Hello, peoples.

Yeah, I'm still alive. Shocker, huh?

I've been sooooooooooooo busy, I hope you all will find it in your hearts to forgive me. I swear I will be getting more writing done; I have a Twelve Days of Christmas prompt thingy that I'm planning on doing for this story. After that, I'll start working on prompts that all you lovely writers have given me. I know I have a slew of 'em, and they will get written. Cross my hearts.

God bless and have a Merry Christmas!

ThePro-LifeCatholic

Writing Prompt #7: (Roll the Dice Again)

Characters: Sarah Jane Smith, Tenth Doctor, Trickster, mentions of Donna, Martha, and Rose

Shippings: none

Genre: Hurt/Comfort/Friendship/Suspense

Rating: K, K+

Note: This is my take on the Doctor's point of view during The Wedding of Sarah Jane Part I. You can look up both parts of The Wedding of Sarah Jane on daily motion (one word). It's free, and you don't have to worry about setting up an account beforehand, which is great.

Disclaimer: I don't own Doctor Who, nor do I own The Sarah Jane Adventures. I just think that the Trickster is a cool villain.

Red trainers echo in an empty room; blue suit is creased and wrinkled because its wearer refused to stay in one place for longer than half a minute. The hum of the ship is the only sound in the room, its one occupant is being uncharacteristically quiet as he frowned over a mess of wires spread out on the floor. Silence reigned in the ship, because he saw no point in talking when no one was there to answer.

"Bye, Doctor," Martha had said. His amazing, brilliant, strong Martha Jones; and like all the others before her, she had stepped out those doors and started her own life without him. How different her ending had been compared to Rose's and Donna's. Both of them had been abandoned, in a sense, by none other than himself. Time continued to tick, clocks sped past, and people went with them, leaving him floundering in his immortality.

Hadn't he been right in deciding that he didn't need anyone? Donna had made him reconsider this position, but Martha's departure had only cemented it. Astrid's sad end had followed immediately afterwards, and he had been adamant about no companions. Him later finding Donna again during the Adipose episode, however had sparked his hope. Maybe he could take someone with him; maybe he could try again. And now here he was, alone. Donna Noble was happy and safe on Earth, completely unaware of the adventures she and the Doctor had been on together. Never would she be able to remember the running, the life-and-death, the hysterical joys or heart-wrenching sorrows that had plagued their every escapade, because if she did…

The Doctor blocked this thought passage, sitting back and rubbing a hand across his eyes. Sniffing loudly, he stood up, cracking his back and wiggling his toes, which had fallen asleep in his shoes. He spun the console's screen towards himself, peering at the Gallifreyan symbols that spun on its surface.

"How 'bout a trip, eh Old Girl?" he inquired, fondly patting the clear cylinder in the center of the console. "No point mucking about, is there?" The TARDIS' humming response was more than enough for him, and the Doctor set the controls for Earth. It was one of his favorite destinations, and even though he wasn't planning on finding a new companion or doing any planet-saving, it was a nice place just to visit.

The TARDIS spun into the vortex, filling the room with the wheezing groaning that the Doctor had learned to love after so many years. Bumps and jostles shook the interior, smoothing out only when the engine's groan died away. The Doctor raced to the wooden doors, flinging them open…and nearly falling into the abyss of space.

He clung to the doorframe, staring into deep blue dotted with white pinpricks of light. Beneath him was the Milky Way Galaxy, nine planets swirling around a bright yellow sun. Frowning, the Doctor glanced over his shoulder.

"Why aren't we on the planet itself?" he asked his ship. When he got no response, he turned to the scene outside and noticed Earth. It was positioned directly underneath the TARDIS, but it was hardly recognizable. His beautiful planet, the thing that was closest to being a home for the wandering Time Lord, was barely more than a smoking piece of rock. Sections of the planet had been ripped away, its missing pieces scattered who-knows-where. Smoking craters stippled its surface, large enough to be seen from the TARDIS.

The Doctor stumbled back into the TARDIS, his mind numb and reeling with shocked disbelief. He grappled to come to terms with the future state of Earth, and then time sense kicked in. A wave of scrambled timelines hit him harder than shock or nausea, knotting his gut and punching him in the stomach. Gasping for breath, the Doctor slid to the floor, clutching his head. The Great and Bountiful Human Race, New Earth, the Year that Never Was, Satellite Five, Davros' conquest of Earth and the destruction of reality; time streams tangled and unstrung themselves, unraveling the crucial moments that bound the universe together. But amid the sickening snarls, new details burst into the stream, leading to a single point that he could sense but couldn't place. As quickly as he had fallen, the Doctor scrambled up again. He yanked off his trenchcoat and flung it onto the nearest column before turning his attention to the console controls. With confidence (and a slap-dash of desperation) he flicked a few switches. If he could get to the surface, he figured, then he could get an insider's look at the situation.

The engines wheezed to life, and the Doctor allowed his tense form to relax for a moment. Next thing he knew, he was gripping the banister for dear life as violent tremors rippled through the TARDIS. The comforting moan of the inner workings faltered, turning into a pathetic cough that died into eerie silence. Hand over hand, the Doctor made his way to the controls. Throwing himself onto the console, he frantically stabbed at the nearest dials, piloting the ship away from the Earth. Amid the creaking and groaning, the TARDIS engines came back to life. As the quakes smoothed out, the Doctor slid to the ground, his hearts thrumming in his ears. Then he was up and looking at the screen, trying to pinpoint what, exactly, had kept him from landing.

"Something…" he muttered to empty air, "…Something, somewhere…has been expecting this…AHA!" He stepped back, jabbing his finger emphatically at the screen. "There you are!" he shouted, bending over and placing his glasses on his nose. "Now…let's find the source!" He piloted the TARDIS into the Time Vortex, tracing the origin of the…whatever-it-was that had kept him from getting to Earth. He knew he couldn't land on the planet itself (not right now, anyway), but if he stayed parallel to its time period, following Earth's timeline from the sideline, then maybe, just maybe, he could still track down the source. Speaking of which…

The Doctor examined the spinning symbols on the screen in front of him, tongue resting against his top teeth. Suddenly he leaned forward, knuckles going white as his hold on the console tightened. He knew these readings. He'd seen them before.

His mind flashed back through the months, reviving memories of him comforting Donna after she had fallen prey to the Time Beetle and its disturbing abilities. He turned to earlier thoughts, ones that included a young woman with blond hair and an infectious smile, along with an alien who called itself "Abzorbaloff". And again, when a Graske managed to slip its way into the BBC Proms – with the Doctor being his brilliant self and saving the day in the end – all of these seemingly unconnected adventures had one crucial similarity.

"The Trickster's Brigade," the Doctor muttered, pulling at his chine with one free hand. Of the little he knew about the Trickster – mostly stories from Gallifrey – it was nothing good. Apparently, the Trickster was affiliated with the so-called "Pantheon of Discord", and the "god of Randomness" (as he liked to be called) was a powerful being with abilities that could only be described as supernatural. He had heard the tales of the Trickster, and had even crossed paths with some of his assistants…or perhaps, more accurately, servants. But the unknown foe with mysterious capabilities and elusive goals…the Trickster himself…he had been nothing more than a whispered name until this moment.

And so the Doctor followed the source, watching it grow stronger as he neared the point in time and space where the celestial creature was situated. More than anything else, he kept his eyes peeled for a sudden drop in chaos. Based on the legends, the Trickster was a being that thrived on disorder; it gorged on disharmony and strove to create discord wherever he went.

Trembling fingers twitched on the controls; every muscle was strained, and every nerve was tense as the TARDIS came closer, closer…and suddenly he was right on top of it.

The Doctor raced around the console, flipping switches and spinning dials frantically. The TARDIS engines groaned and coughed as the ship narrowly missed colliding with the protective shield which the Trickster had set up around the present day. The Doctor went to the front doors, pulling them open and staring down at the Earth. It spun on its course in one whole piece. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, and the Doctor could sense that nothing had happened to time…yet.

He bounced back to the console and reviewed the information that the screen displayed.

"Now," he mused, "what's going on today that the Trickster, of all things, could be so interested in that I'm not even allowed to land on the planet?" He paused, brows furrowed and his forehead wrinkling up as he pondered. Then he shook his head. "Need to narrow it down," he muttered to empty air. "I'm close, but not close enough. Who, or what, are you targeting? Specifically?" With a sigh, the Doctor collapsed onto the white couch next to the console, letting the TARDIS pinpoint an exact person. He ran a hand through his thick, brown hair, causing it to stick up more wildly than before.

A sudden beeping from the console caught his attention, and the Time Lord launched himself forward, practically falling on top of the console screen. He took a quick look at the newest readings, and felt his whole body go numb. A chill passed over him, and his throat became dry. The Doctor blinked rapidly several times, trying to process the blurred symbols that spun in front of his closed eyes.

"Sarah…" he croaked through parched lips. Quickly, almost fiercely, he rubbed his face vigorously with both hands. No good in breaking down, was there? Not when one of his most beloved friends was in serious danger. With these harsh thoughts and more, he forced himself to steady his breathing, to see clearly again.

"I swear, Sarah Jane, I will save you!" he gritted through clenched teeth. He grabbed the nearest controls, pushing his ship backwards through time. Back to when Sarah was still dating, not yet married. He saw that he was directly above her house. It was such an ordinary-looking house, situated in such a normal neighborhood. People passed by beneath him, completely unaware that the world they knew was teetering on the brink of destruction. But when he tried to land, hoping that the Trickster's blockade would be weaker the further away from the wedding he was, the TARDIS moaned in agony, coughing and wheezing in a way that reminded the Doctor of the Millennium Falcon. The Doctor pulled his ship away, not wanting her to suffer any permanent damage in the hands of the Trickster.

"Alright, then," he seethed. "Forward. Again!" He sent his ship spinning forwards into the next couple days. Every time he tried to break through, though, the Trickster barricaded his entrance. Time and again, the TARDIS' engines spiraled into silence, and the Doctor was forced back into the Vortex. And time continued to tick by on Earth, nearing the dreaded day when everything went wrong; the day Sarah Jane Smith was to become Mrs. Dalton.

After another failed attempt, the Doctor lashed out at the TARDIS in pent-up rage. Grabbing the mallet, he slammed it down on top of the console controls. The ship lurched, a disconcerting buzz sounding as she reacted to the hard strike. The Time Lord slumped to the ground, abusing his head of hair aggressively, his breaths coming in short, hot gasps.

"I can't!" he moaned, clenching and opening tight fists. "Sarah Jane…I can't save her…I…I don't know how!" The rush of anger was crushed by the dizzying weight of utter hopelessness. Here and now he would be defeated again. Like Rose, like Martha, like Donna…and now it was Sarah Jane's turn. Her turn to see him falter and fail to catch her. A new day would dawn; the day of the wedding was the beginning of a new Earth. The planet of the Trickster, an anarchy of unbridled chaos would be manifested, and all of it hinged on a wedding that he couldn't stop.

As if of their own accord, without need of his permission, the wheels of the Doctor's mind began to turn. As these thoughts ran their course, a final desperate plan formulated and presented itself. It was a bold idea, concocted out of the haphazard combination of white fury and frenzied despondency and had little chance of success. But the brief spark of hope that it planted was more than enough for the Doctor.

Scrambling to his feet, he threw the mallet to the side and patted the clear cylinder with a gentle touch.

"Sorry 'bout that," he murmured. The TARDIS hummed softly in response, and he allowed a smile to pull at the corners of his mouth. Then he turned his attention to the console, setting the date for the day of the wedding itself. This was the do-or-die moment, the point of no return. Maybe, just maybe, on the day itself, the Trickster would be feeding so much energy into the moment of the wedding that other points in time wouldn't be as strongly blockaded. It was this hope that the Doctor clung to like a lifeline. He guided the TARDIS towards Earth, out of the Vortex. However, the ship was met with resistance, and he was forced to abort his entrance.

"Come on!" he growled. "Again! You can do it, Old Girl. I know you can!"

Today wouldn't be a day of defeat. Like Rose, like Martha, like Donna; too many times had he come so close, only to lose everything. A burning, ambitious denial fueled the Doctor. He tightened his hands on the controls of his ship, feeling time crawl by in the world outside. Closer to the wedding he came, closer…

Suddenly he burst into action. Racing around the console, he cranked levers, spun dials, and slammed down on buttons. The TARDIS coughed as it collided with the obstacles which the Trickster had put up. But the Doctor wasn't going to stand down. Somewhere in the building, in that very moment, Sarah Jane Smith was dressed in white and was processing down a petal-strewn aisle.

"Come on!" he shouted, keeping his hands steady on the controls. His ship shrieked in protest; the sound ground against the Doctor's ears painfully.

"You can do it," he assured her, eyes fixed on the screen. "Just a little bit more. I know you can!"

Then the grinding groans smoothed out. A familiar wheezing replaced the shuddering coughs, and the Doctor's face lit up. The music of the TARDIS engines filled the room, and the Doctor laughed out loud. A few final tremors shook the ship, then everything went still. For a moment, the Doctor stood motionless, his tense form shaking, a broad smile plastered to his face. Then he snapped back to the present. With wide strides, he ran down the metal ramp, snagging his trenchcoat and flinging wide the blue doors.

He was standing inside the building that the wedding was to take place in. There was no one in the room with him, so he dashed up the stairs, three at a time. It was too easy to pinpoint the Trickster's location now; the crackling energy around him was so tangible that he was surprised he couldn't see or feel it.

Down a white-walled hallway he sprinted. Somewhere, the Trickster must've gotten wind of the Doctor's successful appearance, because he could feel a growing force pulling back on him. The Doctor forced himself forward, red high-tops slapping hard against the carpet. Even as the resistance mounted to a point where every breath and movement was pain, he pushed himself on. The air was sucked from his chest; his body was numb and hurting and his head pounded.

He wasn't exactly sure how he managed to reach the end of the hallway, but suddenly he was the door. Without stopping for breath the Doctor shoved against the wooden doors, the final thing that stood between him and his Sarah Jane. They flew open easily, and the Doctor leaped into the room, coat flapping out behind him like a cape. He skidded to a halt, taking in the scene before him with wide brown eyes.

"Stop this wedding," he yelled at the stunned audience, "NOW!"

Ooooooooooooh my gosh. This was so long.