Title: Rebound
By: angstytimelord
Pairing: gen
Fandom: Doctor Who
Rating: PG
Table: Epsilon, challenge_the
Prompt: 14, Exhaustion
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.

***

The Doctor stumbled into the Tardis, gasping, closing the door behind him and clinging to the railing at the three steps that led up into the control room.

He'd barely escaped from the creatures pursuing him -- and even though he didn't know just what they were, he knew that they were dangerous. Considering that one of them had gotten its strong hands around his throat and nearly choked the life out of him, that was obvious.

They'd looked like .... the human concept of mythical centaurs. Not that he thought anything was utterly impossible within the universe, but he'd never seen anything like them before -- and he hoped that he never would again.

This was one planet to avoid, he thought, wincing as he heard what sounded like a hoof kicking against the door of the Tardis. It was past time to get himself out of here, away form this planet, and make sure that he never came back here.

Oh, all right, so he'd probably want to come back at some point in time, just to take a look around and see if he could find out more about the place. That was a given.

But when he did, he would have to be much more cautious than he'd been this time. His lips twisted wryly into something of a smile as he made his way up to the console, pressing a few buttons and feeling the familiar time and space displacement.

He sighed in relief and slumped against the console, knowing that the Tardis had taken him safely away from yet another place that he should have been more careful in. It was a new planet, one that he hadn't explored before, and he'd been excited about seeing it.

After all the centuries that he'd been a Time Lord, he should know by now that it was always wise to be cautious when he was first finding out about a new place. But he'd let his curiosity get the better of him -- and could have lost his life because of it.

He had to stop being so reckless, he scolded himself, making his way across the control room and collapsing on the couch, stretching out his long legs in front of him.

He was utterly exhausted, and he felt as though if he tried to speak, his voice would come out in a croak. He raised a hand to gingerly touch his throat; there would probably be bruises on his flesh, though they would disappear in a few hours' time.

Even though he might look very young for his age -- especially in this body, he thought, running his hand over his face -- the fact remained that he was getting older. And with age was supposed to come wisdom -- though that didn't seem to be the case with him.

After all of his experience, he should know better than to go rushing out into a strange planet. He had only himself to blame for what had nearly happened to him. Though if he'd had a companion, would things have been that much better?

He didn't think so. Companions were less cautious than he was, on the whole. They were all too ready to see new places, to explore the unknown.

And he'd also learned from experience that they were even more apt to throw themselves into the path of danger than he himself was. Usually, he was the one who ended up having to rescue them from their own foolishness -- or rectify something they'd done.

It had been hard to get himself -- and his companions -- out of some of the trouble they'd caused in the past. They'd always gone running blithely into any situation that was in front of them, thinking that he could do anything, get them out of any problems they might encounter.

Especially the last few, he thought, wincing at the remembrance. He'd considered them friends, but they'd still been trouble. And they way a couple of them had clung to him, convincing themselves that they were in love with him!

That memory still made him shudder. Especially the childish one, who'd been like a daughter to him but who had wanted more than that.

It was one of the most unpleasant thoughts that could cross his mind. The Doctor firmly pushed it away, closing his eyes and resting his head against the back of the couch. If only he didn't feel so completely worn out, so incapable of moving ....

Maybe that was what came with age. Even in this body that was younger than any he'd had before, it was still possible to feel utterly exhausted, worn down to a thin shadow. In spite of his looks, he was aging, and he had to accept that.

Humans accepted it as part of their lives; he'd never really thought about it, because he'd always known that when one body aged, the next one was waiting. Of course, that would end when he was in his last body, and he would have to accept an inevitable end.

But that wouldn't come to him any time soon, he told himself sternly, sitting up with a sigh. He didn't need to think about that now.

Or for a very long time, really. He still had other bodies after this one -- though he would be horribly unhappy to see this one go. He loved this body; he could be in it forever and be quite happy with that. He liked this one better than any he'd ever had.

And at this point, he was used to it. He liked looking at this face in the mirror when he shaved every morning; he liked the way this body moved, how it looked. And even if it seemed a bit vain, he also liked the way that people looked at him. He liked being found attractive.

If only there was some way that he could arrest the regeneration process, make it stop so that he could regenerate inwardly if his body was damaged -- but keep the way he looked. Keep this face, this body, and never have to deal with another one.

The Doctor let out a soft sigh, standing up and shaking his head, pushing that thought to the back of his mind with the others. It wasn't possible. It wouldn't happen.

Regeneration was inevitable with him, even if he didn't like whatever body he happened to be given. This was the first one he'd liked, the first one that he'd really felt suited him. He felt comfortable in it, and he had a definite feeling that wouldn't happen with the next one.

But at least he could enjoy this body while he had it, and he should be doing that instead of sitting here in the Tardis, feeling exhausted and alone. He should go back to Earth, visit friends, throw himself into the business of living.

After all, that was what he'd always done, wasn't it? No matter how many time he was knocked down, he always managed to get back up again.

And that was what he would keep doing, he thought, heading for the corridor that led to his bedroom. But first, he would get some rest, relax in bed and let the healing power of sleep refresh him, helping him to rebound and be back on his feet again.

He had no doubt that would happen; one good thing about being a Time Lord was his resiliency. He could sleep for a while, and by the time he was back on Earth, he'd be rejuvenated and ready to head on to his next adventure, wherever that might be.

He kicked off his shoes when he reached his bedroom, sitting down and pulling off his jacket and tie. The pillows looked so comfortable and inviting -- and he was so tired. He would just rest for a moment before he undressed and slid into his pajamas.

The Doctor was asleep almost as soon as he laid down, exhaustion taking him over as he closed his eyes and tumbled at once into the arms of sleep.

***