Disclaimer: I do not own Doctor Who. All I have is a Tardis fridge magnet
Life finds a way. Everywhere he went, he saw life. Sometimes not for very long, only for a brief moment before it was extinguished like a candle flame, but there it was nonetheless.
Life always found a way. Existing in the light and the dark, the hidden depths and the highest heights. Always there, shining, full of energy and potential.
Human life fascinated him. For it went everwhere, far beyond the confines of it's own planet, to the edges of the galaxy and then beyond.
At the end of the universe, when other species were dying out with only a few representatives of each left, humanity was there in the hundreds, if not thousands with a bloody big rocket to show it.
So much life they had. So bright and shining, so much potential. Imagination and ingenuity and an adventurous spirit that he loved, (but it did get them into some godawful messes he had to admit.)
To him, humans were as mayflies. Bright and shining and beautiful. But for such a short time before they inevitably withered and died.
You couldn't fall in love with one. It broke your hearts. To watch the energy and beauty fade so quickly. Oh, it broke him. But he kept finding humans to love. And he broke. Again and again.
Each time he would promise himself: No more humans. But he couldn't keep it. In some way beyond even his comprehension he needed a human, with their silly minds and odd moralities. It was like an addiction.
Was that what it was, he wondered, an addiction? No, something more. You developed addictions, but he'd always needed humans.
Somehow, from the very first days, travelling with his grandaughter in a stolen Tardis, he'd needed a human. Had all but kidnapped the first two to come along, then arranged things so that they couldn't return to earth until he was ready to let them go.
The Earth. His own planet gone, he'd adopted the Earth in a way. He'd offered to fight his enemy across time and space. Across galaxies and star systems, putting trillions of lives in danger if the smiling maniac would only leave the Earth out of it.
And didn't he feel ashamed of that sentence now. Oh yes. But he'd still meant it. That broke him inside. Broke what was already damaged beyond repair into still more pieces.
Perhaps that was it, he thought, arriving at a conclusion. He was already shattered inside and the love of one single human, or even the love of of all his humans together could never change that.
But . . . perhaps protecting the Earth gave him enough purpose to keep the pieces of his soul from shattering further. Perhaps his companions, his friends, stopped the pieces from being ground into dust, shattered as they were.
Children of Time, caring for their father in his old age when he needed them most. He looked upon them all with a kind of love that few ever experience, whether human or otherwise.
He is always broken. He will always be broken. But when he is with one of his Children, he doesn't feel it so badly. Because he knows that he as much as he loves all of them, he is also loved.
Er. . . I need sugar I think. Review pretty please?