REVELATIONS
SEVENTEEN
As The Doctor slowly came to he kept his eyes closed and pressed his face into the cool, hard floor.
The habitual post-unconsciousness stocktaking resumed.
Certainly the purpose of the 'sessions' could not be their persistently inevitable outcome. If it was, he doubted he would survive many more of them. With each occurrence he lost more of himself, it became harder to revive intact, more painful to not cease to be. Surely the creature had to realize this?
'The creature,' The Doctor reflected. It was not the way he normally thought of other entities. He had always prided himself on his open-mindedness and acceptance of all lifeforms. An amalgam of nightmares, the jailer appalled him. Standing there, naked, both literally and figuratively, there seemed to be nothing he could do to counter his inescapable reaction to its presence.
Regeneration would not help him, although without the TARDIS it would be extremely difficult if not impossible. For the first time in his existence he wanted to die. Was this despair part of an inexorable descent into madness, or was it his rational reaction to a ghastly and wretched situation?
He closed his eyes more tightly, trying to stop the tears. "Rose," he cried softly, "Rose…" He imagined her soft, smooth hands on his body, quieting and calming him. "Susan… Sarah Jane… Tegan… Nyssa… Leela… Romana…" He slowly named them all, remembering each of his companions tenderly, seeking to somehow obtain a small amount of comfort as they moved single-file through his mind.
But comfort seemed to be a scarce commodity.
"Rose," he repeated, more softly than before. "Where are you?"