for theatrical_muse: Time

There's a hall. Like any other hall, any other area, anywhere in London. This hall, however, is attached to a very secret, very powerful organization known as Torchwood. Revamped, run by Pete Tyler. The Doctor knows this, which is why he knows that parking the TARDIS right in the middle of the front room won't be too much of a problem.

He all but leaps out the door, rushing up to the wiry, elderly gentleman at the reception desk.

"Hello, I'm looking for Rose Tyler!" he says, "I need to find her, where's her office? I don't have much time."

It was a conversation with Donna—of all people—that inspired this trip. Crossing his own timeline, breaking a few of the rules. To go back to when he had just the slightest slip of breach open and use his own TARDIS's power to slide through. Five minutes? Maybe less? Maybe a little more? No time.

The elderly man stands, looking more than a little shocked, "Your box just appeared there!"

"Yes, yes, you're very perceptive, I need to find Rose Tyler. Right now, where is she?"

"That's a police box, those haven't been around since the 1950's, I remember seeing them."

"Did I mention my lack of time?" The Doctor appears to be close to either strangling the elderly man, or leaping across his desk to his computer. "I've opened a breach in time, I don't have much of it left, I just need to find Rose Tyler, take her into my box that you haven't seen since the 50's, and disappear again."

"Rose Tyler." The man speaks with melodic, almost confused tones. Bloody stupid humans. They don't understand the concept of no time.

"Yes, yes, Rose Tyler. Works in this department, I need to see her right away."

"She's gone, sir."

In a voice that sounds suspiciously like Donna, the Doctor barks, "Gone where?!"

The man takes a breath, "I'm terribly sorry, sir. Miss Tyler...Miss Tyler was on a mission to collect half-formed Cybermen about three weeks ago in the southern part of Cardiff. Some of them were not as docile as we believed."

The Doctor steps back, realization dawning on his face. His hearts burning. Aching. No. He could remember his words to Donna, such a short time ago: She is so very, very alive.

"She's dead, sir. I'm terribly sorry."

He can feel his head nod. No time. Five minutes is all he has, there is no way he can go back to Cardiff and save her in time. No time. Everything stings and hurts and he pushes it down but it doesn't make it better because she's gone and now it's permanent.

"Are you the Doctor?" the elderly man asks, his voice curious as he speaks.

It takes him a moment to realize he does have an answer. "Yes," he croaks, "Yes, I'm the Doctor."

The elderly man smiles, and it looks almost grotesque on his face (but that could simply be because he hurts so much), "She spoke of you often."

"Yes." He turns. No time. Too late. The door to the box closes. He disappears. It's over. The vworp, vworp of the TARDIS as it makes its leave, and there's nothing else.

Clomp, clomp. The sounds of someone running towards that sound. A blonde, aged a few years, looking wide-eyed and more than a little expectant.

"Miss Tyler," the receptionist smiles at her, "You're back from that reconnaissance early. Shall I fix you a cup of tea?"

"Did you hear that?" she barks, "That engine? I heard an engine, right here."

"I didn't hear anything," the receptionist says, "But you could be hearing the air conditioning, it is on the fritz again, though they tell me that they're going to fix it..."

"It didn't sound like the air conditioning, it sounded like---" She shakes her head, "Nothing. It...must've...it must've been my imagination. Forget it."

"Shall I fix you that tea?"

"Thanks, Mr. Manger. That'd be great."

Muse: The Doctor (Ten)
Fandom: Doctor Who
Word Count: 664

RP for vote4nathan

After this.

"Behave!" The Doctor slammed his fist against the console, and the rickety machine finally settled down its racket, twisting the correct way down the Time Vortex, towards New York, 2007.

Nathan Petrelli's campaign headquarters? He could settle somewhere around there. That would be good, be easy for the other man to find the ship and also get him back without much of a question as to where he'd gone.

He materialized the TARDIS in the alley next to the campaign headquarters and grinned. Perfect landing. Smooth, without fault.

Beep. Beep.

Well, almost no fault.

Time disruption on this planet? Time being folded in on itself? No, that must've just been a computer error. The Doctor shrugged on his coat and stepped out, heading for the front door of the campaign office with a lopsided grin on his face.

RP for ailinn_aislinn, <lj site="livejournal.com" user="the_corsa

Eternity.

The endless wastes of Eternity.

The plane on which the Eternals rested sat just at the edge of existence, so close to the void one could hear the rippling of time (thus, why the Eternals called it "the Howling").

To call the journey long would be quite an understatement, and despite the Doctor's desire to further explore the beacon that blinked off and on, there were more important matters, mostly Aislinn's health.

He worried for her, and he worried a bit for Byron, as well. What kind of bargain was creative energy for a soul? How could he blame Aislinn for that, either?

He had done it before. The Racnoss are born starving, is that our fault?

He believed it was. But that creature had no mercy, Aislinn did. She gave them...a choice.

Carrying two cups of tea back into the console room, he took a bit of a breath, handing one to her.

"Long trip, I'm afraid, 'nother twenty or thirty minutes we should be nearing the edge of the Eternals' home."