A/N What if the fireplace couldn't be fixed? How would the Doctor get back to the 51st century when he doesn't have the TARDIS or any other means of transport? Ok, apart from a very opinionated horse.

First chapter is 1st person from the Doctor's POV, but I don't think they rest will be, if I post more.

Disclaimer: Don't own Doctor Who, otherwise this would've been several episodes worth of story after 'The Girl in the Fireplace'.

O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0

Through The Ages

1 – The Choice that Wasn't

I didn't have a choice.

Not really. I mean, my options were clearly defined: on one hand I could leap through the mirror and save the timeline, even though it meant that I would theoretically trap myself in the 18th century. Or, I could sit and do nothing, staying safe on the ship with the TARDIS and Rose. And Mickey. But the events, the backlash through time would still catch up to us. We wouldn't be able to escape the consequences if someone didn't stop it at the source.

Someone. Who else is there? Who else is there now? No one, so it came to me, as it always seems to.

Even before Rose suggested just going straight through the mirror, I had it in my mind, I knew that that was my only option. I only delayed because I didn't particularly wish to leave my pair of apes behind. I mean, of course with time at my disposal I didn't have to leave them for any time at all, even if I'd spent three millennia away.

Time is relative, that's what I tell myself. I'm not abandoning them, because I'll be back in no time for them. Several ages for me.

But if I'm entirely truthful with myself, I'll admit that those noble, pure reasons weren't the only ones that caused me to make possibly the flashiest entrance of my existence. Certainly for this regeneration. It was her, Madame de Pompadour. She'd been so calm whenever I appeared. Casually accepting the way I materialised in her room, even when she was barely seven years old. She accepted me for what I was and grew to love me, if that was what the almost desperate lunge meant.

She accepted who I was, even when she walked through my mind. I won't pretend to say that she understood more then 5 percent of what she saw, but what she did she accepted. I don't really get how she found her way in there in the first place. I mean I get the principle, you create a bridge between the two minds and it's possible to go both ways on it, but for an 18th century women to instinctively grasp the possibility and act on it. She's something special. I see it, even history saw it, calling her the unofficial Queen of France at the time.

I can't deny that she's coming to mean something to me. But that's the problem, I can't get too attached. I couldn't anyway, when I knew her future. It'll be that much harder now, having to watch her die. The hardest is keeping the knowledge from her that she only has 6 more years to live.

Mortals, they wither and they die. Never have I truly felt the weight of immortality (or virtual immortality) more then when I watch them fade.

Yet I will watch, for it is by my choice that I am here, now, at this time. Not that it was much of a choice, but still I made it. I don't think that Rose truly believed that I would leave her, not until the last possible second.

I'd realised that it was the only thing to do, no other options, no second chances if I screwed this up. I had to leave, I had no more time. Ironic, a Timelord with no time to explain, no time to find another path. Arthur was willing, I think he knew just what we had to do and more, why. That horse is uncannily intelligent. I gave the panel I was standing next to one last thump, out of habit, and swung myself up onto the white horse's back. Even then she didn't get it, but I think Mickey did. I saw his eyes widen and a half-formed protest on his tongue before he realised what I'd known all along.

There was no other way. There was no more time to find this elusive 'other way'. I hope he explained to Rose. Because then I was gone, with only time to clamp my legs to Arthur's sides as he launched himself from almost a standing start straight at the glass. I didn't even cue him, the animal knew we had to be gone.

As we sailed through the mirror, shards of glass bursting around us I felt the connection sever. We thumped into 1758 and I felt the shock of the temporal link breaking. And not just where I'd jumped through, every single last tie to the future ship was broken, gone in an instant. The mirror, the tapestry, the sliding wall, various others that I hadn't even known about were gone in that same moment. The only one I didn't feel surprised me, and gave me a glimmer of hope, even as I sat back to slow Arthur down.

I hadn't felt the fireplace's link break. In fact I couldn't feel it at all, but I hadn't felt it snap and that gave me a tiny spark that maybe I wasn't trapped. The spark was enough to prompt a gleeful wink at Reinette, where she crouched on the floor surrounded by the clockwork droids.

Oh well, time to save the universe. It's what I do best, I suppose. But I didn't have a choice, I never do. I save everyone because at the time I'm the only one who will stand up and do it. I never asked for this 'job', and I never have a choice when it comes to it. But I wouldn't have had it any other way.

Me breaking the connection made it pitifully easy to stop the droids. In fact, it made me think that maybe they'd have stopped on their own if I'd broken the link and been on the other side of it. Then I could've stayed with my TARDIS, and I wouldn't be trapped here. Because I am.

Trapped. I was right when I thought I hadn't felt my original link from the fireplace break. That was because it was already broken, by its removal to the palace here. Broken, but not snapped. Maybe, I thought, just maybe I won't have to live with the consequences of one of my impulsive decisions. But no, it was broken and it needed new components. I couldn't fix it, not with only my sonic screwdriver. If only the TARDIS was here, I could've fixed the connection within an hour. But, if the TARDIS was here I wouldn't need to.

Almost the worst part of that scene was the look on Reinette's face when I found out that I was stuck. She looked like she was feeling worse for me then I was, her face had paled and I could see tears trembling at the corners of her eyes. She apologised numerous times, in spite of my telling her that it wasn't her fault: how could she have prevented 51st century clockwork droids from stalking her? I could tell it wrenched her heart deeply that I was stuck. From her brief time inside my head, she felt sorry for anything that happened to me. Yes, her angel was stuck on Earth.

So, here I am: a 900 plus year-old Lord of Time trapped in 1758 because of a lack of equipment. What did I have? My assets were strictly limited to the sonic screwdriver, the psychic paper, my suit which is made out of a material that won't be invented for another…thousand years? Roughly. And I've got my brain, although that doesn't appear to be helping me out of this situation. Oh yes, and I've got an overly-intelligent horse who, if he could talk, would currently be giving me a lot of smart-alec backchat. I can see it in his eyes.

So this is me: caught on the slow path, doomed to watch ages come and go, condemned to see empires rise and fall, alone. But not forever, because that would be bo-ring! Just for the next 3200 years. Give or take.

Unless of course I found a short cut, unless I managed to find myself. It wasn't impossible that at some point I'd come back to this era, in fact it was highly probable. If I could find myself, or a future version of myself then I could hitch a lift back to where I'd left my TARDIS. And no, this wouldn't be creating a wound in time or a paradox, because if I managed to do it, then I'd already done it. There was no history that said I hadn't seen myself and talked to myself. Indeed, I've already done it.

This was the most likely option because I knew, if I was forced to remain on Earth in one timeline for the next 3 millennia without being able to go look for trouble or adventure, I'd create my own. I'd only been here three days and I was starting to chafe at the non-changing-ness of my surroundings, who knew what I'd be like after years and years of it.

I knew for a fact that there was no constant record of my presence. Yes, I'd appeared from time to time in history, but never to stay. Always come in, save the day and leave before anyone gets too inquisitive. If I was stuck until the 51st century and had been stuck from 1758 until then, I will have to / must've kept an exceedingly low profile. English is not the best language for this, the tenses get confusing. I have become attached to it though, and I've got to blend in. Best to think in a language these humans understand.

But it was harder then just finding myself. It had to be a future version of myself – someone I've not yet been. It could be the tenth version but in my personal timeline's future. The problem was, since it was my future I've not done it yet. I would remember. So, I've got no clues on where and when I'll be next. Which makes it potluck, or not quite. Because if I do get back, then I'll know I get back and can therefore start searching for myself. So, therefore my best option was not to move, as much as possible, so I know where I am.

If I was to stay, then I couldn't stay in one place long enough for people to realise that I didn't age. So I had to strike a balance. Always keeping moving, don't make attachments. Eternity is a lonely place.

Of course I'm not the only time traveller in existence, if I came across any others I would ask for a lift. The only problem would be payment and the questions that came with it. The only person who'd understand, do the service for free with no questions asked would be myself, which led me back to the problem of finding myself.

If I want to know somewhen I'll visit regularly enough to be sure of catching myself, I'll have to wait. Not the whole 3200 years, just about 250 of them. London, early 21st century. I couldn't believe that I wouldn't let Rose visit her mum from time to time, even s much as I detested it.

There we are then, sorted. I'll be in London around 2007. Great. Now what do I do until then? I've got time to kill, over 200 years of the stuff.

If I survive this without using up all of my regenerations I'll probably never return to the 19th or 20th centuries if I can help it. I'll be thoroughly sick of them. It may not be as bad as my first estimate, but still it'll be something that I've never done before. And if I get the choice, I'll never do it again. Not that I will. Get to choose that is.

I saved the world and history to my own cost. I'll have to watch time play out on the slow path, unable to press the fast forward button to the interesting bits.

I didn't have a choice, I never do.

O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0

A/N …I've just realised how drabble-y this is. Oh well, only for the first chapter, I promise. Next time: maybe the slow path isn't completely devoid of action.

Should I bother writing it? Review and tell me.

Tai

She's 37 in 1758