Leather Armor

by beth51276

My first Doctor wore leather. He did it to protect himself after suffering devastating loss. Then I died after being separated from my Doctor. I needed armor, too.

Leather Armor

My first Doctor wore leather. At first, I thought it was because he liked going around looking like a sexy, high-octane bad boy. It matched his personality. Mercurial moods, the brooding, the flashes of high temper, even that Northern accent of his. I realized later that he wore it as armor. He had faced great loss and survived it at great cost to his psyche.

I spent my time reassuring him that he had me. That he would have me until I drew my last breath. I loved him. I wish I had spent more time pursuing that love when he was my warrior in leather. It was his face, his personality I fell in love with. When he looked at me, I felt like I was the only woman in the universe as far as he was concerned.

Then he regenerated. That horrible word I didn't know about. I did the only thing I knew to do to save him, only to lose him to the fires of regeneration. His personality had changed, along with the rest of him. But I eventually found my Doctor underneath it all, even if he didn't wear that leather armor anymore. I got used to his new face and new quirks, because my Doctor was still there. I had made my choice a long time ago. I still loved him. I still promised him forever. More fool, me.

Then I died. I was separated from my second Doctor at Torchwood. There was no way to get back. Standing on a freezing beach in Norway because of a supernova just to say goodbye. The sentence he never got to complete. I went to work for the Torchwood in the parallel universe. I decided that I would do whatever I had to do just to get back to him. For without him, I was still dead inside. No fantastic life for me, not without him. I had faced great loss and survived it at great cost to my psyche. I needed armor, too.

So now I wore leather. It wasn't a fashion statement. It wasn't because I could afford it now that I had my dad's money. I never cared about that. I was an agent for Torchwood, and it was soon known that I wasn't where I was merely because of Peter Tyler. I was their leading expert on contact with alien races. After all, I had had contact with more of them than anyone else there. But I still didn't have my Doctor. So as I conducted my work and searched for a way back to him, I wore my leather jacket. Durable, practical, protective.

Grief and loss wreak havoc on your emotions. So as I found myself traveling via the dimension cannon, I protected myself the way my first Doctor would have, with my armor. That wasn't all. In hindsight, I realized how he felt in Utah that day so long ago. I had the nerve to stand there and chastise him for pointing that gun at me. Now I had a gun that looked remarkably similar to the one he held that day. A gun powerful enough to kill a Dalek. Having survived such loss, still living through such personal grief, I had no qualms about wielding such a weapon. Once you've suffered through that sort of loss, you'll do anything to protect yourself.

So regardless of how my pinstriped Doctor felt about such weapons, I still remember my blue-eyed, leather clad Doctor. I needed his methods to survive. I picked up that weapon. I took on his armor.