Title: Rage and Then Regret
By: angstytimelord
Pairing: gen
Fandom: Doctor Who
Rating: PG-13
Table: doctorwho_100
Prompt: 14, Regret
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 had so many regrets in his past. Sometimes it seemed as though that was all he had, the Doctor told himself with a sigh, leaning back in his chair and closing his eyes.

Maybe he should spend more time trying to remember the things he'd done to help the world, all the good that he'd accomplished. Maybe those memories would offset the regrets that nagged at him, the things that he couldn't quite seem to forget.

It was ridiculous to feel that he could have done more in some circumstances. There were situations when he could only do something minimal, at best, and it would have to be enough. He wasn't some sort of superhero, after all.

Sometimes, he could right a wrong that had been done, helping people along the way and knowing that there was nothing more to be done. Those situations were the best ones, the ones that made him feel he was useful to the world.

And then there were times when he'd able to avert some sort of catastrophe, saving something of the world in the process. Maybe he could consider himself something of a hero for that.

Then there were the times he regretted, when he could do nothing but help to pick up the pieces after someone -- or several people -- lost their lives because of something he couldn't put a stop to. Those were the regrets that loomed largest in his mind.

Or maybe not, he thought as he sat there, his eyes closed, motionless. Maybe the worst regrets were the ones that came from his rages, the times when he was so angry that he couldn't hold himself back from doing something that he knew he shouldn't.

Fortunately, those times were few and far between -- but they did happen. He didn't always show the best judgement, even though he hated to admit that fact. He'd done some things that he would always bitterly regret.

The destruction of his home planet would have to rank highest on that list. Though it hadn't really been his fault -- had it?

Of course it had, he scolded himself. He'd been the one who ultimately destroy the planet. He hadn't had much of a choice, true; it had been Gallifrey, or the rest of the galaxy -- and he couldn't have the death of the entire universe on his conscience.

He'd feel regret over that for the rest of his life. He'd weighed the choices carefully, but in the end, he had known what he would have to do. Maybe if enough time passed, he'd be able to put that guilt out of his mind and accept it as the hand of fate.

At this point, he still couldn't do that. He couldn't help but wonder if he would ever be able to; he had the sinking feeling that there was a part of him that would always be on the verge of collapsing from the guilt and regret he would carry for the rest of his life.

There were other regrets, of course. Gallifrey was the biggest one, but there were too many more to name -- especially the ones that had been born out of his own rage.

How many times had he told himself that he should never do anything in anger, because that action would only lead to regrets later? Usually, he managed to take that advice, and to let him anger cool before he made any decisions or took action.

But there had inevitably been times when he wasn't able to do that -- and those were the regrets that stuck with him the longest, the ones that weighed most heavily on his mind. Not only in his actions, but things that he'd said to people, as well.

Sometimes he could forget that words could wound as well as actions; and he'd certainly unleashed words onto unsuspecting people that had made them take a few steps back from him and regard him with suspicion, if not with dislike.

If only he could take some of those words that had been spoken in the heat of the moment back! But that was the past; he couldn't change it. That was water under the bridge, to quote a human maxim, over and done, and he had to live with it.

The Doctor's lips twisted into a wry smile at the thought. He wasn't referred to as a storm for nothing; his rages were legendary amongst those who knew who he was.

But those rages were something that he often bitterly regretted, when he could take a step back from whatever had caused that rage and try to look at it objectively. It was hard for him to admit that he'd made some bad decisions in the heat of rage, but he couldn't deny it.

Those regrets were something that he'd have to live with for the rest of his life, something that he would have to continually work through. Too many of the people he'd wronged by his words or actions were gone; he couldn't go back and make amends.

Could he have kept himself from saying and doing some of the things that he now felt guilty for? the Doctor mused, lacing his hands together behind his head and contemplating the ceiling. And would it do the least bit of good to contemplate that question?

No, not really. As he'd already told himself over and over again, it was in the past; as much as he'd like to be able to go back and make amends -- or even restitution -- it wasn't possible. Better to leave things as they were.

After all, his own regrets and guilty feelings weren't all that important. And they certainly didn't mean anything to people who weren't around any more.

Sighing, he ran a hand over his face. How long was he going to castigate himself for the deaths he'd inadvertently caused? Some of them had been his fault, certainly; but some hadn't, and he couldn't carry every one of them on his conscience for the rest of his days.

Oh, can't you? a little voice in the back of his mind piped up, the inner tone mocking. Even though he wished that he could shut that voice off, it continued mercilessly, without missing a beat. You're all too good at feeling guilty.

Yes, he was, he thought dispiritedly, heaving another sigh. And how easy it would be to let guilt and regret overpower him until he couldn't claw his way out of the debris they'd piled on top of him, burying him under it until the could no longer be found.

But he wouldn't. He would push it to the back of his mind, where it usually stayed -- until it came to the forefront to torment him again.

And that would start now, the Doctor told himself, taking a deep breath and getting to his feet. Yes, he might have regrets -- but the best way to get past them was to find something new to push them out of his mind with.

What if he managed to create some new ones? He couldn't help smiling wryly at that idea; there was always the chance that he'd do that, of course, but with any luck, he'd manage to keep his temper and not do or say anything he'd wish later that he could change.

Though the chance of that was probably rather small, he told himself as he headed for the control room. Somehow, he always managed to create more regret for himself -- but he'd face that when he came to it, and simply add it to what he had already pulled down on top of himself.

***