Title: Fade To Grey
By: angstytimelord
Pairing: gen
Fandom: Doctor Who
Rating: PG
Table: 100_tales
Prompt: 8, Sky
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 would always remember the skies of Gallifrey.

The Doctor closed his eyes, leaning his head back on the wall of the Tardis. It was times like this, when he was most alone, that he could almost feel as if he was back on Gallifrey; it almost seemed as though the Time Wars hadn't happened, that he still had his beloved home to go back to.

Of course, he would never have that again, he told himself sadly; he'd been the main cause of that, though, and he had no one to blame but himself. He hadn't had to make the choice that would destroy his planet and his people. He'd been the one to do it, no one else.

He hadn't really had a choice, not really. He'd done what he knew was best at the time; but he hadn't realized just how much the loss of his home planet would cut into his hearts and soul.

Shaking his head, he kept his eyes closed, resolutely not letting himself think of what was over and done with. He'd done what he had to do, and that was an end to the matter, he told himself fiercely, pushing any other thoughts to the back of his mind. He had no time for regrets, no room for them. He'd made the only decision he could possibly have made, and he couldn't allow himself to dwell on it.

Too much of his life had been taken up with regrets. He'd done so much good in the world, and hopefully, that would weigh on his side against the decisions he'd made and the things he'd done that hadn't come out as well as he'd wanted them to.

He wasn't going to linger in the past, allow himself regrets. No, he'd think of Gallifrey with fondness, try to remember what it had been like, hold it in his hearts and in his memory for as long as he could do so. Those memories were all he had left of the home that he'd loved.

Why was he feeling like this, anyway? He hadn't always been prone to this sort of sentimentality; he supposed that it was because he was once again companionless. Hopefully, that would only be for a short time; but he wasn't going to rush himself into finding anyone else, not at the moment.

Maybe it was best for him not to have a companion for the time being. As he'd told someone in the not-too-distant past, they always left him, in one way or another -- and in the end, they broke his hearts.

All he had were memories, some fond, some bad, but all a part of what made him the man he was. Memories that he wouldn't trade, memories that he never wanted to give up. Of course, the older ones grew less clear with each regeneration; that frightened him. He didn't want to lose the more precious memories he carried with him, but that loss was probably inevitable.

Still, he had his memories of Gallifrey, still fresh and crystal-clear in his mind, as though he'd been there only yesterday. If he closed his eyes and took deep breaths, he could almost convince himself that he was there, so vivid and poignant was the attachment to his home.

He did so now, letting himself relax, building a picture of his home planet in his mind's eye and holding it there, letting Gallifrey shape itself within his inner vision.

The buildings that had always seemed so tall to him when he was a child. The sparkling grass and trees that had looked like crystals glimmering in the shifting light. The burnt-orange skies, so different from any other sky he'd ever seen.

That was what he remembered most about his home, oddly enough. The sky. The particular shade of a certain time of day, the varying hues, the look of it when there was some sort of storm brewing. The sky had always held his interest, ever since he could remember.

Perhaps that was why becoming a Time Lord had always been the most important thing in his life, ever since he'd been old enough to know what it meant. Even when he'd known of the dangers, the risks, it was still all he'd ever wanted for himself.

And he'd achieved that. He hadn't run away from the tests in fear; he hadn't gone mad; he hadn't lost any part of himself when he'd become what he was. No, being a Time Lord had only added to who he was; it had placed other layers into the fabric of his being without stripping any others away.

How often had he looked at the sky when he was a child, and wondered what was beyond it? He'd heard tales, of course. That was something that every Gallifreyan male grew up with -- the stories of what was out there, other worlds, things that they could only dream of.

But he'd been different. He'd been one of the children who'd been chosen to become what he was; he'd achieved his dream of finding out what existed beyond those skies, those stars that he watched every night. He'd been one of the lucky few.

He'd always wanted to be able to take to the skies, to discover what was out there beyond Gallifrey. Well, he'd found that out well enough, hadn't he? He hadn't always liked what he'd found -- but he'd discovered more than he 'd ever dreamed he would, and he wouldn't change a moment of it.

Maybe that wasn't necessarily true, he told himself wryly. He'd change the times that he'd felt his hearts turn over in his chest and break; he'd change the hurt that he'd caused, both to others and to himself; and he'd change the terrible loneliness that always seemed to gnaw at him.

Would he still be watching those stars, those skies, if Gallifrey still existed? Would he go back to his home planet, to spend time among people he knew and loved, to revisit places that he could now only dimly recall? There would be no way for him to know; that opportunity was lost to him forever.

The worst thing was that even through his regrets, he'd never be able to bring himself to believe he'd done the wrong thing during the Time Wars. He would always be pulled in two directions, one side of himself believing that he'd been right, the other side cursing himself for the rest of his life.

He shouldn't dwell on that, the Doctor told himself over again, wishing that he could push those thoughts away and lock them down, shove them inside some little box in the back of his mind and bury them until they would never trouble him again. But that wasn't possible; those thoughts would always come back to taunt him, be there to attack him when he least expected them to rear their heads.

It didn't matter, not really. Whatever he chose to think of his part in the Time Wars and his ultimate decision in them, it was the past. It was over and done, and he wouldn't change it. He couldn't. He'd learned the folly of trying to turn back the clock. He'd never attempt it again.

The past was behind him; and no matter how much he tried to cling onto the memories, they would inevitably fade away. That was what memories were like, after all, he told himself, sighing again and rubbing a hand across his forehead. They were meant to fade. They'd been designed for that.

But as long as he could remember Gallifrey -- the trees, the grass, the skies, what it felt like to look at his beloved planet and know that it was home -- it would still exist. He was sure that it was one memory of his that wouldn't ever fade away completely, even if it did become a bit frayed around the edges.

It would never be lost forever. Not as long as he held it in his hearts and his mind. It would always be there for him -- even if only in memory. Even if that memory faded to grey a bit, it would still exist.

The Doctor stood up, taking a deep breath and striding towards the Tardis' console. Enough sitting around and wallowing in a past that couldn't be changed. It was time to look towards the future, and that was just what he intended to do.

***