'Not of This World' preview. Chapter One: 'Nightmares'. The start of a new day, and the Doctor's finally going to do what he should have done a long time ago.
BTW - if you're finding this a little familiar, that's probably because it is. Half of it is my one-shot Nightmares (now deleted). If you've read Nightmares, just skip down until, like, the beginning of the third sectiony-thingy, that's where the new bit starts. Or read it all, whatever, I'm not your mother :)
Chapter 1 - Nightmares
The Doctor looked at her. His Rose. Emotions sung from her face. Confusion and hurt and determination, such determination, he'd forgotten she could be stubborn when she needed to. Her honey-brown eyes were sparkling with tears, her mascara running on her face. He almost smiled. How human. Going off to save the world, to save the universe, to save all universes, and she'd stopped to do her hair, put on her makeup. How human. How her.
He moved his eyes. And him. The Doctor. The metacrisis. He averted his eyes, quickly. He knew what he was about to do. He knew what he had to do. And it was killing him.
Her eyes were on his, the other's, confusion still there, but a spark of understanding moving through her, "You'll grow - grow old at the same time as me?"
The metacrisis' small smile was just like his, "Together."
Rose shook her head, her breathing heavy. It was hard to believe. So hard for her. She hesitated, and then moved softly forwards, putting up her hand, pressing it down on his chest. The Doctor knew she could feel his heartbeat, his single heartbeat, his human heartbeat, and the thought of her touch sent an empty feeling echoing through his soul.
The TARDIS called to him from behind them, and he glanced round. He knew what it meant. He didn't have long.
"We've gotta go. This reality is sealing itself off." He paused for a second, looking at her, before he forced out the last word, "Forever."
He saw the hurt in her eyes, knew he had to be firm with her despite the fact that he so didn't want this to be happening, that he couldn't believe it was happening. He was losing her again.
He turned, quickly so she couldn't see his face, and started towards the TARDIS.
"But... it's still not right."
He turned back, reluctant and willing to see her face again. She looked at him, licking her lips, a tear running down her cheek, fighting for words, always fighting, forever fighting. "'Cause... the Doctor's... still you."
He nodded, slowly, "And I'm him."
Rose paused for a second, and then made up her mind, nodding, "Alright. Both of you, answer me this." The metacrisis walked closer, and they both faced her, hands in pockets, stances identical, "When I last stood on this beach... on the worst day of my life..." she stopped, drew on her strength again: "What was the last thing you said to me?" she looked at him first. The Doctor didn't reply, and she raised her eyebrows, showing her stubbornness again, "Go on, say it.
He swallowed, looking at her, knowing he could never do as she asked, never give her what she wanted, "I said, 'Rose Tyler'."
She waited, her eyes running over him, expectantly, "Yeah, and how was that sentence gunna end?"
He felt it this time, really felt it, and forcefully stopped the tears from leaving his eyes, forcefully stopped his voice from shaking: "Does it need saying?"
Did it need saying? Yes. Yes, it did. But it couldn't. It couldn't be said. Because he couldn't.
She paused again, and then turned to the other, "And you, Doctor? What was the end of that sentence?"
He put a hand on her arm, leant down to her level, down to her ear, and whispered to her the one thing he could never say. Rose looked at him for a moment, and then pulled him closer, kissing him. Her lips, her kiss, and on him. The Doctor couldn't help but feel jealous. Broken and jealous.
He looked at her for a second. He could see his Rose, his precious Rose, and, back, to kissing her on the grated floor of Satellite Five, and, forwards, to seeing her again after all that time, after he had fallen into the pit of Hell, and then forwards again, to her looking at him with the same determination she had had a moment ago, after leaving her own mother, everything she knew, for him - I made my choice a long time ago, and I'm never gunna leave you - and then forwards again, to her hanging onto that lever, that damned lever - I've gotta get it upright! - and then -
No. No, don't think of that, don't think of that, it's poison. All of it, all of it's just... poison.
He couldn't take any more. The Doctor turned, leaving the two on the beach there, as he knew it should be, as he couldn't accept that it must be, turned back to the TARDIS, and shut the door behind him.
No. Forwards. No, he couldn't do this. He couldn't watch this, couldn't do this again. Forwards, forwards. Just past this. Let this go. Please.
But she was still there, Donna, Donna Noble, leaning on the TARDIS console, doubled over with suppressed pain, agony both physical and mental. Her eyes shimmered. They locked onto him. Her voice trembled. "I was gunna be with you. Forever."
He nodded, gently, feeling it again, feeling his hearts catch again, "I know."
She shook her head, smiling through the tears, almost longingly, "Rest of my life. Travelling. In the TARDIS." She smiled again, but the expression wavered, "The Doctor-Donna."
He just watched her, unable to find anything to say.
Donna looked at him, shaking her head, and then took a step back, suddenly realising what he was going to do, what he was going to take from her, "No! Oh my... I can't go back. Don't make me go back. Doctor. Please. Please don't make me go back."
He was shaking. His eyes hurt again, prickled with suppressed tears, "Donna. Oh, Donna Noble. I am so sorry." He managed his own sad smile, "But we had the best of times. The best." He waited a beat, having to force himself to do it, "Goodbye."
"No. No! No, please! Please, no! No! No!"
The Doctor opened his eyes. He didn't start. Didn't flinch. He didn't gasp, didn't pant for air, didn't jerk bolt upright. He just opened his eyes. He paused, looking at the ceiling. His hearts were beginning to calm. The dream. Oh God, that dream... If only he could suppress it, get rid of it, like he did with the others.
But he'd long since realised that these dreams weren't just nightmares. If they were nightmares he would be able to get rid of them. If they were nightmares they wouldn't play so much on his mind, day and night, never stopping. But they did. Because they weren't just nightmares. He couldn't get rid of them because, truthfully, he didn't want get rid of them. Because that was the real truth of it. They weren't nightmares.
They were all he had left.
He sat himself up and moved through to the console room, quickly. He paused, looking at the controls. He just... couldn't bring up the passion. He couldn't do it. But he had to. He couldn't stop.
He looked at the console for a moment longer and then turned his back. Where would he go, what would he do? There was no-one here for him to fool. He was alone once again. So many goodbyes. You'd think it would get easier. Not a chance.
The TARDIS called to him, sung to him, trying to soothe him. She still cared for him. She felt his pain.
"Just you and me again, old girl." He murmured, quietly.
The silence echoed back. It was too quiet. He waited, and then shook his head. The idea had moved through his mind quite a few times since that night. Since that... that... night. But could he manage that? Could he manage to go back there? Would it really make things any better, or could it only cause more pain? He didn't know, couldn't tell.
He paused, thinking about it, his logic battling with his emotions, as it often did. Then he shook his head again, made up his mind, and threw up the handbrake.
The Doctor paused by the door. Make or break time. He put up his hand, hesitated for one last second, and then knocked.
A rattle sounded from within the house, a series of low thumps, "Damn it! Jack, can you get the door?"
"I've got my hands full!"
"Your hands full? Jack Cartwright, you've always got your bloomin' hands full!"
He smiled slightly. There was a low muttered voice on the other side, female, probably cursing under her breath, and then footsteps, a silhouette against the frosted glass window. His breath froze in his throat, and he could just imagine her walking frustrated up the hall, probably busy, maybe juggling with three different things, maybe it would be better just to...
No. It was too late. He heard the rattle of keys as she unlocked the door, and then pulled it open.
The Doctor's eyes easily translated her emotions, her amazingly human emotions, so genuine, so expressive, a rainbow of emotions, portrayed without a single word.
It started as pleasant welcome, courteous, small smile, her opening-the-door face, and then it changed into amazement, absolute amazement. Then came the real smile, the joy, the amazed joy - I thought I'd never see you again! - followed closely by a touch of confusion - But what are you doing here? - and then hesitation, concern, seeing something on his face, something in his eyes. She took half a step forwards, and then realisation hit her - Oh - a stunned realisation, such deep concern, empathy, like she knew, like she understood - Oh God - she put a hand up to her mouth, shaking her head.
She took an abrupt step forwards, grabbing hold of him and dragging him down to her, her hands tight and soft on the back of his neck, ineffectual and comforting, unwanted and needed, her voice soft and quavering, so genuine, "I'm sorry." Myra Hull pulled back, looking at him, fixing him with her dark green eyes, the eyes that held a depth he had seen in few humans, and she tightened her grip, her tongue moving subconsciously over her lips, "I'm so... so sorry."
The Doctor nodded, silently, not saying a word. He believed her.
