Mad Man in a Box (One-Shots)

Don't Look Back (Dark)

I wanted to write something dark; to explore the Doctor's character, his weaknesses, his strengths, essentially everything. I also wanted to tie this into Legacy. The latter was quite easy, but how well I succeeded with the prior goal is to be determined by you, the reader.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It had been exactly one week since he'd -

No, he couldn't even think about it. Not yet. He had sworn to himself, long ago, that he would never go down that path. Not again. He stared down at the brown liquid as he downed another shot. The beer sent tendrils of fire down through his body, numbing his senses. That was what he needed now; the numbness.

It was the only reprieve he would be getting. Once he opend those doors, there would be no going back. If he were to be truthful - which he so rarely liked to be - he would find he was afraid. He had hid his whole life behind a careful mask of idiotic foolishness that had been so easily stripped away to reveal a darker part of himself. A part he rarely saw, but when he did, death was sure to follow.

He called himself the Doctor. The healer, the savior of worlds. Yet underneath all that bravo, was nothing more than a man, haunted by a horrific past. But his future; that was what terryfied him. He told himself to never look back, that if he did, he may lose himself. It was obvious to those who had known him that this day had come. His past no longer mattered. Those doors did. They held his future. It had been his choice, however. This wasn't for him. This was for the last - the only person he cared about. He owed her, if only because what had happened to her was all his fault.

He had been broken. And he was frightened of this new version of himself. His daughter, his old love, they didn't scare him. They were annoying flies that were buzzing around, distracting him.

In some ways, he was grateful to those distractions.

In others, he'd rather see their bodies in a grave.

How far he had come from that man without a face. The generous man who saved lives. The man who had a daughter who was still alive. He couldn't quite bring himself to believe her to be dead, however.

Slowly he set down the glass with unsteady hands looking around the darkened room. He could almost hear the laughter. The bodies mingling together in the haze with an unnatural feverent rush about them. The smell of liquor and rust strong in the air. And there was the woman, sitting alone at a table with a small glass of wine in front of her, sipping contentedly. He remembered how they had chatted causually until the topic had slowly shifted to him. To his despairs. How she had led him back to her room.

How they had passed the night.

And what had come of that? A daughter who had been brought up to think he was a monster. But was it wrong to label him so? He had trusted her, believing she had changed.

But she was always the same.

Admittedly, it was his fault. It always was his fault.

Glancing up, he watched as another whispery form took her place in the room, dancing gracefully across the cold floor, inches from where he would have been that night. His blood slowly ran cold as the realization dawned on him.

He had danced with her, earlier that night so long ago. He had spoken with her - before he had even seen Bernadette.

He had missed everything! He had been so clueless as to connect the dots.

Only when Lillian had received that letter had he begun to question her integrity.

"But that means..."

"Lillian!" The Doctor jumped up, flinging the doors he had so dreaded to go through open, and stepping inside.

"All roads lead to one, as fire rained and tears stained.

Bloody flower floats on the lake, with the month of May beside her.

His daughter another; to hide in the freedom and bravery of another world.

But now she is discovered."

Slowly the abandoned glass rocked back and forth with the memories of prior laughter until it tipped, spilling the liquor onto the floor.

Like a life, it dripped down with a rust-colored blood tendency, expanding out until it seeped into the console.

Just adding more fuel to the fire that was already within. Ticking like a clock.

But even clocks die out, someday.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Two packs of cigarettes a day,

The strongest whiskey Kentucky can make,

That's a recipe, to put a vagabond on his hands and knees.

I watched it all up close, I knew him more than most,

The soft side of him, he never showed,

For the sympathy for a world that wouldn't let him be.

That's the man he was, have you heard enough?"

Post the song name and artist below and you'll get a dedication!