Title: Something Good
By: angstytimelord
Pairing: gen
Fandom: Doctor Who
Rating: PG-13
Table: 100moods
Prompt: 30, Drained
Author's Note: Slight spoilers for The Fires Of Pompeii.
Disclaimer: This is entirely a product of my own imagination, and I make no profit from it. I do not own the lovely Tenth Doctor, unfortunately. Please do not sue.

***

The Doctor dragged himself up the three steps that led from the doorway of the Tardis to the control room, sighing as he went. He hadn't expected to feel this drained after an encounter with an alien race, but this one had taken a lot out of him.

Maybe he should think about the fact that, despite his body looking younger than it had in most of his other incarnations, he was getting old. In less than a century, he'd be over a thousand years old -- and that was something that he didn't look forward to.

Had he felt any less drained after some of his confrontations with the Master, or with the Cybermen, or the Daleks? Not really, not if he was honest with himself. It didn't have anything to do with getting older. It had to do with facing down his enemies on a constant basis.

If only they would give him some respite -- but that wasn't their nature. No, they would keep coming at him, time and time again, until they had beaten him down. And he would keep standing against them, until the end of his days.

After all, that was what a Time Lord did. Well, at least, that was what he did. He wasn't like the other Time Lords; he'd always been a renegade, a rebel. He'd always been the one to stand on the outside and look in, to defy their rules.

There were rules that he did follow, of course. The rules that decreed he couldn't play with time to change things that were fated to happen; the rules that said he couldn't interfere in history. Those were rules he had no choice but to respect and follow.

So many times in the past, he'd wanted to save people from great disasters that had been destined to befall them. But he hadn't been able to do so; he'd had to watch helplessly as the events of history unfolded, force himself not to intervene and change that history.

He'd wanted to save those people in Pompeii; somehow, it didn't seem like enough to save only one family. But Pompeii was a part of Earth's history -- he couldn't have altered that history, not without dire consequences to the future.

That had happened to him more than once over the centuries; it was a horrible conflict between doing what he felt was right, and turning his back on people who he wanted to save. Even though he knew that he was doing the right thing, it still weighed on his hearts.

It was one of the things he hated about being what he was, one of the things that only made him feel more tired and drained as time went by. There were so many people he couldn't save -- and that made him feel that he'd failed in some way.

He couldn't save everyone. How many times had he tried to tell himself that, repeating the phrase over and over again like a mantra? There were some things that he simply couldn't do. In some instances, his hands were tied.

Just the thought of all the people in the universe who depended on him to keep them safe from threats like the Master and the Daleks -- even if they didn't know it -- made him feel even more drained and wrung out. He couldn't keep doing this alone.

And why not? he asked himself, taking a deep breath and drawing himself up to his full height. He was a Time Lord, after all. He wasn't made to have a companion; he shouldn't feel that he needed to have someone by his side at all times.

He needed to stop feeling as though he was sliding slowly down a long, slippery slope to whatever might await him at the bottom. He was merely tired, that was all. He hadn't slept in a few days -- and now that he was getting older, he might need more rest.

What a very human thought. Getting older didn't necessarily mean that he was less capable than he'd been before; it simply meant that he was garnering more experience. After all, this body was young, and it was certainly more fit than most he'd had.

Was this feeling of being drained simply because he was tired, or because he felt that he had so many responsibilities piling up on him? He really had no idea -- and really, he had no more responsibilities than he'd always had in the past.

He was looking for excuses, trying to find some outward reason for feeling this way. The Doctor shook his head, sighing as he made his way to the couch against the wall of the Tardis and sprawled on it, leaning back and looking up at the ceiling of his ship.

He might as well face facts. He was looking for any kind of explanation for feeling the way he did rather than look inside his own soul, to see if there was some inner dissatisfaction. He was unwilling to look within his own psyche to find the problem.

And that was more than likely where the source of this feeling was. Could he possibly be tired of being what he was, after all these centuries, after all the work he'd put into becoming a Time Lord? Could he possibly feel that he'd made a mistake with his life?

No, of course not, he scoffed inwardly. He'd done what he wanted to do; he'd wanted to become a Time Lord ever since he was a small child. It was the one ambition he'd ever had, and he'd managed to fulfill it at a relatively young age.

He wouldn't give up being what he was, not for any reason. Even though a great deal of responsibility came with the title of Time Lord, he'd always been willing to shoulder that responsibility, and he felt that he more than lived up to the demands put on him.

He'd be able to throw off this feeling of lethargy. He always did; it was something that came over him from time to time. But it had never felt so strong before, so all-consuming. The Doctor had no idea why it should hit him so strongly now, at this point in his life.

It wasn't just because of the encounter with an alien race that he'd never met before. It was because he'd been feeling so alone lately. It was time he found a new companion, someone to share all of this with him, someone to take away the edge of loneliness.

How would he go about doing that? He never really searched for companions; somehow, they always seemed to find him when the time was right. The Time Lord could feel a smile tugging at the corners of his lips at that thought.

If this was the right time for him to find a companion to share his adventures with, then it would happen. People always seemed to enter his life when he felt that he most needed them, and given that he felt so utterly drained, maybe he needed a companion more now than ever.

He'd never been a great believer in fate, but this could be the time to start. Standing up, he moved back to the console, staring down at it with a frown on his features. Where should he go next? Where would be the most likely place for someone to find him?

Earth, of course. That had usually been the place he'd found his companions -- and for some reason, it was the place he was always drawn to when he felt tired and in need of recharging. So that would be where he'd go, on the next phase of his journey through life.

The Doctor felt his spirits rising as he punched in the coordinates for Earth; he could almost feel a change in the Tardis, as well. Something good was going to happen -- he was sure of it. And he couldn't wait to reach Earth and find out exactly what that something would be.

***