The Doctor tries to figure out what magnified his desires and psychic powers so much - and makes a fateful decision

A/N: Well, this chapter that follows is kind of important for the consolidation of the point of divergence in the timeline of this story. Like, very important as far as setup and character development going forward so I hope you enjoy it.

Anyway, happy reading!

The Doctor stood alone in the kitchen.

The TARDIS was quiet at this hour, as though it, too, was holding its breath. Amy slept behind closed doors, no doubt dreaming of stars, laughter, and of pregnant bellies. But for him, sleep was far away. The quiet hum of his ship echoed in his mind like a whisper he couldn’t quite catch.

He leaned against the counter near the Geiger counter, eyes narrowed. It still sat there where he’d last seen it, innocuous and humming softly, its display blank.

Too blank...

He hadn’t been paying attention earlier. Too distracted. Too caught up in everything that had happened—the changes, the clarity, the certainty that had filled him since eating that breakfast. Since—

His brows furrowed. "...since the fish fingers and custard," he muttered.

With a soft whistle, he activated his sonic screwdriver and waved it across the Geiger counter’s outer shell. “TARDIS, interface: initiate low-level Time Window protocol, kitchen zone, timestamp...oh, let’s say twenty minutes prior to Amy’s arrival at the table with breakfast.”

The lights dimmed, shifting subtly as Gallifreyan circuits spiraled into motion.

In front of him, a ripple passed through the air like heat above asphalt, and then it solidified—a shimmering 3D projection of the kitchen as it had been.

The Time Window. No interaction, no paradoxes, no time travel. Just a recorded echo of what had happened. And so, he watched.

Amy entered, humming to herself, hair tousled from sleep. She carried the little glowing gem, still warm from the meteorite she had picked up. He saw her place it in the Geiger counter.

He squinted.

The display flickered while she wasn't looking.

For a fleeting second—barely visible even now—the words appeared:

"Hazandra Wishing Stone"

Then the sentence vanished, fading from the screen before she even looked again.

The Doctor’s eyes widened slightly. “Hazandra…now that's an extremely rare find.”

He watched as she shrugged, placed the gem absentmindedly on the microwave, and turned to make her custard. Her elbow bumped the edge. The stone wobbled—tipped—

And dropped silently into the saucepan...into the custard.

He let the moment play through as he blinked rapidly. Amy, unaware, finished cooking. Took the meal. Walked out of frame.

The window then flickered and froze.

And so, he stood in the silence that followed. The stone. The custard. Him.

"...Oh," he whispered.

Of course. That explained the surge. The overwhelming clarity of purpose. The psychic strength he had never dared to tap now flowing like a tidal wave that has been itterly magnified. The ironclad conviction.

And why it had all seemed so natural.

He hadn’t made a conscious decision.

The stone had answered a subconscious wish from deep within him.

He closed his eyes, breath shallow, fingers tightening around the edge of the counter.

The Hazandra Stones were rare—almost a myth. He remembered hearing of them long ago on Gallifrey, whispered about in the Academy like fairy tales mixed with warnings. Semi-sentient and attuned to desire, they were "intuitive" gemstones that could draw energy from the nearest star to fulfil the desires of its owner. As he recalled, they were formed in the heart of a red hole and stabilized in pure dwarf star crystal. Utterly unusual gems formed by such long odds that he had only heard of 4 existing in the entire universe last he had checked.

And with good reason too. They gemstones were so powerful they could vastly enhance the physiology of any who used them in ways they desired and even alter reality on a limited fashion depending on the exact nature of the wish they want to see made into reality. In short, didn’t **** change. They revealed it. And then they unleashed it, amplifying what was already waiting inside to try and convince the wielder to follow through.

And he had swallowed it...

Not by design.

By chance.

Or…by fate...?

He stood upright slowly, stepping toward the now-faded time window. The kitchen was silent again. But his mind was not.

He hadn’t set out to become this.

But he had become it.

Because deep down, beneath centuries of loss and control, beneath the heroism and humility—there had been a man who wanted his people back.

The stone had just made him strong enough to act on it.

His frown deepened.

Not in fear. Not in guilt.

Those emotions were still there, yes—echoes. Faint. Distant. Like the last notes of a dying song. And that was the strange part. He didn’t feel panic. Didn’t even feel loss. Only a deep, cool kind of understanding.

And then the question. Not about whether he should stop...but about why it had taken him this long to begin?

And then, the answer came to him with quiet, brutal clarity.

It was because he had always carried guilt like a shadow. Because no matter what power he held or what choices he made, that quiet voice had always whispered: This is too far. This isn’t who you are.

And now that voice was weak. Muted...but not gone.

And that was the danger.

He stared at the empty kitchen, now still, quiet again. The problem wasn’t that he felt guilt, he realized. The problem was that guilt could come back.

One spark. One moment. And it would undo everything. It would make him hesitate. Recoil. Fail.

And he couldn’t afford that—not anymore. Not with a future to build. Not with a species to revive.

He turned slowly, his gaze falling upon the small, square mirror mounted on the far wall. The kitchen had no reason to have it, but the TARDIS always gave him what he needed—even before he asked.

So, he walked towards it.

The man who looked back at him was familiar, as it has been a few months now since he regenerated into this new body of his. Ragged hair. A very pronounced chin. Ancient, tired eyes that seemed to contrast with his younger-than-usual incarnation. A Time Lord who had lived too long, loved too much, and lost more than anyone ever should.

He exhaled slowly.

“No more flinching,” he murmured. “No more doubting.”

He raised both hands, placing his fingertips against the edges of the mirror as though bracing it—or bracing himself.

And then, softly but firmly, he spoke to himself before he could change his mind.

“To the man I am... this is your will:

“You will not feel guilt for what must be done.

You will not hesitate in the pursuit of Gallifrey’s rebirth.

You will not mourn the methods—only the necessity.

But—”

He drew a slow breath, as if bracing himself not just for the weight of his words, but for their permanence.

“—you will never forget who you were.

You will never forget kindness.

You will not become cold. You will not become needlessly cruel.

And when you take—you will give back.

To those whose minds you bend…

You will protect them.

You will reward them.

You will shape their lives into something fulfilling to compensate them for what they have lost.

And to those who follow you into fire, into purpose, into motherhood…

You will honor them.

You will love them.

You will make certain they are not broken—only reborn.”

His eyes locked with his reflection now, sharp and unblinking as he held the mind controlling wave of psychic energy in reserve, ready to burst forth like a dam broken.

“You will compensate those you affect.

Creatively. Meaningfully.

And you will do it not out of obligation—but because it is right.

Because they deserve it.”

The energy around him pulsed like the beat of his two hearts in perfect synchrony. The TARDIS groaned low in the walls, the way it always did when the Doctor was just piloting her and landing on a brand-new destination—which felt oddly fitting that it was echoing this time as well while he was changing himself.

His voice softened again, almost reverent now.

“You will follow your original oath as much as you can.

Always try to be nice.

Never fail to be kind.

Even now.”

The psychic command sealed like a key turning in a lock after his trembling subsided. The pressure in the air lifted. And he felt that his mind was lighter. His resolve, crystalline. The final echoes of resistance dulled into silence.

He rubbed his forehead slowly before shaking his head several times. Then, slowly, he smiled.

Of course he didn’t feel guilt. Why should he?

He had sacrificed everything. Again and again for centuries on end. Burned his own people when they had threatened creation itself in a **** attempt to save themselves during the Last Great Time War. He had shattered timelines. Bent the laws of physics until they screamed, all to save a vast track of reality that would never even know his name.

The universe owed him. Every star. Every race. Every life he saved had left its weight in his bones, and now—now—he was collecting.

And his companions? His beautiful, brilliant companions?

He had saved all of them, more than once at some point. Risked life, limb, and mind for each of them. Hadn’t they smiled at him? Clung to him in terror and joy? Didn’t they owe him their lives?

Across galaxies, a life debt was sacred after all. A currency more powerful than any metal. Countless cultures had entire rituals built on it—if a life was saved, the savior had claim to one act of absolute loyalty. One deed unquestioned. One reward unrefused.

And what greater reward could there be, he reasoned, than asking them and others to help him save a species?

Not just any species. His own. His lost people. His fallen world.

He gave the mirror one last glance. The man staring back at him wasn’t a stranger—but he was determined.

The Doctor stepped away from the kitchen, walking quietly into the long corridors of the TARDIS. There was still so much to do. But now, finally—he would do it without flinching.

And every world that gave him wives and children would be given more in return than it lost, with the future mothers of his progeny being first in line.

This he vowed.

A/N: Well, that's all for now. I hope this helps explain the potential out of characterness in the Doctor going forward for certain scenes. This is after all something very different from what he would normally allow himself to do in canon. So, here is a little push to explain it away for the premise, so to speak.

If you enjoyed the chapter then please remember to leave a comment and until next time.