Hey Guys! Taking a break from Mr and Mrs Song as this has been swirling in my mind. I highly doubt it is orignal but it's my take on it so I hope you like it!
- Heather x
DISCLAIMER (which I need to do more often) : I do not own the madness and awesomeness that is freaking Doctor Who. If I did the Ponds would be alive right now.
That Room
The Doctor ran through the corridors, his eyes running ragged also as he searched for the all important camera room that was located somewhere. Then he stopped, like a puppet at the will of his master, his form stock still. Slowly, so slowly, he turned and looked down the passage.
The Doctor saw the door. Identical to those around it they very different. The number 11 was there, in shining gold letters, natured down. If the Doctor had any control of himself he would have chuckled quietly at the distinct irony and coincidence. Of course, what other number? If there was such a thing as coincidence here. No, everything was designed and the Doctor wanted to chuckle at it. But he didn't as he had no control.
It was as though his vision had been shrunk, the wide focus of his eyes trimming down just to focus on the foreboding hotel room door. An invisible wire tugged at his hearts, willing him to step forward. Closer and closer, his tweed rippled with the movement and his flat, polished shoes taking liberate and careful steps. The wire pulled him. Closer and closer to the door.
He was there.
He was surprised his hand did not shake as he battled for will in his own head. It was a losing battle. His hand reached to clasp the golden doorknob and opened it. Just a crack, slowly as slow as the Space Derpop Snail. He looked.
He looked at his worst fear.
Himself.
Of course. The Valeyard. The Monster. The room was filled with the blood of thousands. Coating beds, curtains, the carpets. Red and deep that it strayed towards the door opening, flowing from the darkened figure. The Doctor saw his own face. HIS face. Not the Doctors.
It was aged, sunken with grey hair and beard, wearing blood soaked steampunk clothing. But his eyes were alive. Alive. With no remorse or regret or grief or pity or mercy. It was terrifying.
The Darkness. The inevitable. The destruction. Of the whole universe.
Himself.
He let out a shaky breath.
"Of course, who else?" The Doctor said to himself. He shut the door, carefully and found a sign and hung it.
Walking of to find the camera room, the DO NOT DISTURB sign swaying behind him, guarding the Oncoming Storm's greatest enemy. Greatest fear.
Himself.
R&R Please!