(no subject)

[continuum_of_drs]

Long corridor. Booted feet trod the dark floor rhythmically. The corridors were all long, all dark-floored, all straight and plotted by a subconscious far too well-organised for its own good. And yet, each one resonated differently. Each one knew where it began and where it ended, and what it held behind brown, roundelled doors. Brown doors, floor, walls and ceiling. Stonelike connexions. Dark. Ensconcing. Organic. Uterine.

He'd gotten thoroughly sick of white and gold ages ago.

He'd found, since taking on this body with its buzzed hair and oversized ears and malleable expression that went from brooding to million-watt-grin in .3 seconds, that he was prone to frequent bouts of introspection. Introspection, brooding, angst, call it what you will. It still ended up with him stalking the corridors in the restless hours, dwelling on the past. Always dwelling on the past, regrets, that which might have been, this one. Borderline suicidal, waiting for his time to die, to move on. The ears had nothing to do with it.

The TARDIS knew all this--couldn't help but. In the days after Gallifrey's destruction, still coasting on the reservoir of energy from the Eye of Harmony and the remnants of the colossal jolt it'd received from the Hand of Omega so many aeons ago, it had balanced its lifeforce with his. That had sustained the both of them through a near-miss regeneration and the loss of Gallifrey. And they'd come out the other side more closely connected than ever before.

A door clicked. He stopped. Looked at it. Peeked inside.

Within was a dimly lit room stuffed full of knickknacks, bric-a-brac, leftovers, and findings. Clothing and personal effects. Tools and books and souveniers. Memories. The lights came up as he walked in and he stopped. No wonder the TARDIS had called this room to his attention--here was stored memories of almost every single one of his companions.

A gold bracelet that had belonged to Susan. A spare skein dhu of Jamie's. A box holding Jo's ring collection. Sarah Jane's silly woolen hat. The remnants of Adric's Star of Mathematical Excellence. Tegan's uniform cap. A copy of The Origin Of Species that Peri had never had time to finish. A leftover can of Ace's nitro-nine. Izzy's camera. Rose's mp3 player. He toyed with this last item for a moment, debating asking his hyperactive future self what had become of her after he'd been sucked, companionless, into this Nexus like all his other selves.

You're quite the team, there, you lot, someone had said, ages ago, of his fifth self and Tegan, Nyssa, and Turlough. And at the time he'd agreed. He'd been such an absent, distant thing back then.

But now he couldn't help but doubt that surety. Teammates? Fellow crewmembers? They were more than that. Dearest of friends. He'd loved all of them, as a father loves a son or daughter, and sometimes closer....

The sheer joy that accompanied almost every moment in Jo's company. Moments of breathless, overwhelming emotion, Sarah Jane at his side, sharing it as so few others could. Lazy, soul-filling nights with Romana in some hole-in-the-wall Bohemian coffee shop. Peri's sweet smile and kind soul, the only thing that tempered wild confusion and undirected fury. Watching Grace's clever hands, remembering the breif, overwhelming kiss that had finally brought him completely back to himself. The sound of Rose's infectious laugh that him every he heard of it of life and vitality and strength....

He put the mp3 player back down on the table and slowly turned, leaving the room. The TARDIS had succeeded in him of the most crucial fact of all:

He wasn't alone. He never had been. And he never would be.