Archive of Our Own ^beta

He never claimed to be a good man. At least, not after the time war. 

One might say (Ohila and those in the Sisterhood of Karn especially) his reclamation of the title “Doctor” was in fact said claim; but their opinion meant little in the wake of his own denial.

Because he wasn’t a good man. That he’ll be the first to admit, especially after becoming the killer of his own kind.

He was a coward and had committed cruelty, an all encompassing calamity. He was a loner. 

All alone.

That’s why when Rose Tyler demands to see the future, he desperately seeks an end. The end of her world, and her perpetual understanding.

Things, while already questionable, go awry on Platform One because for some reason death remained his constant companion, and no matter where he went in the vast expanse of the universe; he was bound to danger’s orbit.

It feels like an omen, a shroud, a curse. Other times it feels like a chance at retribution. The TARDIS more than likely gives him that chance rather than the universe.

A fact if it were true had yet to be confirmed by the sentient ship. 

The circumstances of which she would possibly admit such a thing if it were true, was in one of the many potential futures he could see, on a path he wasn’t on yet and might not ever cross.

(She won’t reveal that until he realizes no matter how much she cares for him, offering his own retribution is not her main intention when chauffeuring him around the universe.)

He was as selfless as he was selfish, and it was a dotted line easily crossed. The way in which each regeneration leaned varied.

The leather clad Doctor walked the line in the way a tightrope walker or inebriated human took a physical intoxication test. 

Heel to toe. Afraid to step off even when he yearned for the side he didn’t think he deserved after condemning himself to end the war of all wars.

It’s the presence of Rose Tyler that leaves him teetering. The TARDIS knows how this regeneration will end, under the same circumstances as his Fifth.

Forewarned and succinctly noted by his Seventh.

It’s what this incarnation needed as it would pave the Doctor’s future paths, future decisions until he is ready to know she brought him where he was needed so he could save those who would do the same for him.

That’s why she listens as he takes what he thinks is control, and pilots them to year five point five/Apple/twenty six; the expansion of the Earth’s sun.

And as he always is with danger, a danger he thinks he can solve with the help of his potential newfound companion - should she bear the pain he felt and want to continue on as he did; he’s giddy.

Too many people have died. All of them needless. Money a bane the end of the universe fell flat against among a pile of corpses, suffering, and Jabe’s sacrificial smoldering remains burning his palm.

The closed door Rose had been behind before had finally opened, she is not there but he knows where to find her.

Knows where to find Lute and Coffa too so he can return the remnants of the Forest of Cheam’s ambassador. 

He’s chalk full of ideas there. Bristling with them because Jabe’s murderer is here, with the repeated Meme, who’s arm he takes off with a bit of heft, having spun his intentions for this trip out of proportion.

Speaking of, his ears ring and mind hums as it equates that his pink and yellow human was too in the same room as said murderer. 

No longer trapped under the heat of the sun. Rightly she looks terrified, disheveled, her once straight hair frizzy, doe eyes puffy, full lips pouty.

His glance is cursory, for as far as he could tell she hadn’t burnt to a crisp, meaning the attention if she needed any wasn’t immediate. 

What was immediate was grabbing onto what was claimed to be the last ostrich egg in existence and smashing it to a pulp.

As predicted, there was no yolk, or even semblance of life ever having been able to thrive in these artificial confines.

What there is inside is a banned teleportation device. Easily reversed and laughably dangerous to someone like him.

He confronts Cassandra from there, listens as her body - or the skin that is really and only was - creaks and splinters. 

Rose, her hand cautiously wrapping around his bicep, unknowingly gives off a scent with her fear.

He tries to ignore it, because everything has its time, even if letting the woman die horribly was just too much for what his companion had already faced today.

He can’t let it stop because there is a tang wafting off his companion as well.

One that makes him forget Cassandra entirely, because his peripheral catches the source of that tang, and all at once he’s turning away from the exploding piece of flesh, because there was blood on Rose Tyler’s skin.

Painting the side of her precious face, from her cheekbone to her temple. It crusting on the inside of her frizzy strands of hair, painting them the wrong kind of strawberry blonde. 

It’s not Cassandra’s, though it was the result of the woman’s henchmen, the Repeated Meme were the physical cause of it. 

He’d felt the weight of their configured arms just moments ago, and the bruising framing such blood fit all too well with their size and weight.

It likely had only taken one swing to pull off the damage they’d done, and it’d likely done even more than that. 

Her eyes are wide, only one pupil dilated. 

A concussion surely at play and he’d missed it. While time hadn’t exactly been on their side, he still berates himself for not having noticed sooner.

Human’s were such fragile little things, and on their first real adventure, when he’d meant to gain an understanding their future travels would rely upon; she’d gotten injured.

He’d known this was a bad idea. Not this venture per se, but talking on another companion after the time war in general, he wasn’t at his best. 

All he knew was death, destruction, and tragedy. He’d let the remnants of that marr her skin, let his vengeance get in the way of the precious seconds in that he should have noticed she was injured. 

He’d rectify that, he had to because now she understood, and he couldn’t possibly lose another person who understood. He wouldn’t survive it. 

And yet, he knows it’s not his decision to make - not really. Rose Tyler holds his life in his hands as he takes her injured face carefully into his palms to further inspect the damage, he has to ask:

“You’ve seen how dangerous it is. Do you want to go home?”

(It’s not fair asking when her mind’s probably whirring, but he is not yet a good man, he’ll need her to become that.)

“I don’t know what I want,” her stomach then growls, “I want chips.”

He laughs, he can do that, and stay up reliably to watch over her concussion. 

Hopefully the TARDIS could do her thing and manifest the salty vinegar doused potatoes in the meantime, because he didn’t have any money.