A Teaspoon And An Open Mind: A Doctor Who Fan Fiction Archive
Third Doctor
Liberation (The Clock Stops Remix) by agapi42 [Reviews - 4] Printer
Author's Notes:
Remix of Liberation by Curuchamion, written for Remix Madness 2011.


The Doctor is a Time Lord. Exiled and stranded, with no more power over the fourth dimension than the humans around him, perhaps, but still a Time Lord.

There is always Time.


Tick.

Ninety-six million, one hundred and sixty four thousand, five hundred and seventy-four.

Tick.

Ninety-six million, one hundred and sixty four thousand, five hundred and seventy-five.


But it is only linear time. He cannot see tomorrow, cannot see the ripples that spread from the actions of those around him or the pattern they form the future in.


Tick.

Ninety-six million, one hundred and sixty four thousand, five hundred and seventy-six.

Tick.

Ninety-six million, one hundred and sixty four thousand, five hundred and seventy-seven.


He is acutely aware of every splinter of every second of every minute that passes, lost to the now unreachable past. It’s a swinging pendulum, a shifting shadow, a steady drip of water building a stalagmite. It continually scratches against the block in his mind.


Tick.

Ninety-six million, one hundred and sixty four thousand, five hundred and seventy-eight.

Tick.

Ninety-six million, one hundred and sixty four thousand, five hundred and seventy-nine.


He’s learnt to measure time in other ways. How Liz’s hair changes, how many times Jo smiles, how his hands grow scarred and callused from all his experiments and adventures. He hadn’t chosen this life or this body, marked with a criminal brand, but he is still the Doctor and he has made it his own.


Tick.

Ninety-six million, one hundred and sixty four thousand, five hundred and eighty.

Vworp.


He snatches the dematerialisation circuit up, almost afraid it will disappear. He turns it over in his hands and his mind clears. His knowledge is there, just as it’s always been. His mind is wholly his again.

The stalagmite of linear time is dissolved and swept away. Time roars in his head, free and wonderful, an infinity of choices.

“I...I suppose you’ll be rushing off then,” Jo says, staring at the console.

“No, not straight away, Jo, of course not,” he tells her and strides around the console, every dial and button making new-old sense to him. “I’ve got to build a new forcefield generator first.”

After all, he has all the time in the worlds now.
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