Gallifrey

Summary: In a brief moment of peace, the Doctor reminisces.

Gallifrey.

I used to hate the word. It spoke of boundaries, of restraint, and of prejudice born of an age-old belief in self-superiority. It trapped me, stranded me on this tiny world, struggling to prove my worth among a hundred small-minded others my age. I longed for escapee, for release. So when I saw the opportunity, I took it. Literally. Exploring the universe in a stolen TARDIS, making it up as I went along, bluffing, testing, meeting, running – lots of running – and learning, every step of the way. And I was loving it. I was finally free, and no one nor nothing would hold me back again.

But one thing led to another, and before I knew it was that dreaded moment again: standing in front of the High Council just like the first time so many years before. But this time was different; I wasn't a scared little child anymore, pleading for my mother to be allowed to stay with me on Gallifrey, despite what the council saw as her one failing – her humanity. Needless to say, she was not allowed. Gallifrey was only for 'higher' beings.

No. This was different. This time, they were the ones asking, and I was the one holding sway with them hanging on to my every word as I had clung to theirs, once. I felt the power; I could say no, at least at first, and watch them gibber promises at me, promises of power, authority, respect. I could wait, and wait, until they were begging for my help on their knees, selling their souls to save their precious society – but I didn't. I said yes. Without a fuss, without one single hesitation or request or complaint. I'm not sure why. I know some would say it was because I was better than them, but that isn't true. Not really. I suppose it says a lot about my character, my personality, my persona – the Doctor. Someone who "makes people better".

Next time, I thought, next time I will really show you how it feels to be at my mercy. You pompous, degenerate, self-indulgent hypocrites – in your hour of need you will turn to me as your last hope and I will dash it to the ground.

But next time, funnily enough, I didn't. Again, afterwards, I thought, next time…next time…but there was a next time, and a time after that, and a time after that – yes, of course I'll help! Yes, what do you need? Yes, what can I do? – and, slowly but surely, the realisation came. There was no point. No point or purpose in my feeble excuses of 'next time'. They had fooled no one, least of all the High Council. They knew me, knew what I was capable of…and what I wasn't.

Gallifrey.

I used to hate the word, but now that it's gone…