I realised that I owe BBC a disclaimer. Here it is:

Characters from Doctor Who universe are not mine, they belong to BBC. Thank you, BBC, for giving us such a fantastic show!

And - This is a translation of my story "Czas Zaprzyszły," originally written in Polish. I apologise for any weirdness resulting from my attempts at writting in a foreign language. But, it is a good exercise, and a lot of fun as well, so... what the hell, I'll try:) "Past Future Continuous" is a first episode in a virtual series five, set after the fourth series, soon after the Doctor's solitary departure.

DOCTOR WHO

THE VIRTUAL SERIES 5 – EPISODE 1

PAST FUTURE CONTINUOUS

.1. Alone in the Blue Box

Who have ever seen the Doctor circling the TARDIS slowly, shoulders hunched, the face contorted with pain? Not so many people for sure. He really, really tried to avoid being seen in one of his low moods. Whenever he felt this pain inside his old soul, he would try to hide it underneath an airy, carefree mask. He felt it was easier to cower in silence, than to face pity of humans. It was easier to pretend, than to face beasts howling deep in his memory.

That was why he usually pirouetted around the core of his ship, rhythmically switching handles and pushing buttons, much like a conductor and a musician in an orchestra of one. And usually he simply wanted to dance, because he loved the TARDIS, he loved freedom she offered; the whole of space and time opened in front of him like a multicoloured fan. And when he really didn't want to, at least he felt obliged by the presence of his companions.

But this time he had no companion; the only background for his thoughts being the singing of the TARDIS, the humming of the ancient machinery and clicking of handles being moved.

Again, he faced the whole universe. The whole of time. All the places and moments he had not yet seen; creatures he had not yet met; things cruel and beautiful, funny and scary. Of course he could – even now – see the universe in a blade of grass, perceive it's endlessness in a drop of water. Undoubtedly there was always something worth living for...

Worth living for... Always...

He removed a sodden suit jacket, but a wet shirt was still clinging to his skin. Drops of water were still dripping from his rain-soaked hair. Oh, how grateful he was for that rain, so handy in hiding treacherous tears from Wilfred, Donna's Grandfather.

Ooooh, maybe not hiding...

Ooooh, who cared, anyway?

He had stood earlier in front of the Noble's house, talking to Wilf across the threshold, but he had known that they were indeed separated by entire worlds... universes. The cold rain, an unpleasant result of an atmospheric agitation, had troubled the Doctor's world. From the Doctor's world you could only peek through the half-open door into the house brimming with soft, orange light, with smell of freshly brewed tea, with muffled sound of voices. Well, you could even get inside. But you could not stay. Not for long. Not forever.

I am just a traveller. That is what I do – I travel.

And it means I can never stop for a long time.

("You are running away" said Davros. "You are running away from yourself.")

Slowly, the Doctor moved away from the cockpit, leaving the TARDIS adrift; he did not set any destination – the blue box hovered in the temporal orbit, sailing freely across the time and space. If the TARDIS was listening to his thoughts (and usually she quietly did just that) she must have felt a painful consternation. The only thing the Doctor wanted was to go home, but his home had burned in the fires of the great war, had been locked in time, and there was no way left for the TARDIS to fulfil her master's wish.

The Doctor leaned against the pylon and pushed his fists deep into pockets of his trousers. Big, dark eyes grew even larger in his narrow face as he looked ahead, unseeing, across the ship hull's walls.

This time yesterday all his friends had been there. Gathered around the ship's cockpit they flew her together, the way she was supposed to be flown. Bound by one will, one feeling, one goal, one friendship. Triumphantly hauling the whole planet, saving the world. Saving the Earth.

For them.

Not for me.

There was Sarah Jane Smith; amazing Sarah Jane, whom the Doctor left in Aberdeen instead of Croydon so many years ago; to whom he was unable to return after the Time War. Sarah Jane, who had been waiting for him so long, she had almost missed the rest of her own life.

There was Mickey Smith; Ricky; Mickey the idiot; who had lost the love of his life, but found courage, strength and devotion.

There was Martha Jones; Doctor Martha Jones; trusty Martha, whom he had led along the toughest path. Martha, in whose hand there was the Osterhagen key and the destiny of the entire world.

There was Jack Harkness; charming Jack; crazy Captain Jack of Torchwood, who had once flown to the end of the universe holding for his dear life onto the TARDIS's door; Jack, who had died for the Doctor, and whom Rose willed back into endless existence.

Even Jackie Tyler was here, but the Doctor would not let her touch the cockpit – he wasn't mad, or maybe domestic enough, to hand over the steering wheel to his companions' mothers.

And there were three people who, unintentionally, hurt him the most.

Hands, stuck deep in pockets, clenched into fists. The Doctor lowered his head and turned the unseeing gaze onto his own worn plimsolls. He pursed his lips so hard they went white. The last raindrop disconnected from the strand of his brown hair and sailed slowly towards the metal mesh floor.

Three people who, unknowingly and without bad intentions, hurt him the most. The human Doctor. Rose. And Donna.

Oh, that crazy sprint towards Rose, sweet Rose, his Rose. The dark street and that wonderful void in his head, hundreds of years and fear of the unknown lost somehow in this thoughtless run towards a dream come true. Honestly, he could have predicted that somewhere – round the corner, in an adjacent street, behind a wrecked car – there would be a Dalek, waiting. Daleks always survived while the Doctor was loosing everything.

Funnily enough, at first he didn't even feel the pain. Something knocked him off his feet in an explosion of greenish light, then he was down, on the dirty tarmac, and all he could see was Rose's face. He smiled...

The pain brought back missing memories, momentarily forgotten knowledge, all he had learnt through his long life. Nothing lasts forever. All things have their time. And everything dies.

There was desperation in Rose's eyes. Desperation and hope. Regeneration. A process which could not be stopped. The Doctor's heritage. Little death. His tenth incarnation was dying, simply and inevitably, but he knew that it was not all about the flesh. He could not fool Rose either. She knew he was changing, heading into unknown. He was, after all, a Time Lord. And he wished so hard he wasn't. And then he knew that his wishes did not matter. Dreams do not come true.

He could fool himself putting the Chameleon Arch on his head, remodelling each and every cell of his body, so that if faked being human, but he was the Doctor, and so he could not hide from his destiny.

He could take Rose for this seemingly never-ending journey, for this crazy run across the universe. And watch her time ticking away. And loose her again.

No!

He said his farewell again in the Darlig Ulv Stranden, the Bad Wolf Bay. Forever this time. As long as he had known that Rose had been alive, waiting, he had hope. Now he let this hope die. At the very moment his human twin was created, the Doctor knew. He observed his friends and realised that he had given each of them the one thing he himself possessed in an endless abundance – loneliness. So there was only one thing he could do – he had to give Rose the Doctor, exactly the same Doctor she had parted with. With the slight difference of giving her a human, not a Time Lord. Who he returned to her was a mortal, imperfect (oooh, but perfect in so many ways) human. Because only the human being could lean towards her and whisper in her ear the words for which the Doctor had never had enough time. And only the human could really believe them.

"Rose Tyler, I love you."

Two years ago the Doctor had been ready to say those words. Now he knew that it was true only because they had had no consequence. But with the inter-dimensional void separating them, they could, at least, know what they were loosing.

But everything has it's time. And everything dies.

He turned away from Rose and from his flawed (oooh, so flawless) copy and walked towards Donna and the TARDIS.

And again – he knew. It is not easy to be a genius. It is not easy to live with the knowledge of 904 years, the time vortex, and the shared experience of his kind. It is not easy to know.

DoctorDonna. A perfect companion. All the knowledge of the Time Lord bound together with human creativity, with the spark of madness, and with twisted sense of humour. Only Donna could get the idea of spinning the Dalek.

He smiled towards his plimsolls. There was darkness in his eyes.

What he did to Donna...

So, how many times he'd been asked: "Would anyone have to die if you were not there?" How many times he asked himself: "Did I just save them from something which wouldn't endanger them in the first place if I never came here?" Of course he knew both answers. Yes and no. In this order exactly. But Donna...

Donna Noble saved the universe. And she could never remember.

Out of all his companions, Donna was the one the Doctor lost the most.

Still leaning against the pylon the Doctor slowly slid onto the floor. He sat down with his hands in his pockets and his knees up his chest, slim as a young boy, in the soaked shirt, the stubborn mess of damp hair falling on his forehead. And so he sat, in silence, motionless, for many, many hours, while the TARDIS sailed slowly across the space.