Title: Remembrance
By: angstytimelord
Pairing: gen
Fandom: Doctor Who
Rating: PG
Table: 30_forbidden
Prompt: 12, Remember
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.

***

There were times when he hated remembering his home planet, the Doctor thought, sighing and resting his elbows on the console of the Tardis. The memories that evoking Gallifrey in his mind evoked were too painful, still too fresh, too clear in his mind.

It didn't seem like it had been very long since the destruction of his home -- the destruction that he'd been responsible for. And really, it hadn't been so long ago -- not in the way that most of the universe measured time, at any rate.

But for him, it had been decades. Centuries, even. But of course, Time Lords didn't see time in the same way that the rest of the world did. They never would.

Or rather, he never would. He was the last one left now. The last of the Time Lords. The only one. The only being alive who could remember Gallifrey, who could keep it alive in thought if not in actuality.

There was another Time Lord out there, of course -- he didn't believe that the Master was dead, not for a moment. There was too much contrariness in that spirit, too much of a zest for life for the Doctor to accept the fact that he was gone.

Or was he only fooling himself into believing what he chose to? He had, after all, seen the Master die. He'd felt the life go out of the other Time Lord as he'd cradled him in his arms, begging him to regenerate, to use his next life as he'd been meant to.

He'd begged the Master not to leave him alone.

And the bastard had done it anyway. Or so it seemed. But the Doctor still clung to the hope that what he'd witnessed was all part of some great cosmic plan, that he wasn't the last Time Lord and that the Master would return to plague him.

The Doctor shook his head, frowning at the direction his thoughts had taken. He had the most terrible tendency to get distracted, even when he was thinking of Gallifrey. Other thoughts could always worm their way into his memories and take him off on tangents.

Maybe that was a memory that he shouldn't hold on to. Replaying it over and over in his mind did him no good; it only made him feel depressed and even lonelier than he already was.

He sighed again, propping his chin on his hands and staring off into space. Loneliness was the center of his life, wasn't it? He couldn't remember a time when he hadn't been lonely. And it had only gotten worse over the years, over the centuries.

He'd taken on companions to help stem the loneliness, but given the fact that they were human, their life spans were considerably shorter than his. And he had no right to expect them to give up everything in their lives for him.

It was selfish of him to think that they would -- or could. People had families, lives, lovers. They had pasts that didn't include him, and he'd had to let them go gracefully when it was their time to leave. He hadn't wanted to make them feel responsible for his happiness.

And they really weren't, if he was honest with himself. The responsibility for his own happiness rested solely with himself. In over 900 years of living, he should know how to make himself happy. Or at least have some idea of what would.

He knew what would make him happy -- but it wasn't something he could ever have. Settling down with one person, having a life that didn't involve constantly putting himself in the middle of situations that he'd rather not be involved with.

The Doctor almost snorted at the thought. That wasn't going to happen. Not for him. He was a Time Lord, and with that title came great responsibility.

He'd thought so many times of giving up that responsibility, especially in the last few years. But he couldn't bring himself to do it, even though he had the suspicion that he'd be more content if he did. It was just too hard to renounce what he was.

And besides .... if he tried to leave the life that he was leading now behind him, what would happen when the word needed him? Would he just have to stand helplessly by and watch things happen that he might have been able to prevent? He couldn't do that.

What frightened him the most about the thought of throwing off his mantle of responsibility was the idea that his memories might fade -- that Gallifrey might become something hazy from his past, as though it had never existed at all. It was terrifying to think of losing those memories.

His memories were all he had left of his home planet. If he closed his eyes, he could almost see the skies of Gallifrey, the glowing burnt orange skies, the panorama spread out before him. He could almost reach out and touch it .....

But no. Gallifrey wasn't there any longer. It was gone forever -- and he'd been the instrument of its destruction. He had to shoulder that blame himself.

He had, after all, been the one to make the decision. Gallifrey's destruction, the loss of lives, the loss of his home -- rested squarely on his shoulders. Of all the things he'd done in his long life, it was the action that he felt most guilty about.

The Doctor shook his head, closing his eyes and pushing those thoughts firmly away. He didn't want to let those disturbing images come into his mind, not now. He wanted to think of Gallifrey, to remember it as it had been before the Time Wars.

It was harder and harder to bring his home to his mind lately, as though his memories were fading already. Each time he tried to grasp at a vision of Gallifrey, it would come to his mind clearly for a few moments -- and then it would slowly fade away.

He had to grasp at those memories more frequently to make them stay in his mind -- and that frightened him. Was he starting to forget Gallifrey already? Was the home that he'd known and loved destined to fade out of his mind the longer that he lived?

The thought shook him, a wave of coldness washing over his body. He shivered, standing up and clearing his throat as though he had someone there with him to speak with. But there was no one. And he couldn't talk to the Tardis.

Well, he could .... but as much as the ship was bonded with him, she couldn't answer back. It was one reason that he needed a companion, needed someone to be with him. Someone to help him hold back the memories, and the guilt that came with them.

Maybe that was the problem, the Doctor told himself, taking a deep breath and squaring his shoulders. Maybe he tried so hard to push the memories back that they were fading before he was ready for them to hide in the mists of time.

He wasn't going to let that happen. Somehow, he'd keep Gallifrey alive in his own mind, in his memories -- no matter how much that might hurt at times.

And he was going to find someone who he could talk to about his home, tell them about the sky and the clouds and the grass and the trees and .... and everything about the place that the loved. He would paint a vivid picture for them with his words.

It might not be today, or tomorrow, or even a few days from now. But eventually, he would find a person who could keep that vision of Gallifrey in their minds -- and who could possibly come to love it as much as he did. They were out there somewhere. He just had to find them.

That thought brought a smile to his face, a lift to his hearts. Taking another deep breath, he closed the mental door on his memories of Gallifrey, turning to the console and pushing a few buttons to determine just where he would be taken to next.

***