Warnings: Character Study, Introspection, Angst, Dark!Fic, Mentions of Canon Character Death
A/N: Written for who_contest's Prompt:Back and (as always) comprised of my usual overly angsty-thinky (dark) ramblings. This prompt gave me a bit of trouble - which seems to be the norm nowadays. I actually had one solid idea, but it refused to cooperate, which left me floundering most of the week. A small spark finally kicked off a way to use the old idea in a brand new way - and this fiction was the result. I can only hope it is not only readable, but moderately enjoyable as well. As per usual, this fic is mostly unbeta'd and written in one go, so please forgive any mistakes and/or blatant vagueness. As always, I apologize for any repetition, misspellings, sentence fails, grammatical oh-noes and general horridness. Unbeta'd fic is overly-thinky/blithery and unbeta'd.
Disclaimer(s): I do not own the scrumptious Doctor or his lovely companions. That honor goes to the BBC and (for now) the fantastic S. Moffat. The only thing that belongs to me is this fiction - and I am making no profit. Only playing about!
She and I, we dream together.
Sometimes we dream of the future, of things that never will be. Most of the time, though, we dream of the past –
Of things that never could be.
o-o-o
"If you do this, Kosh, things will never be the same. You – we – can't ever come back from this."
Pleading would change nothing. It hadn't to this point.
Koschei was a man with his own ideals. His own way of seeing things.
We hadn't seen the world on the same level for quite a long time.
"I know, Theta." A soft sigh; the last true smile I would ever see from him. That warm, exasperated fondness there in a way it never would be after this moment. "But there is no turning back. Not even with the wonders within our collective grasp. Everything changes, Thee. Everything."
I never told him how much I loved him. He was my friend. He was my first Companion.
He was Family.
Maybe things would have been different if I had told him.
He left a few days after that last exchange of words with no meaning. It was my first taste of bitterness, of regret.
It was not my last.
o-o-o
We dream of what once was. Of things ancient, far from us both.
Or maybe, just far from me.
I am just as linear as my Companions, no matter what I like to tell myself. She can see Everywhere, Any-when – and She does so in a way I could never comprehend.
I do believe I am rather envious of Her for that.
o-o-o
I went back.
River was gone; off to do whatever River did when she was not traveling with me. I was relieved she had somewhere else she could be. For her – and for myself.
I am a selfish, terrible old man. I lie about many things. I have never lied about that.
Not even to myself.
I went back and saw my Ponds. I saw where they were at rest and my hearts broke all over again. I do not visit the dead for a reason. And with so much of my family dead (and one so soon to follow) –
The Angel was still there.
I ran to it – reckless, terrified, angry. Such is Joy for the grieving soul.
It was lifeless.
I had been robbed of my moment.
I fell to my knees as I wept for a second time in that graveyard, my Ponds there to hold me up as they always had: their monument to life (and that life's passage), gritty and too warm beneath my cold hands.
I could feel nothing but the ice within my hearts; the bitterness within a familiar, hated taste. It tasted of tired regret.
I could only hope it was my last one.
o-o-o
She mourned with me, the console room wearily nostalgic; our dreams static and steeped in longing.
An old man and his ancient machine.
It was finally (finally) time for us to stop...