“Rohhhhhhhh-se!” Screamed the man, the oh sound long and drawn out, as he clung to the whitewashed wall of Canary Wharf and tore off the 3D glasses as he watched the void stuff fly like a bullet through the empty space, taking Rose Tyler with it.

Again, he relived the agony, the sinking feeling that he’d let her down, and Pete Tyler catching his daughter – well – in his arms, knowing that it should have been him there to catch her. But this time it wasn’t Rose’s father, it was someone else? Squinting through the welling tears, The Doctor watched in horror as the warm figure of Pete Tyler formed into the laughing stature of the triumphant Master, clinging to Rose as though she was his ticket to redemption.

Pain coursed through his body, stinging him both physically and emotionally into the core of his tango-beating hearts, as he reached out his hand to his Rose helplessly, as the void closed for the final time on his one love in the hands of his nemesis, knowing that he was alone once more, separated from both of them. The wall returned to normal, as solid as it had been when it was first built, a white plain of nothing. But as he fell to his knees with a thump, eyes and mouth wide in shock as he stared unbelievingly at where the small tornado-like hole in the lattice between dimensions had been, he felt it come up behind him.

“The Doctor lives!” the synthesized robotic voice droned. “EXTERMINATE!!”

“Affirmative! He must be deleted!”

The Doctor spun around, continuing to stare in painful horror at the Cyberman who spoke with Martha Jones’ voice. Just behind the Cyberman (or should it be Cyberwoman?) her familiar leather jacket laid cast aside in a corner, blood rolling off the front and on to the now desolate floor. He mutely stumbled to his feet, allowing the hot tears to course down his cheeks with the desperate and silent ferocity of a dying volcano, regretting yet again the whim that invited him to put Martha in danger by travelling with him. Remembering their first trip to the moon, he didn’t notice the only other body not to have been pulled through in the massacre until he lifted the jacket off its equally bloody head.

The Doctor gasped uncharacteristically. Lying face down in a puddle of blood and still sparking wires was Captain Jack Harkness, presumably only held in place by the severed cybernetic arm impossibly pierced through his back. Even Jack couldn’t survive that kind of damage, and while he and the ex-Time Agent had never been all that close he was still Jack, and some holes were harder to fill than you thought they would be.

The Doctor let out a wounded cry of agonising sadness for his fallen friends and charged forward, brandishing his sonic screwdriver mindlessly, his deranged response distracting him from the mangled remains of K-9 on his left, the bodies of Aldric, The Brigadier and Susan amongst the masses of disfigured, dead and hanging seemingly to have appeared from nowhere on his right.

He threw himself, with a roar that would put the fear of Skaro in the most emotionless Sontaran, at the remaining Dalek. Hitting the monster with a crack of broken bones from the hand to have made first contact, he slid to his knees as he dropped his screwdriver. Brought back to his senses, he grasped at final memories of Gallifrey’s three suns as the pain was lost in the nine hundred years of death and loss fighting for his attention and excuses.

Shouting out, again wordlessly, he flung out his arms plane-like as a blinding, psychedelic green tinted light flooded him and he braced himself for the sharp, quick pain, the en-!




Thump! The Doctor, face down onto the motherboard of the TARDIS, woke from his dream. There were no Daleks. They’d all been dragged through the void. He’d had to constantly remind himself recently it was just a dream. The same dream he’d been having, albeit with recent additions, since Rose…

Martha had fixed him as well as she could, sure enough, the brilliant intern had put her heart and soul into placing the band aids onto all his wounds, but she’d put too much heart into it – After all she been through in that long year when The Master enslaved the world, it pained him that he couldn’t return her love as more than just the most wonderful of friends. And eventually she too had left, and he couldn’t blame her for it one bit.

Even The Master would have been a welcoming companion: He may not have had his heart in the right place anymore, but despite everything he had done to The Doctor he couldn’t hold it against him any longer either. The Doctor was meant to be alone, that much he now knew, but he also knew that more than anything he had a debt to pay to his old friend cum enemy, and after all, the last of the Time Lords had to stick together.

Regardless of everything everyone had told him, The Doctor refused to believe The Master was gone for good, even if he had been the one to set alight the pyre he’d built for the unjustly deficient funeral. But for now, he had to go on with his life and hope that things, all the people these dreams tormented him with, came back to him soon enough. In this regeneration at least he was optimistic.

So what had happened again? He chuckled under his breath as he opened his eyes properly and realised that he’d fallen asleep against the reassuring metal grid of the TARDIS. The one certainty in his life, and in return it had held him up.

“Easy girl, easy.” Soothed The Doctor, stretching his stiff muscles as the TARDIS’ control panel gave a threatening ‘whirr’ noise, like the sound of a cat caught between a purr and a snarl. Then he remembered what had happened.

The Doctor growled, before doubling over in agony as he looped both arms around the bullet hole in his stomach, the front of his suit torn open from his attempts to stem the bleeding when he’d run from their attempted execution. Blame UNIT for shooting him into regeneration and ballistophobia during World War III – As if blackmailing him to retrieve the last remaining cyber converter wasn’t bad enough. Not that he’d done so, ergo the ‘we-must-shoot-you-for-deserting-any-final-words-Time-Lord-bang-bang’. Considering how advanced 23rd century Earth was in his dimension, the United Nat- Sorry, UNified Intelligence Taskforce, now, were truly rather old-fashioned in that sense. Or obsessive, either word would do. Frankly he was amazed, given the clash of opinions, that he’d ended up working for them in the first place.

At least what he had expected to be his last words had been good.

Luckily, the TARDIS had been near enough for him to make an escape, but once he’d taken off the loss of blood, which he’d been unable to do anything about at the time once UNIT realised that their shots had failed to kill him, he’d gone into cardiac arrest. Apparently his attempts to land before passing out had failed, and now they were crashing.

The Doctor tore off his suit completely, balling it up and pressing it against the oddly still rapidly bleeding wound, blood already rolling down his stomach: Something was wrong. By all rights, if he’d woken from cardiac arrest of his own accord then he should have regenerated, but he could tell that he hadn’t just yet. So had he gone into half-regeneration, or was he hallucinating and still out cold? Only one way to find out – Find a mirror.

It was taking a lot of work to stay upright, as the floor underneath his feet moved with a mind of its own. Irrationally, he made for the walk-in cupboard and mirror with a painful stumble, falling to his knees at one point, but half way there green lights lit up on the floor, walls and roof like biased Christmas lights, and for a few seconds order was resumed. He sighed, wincing, at least one worry was over, the TARDIS was going straight (wherever he’d sent it). But the panicked shudders soon began again, this knocking The Doctor from his feet and back against the console as though electrocuted.

He hit the back of his head sharply, bringing stars to his eyes and another cut to his body, shaking his head and trying to ignore the pain – He’d been in worse. Pulling something thin and silver from his pocket, the blue circle’s on it’s surface tinkling in the dark like tiny diamonds, he pointed it at the TARDIS, an apologetic look on his face, but his body didn’t seem to be able to focus on the simple task of moving his arm. The sonic device got to work slowly and steadily, hotwiring the TARDIS in its own quaint way, and The Doctor beamed his cheeky boyish grin weakly. With an unannounced whoop of noise, The Doctor could only chide his clumsiness before being slammed again against the opposite wall, sending the tool flailing down through a hole in the grilling as the dark abyss of unconsciousness and an inability to help himself or his TARDIS gripped its victim. He dreaded to think what would happen if he didn’t regenerate soon.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry…”

The TARDIS was protecting him like no one else could, even out cold The Doctor could sense it. Yet he was falling… Falling and falling, down and down and down, crashing…. Crashing… Crashing through a sensation not unlike a failing regeneration but also through the time vortex as though it was little more than a giant doily failing to catch him as he plunged.

Down and down and down… The Doctor closed his eyes and succumbed to impossibility as the TARDIS fell through the dimensional time vortex and crashed uncontrollably towards London 2003.

In another dimension.

Clearly it’s not a common fact that when someone tags me I never get around to finishing whatever I was tagged for. But when someone psychotic tags you… Well, I’d better get started!
I was Tagged by the lovely xAcidRefluxx, savvy? [link]

The rules (actual guidelines XD):
1. You have to tell people 8 random facts they either don’t know/don’t need to know/would never have thought about knowing
2. Then you have to put them in a blog (at gas mark 4 for 10 minutes –nodnod-)
3. Finally, inflict this on to 8 more people and leave them a comment telling them they’re tagged
GOT IT MEMORISED?


Good? Good. So...
1. Lamia is writing fanfiction
2. Lamia is slightly claustrophobic and incredibly ballistophobic
3. Lamia does NOT like blood D:
4. Lamia has glasses. Hah! Bet you didn’t know that one!
5. Lamia swears a lot (fuck)
6. Lamia can bake apple bread in the middle of Loch Ness with an oven
7. The only matching pairs of socks that Lamia owns are her school socks
8. Lamia likes the smell of caramel

Now to find eight people to torture – Er, tag! Tag!

1. Bootstrap (www.catastrophicbliss.deviantart.com)
2. Shauni (www.shauni.deviantart.com)
3. Roo (www.sneebazoo.deviantart.com)
4. Alyssa (www.MyannaRose.deviantart.com)
5. Inoni (www.inonibird.deviantart.com)
6. Brandon (www.nesianstyle.deviant.com)
7 and 8… Go tag yourself XD

Chyeah, rock on.
-Lamia x

To first proms in fancy ballrooms.
To "My Guardian Angel" á la Bug and Dean.
To some-sort-of-berry cheesecake.
To prom quings.
To parties that start at half-past midnight.
To sexy underwear.
To "oh, I'll just have one rum and coke"... Three or four times.
To being drunk for the first time.
To spontaneous declarations of love.
To Nick and Lanz.
To dancing and not caring why.
To vodka shots on the way out the door.
To not quite being sure if you remember correctly.