Liz wanted to slink away into the shadows at that comment. She didn’t like the connotations of ‘old’, even though this was Jack, who wasn’t bothered by age, gender or species, and probably meant nothing by it. She was old now, a million miles away from the proud, young Liz Shaw who’d worked alongside UNIT’s scientific advisor so many decades before.
At least she assumed it was the Doctor. He looked so different now - so different that he could have been another person entirely. He was young and hatefully handsome, but there was something in his eyes that she recognised, underneath all the shadows. Shadows which suggested he was a much more haunted man now than he’d been when she’d known him.

In fact, for all his new-found youth and vitality, the Doctor looked old.

For one horrible, agonizing second, the Doctor was completely silent. Liz thought, with a desperate, sick sort of terror, that he didn’t even recognise her. Yes, it had been years – maybe even centuries, for him – since they’d last met, but that was no excuse. After everything they’d done together, all the time they’d spent working side-by-side, all the things they’d seen...

“Liz!” exclaimed the Doctor, delightedly, “Liz Shaw!”

That was better.

He was beaming at her, and Liz found herself running the last few steps forward. And then, somehow, she ended up in his arms. He hugged her tight, but not quite as tightly as Liz hugged him. He was slimmer, and taller, in this regeneration, as well as considerably younger, but he was still the Doctor – her Doctor – and that was all that really mattered.

She rested her head on his shoulder, missing the old velvet and silk, but deciding she could probably live with the pinstripes.

***

They stayed like that for a long time, and Liz would have been content to stay there even longer, but eventually the Doctor drew away. A wide smile – bordering on manic – was plastered across his face.

“So, Doc-tor Shaw,” he said, pronouncing her name as if being able to say it was some sort of rare treat, “You’ve seen aliens on Earth. You’ve battled aliens on Earth.”

He smiled at her again, and it was an infinitely gentler smile this time. The sort of smile she remembered from when they’d worked together at UNIT, which she’d been treated to every time she’d said something which he’d been particularly impressed by. A hand reached up to brush a lock of hair out of her face.

“How would you like to see them among the stars, Liz?” he asked, and, for the first time in what felt like a very long time, Elizabeth Shaw actually smiled.

“That,” she whispered, looking up at his new, freckled face, “Would be wonderful.”

The Doctor’s grin grew manically wide once more.

“Fantastic!”

Write a letter of apology.

Dear Dearest My Romana

I'm not sure why I'm writing this, or what I'm apologising for...

Actually, that's not true. I've got lots of things to apologise for, and I'm aware of every last one of them.

I'm sorry that the war raging around us is raging because of me. I should have been brave enough to do what you asked of me. After all, the Time War is only happening because I chose life instead of death all those years ago. I couldn't bring myself to prevent the Daleks from being created in the first place, and then I couldn't bring myself to destroy them once and for all. Maybe I'm a coward. Or maybe genocide just never sits well with me. I know I've never exactly got along with the Time Lords, but destroying the Daleks would have required the destruction of Gallifrey! It doesn't really matter now, though. Whatever the reason, it's too late to change anything. The war has become a fixed point in time, and, at the moment, it's impossible to travel past it. All we can do is wait.

I'm sorry for constantly forgetting that renegade Time Lords aren't supposed to run up to - and hug - the President of the High Council.

I'm sorry that I wasn't there when Arcadia fell. I should never have left Gallifrey in the first place. You needed me, but so did Earth. I thought I was doing the right thing. Opportunistic aliens are taking advantage of the fact that the Time Lords are occupied, playing soldiers with the Daleks. Someone has to make sure the fabric of reality doesn't get too tattered, otherwise this whole stupid war is redundant anyway!

Err...I'm sorry for calling it a stupid war. I know you don't like it anymore than I do.

I'm sorry for bringing Rose back to Gallifrey. I was showing off. And maybe, just maybe, I wanted to make you jealous. To see if anything at all could prompt you to look away from your paperwork and your war games. I suppose it worked a little too well, didn't it?

I'm sorry I ever let you stay behind in E-Space.

I'm sorry that I didn't look after Adric properly.

I'm sorry that I'm in love you. Time Lords aren't supposed to love. Not like this. Not this terrible, all-consuming, painful love. You make it hard to think straight. I almost want to hate you for it.





I'm sorry I'm never going to send this.

And the risk that might break you
Is the one that would save.
A life you don't live is still lost.
So stand on the edge with me.
Hold back your fear and see.
Nothing is real 'til it's gone...

I

The door to the Presidential Suite was closed, but the Doctor wasn't about to let a mere physical banner stand in the way. Not at a moment like this. Time was running out. Only a few grains of sand remained in the upper bulb of the hourglass.

The Daleks were getting closer. In the silence of the night, standing in the centre of the Citadel, you could almost hear them.

Romana looked up in alarm when he entered. She'd been sitting at her desk, pouring through a sheaf of papers. She seemed to spend a lot of her time doing that, these days. The Time War was eating into her life. Exhaustion was etched across her features.

"I love you," he said, framed in the shattered wood of the door. No preamble. A statement of fact. She was an intelligent and capable woman, after all. Surely she'd find it easier to deal in facts than deal in emotions?

"Oh," she breathed. And then she was in his arms.

II

He hadn't intended to say it. The words slipped out, unbidden, from between his lips. As light as air. Barely a whisper.

She heard him, though. She definitely heard him.

Romana had been curled up with her head on his chest, tendrils of blonde hair - which smelled faintly of a flower he didn't quite recognise - tickling his chin. At his words, she tilted her pale face to his.

"I love you too," she replied gently, "But now is hardly the time or the place to admit it, Doctor. We're in the middle of a War."

"That makes it the perfect time!" he exclaimed, "It might be the only time!"

Romana smiled sadly, pressing cool lips to his now feverish cheeks. "Then that's just how it has to be."

III

"I'm already late, Doctor," she said, trying to escape his grip on her arm. "The Council is already convening..."

"This won't take a moment."

"I don't have a moment," she said, breaking free. "I'm sorry, Doctor. I'll talk to you after the summit."

"Which will go on for how many hours?"

"I don't know. I'm sorry." She was already walking away. He couldn't see her face, and he didn't know if the apology was sincere or not.

"I love you!" he called, frantically.

She carried on walking.

The Doctor didn't know if she'd heard him or not.

IV

"I love you."

"I love you too."

"Come with me? Away from Gallifrey?"

"Now?"

"Now."

***

"What are you thinking about, Doctor?"

He looked up blearily, to see Rose - all wide-eyed excitement and human naivety - watching him intently.

"You promised you'd take me to see the moon landing," she reminded him lightly. Her tone bordered on condescending, but she ignored the fact.

"Did I? Oh, yes, I did. Right."

"If I was the last man on Earth and you were the last woman, I would rather go to bed with a bush."
Archie Bunker

Fred, as he had christened her, was turning out to be the most infuriating person to have ever shared his TARDIS. She was too...clever! Convinced she knew the universe inside out simply because she'd read various books on the subject. Convinced that he was an amateur because he hadn't.

Currently, she was brushing her hair, sitting near the TARDIS console with the same gilded brush and mirror she'd been using earlier. Their experience on Ribos didn't seem to have had any effect on her whatsoever. She was still supremely haughty, she was still set on preening herself, and she still had no greater amount of respect for him.

Women!

"Where are we going next, Doctor?" she asked, without looking up from her mirror. "You have used the core to find the next location, haven't you?"

The Doctor, who had, in fact, been sulking on the far side of the room, huffed.

"I was simply trying to give you a few minutes to rest," he said, straightening up. "You aren't used to this sort of thing, Romana. I can't let you exhaust yourself at the very beginning of our quest."

"I am younger than you, Doctor," said Romana, placing the hairbrush down daintily, and examining her hairstyle in the mirror. She seemed satisfied. "If you can do it, I'm sure I will manage."

The Doctor glared, but didn't respond, stalking over to the console to slot in the core of the Key, and find their next destination.

Perhaps it would be a rocky region, and he could push Romana into a crevasse...

"Would you like any help, Doctor?" she asked, already on her feet and peering over his shoulder in a most infuriating manner.

"Romana," the Doctor reminded her, glaring at the tall, dark-haired Time Lady, "You are my assistant. Which means that your function is not to tell me what to do, but rather help me carry out what I decide is the appropriate course of action."

"Yes," Romana agreed, watching him with unconcealed amusement, "Your assistant. Which means I am here to assist you. It's my duty to point out when you're doing something wrong..."

The Doctor puffed up his chest indignantly. "I am not doing anything wrong!" he exclaimed, tossing his scarf out of the way as he took a step backwards.

His foot caught on the edge of the material - not surprising, considering that there was twelve foot of it to trip over - and he staggered back into the console with a crash. The machine whined in protest.

Romana sighed.

"Are you sure you don't want me to set the course, Doctor?"

The best proof of love is trust.
Joyce Brothers

"Do you miss the Doctor, Romana?"

She'd been expecting the question. Her bodyguard, Leela, was not a Time Lord, and had none of the inhibitions and manners which dictated what most people called 'acceptable conversation'. The only thing that surprised Romana was how long it had taken her to ask it.

Romana had been sullen and uncharacteristically silent since the Doctor had left Gallifrey with his latest human companion. That was two months ago now. He hadn't returned, and, consequently, the President's mood had not improved.

She knew he had little regard for Time Lords. That it was a miracle he ventured anywhere near Gallifrey after what his people had done to him (or forced him to do) over the years.

But she'd always assumed that he would return for her, if nothing else.

***

"Why me?" the Doctor asked. They were dining alone in her chamber, at either end of a colossal wooden table. Leela was sitting outside the door, in case of fire or flood or an act of Rassilon. Her efforts seemed a little immaterial now, with the Daleks advancing across the universe even as they spoke, but neither Romana or the Doctor begrudged her efforts.

The meal was to be one of the final peaceful moments they would have together. Tomorrow, the second wave of Dalek ships would attack Gallifrey. Tomorrow the universe would be plunged into chaos.

Tomorrow.

Today, there was bouillabaisse (still one of Romana's favourites), and white wine, and tentative relaxation.

Tomorrow...

"Does it matter now?" Romana said, glancing sideways, briefly, at the frowning freckled face of the Doctor's latest regeneration. His hair was sticking up like rumpled feathers. He had a habit of running his hand through it when he was thinking, and had obviously been experiencing many internal debates during the last 48 hours. "You didn't do what I requested. Nothing will prevent a Time War now."

"That doesn't explain why you asked me," said the Doctor, "Why not a CIA operative? They were the ones who cooked up a weapon that would destroy their own planet, after all. Why not your dear friend Narvin, or one of his cronies?"

"Narvin is not my friend," laughed Romana dryly, running a finger around the rim of her wine glass. She would never have allowed herself such an absent-minded gesture if she'd been dining with anyone else.

"So you asked me to become a murderer because I'm your friend?" It was the Doctor's turn to allow himself a humourless laugh.

"No. I asked you to save the universe, because I trust you."

There was such ferocity in her voice! The Doctor couldn't stop his eyes from widening, or stop himself from smiling.

In the end, Romana returned his gaze, and the grin.

***

"Perhaps a little," Romana admitted.

"It takes a long time to become young."
Pablo Picasso

He'd avoided his planet for centuries at a time in the past. He'd avoided Presidency and recriminations and old nightmares.

Avoiding Romana should have been easy.

He rushed through the universe with Rose at his side, battling aliens and saving the universe with nothing but a sonic screwdriver and a disarming smile. But he couldn't enjoy it like he once had. Travel held no charm when the guilt in the pit of his stomach was driving him mad.

When he was younger (and looked a lot older), he'd assumed that the universe was a fairly simple place. Yes, there were lots of things wrong with it, but when he came across those things he'd sort them out and be on his way again.

But, in this perfect ordered universe, things like Time Wars were nothing but myths, clinging on at the edge of the universe. And he definitely wasn't supposed to spend his time wandering around with a pair of eyes that weren't quite there burning into the back of his head.

He'd turn, suddenly, and he would be almost certain that he caught sight of a petite figure with long blonde hair disappearing round the corner. He'd shake his head frantically, trying to disperse the not-memory, and when he turned back round there'd be nothing there but the faint smell of a perfume he'd never even realised she wore until it was too late.

One day, after battling some crazy humanoid felines on New Earth in the far future, the Doctor was tinkering around with his ship when Rose just came out and asked it.

"Can we go back to your planet? Gallifairy?"

"Gallifrey. No, we can't."

"Who is she, anyway?" Rose asked, peering over his shoulder as he busied himself with the TARDIS console, "Old girlfriend?"

He stood up so sharply that he banged his head on an overhanging piece of metal.

"Romana?" he exclaimed, spluttering with indigence, "She's just a friend."

"She didn't act very friendly when we went to see her," Rose pointed out. The Doctor tried to move away around the console, but the human followed her stubbornly. Like a damn puppy dog. His pet human.

"She's the President of a planet in the middle of a war," said the Doctor, defensively, "I can see why she's a little bit tetchy."

Rose nodded, giving up on following him at last. "Can I ask you something then, Doctor?"

He nodded, already knowing he wasn't going to like the question.

"If you care so much about this friend, why are you travelin' around with me instead of standing beside her?"

The Doctor opened his mouth, and then closed it again. For all his age and wisdom, he was as juvenile when it came to Romana as a human school boy.

Rose grimaced. "I knew it. Why do I always fall for guys who are hung up on someone else?"

"I'm not hung up on anyone..." the Doctor began.

"Yeah, right."

This is my line, this is eternal.
How did I ever end up here?
Discarnate, preternatural
My prayers to disappear.
Absent of grace, marked as infernal.
Ungranted in dead time left me disowned.
To this nature, so unnatural...
I remain alone.

Give me something, give me something.
Give me something, give me something.
Give me something, give me something real.

I lay strewn across the floor, can't solve this puzzle.
Everyday another small piece can't be found.
I lay strewn across the floor, pieced up in sorrow.
The pieces are lost, these pieces don't fit...
Pieced together incomplete and empty.

The TARDIS is heavy with memories. The corridors echo with the soft footsteps of people who no longer walk there.

Sometimes, in the stillness of the night and the blankness of the vortex, the Doctor can hear them.

***

Ghostly laughter rings through the control room, as a slight figure with a crop of dark hair and a stripy jumper hurries inside to peer at the console.

"Where are we going, Grandfather?" she asks, but the Doctor doesn't answer, because she wouldn't hear him if he did. Her voice is ethereal, a thousand miles away, but the Doctor still reaches out for her, helpless. She laughs again, and slips through his fingers like smoke.

***

There a figure in a kilt standing in the doorway, his head on one side.

"I won'' forget you, Doctor," he says, in his thick Scottish accent, "I promised, didn'' I?"

By the time he looks up, Jamie is gone, and the Doctor realises he must have imagined it.

***

"You never did start calling me Fred, you know," says the slender blonde woman sitting on his bed. She's smiling up at him - a smile of superior knowledge and vague affection.

"I think Romana suits you better," the Doctor replies, taking a step towards the shadowy figure, who is rising to meet him.

"You're impossible sometimes, Doctor," she laughs, and he laughs too, because she looks so young and beautiful. He has missed seeing her like this.

"I try my best," he says, leaning forward to kiss her, but, before their lips can meet, she is gone.

***

A teenage boy with a truly phenomenal brain, his blue badge of mathematical excellence proudly displayed on his chest, watches the Doctor from the doorway as he tinkers with the console.

"Doctor?" Adric says, "I want to go home, Doctor. To E-Space. To Teladon. I'll be safe there. Why won't you let me go? You should look after me..."

A woman steps beside him, proud and dark-eyed and fearless, speaking in an Australian accent. "You're just a broken clock, Doctor. Call yourself a Time Lord."

The Doctor wants to correct her. He wants to explain why he couldn't save Adric, even though he wanted it more than anything in the universe, but he isn't sure Tegan will listen.

It's hard to remember, when she's standing there, that it isn't Tegan at all.

Nyssa appears at her shoulder, all wide-eyed beauty and gentle grace. "What is past is prologue, Doctor," she says with a sad smile, before all three of them are gone. Memories lost again in the expanse of the TARDIS.

***

"Professor!" Ace shouts, "You hear that? That's the sound of empires toppling, that is. You said so yourself."

"But you weren't supposed to get caught up in it, Ace!" the Doctor exclaims, trying to grab the arm of the retreating figure before she can escape out of the TARDIS doors.

"Why?" she asks, her expression unreadable, "You were the one who was so keen for me to join the Academy. First human to train as a Time Lord, you said. You said I'd be perfect at it."

"And you were," he agreed, "Until..."

"Until the empire really did topple," she replies. She tugs a can of nitro 9 out of her backpack and grins at him, and then disappears through the doorway. By the time the Doctor can catch up, she's long gone.

***

It isn't really a dream. It isn't a nightmare, either, but that's the first word that springs to mind.

Merry Christmas to you too, Romana, although...mistletoe? I assume you're familiar with the human customs involving the mistletoe plant?

Dear Santa... Dear Santa, This year I've been busy! Last week I put gum in notadoctoryet's hair (-12 points). Last Friday I broke earth_defender's X-Box (-12 points). In November I committed genocide... Sorry about that, hufflechamp (-5000 points). Last Thursday I gave mme_imperiatrix a kidney (1000 points). In February I got in line at the supermarket at the same time as someone else and I didn't yield (-8 points). Overall, I've been naughty (-4032 points). For Christmas I deserve a moldy sandwich! Sincerely, lastgallifreyan

Write your letter to Santa! Enter your LJ username:

Errr...sorry, Martha! I'm sure it was an accident.

Rose, I didn't even know you had an X-Box. If you'd told me, I wouldn't have broken it. Or I would have at least fixed it afterwards. Stupid Star Wars: Republic Commando. I'm a 900+ year old Time Lord, but I can't get through the Wookie Tree City...

Romana, I hope you're grateful! You can have as many kidneys as you want, I don't mind.

And that comment about genocide is not even remotely funny.