Title: Tell Me No Secrets
By: angstytimelord
Pairing: gen
Fandom: Doctor Who
Rating: PG
Table: 1, 50ficlets
Prompt: 4, Secret
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 having secrets. They burned in his brain, made him irritable and impatient. He wanted to be able to talk to someone, to tell them how he felt, so that he wouldn't be the only person carrying this knowledge around with him.

But he couldn't do that; if he did, then he would give a part of himself away, a part that he wanted to keep close and not let anyone know existed. It would be too embarrassing to give up that much of his intimate thinking to another person.

Still .... wouldn't it be easier to let someone, anyone, know how he felt? He couldn't keep his feelings inside forever, after all. Sooner or later, he would let something slip, let some person know how he felt, and it would be all over.

Or it would show on his face. He'd never been good at training his features to remain impassive, not when he felt something deeply. Especially not in this body.

He couldn't bear for anyone to know and to laugh at him, or worse, to tell him that it was useless to feel this way. He didn't want cold water poured on the heat of his emotions. Even if it was the more pragmatic thing to do, he didn't want to extinguish those feelings.

What would people say if they knew? They'd think he was completely and utterly mad. The person his heart pulled him towards wouldn't be interested in him. He had no idea if they even fancied men, for one thing. And there was no way for him to find out.

He could ask, of course. But if he asked, there was a good chance that he could be repulsed -- and that was a kind of rejection that he didn't want to deal with. No, it was better to keep his feelings to himself, to watch and quietly yearn from afar.

Oh, yes, that would be marvellous, wouldn't it? Make himself miserable by never allowing himself the release of his emotions. Keep them inside for the rest of his life, or at least for the rest of this particular person's life. Keep it all bottled up, never to see the light of day.

Goodness, he was being melodramatic. The Doctor shifted in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning back to look up at the ceiling of the Tardis.

Why didn't he just take a deep breath and dive in headfirst? Tell this man how he felt, let him know in no uncertain terms that he was wanted. Then, it would be up to the object of his affections what happened next. It would be out of his hands.

No, he couldn't do that. It would hurt too badly if he was rejected. He was sure that it would be done in a perfectly acceptable way; that they would be genuinely sorry to hurt him. But hurt him they would, whether they wanted to or not.

He wasn't prepared to deal with that. There had been too many times in the past, in other bodies, when he'd kept his emotions to himself, denying that he even had them -- both to himself and to everyone around him. He wasn't going to do that any more.

That would only make him feel worse, to bottled it all up inside and never give vent to his feelings. And even though he had a very long life span, a human life was too short to let the chance of finding happiness go by without a murmur.

The Doctor closed his eyes, gritting his teeth and taking a deep breath. He really had no choice, did he? He'd have to tell this man how he felt, eventually.

When and where? That would be hard to do. He was never in the Hub when others weren't there, and it wasn't as though he could just walk into a bar and act nonchalant. Well, he could, but he had the feeling that it wouldn't go over too well.

And if he was drunk, he would be more than likely to say things that he wasn't ready to put into words yet. It would be hard enough to admit his feelings, and to deal with the rejection he was sure was going to happen afterwards.

But rejection or not, he'd have to say something. He couldn't let this keep building up inside him; sooner or later, he'd be compelled to tell someone, or he would drive himself mad. At least if he said something, he would know.

That was the crux of it all, wasn't it? Getting his emotions out in the open, and finally finding out if there was even the slightest chance that they could be returned.

He had to take his courage into his hands, and make sure that it didn't fail him. Once he faced the man he wanted and opened his mouth to say the words that were building up inside of him, he didn't want to lose his ability to make those words convey all that he needed them to.

It wasn't going to be easy; he had no doubt of that. He wasn't the kind of person who had honeyed words on his tongue; he wasn't seductive like Jack. But maybe he didn't have to be. Maybe this man could accept who he was and love him for that.

Maybe. He wasn't going to hold his breath. But there was always a chance -- and he wasn't going to be able to rest until he knew what his answer would be.

Standing up, the Doctor headed towards the door of the Tardis, forming a picture of Owen in his mind and crossing his fingers for luck. He hoped that when he came back to his ship, his hearts would be lighter and his future much more assured.

***