This story has been rewritten. Please see chapter 1 for details.

Chapter 13

"How long have we got?" Rose asked him twenty minutes later, stringing her damp hair through her fingers.

They stepped over the mess at the threshold and onto rolling fields of golden, downy grass. The sky was vibrant and pink, the sun almost low enough to touch the silhouette of mountains in the distance. Seas of people dressed in white sat equidistant from one another, heads bowed in meditation, tiny silver electrodes on either side of their temples. Children frolicked between the rows, laughing and chasing one another.

He felt it at once—peace and serenity seeping into his subconscious. How had he once referred to it? Applied telepathy to 'lower cognitive function' and 'spike neurotransmitters'? Now that he experienced it for himself, his description hardly seemed adequate. No doubt it was stimulating more pathway formation in his brain. Bit by bit, he would become more empathetic until he was unrecognizable.

"Victor?" Rose asked.

He blinked back the sting in his eyes. "Hm?"

"I said, how long until the CME gets here?"

He cleared his throat. "Thirty minutes, give or take."

"We have to warn them."

"Right."

Something tugged at his trousers. A young boy looked up at him, pint-sized and pale-haired with rosy cheeks as pink as the sky. He knelt down. "Hello there."

The child didn't speak but reached up to wipe his cheek. Moisture beaded at his tiny fingertip.

A tear? Did that really just come from him?

The boy stared at the globule as if he'd never seen such a thing. Not surprising. He'd wager none of them had ever known conflict or death. Without prompting, the boy settled onto his knee and wrapped his small arms around his neck as if to offer him solace.

Such innocence. And to think, not five days before he conspired to destroy this child's perfect world and leave him destitute and starving—just as he had been so long ago. His throat tightened and he pulled the child to him as if reaching across the expanse of time to comfort his seven-year-old self. "I am so sorry."

Never again. No one would ever hurt him, or any of them. He would spend the rest of his days protecting people from what he used to be. Fate willing, he would visit every single one of his conquests and make things right.

Rose laid a hand on his shoulder and said nothing.

Wind rolled across the feathery grass, animating the hillside around him as he lay in the shadow of the assembled shield generator.

"You saved a planet today," Rose said next to him.

"I did."

"How does it feel?"

He inhaled the clean air. "Feels … good."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." He threaded the golden grass through his fingers, the soft filaments tickling against his skin. "I'll have to come up with something new to call myself now. Victor won't do."

"Any ideas?"

"Not one."

"How about the Mechanic?" she said. "Nah, you're far too posh for that."

"Wait, I've got one." He put on his most serious voice. "The Chemist."

Rose wrinkled her nose. "Sounds like somebody someone would go to for a prescription refill."

"No less so than 'the Doctor'. Don't you find it a tad sanctimonious?"

"Dunno. I always thought the Doctor was a rather generic yet relatable name, engendering feelings of trust and good-will. You should consider it."

He glared sideways at her.

"What?" she asked. "I'm not trying to turn you into him, I swear. It's just a suggestion. Think about it, that's all I'm saying."

Calling himself the Doctor would only make sense if he were capable of engendering trust and good-will, which he wasn't—not in the least. Titles, after all, ought to say something those they represent. "And what makes your Doctor so worthy of such a title anyway? What's he like?"

"He's like you in a lot of ways."

"You mean tall, dark, and devilishly handsome?"

Rose poked her tongue between her smile. "Careful, wouldn't want the planet to explode 'cause your ego gets too amplified."

"I'd be more worried about the combined effect of both our egos. This poor place doesn't stand a chance with the arrival of such an illustrious do-gooder and his"—he quoted the air—"'greatest assistant in all of creation'."

Rose gave him a light swat on the shoulder but chuckled. "Fair enough. I did call myself that."

He rolled onto his elbow and propped up his head. "Really though, tell me about him."

She pursed her lips and squinted at the horizon. "Hard to describe really. He's just the Doctor. Funny, brave, kind. He's got really great hair, and he's an amazing kisser—"

"Okay, you can stop now." He snapped the ends off a handful of grass and crushed them in his palm. If this parallel him was so amazing, how could he ever compare? They'd save the universe and then what? She and her Doctor hook up and it's back home for him, back to an empty TARDIS and no clue what to do with himself.

Better that than waiting around. Having her at arm's length but just out of reach would be unbearable, watching them together—the Doctor's gangly limbs wrapped tight around her, her fingers knotted in his untamed hair. His stomach turned.

"What's wrong?" Rose asked.

"How serious were you two?"

She hesitated. "It's … complicated."

"Complicated? What sort of answer is that?" A non answer—that's what it was.

Rose averted her gaze. "Alright fine, we were never technically together. At least, not in the intimate sense. I think he had some sort of unwritten rule about getting involved with his companions."

"What about all that talk about wit over brawn?" He kept a hint of playful accusation in his voice but felt a tiny flicker of hope.

Her cheeks turned bright crimson. "I was talking about screwdrivers."

"No, you were just trying to wind me up and make me jealous. I know exactly what you were referring to, and it wasn't—"

"Thought we were coming up with names."

"You're deflecting."

"Who's deflecting? You're the one with the sudden identity crisis. Deflecting would be me talking about the weather or something." She looked up at the sun still lingering just above the mountain range. "Blimey, how long does it take for the sun to set here anyhow?"

He grinned. "It won't. The planet has a synchronous rotation meaning the sunset, or sunrise depending on how you look at it, is perpetual. Half the planet is barren desert, the other half frozen tundra. The ring around the edge, where we are, contains ninety percent of the flora and fauna."

"Well it's beautiful."

He stared up at the puffy clouds, such a brilliant shade of fiery orange not even the shield could dim them. "And to think, I wanted to—" The words stuck in his throat. "You're right. After I met you, I was scared I was losing myself, but now my path has never been clearer. I have to help people. I have to mend what I've broken, make amends for my past mistakes, and help the universe heal."

He waited for the quip about her being right about his 'crisis', but it never came. Instead, she stared at him with a peculiar expression, her eyes suspiciously glassy.

"What?" he asked.

"You sound like a Doctor to me," she whispered.

"And what about you, Rose Tyler?"

She shifted onto her side and bunched her jacket up under her head. "What about me?"

"Why are you doing all of this? The traveling and the helping people?"

"Guess it's just who I am now. All that time with him changed me."

"And all that parallel travel, is it for the greater good, or are you just trying to get back to that man with a box who swept you off your feet?"

"I'd be doing this regardless." Her voice took on a slight defensive tone. "I've got a family you know, a little brother, cutest thing you ever did see."

Family? He'd spent so much time stewing over the Doctor, he'd never given thought to the possibility that she might have other people in her life. "I don't understand. If you have a family how could you leave them behind when you might not ever see them again?"

"Couldn't very well let the darkness take them now, could I? Sometimes you have to do what's best for those you care about even if that means you can't be with them anymore."

There she went, sounding like the Doctor again, all selfless and sacrificial like a proper disciple. It was a wonder the man didn't call himself the Saint.

"What about you?" she asked. "What made you into Victor?"

He let out a long sigh and thought back. "If I had to pick the start of it, I'd probably say the day the Daleks first came."

"At the start of the time war, you mean?"

He nodded. "It was a perfectly ordinary afternoon like this—a red sky instead of pink, silver leaves instead of gold. I was just a child."

"I remember," she said softly. "I saw in your head. They killed your parents, then you got sent to that awful place. How could your own people do that to you?"

He shrugged. "Orphans were routinely shuffled into military training camps to bolster their numbers. There was no one to miss us, no one to protest us being conditioned into weapons and sent to the front lines. "

Her dark brows pinched together. "What did you do?"

"I endured." He could still see the flashes, smell the acrid stench of smoke and burnt flesh, feel the throbbing in his ears as explosions burst around him. "Survivors with potential were put through the military academy," he went on. "I was one of the lucky few, their star pupil, even pretended to name myself Victor in honor of 'the cause'. After graduation I cut loose, conquering everything in sight until I could strike back at the council for what they did. But the war only got worse. So worse, no lengths became too abhorrent if it meant putting an end to the bloodshed."

"Lemme guess," said Rose, "they asked you for help."

"Can you believe it? They offered me, the worst war criminal in history, a full pardon in exchange for heading their battalion." He stretched himself out and clasped his hands behind his head. "Oh, I gave them spectacular theatrics; defeated the nightmare child, sent the first seven waves of the Dalek fleet crawling back, but control was the end goal. I wanted Gallifrey and the title of supreme ruler. Rassilon however, was no easy target. He went mad and tried to end the war by dissolving everything into energy. I stopped him, but barely. "

Rose frowned. "How?"

"I used a weapon. I didn't want to. I—" Guilt flared in his gut, and he shifted onto his stomach as if to snuff out the sensation. "It was either destroy the planet or let Rassilon destroy everything in his mad scheme. Ultimately my hand was forced, but in the process I became the last, the Time Lord Victorious."

"But your home world," she said, her voice so hushed it was almost a whisper.

He picked at the ochre-colored dirt hiding under the thick turf. "At the time no price was too steep for victory, but if I could go back, perhaps I would have done things differently."

"Musta been hard. And to lose both your parents like that at such a young age, I can't imagine."

A delighted squeal yanked his attention upward and the boy from before hurried past, his bare little feet skipping as he went. "And I would have only continued the cycle if you hadn't come into my life," he said as he watched the child twirl, the sleeves of his white linen tunic billowing in the wind.

Rose moved into a seated position and intertwined her fingers with his. "You never have to be that again."

He caught a whiff of her familiar tangy scent. "Can I ask you something personal?"

Rose bit the edge of her bottom lip. "I 'spose."

"What do you put in your hair? I can't identify the fragrance and it's driving me mad."

"That's your personal question? Strawberry shampoo, you daft alien." She poked him in the side, but he caught her hand, sending her off balance and into the grass.

"Now now, Rose Tyler, you ought to know better than to attempt a surprise attack on the likes of me."

"You tosser!" She pushed herself back up and tickled along his sides. "Rule three, no cheating."

He thrashed, involuntary laughter spilling from his lips.

"Ha," she shouted in triumph. "Totally ticklish. Not so high and mighty now, are you?"

He swept his arm under her and she fell on top of him with an 'oomph'. The sunlight glistened off the flyaway strands of her nearly-dry hair, giving her a divine glow—as though Bad Wolf herself had come to grace him with her company. How could being with her be so much like breathing? So effortless and yet so vital? He was so far gone now.

Or maybe it was those darn telepathic amplifiers.

He instinctively lowered his gaze to her lips and she licked them. His pulse quickened, pounding so hard against his chest she must have noticed, but then her eyes listed as if she suddenly realized something. She slid off him and rolled onto her back.

Time, right. He found her hand and they fell into comfortable silence, watching the slow-passing clouds overhead.

"Victor?" Rose called from beside him.

"Hm?"

"I think it's a sunrise, not a sunset."

He smiled up at the endless pink sky. "Quite right, Rose Tyler. Quite right."