Title: The Future Is Calling
By: angstytimelord
Pairing: gen
Fandom: Doctor Who
Rating: PG-13
Table: 30_forbidden
Prompt: 09, Past
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.

***

He hated thinking of the past. He always had, but lately, it seemed to come back to him with more force than it ever had.

The Doctor sighed, leaning back in his chair near the console of the Tardis and staring up at the ceiling. Why was it that the past seemed to haunt him so much more than anyone else? What a silly question, he thought scornfully. He knew the answer to that.

It was because he'd lived for so long and had so many regrets about the past, of course. He'd done so many things that he wished he could go back and change -- though of course that wasn't a possibility. He'd never do that.

He'd found out the hard way what folly it was to try and change his own timeline. He'd tried before, with disastrous results that he didn't want to think about. In trying to change things and make them better, or ensure a different outcome, he'd only made them worse.

It seemed that he could be better than most at muddling things up at times, he told himself with a wry smile. But maybe that was part of the nature of being what he was -- trying to do too much, and sometimes failing on a spectacular level.

But at least he could assure himself that nothing he'd done that he regretted had been done out of an intention to cause any kind of disaster. That was one comfort.

No, he wasn't like the Master. He never intended for anything horrible to come out of what he did. Though of course, the Master didn't see his plans as "horrible." He saw them as something benign and beautiful -- even if they would cause untold destruction in their wake.

That was probably one of his biggest regrets about the past, and one that he would always be trying to rectify -- letting the Master go so many times. There had been moments when he could have decimated the other man, and he hadn't done it.

Though he'd certainly never been one to want to bring death -- he hated death, even though he'd been the cause of it several times -- it was something he should have done to protect the universe from that madman. He'd always berate himself for failing in that.

Ah, hindsight was always 20/20, wasn't it? he asked himself, lacing his fingers behind his head and closing his eyes. He could debate with himself over the right and wrong of his actions concerning the Master for the rest of his life, and probably still not come up with a proper answer.

Maybe there was still a part of him that hoped the Master could come out from the black cloud that enveloped him. Maybe in some way, that ray of hope remained that the other man could change, that he could be what the Doctor had always wanted him to be.

Now that was laughable, wasn't it? And he would have laughed, if he hadn't almost wanted to cry at the absurdity of the idea.

The Master being somehow "rehabilitated" and turning to the side of good? He almost snorted out loud, not knowing if he should frown or smile at himself for thinking that could be possible. The concept of cows jumping over the moon was far more likely.

That was really the part of his past that haunted him the most -- the fact that he hadn't put an end to the Master when he'd had the chance. But he'd already caused so many deaths; he hadn't been able to bring himself to be responsible for another one.

What was one death, compared to the untold numbers that had already come about because of some of his actions? And what was the difference between dispatching the Master, and getting rid of the other races he'd decimated for the good of the universe?

It was because the Master was someone he'd known since his childhood, someone with whom he'd once been on friendly terms, he told himself tiredly, running a hand over his face and sighing again. The simple fact was that he hadn't been able to make himself do what had to be done.

He hadn't been able to erase someone who had once been close to him out of existence. And he'd been castigating himself over that weakness for centuries.

The Doctor's features settled into a frown that mirrored his thoughts, feeling as though a dark cloud had settled over him. It was usually fairly easy for him to overcome his weaknesses, but this was one particular weakness that seemed destined to never be conquered.

Of course, there were other things that he considered weaknesses, too, things that he'd never been able to come to terms with. His need for companionship and his fondness for humans, amongst other things. But those two ....

He rubbed at his eyes, his teeth sinking into his lower lip in consternation. Why was it that he had to consider caring about a particular race of people a weakness? Was that part of the xenophobic Gallifreyan attitude that he'd always deplored coming to the surface in him?

After all these years, all these centuries, he shouldn't feel like that. He'd always hated how his race had put themselves above humans; to him, even though the human race might not be as advanced as the Gallifreyans, they were fascinating. He enjoyed being around them.

He'd been ridiculed for that, disrespected, kept away from his home for years. And now .... he had no home to go back to any longer.

Many Gallifreyans might have somehow tried to put the blame for that on the human race, saying that it was his fascination with them that had kept him away and caused his contemporaries not to want him around. But he couldn't do that; it wasn't their fault.

Just as some of the things he'd done in the past couldn't be laid at his feet as faults. At least, not completely. He couldn't have known that the Master would never change; it wasn't necessarily a bad thing to have carried that hope in him for all these years.

He let out another sigh, heavier than the ones that had gone before. Maybe it was time for him to try to let go of all the guilt he felt over what he'd done in the past. After all, it was over and done; he couldn't go back and make it come out differently.

Well, he could; he was a Time Lord, after all. But interfering in his own timeline, even in the past, could change the present and the future too radically; he wasn't meant to meddle. He'd found that out already, and he wasn't going to be that foolish again.

Besides, even if he'd done certain things differently, there was no telling how they would have turned out. The outcome might have been much worse.

His past was something that he'd probably always have regrets about, but at least there were also moments -- quite a chunk of them, actually -- that he could point to with pride. Things he'd done or been a part of that had changed the world for the better.

Those moments were almost enough to assuage some of the guilt he had about other things he'd done. Of course, nothing would ever make up for some of those actions; he'd have to live with the guilt for the rest of his life. He'd accepted that.

Living with that guilt was proving to be harder as time went on. But wasn't that always how it was? The longer one existed, the more heavily the past weighed, no matter whether you were human, Gallifreyan, or some other race in a corner of the galaxy.

With one last sigh, he got to his feet, clearing his throat and looking around the control room of his ship. Enough brooding over the past. He had to stop doing that so often. There was no use looking back; he had to look towards the future if he wanted to accomplish anything.

With that thought firmly fixed in his mind, he strode to the console, trying to decide just where to take the Tardis next. The future seemed like a good choice of times to head for; who knew what could happen? He might even meet his next companion there ....

His lips twisted in a wry smile; he didn't think that was likely to happen. But he wouldn't discount any possibilities. Pressing a button, he glanced towards the door of his ship with a smile. The future was calling.

"Allons-y!"

***