Title: Never Saw A Miracle
By: angstytimelord
Pairing: gen
Fandom: Doctor Who
Rating: PG-13
Table: 30_losses
Prompt: 6A, Miraculous Relief
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.

***

It was there.

Gallifrey was there. In front of him. It hadn't vanished. It hadn't been destroyed in the Time Wars. It was there, just as it had been for centuries, his home planet, in all its glory. Gallifrey was waiting for him.

The Doctor's eyes widened as he looked at the viewscreen in the Tardis; he'd never thought he would see this sight again for as long as he lived. He'd been so sure that Gallifrey was gone, destroyed by his own actions.

Had the guilt he'd lived with for quite a while now been useless? It seemed that way. He had no reason to carry it around with him now.

A wave of relief washed over him; his home was still intact. Not gone, not leaving him forever a wanderer in a world that would never accept him. It was a miracle, one that he would thank any deity he could think of for. He would spend the rest of his life being grateful.

His hearts felt as though they were expanding, taking in the sight on the viewscreen. Gallifrey. The place he'd been born, the place that would always be home to him, no matter wherever else he might go. Nothing could ever replace it.

He'd thought for so long now that it was gone, that he'd destroyed it, that his actions had doomed his people to extinction. He'd taken that on himself, carried the weight of guilt and regret for so long that it felt as though it was a part of him.

Now, that weight was being lifted. For the first time in longer than he could remember, he felt at peace. The guilt could slip away, forgotten as though it had never been there.

The Doctor wanted to laugh, to dance around the control room of the Tardis, to shout his joy to the rest of the world. It was too bad that he didn't have a companion with him at the moment; it would be wonderful to share this revelation with someone.

He couldn't keep himself from whirling around a few times, his arms outstretched, feeling as though he wanted to embrace the universe. Everything that he'd been through in the time that had elapsed since he'd thought he had destroyed Gallifrey melted away, leaving only happiness in its wake.

Turning back to the console, he fixed his eyes on the screen again, wanting to drink in the sight of Gallifrey, savor it before he headed back to the planet -- to his home.

It was no longer there. The screen was blank.

The Doctor gasped, his eyes widening. What ....? What could have happened? Was the Tardis somehow malfunctioning, refusing to show him what was there? He knew that Gallifrey was still there. He'd just seen it with his own eyes.

What was happening? Where was Gallifrey? He almost flung himself at the console, frantically pushing buttons, turning switches, doing anything he could to bring that vision back again. It had to be there. It had to be.

No. It was gone. Nothing he could do would bring it back; there was only featureless space in front of him where Gallifrey should be, a space that didn't contain his home.

With a soft sob, he slumped down against the console, burying his face in his hands. What had happened? Why wasn't it there any more? Where had it disappeared to? Was this some trick, some clever ruse designed to finally drive him over the edge?

"NO!" The scream was torn from his throat, reverberating around the control room until it sounded as though it was bouncing off the walls, a deafening sound that came rushing at him from every side.

The Doctor sat bolt upright in bed, eyes wide and staring, looking around him unseeingly.

It had all been a dream. He was in bed on the Tardis, surrounded by the comforting dimness of his ship, the aura that never failed to calm him. But this time, the calming effect wasn't working. The image of Gallifrey was still too strong, too close to the forefront of his mind.

The shreds of the dream were still with him, refusing to be banished from his mind. The Doctor didn't know if he wanted to cling to them, or slam the doors of his mind and pretend that the dream had never happened, that he wasn't so unsettled by it.

He should have known that it was too good to be true, that the miraculous vision of Gallifrey that had been presented to him would crumble into dust. He knew that his home planet was gone; he shouldn't have allowed himself to believe that it wasn't, not even in a dream.

But that had been impossible to resist; it was the one image that could entice him into a belief that he knew he shouldn't let himself give in to.

The Doctor buried his face in his hands, not trying to hold his tears back. It was the first time in too long that he'd given himself up to them; and these weren't tears that he should be ashamed of. They were tears for Gallifrey, for the home that he had loved.

Gallifrey was gone. The only place that it still existed was in his memory; there were no others of his race left. He was the only one who could remember how his home had looked, what the people were like, what it was like to be there.

He'd known that well enough. But there was still that small part of him that wanted to dream, that wanted to believe the home he'd loved still existed. It was hard to let go of that dream, even though he knew there was no use trying to hold on to something that was gone.

Wiping ineffectually at his eyes, the Doctor fell back against the pillows, pulling the covers up around him. This was going to rob him of sleep for the rest of the night, he was sure.

Why was he having these dreams about Gallifrey more and more often lately? Was it some sort of insidious plot by his own mind to slowly drive him mad? Or was it that he was missing his home more and more as time went on?

There was no way he'd ever know, not really. He could search his mind for the answers, but they would never be revealed -- not unless his subconscious wanted them to be. And he knew that his own mind was sufficiently labyrinthine to hide motivations forever.

With a frustrated sigh, he turned onto his side and closed his eyes. He didn't really need to sleep, but it was the best way to get away from these thoughts. He only hoped that he wouldn't slip into that same dream again -- a dream that he would awaken from shaken and tearful.

He couldn't deal with that again. The dreams had to stop; a little piece of his soul was torn away each time he awoke to realize that it had all been a dream, that Gallifrey was indeed gone, that his guilt for its destruction couldn't be assuaged.

There was no miracle. Gallifrey wasn't ever going to magically exist again. It was gone; he had to learn to accept that and not wish for what was irrevocably gone.

That was easier said than done, he told himself, closing his eyes and trying to clear his mind. The guilt would always be there; no miracle would ever make that go away. It was something he'd have to live with for the rest of his life -- and that would be a very, very long time.

***