The Doctor's now-blue eyes eased open. It took a second for them to readjust to the TARDIS' lighting. He slowly blinked again and yawned lazily, stretching his arms up over his head with his hands landing on his head as they came back down. His hands rubbed over his scalp, brushing his hand with his bristly hair. Short hair. Very short, actually. He sighed a little. While he really did appreciate differences in regenerations, he would've liked some more hair, some longer hair. He was going to miss that, but accepted that he would just have to live with it.

He sat up, looking around a little before his gaze dropped down to his outfit. It was a dark, black coat that covered his shoulders, partially hiding his white shirt which had a length of a silky material tied elegantly around his neck.

"These have got to go," he murmured as he patted the coat.

He stood and stretched his whole body, rubbing his head again in case he had been mistaken. He really was going to miss all that hair. Walking out of the room and up a short flight of steps, he reached his massive wardrobe. He strode around, ruffling through the sets of clothes in search of just the right outfit. It wasn't all that long before he found what he wanted. His white dress shirt and tie was replaced with a dark red, long-sleeved shirt that was cotton knit, or at least very close to it, with a V style collar. The black suit coat was not replaced. He then put a pair of black slacks, reaching all the way to his shoes. They were fairly loose and comfortable, giving him plenty of room and freedom to move around. Some sturdy, but dressy, boots were chosen to cover his feet. He has always wanted to wear these particular boots, but they had never really suited his fancy enough to do so before. The last touch was a battered leather jacket he found tucked away deep into a forgotten corner of the wardrobe. He admitted, it had seen better days. It was obviously old, with patches of brown poking out here and there, mostly at the seams, but he thought it suited him. He too had seen better days and he too was old.

He was just shrugging on the selected coat when he heard an alarm from the TARDIS ring through the air. Not one for vanity, the Doctor sprinted to the control room of his old ship and jumped for the controls of the TARDIS, completely bypassing his dressing room mirror. There would be plenty of time for that later.

"What is it girl? Are you angry I slept so long?" the Doctor chuckled a little, pulling the flat screen monitor to his. "What's this?"

He saw the pattern of a distress signal flowing over the screen, up and down in rhythmic and hectic waves. He pulled out his sonic screwdriver, pointing it at the screen and pressing the button on the side. The sonic screwdriver whirred and shone blue onto the screen, images as well as words from his home planet flitting across the screen, the Doctor's eyes flitting just as fast. However, both the pictures and his eyes stopped as he let off the button, staring in shock at the screen.

"It's…another TARDIS? But that impossible! It…it can't be! I'm the last one," he ran through the message again, a hand brushing over his head as well. "He escaped it…the war, the destruction…he escaped it," the Doctor's face was beginning to grin a little. "He escaped it because he was trapped!" He suddenly sprang to action, frantically pressing buttons and pulling levers all around the TARDIS console. "If he's still there, then I'm not the only survivor! Oh, fantastic!"

The TARDIS wheezed to life as it began to obey the Doctor's request, running off towards its set destination. However, if the Doctor had stayed at the monitor long enough to read the small remainder of the message, it's likely he never would've responded to the call.

"Help. Stuck on planet 56787, Ninac. Trapped due to illness. Hano Srycal Inek, or the Time Lord Bane. Requesting urgent medical help. Time is short. Please come soon."

* * *

The TARDIS landed in the middle of what obviously had once been a great city. Now, it just lay in ruins, bricks strewn about here and there, large metal rods poking out of destroyed stone walls. A statue in the town square still stood, though it was missing its head as well as an arm and part of a leg. Most glass windows had been blown out and shattered, their remains lying on the ground. Only a small handful of windows were intact. The sky didn't help the mood at all. It was a dark, dull grey, dead or dying, just like the city below, and the threat of rain hung heavily in the air.

The Doctor only needed one step out of the TARDIS to know that he was grateful for his thick boots. Anything less and it was likely his feet would've been ripped to shreds. With dangerous things sticking up out of nowhere, thin shoes wouldn't stand a chance in this environment. The air here was stale, and dead, only a hint of moister giving it any semblance of life. It didn't take the Doctor long to instinctively lock the TARDIS. Although he was sure this was deserted, he knew never to be sure. It was unlikely, but why take an unnecessary, and easily avoidable, chance?

His eyes roved around the desolate place. He wasn't even really sure who or what he came to look for, besides the obvious. Naturally, if he got the signal from a TARDIS, he was looking for a Time Lord, or a TARDIS, but that was the rub. He didn't even know the name of the Time Lord, so he didn't know if he even knew him, and of course, even if he did, he may or may not recognize him because of the possibility of regeneration. From the look of the town, regeneration was a definite probability. He might be able to sense a Time Lord, but he wasn't currently doing anything of the sort. And of course, if this Time Lord's TARDIS was working, it would be almost impossible to spot unless you knew it was there and what it looked like or happened to stumble upon it, and he wasn't about to go walking into everything he thought it might be.

He moved forward a little more, his hand passing over some rock and stone unconsciously. He was more intent on his surroundings than he was on his hand or the ruins he absently used as a handrail. He only jumped a little when a prick of pain shot through his arm. He looked down to find his hand, or the palm of it, was bleeding, only slightly though. It was just a nick right across the top near his fingers, nothing more. Nothing to really worry about. The bleeding would stop soon. But all the same, he pulled his hand away from the ruins, stuffing the uninjured one in his pocket for its protection. He didn't need two injured hands.

"Hello?" he called into nothingness. "Is anyone here?" he heard scuffling come from one of the nearby building. He hoped it wasn't a giant rat. He had encountered that race long ago and knew from experience that those things were mean. "I've come to help. Are you there?"

A hunched figure shuffled out of a ruined building, a different one than the Doctor remembered hearing the scuffling, but then, all the buildings were pretty connected. He wore a cloak over his body with the hood up over his head, casting dark shadows over the majority of his face. He moved cautiously, but when he saw the Doctor, his smile could be seen even through the darkness of his shroud. He rushed over to the Doctor, taking his un-pocketed hand and shaking it roughly, causing the Doctor's face to twitch briefly.

"Thank you! Oh, thank you! I had begun to think no one would come to help me, and I'm ever so weak. I thought I had been forgotten, left here to die! You were the one with the shortest straw sent out to greet me, huh? Where the rest of your crew then?" the man looked around expectantly and then shook his head. "Ah, never mind. Trivial matter, after all. What's your name?"

"I'm the Doctor."

"You're a doctor? Wonderful! Brilliant! Just what I need."

"No, I'm just-" the Doctor drew away when the man had removed his hood.

His face was almost completely covered by what looked like a horribly failed black tattoo, although it was a rash, as the Doctor knew. If that wasn't enough indication that the man was sick, his eyes would've given him away. Even though his pupils were untouched, still deep black, the rest of his eyes were solid white with only a thin line distinguishing where the color of his eyes, brown, the Doctor guessed, had once been.

"The Time Lord Bane," the Doctor hissed. "You're infected."

"Yes, that's the whole reason I got trapped here. I was infected before the war, but during, it advanced so much that I couldn't travel anymore. And of course, my TARDIS fell into ruin. It was attacked brutally. I've been transmitting my distress signal from it forever it seems. That's about all it can do anymore. But it's okay now, that doesn't matter, because you're here and you have the cure, right?"

"I'm not a doctor, I'm the Doctor. That's my name. And I'm afraid there's no chance of a fix for you. We're the only ones left, you and I. Gallifrey is gone, and the others went with it, and with them, your cure."

The man's eyes narrowed. "The Doctor? Not the same one that deserted us and ran away?" The Doctor's eyes darted away. "You? The deserter? That's who I'm rescued by?! The coward?! You're the one that fate allowed to survive?! How disgraceful! You didn't even fight! How dare you! How dare you be the only one to survive!"

"If you were trapped here, how do you know all that?"
"My TARDIS still receives transmissions. I may not have been there personally, but I knew full well what was happening, and I know that you are a cowardly absconder!"

"You watch your mouth!" the Doctor shook a stern finger at the other. "I fought. I fought, just like the rest. Just like everyone else! I paid my time! And then I did what I had to. I thought I was doing the right thing."

"Well, we see how that turned out, don't we?"

"I did what I had to. I did what was needed to survive."

"You betrayed us! Betrayed your own people, your own flesh and blood!"

"I thought it was important! I thought I was doing good! Those were my intentions! The war had drug on long enough!"

"Well, it obviously wasn't good! Was it? It didn't turn out like you thought, did it? So much for your good intentions!"

The Doctor just glared.

The man drew himself closer to the Doctor so he could growl straight into the Doctor's face. "Do you know what my biggest regret is?" The Doctor snarled menacingly in response. "It's that I won't be around to see your last days. I won't be able to watch you die, but he will."

"Who will?"

"Him."

"Who is he? Who are you talking about?"

"My master. And your master."

"Shut up, you're mad. There's no one else."

"But he is still alive, and he will see your end. He will see you die."

"I'm not going to die, not any time soon."

"Oh, how naïve we are. You will die, very soon. I know this for a fact."

"Silence! You're a raving madman. You don't know what you're saying."

"I do, I know this, for you see, you've been infected as well, just like me."

"I wasn't."

"You were, the second I shook your hand."

"Simply shaking hands won't infect another."

"But you have an open wound on your hand," the man pointed to the Doctor's cut hand, causing the Doctor to look at it as well. "I didn't know that when I shook it, but how perfect it turned out."

"Why would you do that? Why would you infect me?"

The man laughed. "Well, you see, I didn't know you were a Time Lord at the time, and I also didn't see your wound. I assumed you were simply a time traveler sent by Gallifrey, or at the very least, a crew member of a TARDIS crew. I had no idea you would be infected, but how perfect is it that you were! Finally, you get your just desserts!" Still laughing, he pulled right next to the Doctor's ear so he could whisper in a harsh rasp. "I'll meet you in Hell."

Still laughing manically, he fell back onto the dirty, gritty ground. His laughs quickly transformed into coughs and then gasps for breath before he closed his eyes for the last time and fell still.

The Doctor's eyes stared at the corpse lying in front of him. His mind was blank, wiped with shock. It was a mere second longer before the flood of thoughts hit him.

He shakily started stepping backwards, but his eyes stayed firmly on the man before him, unable to look away despite his best efforts. It wasn't because it was a dead body; he had seen plenty of those. It was that the man had been a raving lunatic as well as the last survivor, other than the Doctor. He was alone, utterly and completely alone. He was the last now, the last for certain. The last of his kind had just died in front of him, and it was so quiet where he stood that he could hear the beats of his double hearts pounding in his ears. He was nearly convinced that if there had been anyone else around, they could've heard them too.

He was still backing away until his foot hit a weak rock which slipped, sending him down onto the ground and causing him to sit roughly. He didn't get up. He just sat there, breathing heavily as his mind raced and little pin-prick water drops began to fall.

He slowly brought his hands up to examine them as the rain began to fall harder. They looked normal despite being the gateway to infection, save the small cut on one. He wasn't infected, he couldn't be. He couldn't believe it. Still, as he sat there, he could've sworn he felt the beginning of a rash, an irritation, down on his back near his waist.