This is the hardest story that I've ever told
No hope, or love, or glory
Happy endings gone forever more
I feel as if I'm wasted
And I'm wastin' every day

This is the way you left me,
I'm not pretending.
No hope, no love, no glory,
No Happy Ending.
This is the way that we love,
Like it's forever.
Then live the rest of our life,
But not together.

"Who buries him?"

"That's a rather morbid question."

"Think about where we are, Doctor."

It's the Doctor that throws him. Not Stringbean or Sugarpuff or whatever ridiculous nickname she's conjured up. It's not a common thing for her, but today isn't a common day.

"A captain named Jean-Luc Picard. Fairly famous in his own right. It's all written down in the history books, I can find them for you if you want," he says.

"No thank you." She tugs her sweater around her shoulders and looks back to the TARDIS. "Can't we go back? See him again? Just once."

"You know we can't."

"Please, just to see---"

"Dorothy, I'm sorry." He puts a hand to her shoulder. He wants to be comforting but even now, even after he's been with her for over a century, he doesn't know how.

She turns and leans into his chest, but doesn't cry. He wraps his arms around her. Two immortals going through life is one thing, but when they make a mortal friend, it's another. He wanted to go back, of course, back to his own ship. And who wouldn't? The Doctor understood the appeal. And he was a good man.


Everything is in the past tense in his mind, now. It should be in the present. He should always think of people and things happening at once. He's stopped that, and he can only believe it's because of the people he travels with. They don't think on the same timeline.

They visited.

He aged.

They visited again. And again. Sometimes their meetings were very far apart, sometimes there were only days in between.

They don't feel the years. He does.

And now they're here.

James T. Kirk
2233 – 2293(2371)

It's a plain grave on a small, rocky planet.

"The end of one journey," he says. He breaks away from Dorothy's embrace to place some Xuxxuxian Firelilies next to the plaque. It will take sixty years for the cut flowers to wither. Not unlike Jim.

"I think I'm ready to go home," she says.

He looks up at her. "Home?" he asks.


Muse: The Doctor (Ten)
Fandom: Doctor Who
Word Count: 352
Based on RP with [ profile] galeforcehero and [ profile] willrevile
"You've visited here before, haven't you?"

"Hmm? Yes."

"The Prime Minister's wife?"


"Never thought she wanted to see you, though. Hard to tell with her. And then she had the accident..."

"Where else do I need to sign?"

"Here. And there. Things were different back then, weren't they? Before all these aliens showed up. I mean, there were aliens before, but I didn't realize how many."

No one really had, even after the Dalek invasions in 2010, the planets in the sky, and all of the other strange things that should've been obvious to everyone. As the nurse led the way down the dark hallway, she continued rambling on about alien invasions and the missing children of London. He'd stopped listening pretty much from the moment she started talking to him.

London had changed. He used to think he could take a holiday from Earth, leave the world in the very safe hands of a Cardiff team up north and a small group of investigators off of Bannerman road. It was very like having a large, extended family.

It was. But now that capable team in Cardiff was gone and the very capable investigators of Bannerman road were reduced to one. Cut for spoilers to SJA 3.04 'The Mad Woman In The Attic'. )

Muse: The Doctor (Ten)
Fandom: Doctor Who / The Sarah Jane Adventures
Word Count: 1,957


The Psychiatrist: Women. You get to talk about women.
Thomas Crown: Oh, I enjoy women.
The Psychiatrist: Enjoyment isn't intimacy.
Thomas Crown: And intimacy isn't necessarily enjoyment.
The Psychiatrist: How would you know? Has it occurred to you that you have a problem with trust?
Thomas Crown: I trust myself implicitly.
The Psychiatrist: But can other people trust you?
Thomas Crown: Oh, you mean society at large?
The Psychiatrist: I mean women, Mr.Crown.
Thomas Crown: Yes, a woman could trust me.
The Psychiatrist: Good. Under what extraordinary circumstances would you allow that to happen?
Thomas Crown: A woman could trust me as long as her interests didn't run too contrary to my own.
- The Thomas Crown Affair


He loved her, once.

He remembers the emotion, even if he no longer possesses the ability to feel the emotion. He remembers long nights and deep sadness and companionship and other ridiculous sensations such as those and he remembers her warmth. He remembers her comfort.

It's funny, but even as he walks down the darkened street towards her (where he left her oh, so long ago), he feels a strange pang. A longing for the comforts of home. Were he the sort to indulge in such ridiculousness, he might even term it as homesickness. But he is not that sort of a man.

He hasn't been that sort of a man in a very, very long time. Cut for sexual innuendo, non-consent, disturbing imagery, and character death. )

Muse: The Doctor (The Valeyard)
Fandom: Doctor Who
Word Count: 1,604
Partner: The TARDIS (canon)
written for the evil [ profile] brigadiertardis, special thanks to [ profile] salvagestime for the beta!

I had a dream which was not all a dream.

He wasn't sure what that meant, but as he woke from a dream the phrase rolled around in his mind. He vaguely thought that someone that wasn't him thought that thought, or spoke those words. He couldn't quite remember who that would be, maybe a book or a film or a friend. It really didn't matter though, did it? Just a phrase that someone said once, he didn't need to know anything more than that.

A dream stuck out though, more than anything he really could remember. It was just a dream though, and nothing really worth dwelling on either. Dreams come and dissipate because that's the way they work. It was something he knew, though he couldn't tell you why he knew it. He also knew that he should get up and find the kitchen, and he thought he liked coffee, black with extra sugar. He couldn't say if he liked that since forever, but it felt like he did.

There was another feeling as well, a feeling outside of his mind and his body and surrounding him in a way that felt familiar, but couldn't possibly be right. It felt like the walls around him were somehow sad, in a quiet way he couldn't quite figure out. A strange thing though, sadness in the walls. It was strange enough that it could be pushed aside to the corner of his mind where useless notions were sent.

And men forgot their passions in the dread of this their desolation. )

Muse: The Doctor (Ten)
Fandom: Doctor Who
Word Count: 5,476
Concept by and co-authored with the unbelievably brilliant [ profile] handysparehand
There's nothing of him left inside me. Nothing. You see, I killed them all. Just as I went back and wiped out the Time Lords, Daleks, Cybermen, Sontarans, the whole lot of them. I traveled back in time to prevent my past selves from making mistakes. I tried to show them how they were passing up the opportunity to attain real power. But each one of those fools preferred their own self-consciously noble, ultimately unsatisfying lifestyles. All of them argued with me, tried to thwart my plans. So I erased them, took them out of existence.

It is London. 24 March 2007. I am at once my current age, somewhere around 2,890, and at equal times my tenth self at around 1,207 (though I believe I was still vain enough in my youth to believe that I should lie about my age). Oh, how foolish and immature I was.

"I didn't think you'd show your face here," my younger self, the one who still calls himself the Doctor, says.

My reply is simple. "I didn't think you'd recognize me. Neural memories, of course. Ripping out through the cosmos. My cosmos."

"How did you get here?" Oh, how impudent I was. How forceful, full of self-importance and valor. Oh, valor. Pity I never realized that caution is the better part of that "noble" trait.

"I hold the fabric of every reality. Every core of every computational moment in the whole of creation from its beginning to its end. I lived through your life once, before I went back and prevented it." What a complicated few years it has been. Since defeating my sixth self, I've had such a time taking care of the universe, finding the weapons I worked so hard to hide in my naieve youth. And now, finding myself again.

"Prevented it?" the Doctor, the one in the brown suit, looks horrified. "How could you...why would you do that?"

'Because, Doctor. I can.' Cut for very mild spoilers to 4.14, 'The Planet of the Dead'. )

Muse: The Doctor (Ten)
Fandom: Doctor Who
Word Count: 1,980, not including text from Doctor Who Unbound: He Jests At Scars
Special thanks to [ profile] salvagestime for the inspiration and beta!
"No star is ever lost we once have seen,
We always may be what we might have been." - Adelaide Proctor

He can't save all of them.

As he stands in the darkened home, the sounds of Christmas outside and the quiet slumber of his former companion inside, he's only reminded of that fact. And it is a fact. As real and unchangeable as Jack Harkness. The Doctor can't save all of his companions.

"Jamie never spoke on ya," says the elderly woman introduced to the Doctor and Donna as Jamie's sister. "Oh, he always had fantastic dreams about travelin', but ne'er said nothin' 'bout a Doctor."

'He wouldn't remember me,' the Doctor says, quietly. )

Muse: The Doctor (Ten)
Fandom: Doctor Who
Word Count: 1,444
Special thanks to [ profile] goldented for the beta and for [ profile] craeg_an_tuire for suggestions in this thread that lead to this story!
Dare to reach out your hand into the darkness, to pull another hand into the light. ~Norman B. Rice

Follows this.


This house had to have belonged to a madman at some point. Now it belongs to the Master and that’s really just as bad. Built like a maze and 3/4ths of the doors are locked. Whenever he gets to a door and he’s sure there’s someone behind it, the Master’s voice over the intercom will remind him that there are two dozen other rooms and only one timer.

And doors are much harder to open without a sonic screwdriver. Cut for disturbing imagery and character death. )

Muse: The Doctor (Ten)
Fandom: Doctor Who
Word Count: 1,907
Companion to this amazing story by [ profile] brigadiertardis.

Everybody knows that everybody dies.

Everybody except you.

You've seen them come and you've seen them go. Your companions, your lovers, your family. They move on or they get old and they die and you find a place deep inside your time ship to hide and just remind yourself that it's out there and you're safe within the TARDIS's walls.

You're never truly alone as long as you have her. )

Muse: The Doctor (Ten)
Fandom: Doctor Who
Word Count: 1,111
Inspired by this photo prompt.
A companion piece to the amazing [ profile] handysparehand.

You see strings of time and possibility passing through your mind’s eye. The moving, swirling worlds of might haves and would nots, the other realms of possibility.

You see a world where you kept the duplicate You. )

Muse: The Doctor (Ten)
Fandom: Doctor Who
Word Count: 2,339
Based on this thread.

Death is terrifying.

Mortality is terrifying.

Mortality and death have never touched the Doctor.

Not even when the slow path became his path.

Sure, everyone knows that everyone dies, but he's got time.

Always time.

He's always been a bit of a daredevil.

A troublemaker.

Troublemakers die early, they say.

Eh, probably, he figured.

He never thought it would happen to him.

And then the world ends.

And he runs.

Because that's what he does, he runs.

Then his ankle falters.

He falls.

They catch up.

How did three of them catch up so quickly?

Everybody knows that everybody dies. Nobody knows it better than the Doctor.

He's seen so many die.

So many ripped from the timeline; dead under his watch.

Just never him.

He's never been the one to be afraid.

If he gets hurt, he'll just regenerate.

Not this time.


The pain is excruciating and sharp and every ounce of knowledge and life and everything that's him and he knows and he's been all 900 years they're all pulled through every pore and every cell shriveled and burning and bloated and twisted and he's drained drained drained dry it hurts oh, fuck it hurts and it hurts and it's---

They're all right, aren't they?

There were only three Daleks in the house.

The rest of his companions got away.

Reinette got away.



He can live with that. Die with that.

Everybody knows that everybody dies.

It's the Doctor's turn.

Muse: The Doctor (Ten)(AU)
Fandom: Doctor Who
Word Count: 233
Based on roleplay in [ profile] relativespace
It's all a game to him.

This sick, twisted, disgusting idea is all a bloody game.

It's not often that they take a shuttle down to Earth. Not after the last time, where the Doctor broke his own wrist to wriggle out of his handcuffs and run through the crowd, trying to make it to safety. Make it to the resistance, make it to Martha, make it to anyone.

He actually got a few blocks before he realized that by leaving the Master behind he was only dooming him. And, really, no matter how much he hated what the Master was doing to Earth, he couldn't just leave him to die. He went back on his own accord. Martha would probably be disgusted.

And so his youthful body (which the Master had "privileged" him with after a few months of good behavior) is gone again and he is an old, brittle man. It is easier this way. He is made to be helpless instead of willingly remaining so. It becomes routine.

So, when he wakes up to a strong back and wrinkle-free hands in the attic of a building he knows isn't on the Valiant, he's disoriented. He gets to his feet and looks around. The attic is expansive, probably covering the entire length of the house. Well, mansion. Wherever he is. The walls are lined with torture devices that would've been scarier a few months ago, and at the other end of the attic is an iron maiden.

His lips twitch into a smirk and he wonders, briefly, if it might be the Master's TARDIS again. Of course, if the Master had a TARDIS he wouldn't' feel his own crying out in compressed agony from holding up a paradox.

But it's all a game to him.

As the Doctor approaches, he sees attached to the maiden is an led clock display.




"It took you very nearly ten minutes to wake up, did you know that?"

The Doctor nearly leaps out of his skin at the sudden blaring from an old-fashioned intercom. The Master sounds positively delighted and that only sends a frightened chill up the Doctor's spine.

"Would've been easier to wake up if you hadn't drugged me with----" the Doctor tastes the inside of his mouth, considering the genetic makeup of its staleness. "Hmmm…what is it? Tastes like…"

"Siralanomode," the Master replies cheerily, and the intercom crackles.

The Doctor takes another step towards the maiden. On the top of its head is fixed a small intercom speaker. "Siralanomode affects the memory," he says.

"Oh, there's very little about today you want to remember, Doctor."



00: 58

"You know, I had a fun run-in with a rebellion group just outside of London," the Master says. "They were all huddled together in a video store, planning ways to get to the Valiant and stop me!"

He laughs. It doesn't seem very funny to the Doctor, but he imagines he hasn't gotten to the punchline just yet.

"They were all so very disappointed that the infamous Doctor whom Harriet Jones begged to save them on Christmas Day didn't show up. I had to wonder if you knew any of them, considering how virulently they called for you."




The Master orders the slaughter of thousands a day. The Doctor wishes he wasn't feeling numb to it. Wishes he wasn't inwardly reminding himself over and over that they were all savable. Once Martha...oh, but it all rested on Martha.

As if he can read his mind, the Master says, "Pity Martha Jones wasn't there. No idea where she is, do you, Doctor? I need you to tell me what you whispered in her ear."

The Doctor shakes his head and takes another step towards the maiden.

"I only have one thing to say to you."

The Master doesn't reply, just the crackling of the intercom.




"What's that counting down to?" the Doctor snaps. Suddenly, approaching the maiden seems like a bad idea he should've stopped a long time ago.

"Oh! Noticed that, did you? Lovely little things; got them wired all over this house. Oh, but you'll learn that soon enough."

"Why, what have you got planned? What are you doing?"

"Well, I did tell you ten minutes ago. Let's see if you can remember. Work past the drug."




"You're not going to kill me," the Doctor says, because the Master can't kill him any more than the Doctor could kill the Master. But, as the counter goes down, he's just not sure.

The reply is amused. "Of course not."




From within the maiden, there's a sharp crunch and the sound of a muffled scream. The Doctor's eyebrows knit together in confusion. Oh, no. No, it can't be. Oh, but it probably is and the Master could only be watching to see what he's going to do next.

His hearts beat faster, much too fast for the old man he's been all these weeks. Curiosity takes over. He moves another step towards the maiden and peers inside.

He recoils instantly, grief and terror shooting through his veins. He cries out and turns away, emptying bile onto the floor before he can stop himself. The siralanomode keeps him from controlling his emotions but doesn't block out what he just saw.

The Master does what any good sadist would do: He laughs.

"One of the rebels! Let me see what we've got here. Donna Noble. Lovely name, very royal, don't you think? Love the little setup I made, I'm so proud of it. You know, all you had to do was unclasp that lock and she would've been free. Pity the rest of them aren't quite so easy."

He recovers just enough to look up at the intercom atop the maiden again. The rest of them?

He doesn't have to say it, of course, the timer tells him what's next.




"Go on, Doctor! Find them fast! Run for their lives!"

Muse: The Doctor (Ten)
Fandom: Doctor Who
Word Count: 1,004
It's right about the point where you realize you're going to win that you know you're going to die. Cut for spoilers to 4.11 'Turn Left', and character death. )

The winds were withered in the stagnant air,
And the clouds perish'd; Darkness had no need
Of aid from them. She was the universe.

-Lord Byron, "The Darkness"

Muse: The Doctor (Ten)
Fandom: Doctor Who
Word Count: 1,079
Written for the lovely [ profile] ambitious_woman.
He's seen a lot of people try to be immortal.

He knows how that whole scheme of things works out. Or doesn't, in all cases. Nothing lives forever, not even him. Not even the Family, who would succumb to the natural order of the universe in several millennia. Not even Borusa, whose statue was shattered during the War. The Master, swallowed up by the TARDIS. Nothing.

He wished everything that could die would just stay dead. Wouldn't scrape for life and hurt the living. He wouldn't push past his thirteenth life, he didn't need more life than what he'd already had. They shouldn't want it, either.

There's some irony in that. Cut for disturbing imagery and character death. )

Muse: The Doctor
Fandom: Doctor Who
Word Count: 743
Special thanks to [ profile] banished_dame for the idea!


rude_not_ginger: (Default)
The Doctor


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