who_contest | Away from Earth Challenge: Lest You Be Shamed

Title: Lest You Be Shamed
Rating: PG
Genres: Angst, slight crossover with Torchwood
Word Count: 826
Character: The Doctor
Warning: Mention of character deaths
Summary: With concentration, he could easily tear out this hurt, transform it into a cold, blank awareness, before dumping it behind a locked door of forcibly forgotten memories. - Mentions of events in 'Torchwood: Children of Earth', though this story can be understood without having seen it.

-o-

Drawing in a deep breath in the attempt to calm himself down, the Doctor tries and fails to halt the trembling of his fingers. Watching them intently, feeling and seeing each insignificant shake of each individual finger, he can't help but startle slightly at the reaction he is currently having. It's not natural, it's unwanted, and it's not preventable. He doesn't care for the uncontrollable urge to claw away at his own emotions until only numbness remains; that is what he considers doing, regardless.

With concentration, he could easily tear out this hurt, transform it into a cold, blank awareness, before dumping it behind a locked door of forcibly forgotten memories. That wouldn't help, though.

Closing his eyes, the Doctor bites back an angry sob as his thoughts try to find a distraction. He wants something, anything that will turn his attention to something that is not the human race. It is hard, despite the vast array of ideas he knows he is capable of conjuring up. Whether he likes it or not - he most certainly does not like it - he can't prevent the inevitable. His mind will replay the events, over and over again, until he becomes distraught with rage.

Rage.

He isn't allowed to feel that. Earth is not his home, humans are not his species. They shouldn't provoke emotion within him. But they do, and it is painful to understand that it can't be changed. It's his own fault. He made them a priority in his life, in his hearts.

They are important.

And he feels rage towards them. The problem is, as he grits his teeth together and tries to keep his body from going cold from horror, he also has guilt, which is slowly replacing the anger.

The humans were in a crisis, one that had no good solution available to them with their technology, and he didn't help. He sat down, switched on the TARDIS console monitor, and watched them play out a piece of history that is fixed in place for all of time. It can't be edited or tinkered with, even though the Doctor has the power to do so. No matter how much he wants to go back and remove the aliens that caused such harm, he won't allow himself to do so, considering what happened the last time.

Blowing out a sigh, opening his eyes, the Doctor licks his dry lips and lifts his head to look up at the TARDIS's monitor. It is black, turned off, and has been that way for quite a while now. Though it holds no negative images on it anymore, it is still a reminder of what has been. He wants to cry; he won't let tears fall.

Sniffing, turning his head away from the offending object, the Doctor swallows back any passing comment of self-hatred that wants to escape. The room is warm, comfortable, and that just makes it worse. Why is he here, in the lap of luxury, while the human race is recovering from an alien attack?

How is he allowed to sit down and have no visible, physical problems, while one of his friends deals with the aftermath of killing a relative to save the relatives of so many other families?

It is not right.

Shaking his head, the Doctor doesn't bother to contort his expression into that of loathing. It will do no good; he is already aware of how much he hates himself. Bringing one of his still trembling hands up to touch his precious ship, he glides his cold flesh over some of the switches on the console. The heat emitting from the TARDIS is unwelcome, but he must withstand it. He wants to pilot the girl away from this place, and to do that he must torture his skin with her beautiful, cruel comfort. Taking a step closer, he moves his other hand to the lever that will take her into the vortex. Holding it tightly, staring at his fingers as they turn white from the harsh grip, he pulls down the lever firmly and without forgiveness.

He needs to go somewhere else, somewhere that is not Earth, or else he will be consumed by an emotion he isn't able to will away. He knows it's a cowardly move, one done out of selfish motives. Right now, a friend is in need of his help, but he won't offer it.

Instead, the Doctor opts for the safest action, the one that will remove any emotional association to what has happened. He runs, away from his friend, away from the planet he can't bear to be on at the moment.

Facing Jack would be too much, anyway. The Doctor already feels shame towards himself; seeing Jack and trying to explain why he couldn't be there, why he wasn't allowed to be there, would just make it a little bit too unbearable to cope with.

He would rather just have the rage.

-o-