Title: Every Shade of Blue
By: angstytimelord
Pairing: gen
Fandom: Doctor Who
Rating: PG
Table: doctorwho_100
Prompt: 17, Blue
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.

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The Doctor looked up at the Earth sky above him, stretching pale blue across his view. He sighed and leaned back against the grass, stretching his long legs out and keeping his gaze fixed on the white clouds that drifted lazily across the expanse of blue.

That color seemed to express so much in one simple little four-letter word. It was no wonder that humans used it to describe sadness -- somehow, that color seemed able to encompass every kind of sadness that existed.

He'd been through every shade of blue in his long lifetime, he mused, closing his eyes and letting his thoughts move back over the past, taking him far away in space and time within his mind.

He had known every shade of emotion, from palest blue to deepest indigo, stretching to a midnight blue that was almost black. He'd been through so many dark nights of the soul that he'd had to struggle to discern blue from pitch black at times.

This had been the first time in what seemed like a long while that he'd thought back to when he was young, a child on Gallifrey without any cares or concerns in the world. Maybe he was only able to think back to that now because he was in such a peaceful place.

The Tardis was sheltered in a small grove of trees behind him; he'd wandered out into a field of lush green grass, shading his eyes against the brilliance of the sun as he'd sat down on the grass and looked around him. Peaceful, yes .... and isolated, just as he was.

Had he ever been anything but that? The Doctor sighed again, crossing his arms behind his head and staring up at the sky. Even when there had been a companion traveling with him, at times he'd felt more alone than if he'd been by himself.

That was one of the paler shades of blue along the spectrum, he mused, the faces of long-ago companions moving through his mind like a slideshow. They'd all wanted something from him that he couldn't give, and he'd made them unhappy by withholding it.

But they'd made him unhappy too, in the end, hadn't they? They'd chosen to leave him, rather than accept him as he was and be happy with what he could give them -- his friendship.

Why couldn't his companions be satisfied with that? Why did they always have to push for more than what he was willing to turn over? He wasn't going to give any of them his hearts; that was something for him to give freely, not for anyone to demand from him.

That was nature of humans, though -- it was one trait that he was glad he didn't seem to possess. They always wanted more; and the more that they had, the greedier they became. Nothing would ever be enough for them.

He'd become convinced that having a companion in his life wasn't the best thing for him, nor would it be best for whatever human he might happen to meet and be tempted to take as a companion. He'd done that too many times, often with disastrous results.

And each time it happened, he'd slipped further into a deeper shade of blue. Things always started out as a brilliant sapphire, but they would eventually turn darker, and darker still, until the black day when he was told that he would be alone again.

He never showed anyone the depths to which those words sank him. He smiled and agreed that it was best for them to be on their way, for them to continue their lives -- and he always, always told them that he was all right.

"All right." Those were the words that he used when he was at his lowest, when he had to put up a facade of complacency even though his hearts were breaking within him.

How many times had he said those words? And how many times had he gone back into the shelter of the Tardis and taken himself off into space, to lick his wounds and play recordings of what was so accurately termed "blues" music?

It had been a while since he'd had a companion, and he was adjusting to the loneliness. He'd had to learn to do that so many times that it really should be second nature by now, he admonished himself, shaking his head.

This was far from the first time he'd been alone, and he was at the point where he'd resigned himself to being this way for the rest of his life, in this body and whatever the next ones would be. He wasn't going to take on another companion, not unless it was absolutely necessary.

He didn't want one. He didn't want to go through the joy of finding someone who was overwhelmed and delighted by all that he could show them, someone who would grow close to him as a friend, someone who he would come to value in his life.

And then the crushing disappointment when they began to demand more from him, when they began to try to be closer to him than being a friend. Then when they would draw away as the slow realization dawned that he wouldn't be what they wanted.

Finally, there would be the final blow -- the descent of the proverbial hammer on his hearts when he was told that they needed to leave him, that they could no longer travel with him on the terms that he'd set. When he was blatantly told that he couldn't make them happy.

All the shades of blue, from the pale promise of a friendship just beginning, to the dark, swirling midnight of years alone stretching ahead of him into the future.

That blue had seemed to envelop him at times, only lightening when he'd found a new companion and let himself believe, just for a while, that it would be different this time and that he'd finally found a person who would accept that he couldn't give them more than friendship.

But that never happened -- and he was realistic enough now to feel that it never would. He would stop looking for the person who would stay with him forever and be content to only be his friend, because that person didn't exist.

Still .... there was always a little spark of hope that burned in his hearts, a vision in the back of his mind of someone who could be what he needed -- and who could be what he needed as well, without asking for the impossible.

The Doctor's eyes opened wide, focusing on the endless blue expanse of sky above him as the realization came to him -- that hazy vision in his mind was a man. Someone who he could swore than he'd seen at some point, features that he'd caught a quick glimpse of.

He frowned, trying to place a name to the face -- but that was impossible to do when he couldn't really put any features firmly in place. It was as though there was a phantom memory skulking at the edges of his mind, teasing him, refusing to be pinned down.

Was this the person he was meant to be with, what the humans called a "soul mate"? Was this who he'd been searching for all of his life, a long fruitless search that to this point had only brought frustration and loneliness?

If it was, then he would keep searching. Even against the odds, sooner or later he was bound to meet them -- and maybe, if he was lucky, they would be the person to fulfill his desires, to be everything that he'd wanted a companion to be.

And maybe -- just maybe -- they would be more than just a companion. Maybe this would be the person he could finally give his hearts to with no hesitation.

The Doctor sat up, blinking, looking back at the grove where the Tardis sat, waiting for him. His lips curved into a smile; she was another shade of blue, but this shade was warm, comforting; the blue that he thought of as home.

Standing up, he brushed a few pieces of grass from his suit and made his way across the verdant green field toward his ship, taking one last look up at the blue sky that arched above him before he closed the door on his thoughts, and on the pastoral scene that had inspired them.

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