the control room and because of that the one his companions used the most frequently. Had used he corrected himself. No one would ever step foot aboard this ship again. Anyway, it was stocked rather well because of this. He slammed his fist shattering the mirror before he could see his reflection. The mere thought of looking himself in the eyes...he shuddered. Under the sink there was medication. Over-the-counter drugs that humans typically used. They seemed to attract illness. Colds, headaches, they were so fragile. It annoyed and worried him usually, but now he was grateful. So incredibly grateful. Many of their drugs were deadly to Time Lords. Aspirin being one of them.
Staring at the bottle in his hand for some reason it didn't feel right. This option wasn't painful enough. He poured three in his hand anyway and swallowed. Then, gingerly he picked up a small shard of glass that was on the counter. Transfixed for only a few moments his face split into a grin. This would be painful enough. He cut deep. The glass slipped from his hand. Blood bubbled up from his wrist running down his arm. A sense of calm washed over him. He'd been right. It was excruciating. Somehow he made it back to the control room. The aspirin was already starting to affect him. The Cloister Bell was ringing, and the lights were flashing. The TARDIS was taking him somewhere. She was too late; the deed was done. Peace filled him. He could rest now. Things have been put right. It was all over.
An urge suddenly came over him. He should open those doors. Look out and see the stars one last time. What harm could it do? They should be the last thing he saw. He wanted to see them. Needed to. After everything he had sacrificed to save them it didn't seem right not to. So, when they had landed he opened the doors and stepped out. It felt right. It wouldn't change anything. He was so wrong.
