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Hey Rose? How do you feel about me? I mean, really. I know you fancy me, I've known for a long time, but apparently things have changed a bit. Where do you stand now? Because I don't want to hurt your feelings, and I'm too busy watching you try to figure it out to figure out how I feel. I can't tell if you want to play scrabble and watch movies or go out dancing.
Same goes for you, Jack. Except that I'm probably too guilty to do anything anyway. And yet I haven't even done anything yet! Fantastic... Although, with you, Jack, I know you want to go dancing. I'm surprised in our discussions on the topic we've never called it the horizontal tango, but none of us is usually quite that vulgar. Except for good old Mickey. Surprised he never said that. I kind of miss him. Stupid, he was, but very clever, and braver than any of us ever thought.
And Jack... why did you tell me? The other me I can understand, that I left, I can understand. Those are all things you had to deal with, that you had a right to get off your chest, even though they hurt. But why even tell me about the Master's death? I mean, part of me is glad you told me, and I respect you more for it, but... Why ruin it? I had just gotten over it. I had just stopped thinking about him, about how he had died long before the war ever started, about San Francisco... and then you went and tore open the wound all over again. I loved him. Not the same way I love you or Rose or Romana, or Adric or Susan or any of the others, but I did. And he's gone, not just in an abstract, faceless way, but gone, for real. And he let himself die! Did you have to tell me that? Couldn't you have just let it go? Couldn't you have... played along? It's not like it matters. I shouldn't be upset that you told the truth. But it hurts. It hurts so much. Gallifrey is gone. The Master is gone. You and me and Rose? That's sort of gone. And now I'm gone. Gone to here.
But I don't even want to go home. I never want to go back. I want to stay here with you all forever. The four of you, Rose and Jack and Romana and Adric. And the new friends I've made here too. I never want to be the one who left Jack behind, who let Rose resort to looking into the vortex. I don't want to be the one who pushed the Master to let himself die. I don't want to be the one who does what no one else will, not anymore. I only look for an exit at all out of curiousity and for your sake, and I honestly think I'll subconciously sabotage my own results because I want Jack and Rose here with me forever. I haven't got that long to live, not even a thousand years. Maybe it is time to settle down. Maybe I'll change my mind later but... right now? I'm tired. 900 years and I'm tired. Call it a midlife crisis, a little late. I'm here to stay.
But at the same time I find it disgusting. You... not the ones of you I know from home... but the rest of you. Sheep, sit here, and accept at face value that there's no way out. Just sit around, baaing away like we're outside of Cardiff. You all want to get home so why don't you try? Only the dead and the jaded like me have an excuse. Why don't you all shut up about your games and your books and look for a way out. I'll help you, that's what I do, and maybe it'll help me feel less useless now that I know that I ruined everything. Maybe Time Lords evolved from sheep, too.
...why did I type all of that? Must be an event. Are they supposed to happent his often? This is absurd. This is the reason I might even think of going home. As soon as I can get some sense of motivation I'm going to seek out whomever is responsible for this.
But right now... I'm finding it hard to care. Fantastic, isn't it? I really am making up for killing my own people, by being as spineless as they were. ...What have I done...
((OOC: Apologies for the mickey thing. I figure, since the doctor is being honest, he'd skip the nickname))
Same goes for you, Jack. Except that I'm probably too guilty to do anything anyway. And yet I haven't even done anything yet! Fantastic... Although, with you, Jack, I know you want to go dancing. I'm surprised in our discussions on the topic we've never called it the horizontal tango, but none of us is usually quite that vulgar. Except for good old Mickey. Surprised he never said that. I kind of miss him. Stupid, he was, but very clever, and braver than any of us ever thought.
And Jack... why did you tell me? The other me I can understand, that I left, I can understand. Those are all things you had to deal with, that you had a right to get off your chest, even though they hurt. But why even tell me about the Master's death? I mean, part of me is glad you told me, and I respect you more for it, but... Why ruin it? I had just gotten over it. I had just stopped thinking about him, about how he had died long before the war ever started, about San Francisco... and then you went and tore open the wound all over again. I loved him. Not the same way I love you or Rose or Romana, or Adric or Susan or any of the others, but I did. And he's gone, not just in an abstract, faceless way, but gone, for real. And he let himself die! Did you have to tell me that? Couldn't you have just let it go? Couldn't you have... played along? It's not like it matters. I shouldn't be upset that you told the truth. But it hurts. It hurts so much. Gallifrey is gone. The Master is gone. You and me and Rose? That's sort of gone. And now I'm gone. Gone to here.
But I don't even want to go home. I never want to go back. I want to stay here with you all forever. The four of you, Rose and Jack and Romana and Adric. And the new friends I've made here too. I never want to be the one who left Jack behind, who let Rose resort to looking into the vortex. I don't want to be the one who pushed the Master to let himself die. I don't want to be the one who does what no one else will, not anymore. I only look for an exit at all out of curiousity and for your sake, and I honestly think I'll subconciously sabotage my own results because I want Jack and Rose here with me forever. I haven't got that long to live, not even a thousand years. Maybe it is time to settle down. Maybe I'll change my mind later but... right now? I'm tired. 900 years and I'm tired. Call it a midlife crisis, a little late. I'm here to stay.
But at the same time I find it disgusting. You... not the ones of you I know from home... but the rest of you. Sheep, sit here, and accept at face value that there's no way out. Just sit around, baaing away like we're outside of Cardiff. You all want to get home so why don't you try? Only the dead and the jaded like me have an excuse. Why don't you all shut up about your games and your books and look for a way out. I'll help you, that's what I do, and maybe it'll help me feel less useless now that I know that I ruined everything. Maybe Time Lords evolved from sheep, too.
...why did I type all of that? Must be an event. Are they supposed to happent his often? This is absurd. This is the reason I might even think of going home. As soon as I can get some sense of motivation I'm going to seek out whomever is responsible for this.
But right now... I'm finding it hard to care. Fantastic, isn't it? I really am making up for killing my own people, by being as spineless as they were. ...What have I done...
((OOC: Apologies for the mickey thing. I figure, since the doctor is being honest, he'd skip the nickname))