Hello, you've reached the Doctor's TARDIS. The Fifth Doctor's, at this moment in time, which by the way is quite relative. Please leave a message at the beep. I'm sure I'll get back to you eventually.

I'm probably saving one world or another, or possibly playing cricket, so do be patient.

[beep]

OOC

Feel free to contact the mun this way as well!

...Beep.

1. Regenerated, not easily. Almost died in Event One. Was trapped in Master's fantasy world; was quite dodgy, now I think about it. Mustn't dwell. Do have lovely friends.

2. Saved Earth with cricket ball; fine moment, that. Adric betrayed me, but changed his mind, so that's all right. Nyssa was brilliant. Must not give Tegan cause to hit me.

3. Visited paradise; too green. Colonialism proved fatal once again. Adric almost got self killed; Tegan got possessed; Nyssa slept in TARDIS. Think she had right idea.

4. May have started Great Fire of London. Reminds me of Rome. Do not think anyone was poisoned, though. Nyssa did destroy a robot. Was saved by Adric; rather embarrassing.

5. Why didn't I leave after the cricket? Didn't even get to dance with Nyssa, who almost died. Blast my curiosity. At least they had fun for a bit. Adric made amusing pirate.

1. My family. Most of them had either disowned me or died, of course, but I did leave them all. All except Susan, and then I left her too. ...Which isn't to say I wouldn't do it again, in either instance.

2. My friends; those I had left, on Gallifrey. I left them as well, perhaps before ever running away. ...I wonder if he would - no, I don't think it's in him to forgive, anymore.

3. Katarina, Sara. I know it was their choice, I imagine they'd tell me as such, but that doesn't mean...it didn't need to happen.

4. So many, many others who have died fighting by my side. Some I managed to say the words to, others I didn't; some would accept them, others wouldn't.

5. Jamie, Zoe - I gave them the universe and it was ripped away from them and they don't even know.

6. UNIT, perhaps, for some things.

7. Romana. It's no wonder she left, really.

8. Nyssa, for failing to save Traken. Tegan, for taking her from home. Adric, for

This is unutterably depressing, I think I ought to stop.

There is a raging counsellor in the Lady President's office. Well, as much as this one rages, which amounts to wearing a hole in her carpet and muttering fiercely, long pale hands clutched tightly behind him. It's certainly more of a reaction than any other patients have got.

"He is as impertinent as he was as a child, President Flavia, but with age he's slyer with age. I can hardly shout at him when he's so tactful in his insults, so placid and quiet."

"I didn't think counsellors were meant to shout, Paxavel."

He finally comes to a halt in the centre of her abused floor, scowling at her across the desk.

"Some people need to be shouted at, Your Excellency."

President Flavia makes a show of examining her nails, speaking to them rather than the man before her.

"Did that ever work before?"

"It got him to shut his fool mouth for a bit."

"I must say, that hardly sounds rehabilitative."

Paxavel gives a sharp laugh, and it's echoed from behind him. He spins, robes swirling at his feet, to find the very subject of his diatribe smiling wryly at him from the archway.

"I see we agree on that prospect. I've still no idea what our lovely President is playing at, but it's nice to know you're as much in the dark as I."

"You could make it easier on the both of us by cooperating," Paxavel snaps. The Doctor's smile widens.

"If I'm forced to stay here, I may as well enjoy it as much as possible."

"Why must you take so much pleasure in disrupting your home?"

The smile fades from the Doctor's face, the levity from his voice. For once, he looks his age.

"Gallifrey has not been my home for a very long time." His voice softens as he shakes his head. "I don't know if it ever was."

A sharp nod to President Flavia and he's gone, striding the corridors with the speed of one accustomed to running.

"Well. That was enlightening, anyway. More than most of our sessions." Nixavel takes a deep breath before turning back to her; there's a weary, pensive smile on her face - a slight mischievous one, he'd think, if he didn't know better.

"Wasn't it? You'll need to add it to your notes."

Yes, I am the Doctor.

No, you may not call me Theta Sigma, I've not used that handle for centuries. The same holds true for my given name, which you well know. You do, in fact, know quite a number of things.

You know I'm a renegade. A traveller. A meddler. You know I've been both condemned and lauded by the High Council, punished and used. You know I don't want to be here in the slightest.

This psychoanalysis isn't for my benefit, and we both know it. It's simply another way to manipulate me, to reign me in, and I don't plan to make it easy for you. I do, in fact, plan to be as difficult as possible until I'm allowed to hop in my TARDIS and go. Again.

Well, then, now we've cleared all that up. How do you do?

Make up a title for a story I didn't write, and I will respond with details of those non-written stories. You may if you like include details, such as pairings or fandom or whatnot.

:D? Please? I might really write them, which would mean I wrote things.

Comm: Bad Company Muses
Prompt: Deprivation
Verse: A Damned Kind


He is in a world with no sky.

Scarlet sunlight barely filters through thick smog, casting shallow light over crumbling buildings and splintered streets.

This city was built from the mountains, and slowly but surely, the ravaged planet takes it back.

It is like this across the world.

It is as it is meant to be.

"You could change it, you know." A murmur in his ear, deceptively soft, his voice cloaked too in his precious velvet. "You could change it all."

He had chosen this planet, blamed the TARDIS for their late arrival as they wandered through grim scene after grim scene; dead-eyed urchins stained with blood, desperate strays gnawing on their own flesh, tiny corpses abandoned in the grime.

Now, they stand away, apart, as they have since returning from paradise; outside of Time.

"All of these forsaken children." A broad term, for a Time Lord. "You saved yours, after all."

Erimem. Adric. Sara. Katarina. (They could have done so much and now they can.)

He could feel time twist near to breaking each time, hear it screeching inside his head, and ignored it so that he could see their smiles again.

This, though, this is an entire planet. (Where the people used to laugh and the smoke used to sing.)

It is dangerous, he says, and he hasn't the right. (Didn't he say that once, and regret it a life later?)

There is always a price. (Who decides if the cost is too high? How does one weigh life against life?)

"Noble Doctor, always sacrificing to the Web of Time. Do you suppose they would understand?"

Of course they wouldn't, and he wants to say that isn't the point, but that isn't true anymore.

He doesn't know if this makes him weaker or stronger.

He sees another child fall and be forgotten (he had wide ocher eyes in a narrow face, with hair the colour of ash and skin the colour of moons, and he spoke in chimes).

He is tired of watching.

The Master smiles.

They have absolutely no idea where they're going, and it's brilliant.

All of it is brilliant. Perhaps not very wise, all told, but that doesn't much matter at the moment. Not when they're laughing and clinging to the console and so very close.

It's easier, with Sarah Jane. Easier to laugh and hug and be. Perhaps it's because he knew her in an easier time; perhaps it's simply because she's Sarah. Perhaps it's both.

It doesn't matter why, because they're landing, and it's time for another adventure.

"Where do you suppose we are?" He's grinning a mad grin, wide and bright and delightfully painful.

It is the first time they've stepped on alien soil together, and she is jubilant.

She crouches down, running her tiny hands through azure grass, basking in silver suns, and he watches, leaning against their ship; she is a great, twisting tree with glimmering leaves.

Now she runs a circle around it, dancing to soundless music, lost in wonder.

Then she stops, and takes his hands, eyes and smile vibrant with youthful joy.

She reminds him so very much of her mother. For a moment, he wants both to laugh and cry.

He chuckles, and pulls her into his arms.


It is very easy, now, to forget who he is. To shrug away the burdens, to dismiss the past and embrace the present.

To merely enjoy the universe, despite everything.

They're in a vast meadow, he and his friends, his piper and his prodigy. She is entranced by the lustrous flowers; he is climbing a massive tree covered in crimson vines.

They are both so young, and have so much to see, and he's going to show them everything.

Then Jamie falters, and the Doctor can only soften his raucous fall.

Zoe's laugh, as she runs to them, is infectious.


They're locked in a cell again. The Doctor is pacing, and muttering, and scheming; the companion is fiddling with her hair.

It isn't long before he snaps at her. Jo only smiles, triumphantly holds up a hair pin, and strides towards the door he'd been cursing.

With much aplomb, she picks the lock, and his laugh is one of joyous pride as he embraces her.

His voice is apologetic. "I don't think there's anyone else I'd like to be locked in a cell with."

Her own is indulgent. "Me either, Doctor."

Shots ring out; they entwine their hands and run.


They're discussing Academy.

It's a rare thing; for him the memories are distant and shaded with bitterness, for her they are too close for comfort. She did, after all, shed that life to embrace something new.

It's a precious thing; so few know what he left behind. So few would understand her choice.

They speak of hidden pathways and ancient trees and secret corners. They speak of lost friends and obstinate professors and tedious peers. He tells her of devious tricks and broken traditions; she tells him of every furtive divergence.

They remember. They laugh. They accept.

They are content.


He complains about Earth, until balmy beach air floods the TARDIS.

"You said you wanted something warmer. I'd change out of that uniform, were I you. In fact I think I'll leave my coat here."

"You can do that? I was beginning to suspect it was glued on."

The smirk is customary, but his voice is light and playful, his eyes glinting with amusement and gratitude. He's confident, cheerful, comfortable.

A laugh escapes the Doctor's lips, soft and warm as the gentle breeze.

They've come so very far. It will be nice, for once, to take time to enjoy it.