Title: Dead Souls
By: angstytimelord
Pairing: gen
Fandom: Doctor Who
Rating: PG-13
Table: 6, 12_stories
Prompt: 10, Death
Disclaimer: This is entirely a product of my own imagination, and I make no profit from it. I do not own the Tenth Doctor. Please do not sue.

***

How many times had he thought about death during his long life? the Doctor wondered, sighing as he leaned back in his chair and propped his feet up on the console of the Tardis. It seemed as though it was never far from his mind lately.

He'd lost so many people he cared for to death -- usually in devastating circumstances. Each time it happened, there was another crack in the careful facade that he presented to the world, though he tried his best to hide that fact.

After all, he was a Time Lord. He was supposed to be strong for everyone else -- even when there was no one around for him to lean on.

That was a mistaken impression at times, he told himself, sighing again. He wanted to keep up that front of always being strong, but sometimes it was so hard. There were very few people who had ever managed to see through it.

He'd caused the deaths of so many -- including his own people. That was a guilt that was going to weigh him down for the rest of his life. It was no wonder that death was so much on his mind since that had happened.

But he hadn't had a choice, had he? The Time Wars had been foretold throughout the history of his people -- they had all known it was coming. He just hadn't known about his own part in it, and the crushing guilt that would come afterwards.

Death was a part of life, he'd often told himself. It was something that would inevitably come to all beings -- even him, in time. But being the bringer of death for so many -- or the inadvertent cause of it -- wasn't something that was easy for him to live with. The memories assailed him every day, refusing to leave him in peace.

How many times had he told himself that sometimes it had been necessary? Still, even if that was true, it didn't assuage the guilt.

He'd faced death many times, but it hadn't been something that he was particularly afraid of. He'd always known that he would be regenerated into another body, and he'd come to think of it as a transformation rather than as an end.

The humans he knew and cared for didn't have that luxury. When they died -- it was permanent. They didn't have the respite of knowing that they would be back, albeit in another body and with a changed personality in many ways.

He hated thinking about death -- especially the ones he'd been responsible for. Of course, there were some that he didn't regret -- the destruction of races that would have caused nothing but harm to the galaxy. That could only be seen as a blessing for the world.

But there were others that he'd been a part of that he couldn't see as being anything but a tragedy. Even if he hadn't deliberately caused them, he was still indirectly responsible in some ways, and that would always weigh on his mind.

Then there had been the Master's death -- something that he hadn't gotten over yet, and he couldn't help but wonder if he ever would.

The Doctor's lips twisted into what might be interpreted as a smile; he wasn't sure if he wanted to laugh or cry. This was the Master's ultimate revenge, wasn't it? Making him feel that he was the reason that the only other of his kind had chosen to end their life rather than spend it connected to him in any way.

He'd been the reason that the Master hadn't regenerated -- the other man hadn't wanted to spend the rest of his life a prisoner on the Tardis, spending that life in close proximity to the Doctor. He'd chosen to end his life instead, of his own free will.

Or had it been free will? Had the Doctor pushed him to make a desperate decision, more out of spite and hatred than because it was something he wanted? He'd never know the answer to that; the question would always haunt him.

The Master's death would always tear at his hearts -- how could it not? The other man had died in his arms, and even though they'd been bitter enemies for centuries, the Doctor couldn't forget that at one time this man had been his closest friend.

That friendship had died long ago, to be replaced by an enmity that would never change -- but the memory of their closeness had been something he'd always held on to.

With the Master's death, the last person in the world who knew what it was like to be what he was had gone. He was truly alone in the galaxy now; no matter what time he went to, no matter how far in space he traveled, he would always be the last of his kind, the only one.

The Master had known that would slowly eat away at him; he'd known that the Doctor would always be lonely, that he was the only other being in the entire universe who could have any inkling of what it was like to be what he was.

And he'd taken that away, knowingly and willingly. It was his last act of defiance, his way of showing the Doctor that no matter what he tried to do, the Master had won. It was the ultimate victory in a life that had been filled with small victories and larger defeats.

Would his own end be anything similar? No, the Doctor told himself firmly, a frown settling onto his features. He wouldn't give his life away like that, in spite and maliciousness, trying his best to hurt someone who'd once been his friend. He was better than that. He wouldn't end his life trying to taint someone else's.

Maybe he'd already tainted enough lives, he told himself, bitterness starting to seep through him. He'd certainly changed lives, some not for the better.

Some people had left him of their own will, with wonderful memories -- and some had left him because they'd had to. Those lives hadn't been changed for the better; they would always think of him with a certain amount of bitterness.

And he had to live with that. He had to accept the knowledge that there were some people who hadn't made their lives better by their association with him, and even though they might treasure their memories of him, they weren't in a good situation now.

That was his fault. He should have let them live their own lives, not get mixed up with his. It was due to him that those people weren't happy.

It was ridiculous to keep thinking about that, he admonished himself. Yes, there had been some things that he'd done in his long life that he wasn't proud of. But he could admit to his mistakes, even though there were times when he desperately wished he could change them. At least that was one small point in his favor.

And as for the souls who had died because of him .... maybe they didn't all curse him from some other realm. Maybe they realized that it was the only choice he'd been able to make, and that he hadn't made that choice easily -- and sometimes not willingly.

Maybe when the time came for his own death, whenever that might be, he could look back at the decisions he'd made that had affected so many other people and accept them as the right ones -- even if he hadn't been able to do so at the time.

And if he couldn't .... well, then he would die with that on his conscience. It was one of the perils of being what he was, really -- the knowledge that he would have to make hard deicsions that would haunt him for the rest of his life, and possibly for all eternity.

Would his own death assuage his guilt? Probably not, he told himself with a wry smile, but maybe it would finally heal some wounds. Not only his own, but those of others as well.

Rising to his feet, he leaned over the Tardis' console, looking down at it and wondering where he would decide to go next. Hopefully, it would be a place that was filled with life -- and the thoughts of death that had been troubling him lately could be pushed away, at least for a while.

***