A First Doctor

A Second Doctor

(A) Third Doctor

#A# Fourth Doctor

*A* Fifth Doctor

^A^ Sixth Doctor

-A- Seventh Doctor

_A_ Eighth Doctor

{A} Ninth Doctor

&A& Tenth Doctor

+A+ Eleventh Doctor

{Nine}: An Oncoming Storm

Nine didn't feel anything like the Doctor again in the beginning, and in fact kept Cass' bandolier on him because of that. He felt anger at the thought that he would have to be Doctor again after everything had happened, so he kept the bandolier. It was to describe him just as the man felt he was and would always be from this point on, a warrior, a soldier. But the symbolic weight of that bandolier, was nothing compared to the burden that carried on in the hearts that hid behind that strip of leather across his chest. He carried it to not only be a visual signal of who he was, but also to remind himself of what he was meant to be, if not a Doctor anymore. And he did this by never placing any kind of weapon in that strip of leather, leaving it empty as he went on through what was the worst time of any of his lives as a Time Lord.

The material of leather had never really fancied him in a clothing sense back when he was the Doctor. Back then he was more coerced by the soft yet slight itchiness wool, the silken feel of velvet and ruffles or even a giant fur coat that certainly could have only been from a skinned Yeti. Leather back then felt too tough or uncomfortable on the skin, but in this life, and in the one before him, it seemed to fit his personality and appearance perfectly. And whilst mentioning it, Nine had taken any and all of the colorful or strange clothing from long ago had been abandoned into the wardrobe room, along with every other article of clothing he couldn't stand looking at, because of the memories it all represented.

His clothes were made darker and more simplistic, no questions marks or waistcoats, not anymore, not ever. Nine wanted melt into the darkness, to deal with the problems he was faced with without being noticed or interfered with. He wanted to also seem somewhat threatening as well, just to make sure to an extra extent that no one would even approach him. The end result turned out to be mostly uninteresting but professional black business shoes, pants and of course a black leather jacket that he remembered being left behind by Ace when she left, the teenager being very fond of men's leather jackets at that time, something that Seven had wanted to pretend to be mystified by at the time. Though really Nine knew well enough that no coat in the universe, no matter what the source of them might have been, could ever make her stray from the patch and badge covered hobby, or rather the continuing self expressing artwork, that was her signature black jacket.

It represented the person she was, just like Nine felt the bandolier did for him at the time, as despite the fact that the light brown material clashed somewhat with the black leather and darkened color jumpers he always wore, but still he didn't ever seem to care and continued on wearing it for some time. But as he already knew, time withers all things, and eventually the bandolier finally snapped one too many times, and was now to the point of beyond repair, and what was once both his safety net and symbolic representation of who he was meant to be, was lost.

He was lost all over again.

Now he was no longer considered to himself to be either a warrior or soldier, and he certainly wasn't a Doctor either, not anymore and possibly not ever again. To go back into the time fires of the past, the war that had been and hopefully never would be again, since there was no way the universe could ever take something of that scale and size for a second time. And as much as the thought of never being the Doctor again would crack and chip at his eternally aching hearts, it seemed to also make some sense to him that the title of a warrior and soldier would have to be something that he would have to let go now that the war was over.

How was one supposed to still be a soldier, when there was no war left to fight?

As a result Nine eventually let the title of warrior and soldier go, but wouldn't ever dare to let himself forget the man he had been during that war, because without it, without him, the universe would be dust. The leather strap was tied to one of the large pieces of coral of the TARDIS' new desktop theme that he had picked out, in a specific part of the coral that he would always see when reentering the console room from any side, just so he would always see and remember. And so Nine was left to wonder for a time, nameless to himself and giving no name to those that ever spoke to him, which were very few in large spaces of time. This was nothing that bothered him though, since he had become recluse and use to loneliness, which was more extreme for Time Lords, since they don't really need to sleep for most of their lives.

So instead of sleeping, he would sit in the library. What would happen on those nights was usually not far from two actions. The first was to seek out the bottled history of Gallifrey, liquid readings that every TARDIS was meant to be supplied with no matter what numeric types they were. In the beginning of his lives as the Doctor, he had buried them in Earth memorabilia, especially during his exile to that planet. How horribly poetic it was that he had to dig through that grave of Earth items to find what could be the last historical documentation of his home planet to most likely exist in the universe. It took many years, but he found them all, every single last bottle, from its very beginnings to the eventual assertion to Time Travel and beyond.

Nine learned more of Gallifreyan history on those nights than he ever had one lesson in the Academy, where instead of listening he would look out the window, and dream of being anywhere else but that orange skied planet. And now, he would give anything to see those skies again, only to know that he never would ever again, and what made that worse was the knowledge that that was because of him. It was when that thought really stuck into his mind that Nine could not find comfort in the whispering words of bottled Gallifreyan, that he would look into the flames of the fireplace near his chair, letting his thoughts blank out to nothing but him staring into the blaze.

It was a strange thing, how many nights he had spent in this life staring into the orange flames, but not once had he ever looked into a reflection. This was a trait he knew was passed on from the man, the soldier before him, how both he and now Nine as well, could not bear to look at their reflections. Nine never looked because he didn't want to see what he thought was the face of a monster, a mass killer. No, the heat and remembrance of the flames felt like more like a reflection to him than any mirror could ever provide.

But eventually that did nothing for him either, and so finally he reached the night that he had wanted to avoid for so long. Nine left the library, and walked into the console room, after the TARDIS of course misdirecting him for a time since she already knew what it was he was trying to do, and didn't want him to feel that stinging pain all over again. Though eventually she had to relent, and he found the console room at last, eyes peering to the bandolier tied piece of coral for a moment longer than usual, before finally moving to the controls, flicking his command quickly through the data base, before finally receiving what he had been looking for the whole time, and had often thought of looking for in the past.

He counted every single name on that list, committing them to his memory with every silent and ancient tear fell down an aged face.

Two point four seven billion,

The TARDIS wept with him.

Two of the very last of their kind, grieving together.

Years passed, and he continued to do the work that the Doctor would have done, but there was no joy, no satisfaction in helping others, whether it be the largest planet, or the smallest person. He couldn't feel happy in helping others, because he felt that nothing he did, no good deed of any size or importance, was going to wipe away that horrid blackness of the past. Gallifrey was gone, and the impact of that began to fade, most planets of the universe nearly forgetting altogether that there ever was an ancient and forever planet of the Kasterborous constellation. His long gone home became more and more of a myth with every passing century, the name and meaning of the Doctor however, never seemed to fade.

The universe didn't want to forget him, for every good thing he had done. But then again, the cosmos didn't know what he had done on that fateful day. No one knew, so he never let himself forget. Centuries of his life passed where he walked on nameless, neither warrior, soldier or Doctor. He was nobody walking the eternity of loneliness, and for the longest time, that was exactly how he preferred it and didn't want it any other way. And so to keep others away, he became as brooding and dark as the black leather jacket made him look on the outside.

Nine became angry, angrier than he had ever been in the past, whether warrior or Doctor.

This anger of his was not unknown to his enemies, especially the more well known menaces like the Sontarans or the Cybermen. He was not merciful to them in the way he would have been in the past, there was no chances for them to run away, not anymore. This behavior guaranteed him the names that originally had been given to him by the Daleks during the Time War, the Oncoming Storm, and the Predator. Some enemies during this time would run away when hearing that this version of the man that had once been the Doctor, not wanting the no-chances man to get them or catch up to them. He became the nightmare that monsters had, and all it really took was the darkness in his expression.

He saved many planets, many lives during his trek of loneliness, but there was one planet in particular that he always tried to avoid, for many reasons more than just one. And that planet was the only one left that for every man he had been, he could ever call home. The Earth was avoided because despite the shock wave that had gone through the rest of the universe, it had reminded completely unchanged, and still went on, unaware of everything else in the cosmos. England in particular, if he really had to go back to that blue and green sphere of life, was one country he tried his best to avoid. There were still friends of his old life that lived there, alive and just as unaware as the other seven billion people that walked through life around them.

What would they think of him if they knew? What would they say? Would they understand that at the time he was out of options? That he had truly tried everything before this point, everything he could have ever thought would work in disbanding that war. Nine thinks of his companions of the past that knew the violence and mind breaking that a war provided, and everything that it took away. Would Alistair or the other UNIT soldiers understand? Would Fitz? Jamie… the Scot didn't even remember him enough to understand the implications of what Nine had done, but still he liked to think that Jamie, or at the very least the Brigadier would understand. Not that he would ever seek them out to know that for real.

The anger that he was starting to feel more in this life than in any other eventually gets directed to the Earth despite himself. It was mostly a feeling of resentment in the fact that something so big could destroy his life, but no matter what seemed to attack the Earth, human kind could just get back up on its feet and keep going as if nothing happened. He had never felt such dislike for the human race before this point, and had caught himself more than referring to them as 'stupid apes', and remembers that that was exactly how the Master had referred to the people of the Earth during one of their many intellectual trysts when he was Three.

More thoughts continue would pile in and on top of one another after that, the thoughts that there would be no more intellectual competitions with his old Academy friend ever again, no more enforced missions by the Time Lords, no more grumblings at the thought that he had been President of Gallifrey, and the stuffy high collars and skull caps that had to go with that title. No running from the CIA, no official complaining consistently to the High Council to fix the smallest portions of the largest laws, no snarky Time Lords that he would run into and had to stop when they thought Human History was a playground and not fixed points in time.

Not ever, ever again.

Nine was walking through the corridors of the TARDIS when that portion of this tremendous loss, the finality of it seemed to suddenly hit him at last, and has to stop in the middle of his usual swaggering gait, the darkened expression lightening in sorrow of the idea of it. It was so much to take in; the loss of his birth home took so much away from him, the good and the bad. And accepting all this, or at least coming to realize even the smallest of things that would never be the same, took more time than he might have first realized.

How he was supposed to cope with these realizations, these moments of utter grief that never seemed to end, Nine finally admitted, that he didn't know. At least, that was until the door that he had miraculously stopped near in the middle of his comprehension, swung slowly open. Nine looked over to the opened door, an eyebrow raised in both confusion and annoyance at why the TARDIS would want him to go in that room at all, especially since he had thought he made his feelings towards it very clear. All the same, Nine figured that he really didn't have much to lose, at least not anymore, and so walked inside.

The wardrobe room frustrated him with the fact that everything that the Doctor, and the warrior, had been was in this room, by his own design of course. He couldn't stand seeing the slightest things around the control room that had reminded him of the man he was and was apparently mean to become once again now that the war was over. Because of this he shoved everything he ever found form the past into that wardrobe room, then changing the desktop theme so he wouldn't have to see the ever familiar old roundels again. So stepping into this room was everything he had been trying to get away from.

Apparently, as Nine noticed, whenever he did throw what he considered 'useless' items, into that room, the TARDIS would place them, and sometimes even have to repair them beforehand, neatly away to a section of the wardrobe room that she had closed off from the storm of coats and dresses, a section that was dedicated to the Doctor, every one of him. Walking into this neatly fixed room was like stepping into the past itself to Nine as he looked over the scene. The particular clothes of that incarnation could be neatly folded on small tables; their extra items placed around the clothing or on shelves behind it as if it were a visual description of everything that incarnation had been in life.

It was almost like funeral effigies, but Nine preferred to not think of it like that. After all, he and all the men he had ever been existed somewhat outside of time. So really in regular time, all these men that were represented by the items they had left behind, were still walking around, continuing to be their own kind of man, their own kind of Doctor with their companions that they cared for so dearly, on their own adventures through a better universe.

Every item that he had so cruelly stuffed away, was now being carefully looked over as Nine went along, picking up one thing every so often to look it over, feeling the weight of it in his hands as he turned it over and over before carefully placing it back in its place. Memories from long ago flooded back as he saw the most inanimate and supposedly ordinary things, from the old cane, to the bag of jelly babies. He'd forgotten how the cane felt in his hands, or how good the sweets had tasted, and now he was made to remember it, and for a while it was not as bad as Nine had seriously thought it would be. It stung in places, especially when he saw things like the seal of Rassilon that had been in Three's pocket after nicking it from the Master in the Death Zone, or the Stattenheim Remote control that Two always liked to flaunt to his other selves whenever he got the chance.

Whatever resentment or grief that had made him throw them here seemed to make no sense in that moment, as instead all Nine felt was nostalgia and what could be described as happiness as he looked through everything. Finally though, Nine reached what he knew immediately was the reason that the TARDIS had brought him in here in the first place. And just like nearly every other item in the room, it would seem so ordinary and unimportant to anyone else that they wouldn't understand why Nine felt such a rush of both understanding, and another familiar sense that he hadn't felt in so many long, long years.

On the small table near the shelves that was dedicated to the last incarnation that called himself the Doctor, was a pair of worn out, once-perfect shoes.

The familiar sense meanwhile was something he wasn't expecting whatsoever.

…

Hmm, nice of the TARDIS to set up something like this,

She kept my recorder! Well, my replacement anyway…

(You're never going to let that go are you?)

…

#Ah she kept all my Scarves are here… wait, where's the burgundy? #

*I wouldn't worry too much on it…*

^Yes, it went to a good cause right? ^

-Stop right there if you know what's good for you Six…-

…

_Those shoes really where a good fit, _

&Almost as good as my trainers now, but nothing could beat that comfort on the heels,&

+You're not talking about the Sand Shoes? +

&They're not Sand Shoes! &

+Right, next you're going to say bow ties aren't cool? +

…

That recorder was a gift from a very nice monarch as you know!

(And I also recall that she was interested in more than just a music session,)

Oh of course you have to talk about that again,

Talk about what hmm? What monarch?

…

#What happened to the burgundy? #

*Nothing, really it's-*

^Well if you really want to know…^

-Six…-

…

_Should we tell him? _

&…We don't need a repeat of last time do we? &

_No, the others might get involved this time, _

+Oh very funny you two, +

…

It was a barrage of sudden voices, a bombardment of loud company after nearly an eternity of silence alone. And for a while Nine said nothing, but just stood there his eyes still looking on the worn out shoes, listening to everything he could ever pick up from them, every word. There was no annoyance like there had been in the past at the thought of them just walking in and arguing with each other in his mind, one voice always doing its best to talk over one another. Instead Nine was blank for a while, just s small while as he had to pick all this up and accept that what was happening was definitely real.

They had come back again.

Nine broke his silence of listening to them all, by laughing.

They all stopped at the sound in what they had been doing, and as a switch, starting paying attention to him as he laughed. How strange he knew he must have looked at that moment, staring at a pair of worn out shoes and laughing with such relief that there were tears in his eyes and down his cheeks. Anyone else in the situation would have thought that he was crazy, but in that moment it didn't matter, since there was no one else there but himself, and for the first time in years, himselves. However, it wasn't just the thought that they were back at last that had him tearing up in relieved laughter, but there was also the rush of understanding as well, since he wasn't ignorant enough to disregard what the return really meant, what time was telling him.

He wasn't mean to be lost anymore, but he certainly wasn't a warrior again.

He was meant to be the Doctor once more.

(I say old chap, are you alright?)

The shoes are picked up and held in his hands, memories of the perfect fit and feel of the heel hadn't faded despite his previous attempts to forget it all, forget the man he had been. He couldn't forget the man he had been anymore; if he was meant to be the Doctor again then he would have to accept the past, all of it. Being the Doctor didn't mean that he was allowed to throw away what had happened in the War, not that he would ever allow himself to at any point. He knew the Time War was never going to leave him, whether he was the Doctor or not.

And he so wanted, and was happy, to be the Doctor again, even if he could never forget, or forgive.

It was time to go back to England again.

&Don't worry about him, &

+He's going to be fine now… Really, +

On the underground floor of a London fashion shop; something was not right. A young blonde woman, wandering on her own as she was looking for a colleague of her's that was already dead. She walks into the same danger her work mate did without ever realizing it, and was about to receive the nasty end of that exact menace. The woman looks away from the strange plastic men that had slowly cornered her, her eyes squeezed shut as the artificial hand raised upward, ready to strike down with force at any moment to end her nineteen year long life.

Suddenly, a hand takes hers.

"Run!"

A/N: Just a fore warning, but while I will be writing a chapter for the Twelfth (Thirteenth? Fourteenth? ... Whatever) chapter, I'm going to wait until his first season is over before writing it, just to a good scope on what kind of Doctor he will be.

Oh, and only a few more days until season 8 guys! Sooooo excited!

Please review, constructive criticism always welcome.