One
'Tardis'
- aka Prelude

The Doctor had spent the better part of three months trying to silence his thoughts. His Tardis, the only thing left from his home, had reached out to him daily during this time, trying to coax him out from under the grating to no avail. It was in the comfort of his Tardis that he could distract himself. Like tinkering with the engine or fixing any wires that were slightly out of line until his hands were raw and red, nails broken from effort. There was always something to do in his ship. Always something to distract himself with.

At some point he knew he would have to land on solid ground, accomplish something other than hiding, but he kept pushing it off. The mantra 'there's always tomorrow' was the excuse he'd been using for a week now. And his ship was finally getting sick of it.

He'd be stupid to assume that she wasn't going to start inconveniencing him soon, forcing his hand until he would finally do as she says, as he always does. But he was going to wait for as long as possible. He wasn't ready yet.

Until then he would do anything.

Like fix the mechanics of the console, change up the rooms, maybe add a couple more in while he's at it, find a new outfit to compliment his rather...pronounced features and make a new sonic screwdriver. He'd lost his old one during the war after all, along with everything else. This one was better, the design was not big and bulky like before. It fit in his new hands much easier. He wasn't reminded of holding a gun when it was clenched in his palm. That was comforting. A change.

He's changed. Like shedding his skin of all the destruction he's caused. New man, new face, the only thing to remind him of what he's done are his thoughts. Ones that he tries to silence as much as he can.

But then he blinks and he's back on Gallifrey. His throat is tight and itchy with smoke, eyes squinting to see past its thick smog. He's focused on keeping himself alive no matter what. It doesn't matter if he can feel the metal grating under his feet or the controls on the console with his hands, his mind is back in the war with the screaming and the thunderous gunshots ripping through the air. These memories rip the breath from his lungs and leech every ounce of energy from his body until it feels better curled up on his hands and knees like a child needing the comfort of his parents. Except he was 900 years old. He had everything; parents, siblings, a wife and children, grandchildren too. But he'd gone and lost it all. The only reminder that he ever had of that life was this stolen ship, his sexy Tardis that had given him some of the best years of his life. Even that felt like it was something he in time would lose too.

The Doctor was unstable. He knew it, his Tardis knew it. That's what happens when you survive something that you shouldn't have. The guilt eats you away until you feel like nothing more than a shell of the person you once were.

He wasn't ready because his memories were haunting him and he wasn't ready because sometimes his hands would twitch, reaching for a phantom holster and gun on his hip. He'd thrown any weaponry he'd owned into the orbit of a black hole and watched it get sucked away so the temptation would fade from his mind.

Because what if he did take the leap and land on a planet. One with guns and knives and other dangerous life taking instruments that he had wielded so well previously. Even an ounce of danger could have him cutting down anything in his way like the soldier he was.

And where would that leave him? Arrested by the Judoon and placed in intergalactic prison for crimes he shouldn't have committed in the first place with no excuse or anything to prove his innocence. Lots of people had suffered great deals of loss before him, and many would after him, as a result of war. It wasn't an excuse for brutality, the never ending cycle of war had taught him as much.

He didn't trust himself to be the kindness that the universe needed for its survival. To stop travesties in their wake like he used to before the war. He'd called himself the Doctor back then, the title suiting his work. Healing. During the war he'd traded it in. He wasn't a Doctor anymore, merely the Oncoming Storm bringing destruction in its wake. Now both titles felt wrong, like they didn't belong to him at all. He was too cowardly to be either. Hiding away in the stars, unmoving as time filtered around him, days and weeks and months passing him by.

The itch to do something had been bubbling under the surface of his skin like a rash. It had been there for a few days now. He'd tried to will it away with any distraction he could possibly muster during these times of weakness. Most of the time it worked because he knew he couldn't trust himself, and wasn't ready to be out there with people. It was a strange thought to even imagine him navigating around in time and space. And oh how he had wanted to just leave it.

But it was the Tardis, who knew him better then he even knew himself sometimes, and she knew how to get her way. The ship knew how to manipulate him, get under his skin like nothing else in the universe. She's quite good at it, even if it does cause him some strife.

He'd just rewired the light connection on the flooring leading to the wardrobe as an experiment. Thousands of tiny blue bulbs sat wedged into the carpet for direction, inspired by what cinemas did on Earth. Just that simple thought, that acknowledgement of the planet was enough for sexy to spring into action.

While she couldn't exactly fly by herself, the screen by the console had lit up with a map of Earth, and she had practically forced the Doctor to look at the thing.

Planet Earth. He'd always loved it there. The humans were just so human, so real and pure and full of emotion. Which could prove quite tiresome when he's trying to save their lives and they're just blubbering all over the place but still. It was the culture, their persistence to live and conquer that was so appealing. Even if they did go about it in the completely wrong way sometimes. And maybe it was also a tiny bit because they looked like Time Lords. Even before the war when he'd just ducked out for the occasional travel, being around humans reminded him of home. Like he belonged there, strangely enough.

Which was why the sight of it lit up on the screen just scared him. He could never forgive himself if he destroyed this beautiful planet. But he would also never forgive himself if he stayed cooped up in the Tardis forever. He was at a crossroad, quite literally.

His hands reached for the controls before he even realised what he was doing. Muscle memory. He had always been so frivolous about travel previously. Thinking of a place he wanted to see and then being there within seconds. It was one of the things he used to like about himself. Because it was one of the things that used to draw his friends to him. The Doctor stilled, tried to coach his thoughts and convince himself not to go through with it. The thrumming of his Tardis egging him on, calling out to him to just do it was no help either. That magical feeling of the engine whirring away tugged at every part of his body until he was just forced to throw down the handbrake and travel across time and space once again.

He was only going to be on Earth for a few minutes, just to pop in and see. To feel the ground under his feet for a bit. Hopefully that would be enough.

A/N

Hello, this is my first fanfiction that I've actually plucked up the courage to write more than two chapters to and to actually post. I hope it is alright so far and that it's not too cliche or boring. I have written a fair few longer chapters to follow this one which I will be posting shortly and that I am actually kind of proud of. Though knowing me as soon as I'll look back on them I'll surely cringe at my writing style.

Anyway, thank you for taking the time to read my story, I hope that you like it. Feel free to leave me a review and any criticisms you have!