A/N: If you recognize it, I don't own it. If you like this one, you should definitely check out the companion piece, "Wolf at the Door" by The White Leopard.

The Eye of the Storm

It was so easy to kill.

Donna Noble was right: he needed someone to stop him. When no one stopped him, he had no reason not to continue. This was how he was. This was who he was. He was a murderer. He was a purveyor of his own brand of justice. He was the last of the Time Lords and he could do as he pleased. And he did.

The Doctor's legend grew. Whole civilizations shivered in dread at the mention of his name. When his TARDIS landed, the people turned to each other and whispered in dread: "It's him. He's here: The Oncoming Storm. The Destroyer."

Doctor was the name given to one who destroyed.

The most terrifying thing about him, said the legends, was that he never ran. He only walked with easy, confident steps, his hands in his pockets and his strides eating up the distance between him and his target. He could bring a government crashing down with ten words. One glance from his empty eyes was enough to send armies running for their lives and he never even broke stride. It was as if he no longer noticed the power that crackled off of him, a power more intense than a supernova. A power that meant he never had to rush because he knew that his target would still be standing when he arrived, because if his target was not where he expected it to be, there would be hell to pay. That was the most frightening thing.

The most terrifying thing about him, said the legends, was that his face never changed. His eyes were horrible to see, as dark and cold and pitiless as the vacuum of space itself. Sometimes it was said that he killed with those eyes; one look and you were dead already, just not lying down yet. He would survey cities and find them lacking. His lips would tighten and that was his death sentence. The city would be wiped out of existence, another name written only in the legends, another mark on the growing list. Invariably, woe would fall on the one who dared try to rebuild. The Storm's retribution was swift and terrible. He commanded time itself. He could twist the fate of the universe to match his whims and his desires. He did it all without a smile or a frown; he did it all without even blinking. That was the most frightening thing.

The most terrifying thing about him, said the legends, was that he never gave warning. Some people whispered stories that said he used to offer chances. Some people whispered that he had encountered the Gelth and had offered to find them a planet of their own, if they would only go peacefully; that he had allowed the Sycorax to retreat with only one casualty and a warning and had actually avenged their subsequent destruction; that he had saved the humans of New Earth when no one else even dared speak of them.

Those stories, though, were not often told. After all, there was no way they could be true. The Doctor was anything but benign; he was merciless. If he was feeling kind, if you only irritated him and did not provoke him to anger, he would use his TARDIS to travel back in time. He would wipe you out before you were truly begun, so that you lay a footnote in all of history – forgotten. That was your punishment if he was feeling kind. If not, if you angered him, then he would wait. He would let you carry on until the height of your power – then, he would step calmly in and destroy you with one grand motion. He would make an example of you from which all the universe would learn for the rest of time. He would use you to send a message to every single living thing in the universe, from the most advanced life forms to the amoebas just learning how to crawl: this is what happens when you anger the Doctor. This is what happens.

You would never know that he was coming, not until it was too late. There was no placating him. There was no chance to change your ways. Once he made up his mind, there was no changing it. He killed without effort. Breathing took more work for him than taking lives did. He slaughtered by the thousands, by the millions, by the billions. He waded through seas of blood. When you provoked the Storm's wrath, there was no warning and there was no salvation. There was only destruction. That was the most frightening thing.

The most terrifying thing about him, said the legends, was that he had nothing to lose. He was an empty man. He had nothing and so he could do anything. He did not fear death. He did not fear anything. He had once faced down a fleet of Sontarons at the height of their power. He had faced their general with his cold, empty eyes and he had asked, "Do you want to challenge me?"

And then, when they – when the Sontarons - aborted the attack and retreated, he had destroyed them. He had wiped out the entire fleet without batting an eye. He did it not solely because he could, but because there was no reason to spare them; they had done nothing to earn his mercy, even if he'd had mercy to show them. He walked into danger without fear, without ever really acknowledging that there might be reason for him to fear. He would look you in the eye and ask if you wanted to challenge him, and you just knew: this was not a man who made threats. He didn't need them. He didn't need anything, not even his own life. That was the most frightening thing.

He strode down the dark London street, surveying the damage without concern. The Daleks had been at work here and across the universe. They had dared to pull almost thirty planets from the sky. They had dared to build a weapon to use against him, as if he feared anything that they may try. He did not fear. People only feared because they had something to lose. He, however, had nothing.

The Storm turned on his heel and began the leisurely stroll back to the TARDIS. He had seen enough. The Daleks would pay. He had failed before to wipe them out, but this time was different. This time, he was the destroyer. He had no pity for them anymore. He had no empathy. He no longer bothered to hope that they would become a force for good, that they could be redeemed. He knew that they could not be redeemed; therefore, it was time for them to die.

A blue light flashed before his eyes and she was suddenly there, regarding him from a distance. The Storm never faltered as she approached, but he did stop and let her catch up.

"Rose," he acknowledged. His voice was cold and hollow.

Rose met his eyes, fearless. She searched him, searched the very deepest parts of him, and he allowed her to do so. There was nothing, anymore, that he bothered to hide. He was fire and he was ice. He was rage. He was the storm in the heart of the sun. He controlled the turn of the universe and changed history to suit his whims. He was the destroyer after whom all others were named and it did not surprise her to see it.

"Hello, Doctor."

She looked at him expectantly. He returned her gaze with cold eyes, considering this woman with his former companion's face. Something in his mind said that he should be thrilled to see her, that his hearts should race and he should at least smile, preferably throw his arms around her and never let go. But hundreds and hundreds of years had decayed his feelings, both for her and for everything else; that voice telling him to be happy was no longer any more than an echo of who he once had been. It was no longer a part of him.

"I've changed a lot," he said without inflection, answering her unspoken question. Rose regarded him with eyes like steel, considering him in his entirety. Long moments past in silence but only the world noticed. She shrugged, her fingers drumming against her gun.

"So have I."

Now it was his turn to stare at her, looking her up and down with a critical eye, judging and assessing everything she was. She looked older. Her face was youthful but there was no longer any baby fat in her cheeks. Her eyes had changed, too. He looked into those eyes. She hid nothing from him but allowed him to see her true nature: she was the whirlwind and she was the flood. She was a supernova but she burned coldly. She was fate. She was the wolf. She saw all of time and space and she controlled it because she could, because there was no reason for her to do otherwise. He stared into her eyes. For the first time in a millennium, he did not find what he saw to be lacking. His lips did not tighten. Instead, he inclined his head.

The course of the universe shifted irrevocably.

Their legend grew. Entire systems trembled at the mention of their names. When their TARDIS landed, the people turned to one another and whispered in dread: "It's them. They're here: the Eye of the Storm. The Destroyers."

The most terrifying thing about them, said the legends, was that they had no pity and they had no fear. They were shells in the shape of beings, full of fire and ice and poison. Wherever they went, they brought chaos. They brought their own brand of justice, born of apathy and bloodlust. Their eyes, it was said, were the harbingers of death. They were terrifying eyes, as cold and empty as a gaping black hole and as chaotic as the heart of a raging nebula where new stars were forced to burn. Their eyes drove men to madness. That was the most frightening thing.

The most terrifying thing about them, said the legends, was that they were never alone. The Doctor and Rose Tyler travelled together wherever they went. They advanced side by side and civilizations fell in their wake. Together, they were kind: they focused their destruction on the guilty and let the innocent be. Apart, they were unstoppable, uncontrolled: there was no place in the multiverse safe from their fury. No threat, no weapon, no army would ever be enough to make them falter in their quest to be reunited. They destroyed indiscriminately and their rage was absolute. Nothing could stop them. Nothing could stand between them. Not even Time itself was safe from their wrath. Not even Fate would dare to test their bonds. That was the most frightening thing.

The most terrifying thing about them, said the legends, was that they had no humanity. Their humanity, if ever they had possessed it, had been burned out of them long ago. The only emotion they showed was anger; the only kindness they gave was a swift death. Occasionally, their names were used in legendary stories of love but such stories could never be anything more than a bard's way of earning his coin. Whatever bound them together, it could not have been love. Love was a human thing. The Doctor and Rose Tyler were anything but human. They strode through time and space without effort. They never aged; time had no control over them. They never stopped; they never forgot; they never forgave. They were the Destroyers. He controlled the turn of the universe and shaped it according to his whims; she held the fates of every living thing in the palm of her hand and did with them as she willed. Together, they were power. They were the fury of a mindless beast and they were the cold rage of a hurricane. They were mighty and they were terrible.

They were ancient; they were young; they were forever.

That was the most frightening thing.