(Prologue, Part 1)

They say once you've been in Doctor Who, you never quite escape it. Your résumé will always proudly boast that you were a part of that wonderfully mad show and its legacy. Actors and actresses have been made into stars from it. Their names etched into permanence—true talent deemed worthy of "immortality". But what of those lucky actors tapped to play that powerhouse Gallifreyan? Oh, they are the stuff of legend, aren't they? The entertainment world must flock to their feet and throw script, after brilliant script towards them. They must be set, right? RIGHT?

Wrong. All wrong.

It only seemed like yesterday when David was bowing out as The Doctor. It had not only been a lifelong dream of his, but an acting achievement. He'd met so many wonderful people, acted out so many different scenes, and even garnered the love of thousands. He was the most beloved and popular Doctor—to this very day.

He found himself repeating this constantly. The most beloved Doctor. Repeating it over and over as he went to a multitude of television, theater, and movie auditions. Some times it was all that kept him going. But almost every time it the phrase got harder to say. Gaining weight as the chorus of "No" and "I'm sorry, but you're too recognizable as the Doctor" rang out like graveyard bell. These "friends" he'd made during his Doctor Who tenure had turned their backs, leaving him with empty promises and frustration.

"I'm sorry, David, they said they wanted someone less…" the agent began, hesitating before delivering the final coffin nail, "…synonymous with a previous role."

"Say it, Frank, don't coddle me. They want someone who didn't play the bloody DOCTOR on the television," David wearily hissed, hands gripping the tattered script he'd been holding.

"Look, I'll keep looking. There's something out there, David. There always is, we just got to knock a few trees and see what falls," his agent said hurriedly, aware of his client's agitation.

"Yeah, like the last few hundred times," David snapped, slamming the phone down on the receiver angrily.

He stared venomously at the now half-torn script between his fingers. David couldn't get any work because of that damn…Doctor. A low hum of a soundtrack drifted into the kitchen where David had decided to situate himself. The latest Doctor Who episode was on…and he could almost feel that brand new face—Matt Smith—shining through the walls. David's head drooped lower before snapping up quickly. He shoved the chair back and let out a tired, rage-filled scream—flinging the tattered script against the opposite wall.

"No more. I can't…I…no. No more," David breathed, chest rising rapidly, hands grabbing his brown hair furiously.

He lunged for his car keys, which had been sitting silently in a small dish, and stormed out of the dwelling. David drove for hours before finally stopping by the side of a tall and abrupt cliff side. This was his favorite place, it always seemed to calm his nerves. There was a field behind him, full of lush emerald grass and a spotting of wild flowers. Every time the breeze kicked up, a steady "shh" over swept the land. Below the cliff side was a roaring gray ocean—intent on consuming itself, over and over in a salty assault.

David closed his eyes. He knew more disappointment waited for him back at home. The show he had always loved and dreamed of being a part of had ultimately been his acting career's death. There was never going to be another chance…and it hurt. His fingernails began digging into the fleshy underside of his palms as he slowly started moving towards the edge of the cliff side. Eleven more steps. That's all it would take. David's mouth fell into a stubborn line as he continued his heavy pace—never even noting the alien wheezing sound grinding to a halt in the field behind him.

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DISCLAIMER: I do not own the rights to Doctor Who, or David Tennant (unfortunately). This is a work of fiction written purely for fun (and for my own/everyone's enjoyment).

Thank you, and enjoy the story!