Who: Metacrisis Doctor and Open When: Tonight Where: Random quiet, empty room in the TARDIS What: The Doctor isn't feeling well. Rating: TBD (probably low, but there will be Time War angst) Status: Ongoing, open
It was too much. It was all too much. Too many of his old companions. Too many memories. Too many questions. The Doctor was tired of dealing with it all. They'd died. They'd all died. His old life had burned with Gallifrey. It didn't matter how many of his old friends found their way back to him. The Doctor that he had been before the war was buried beneath the ashes, except that the ashes didn't exist. They were trapped inside the Time Lock with the rest of the Last Great Time War.
His head hurt. He dropped it into his hands and covered his eyes, glad that the room he had chosen was only dimly lit. He hadn't been sleeping much, certainly less than he should have been if his body's response was any indication. Oh, he'd gone to bed. He'd lain down in the room he now shared with Rose--brilliant, beautiful Rose--but he'd barely managed an hour with his eyes closed before he dreamt of the Dalek fleet and that one terrible moment he'd chosen to end another war before it began. Only, somehow, it became not just a moment, but the Moment. The one that he'd used to stop the Time Lords before Rasillon could carry through on his desperate plan to escape death.
He was too much like his ninth self, and far, far too human, he thought as he pressed his hands against his eyes, willing the throbbing ache inside of his skull to disappear.