I have to say something, the only reason I rated this as T was because of how creepy it was. By the end of writing it, I was feeling a tad claustrophobic, which is a bit of a feat for a non-claustrophobe.
Okay, now, just. . . read. *waves you on and hands you a shock blanket*
When the Pandorica closed, the Doctor wasn't quite sure of what to expect from the Pandorica, to expect of a prison made specifically for him. In fact, he was almost morbidly curious as to what would happen.
He really didn't expect for the almost blindingly bright lights inside to grow even brighter until he had the unnerving feeling of seeing without actually seeing.
He blinked.
He squinted.
He narrowed his eyes.
There it was, the almost eerie, faint outlines of the prison he was in. Everything was bright, too bright, much too bright; he could see, but he couldn't.
Nervously, the Doctor clenched and unclenched his fists. Just because he couldn't see (wouldn't see, shouldn't see, didn't see) didn't mean he didn't have his other senses to use.
The cool metal around his wrists was vaguely comforting, in an obscure way he couldn't quite pinpoint. He couldn't see, but he knew where he was.
Clench.
Unclench.
Repeat.
A while later (hours? days? millenia?) his hands went numb. No worrying, he sternly told himself. You've still got your other senses left.
Just because he told himself that didn't mean he didn't worry.
He could hear. He couldn't not hear, not while the Pandorica was so silent and still.
He could hear voices.
Old voices. Long ago voices. Voices that were far away, both in terms of space and time.
"Grandfather!"
"Doctor!"
"Professor!"
He could hear.
He decided that he didn't want to hear, not this, not them.
The Doctor was alone in the bright, bright darkness (see- can't see- see), unable to feel anything (nothing- no touch- where am I?), nothing to taste except the blood in his mouth from when he had chewed on his lips nervously (blood- bad- don't taste- can't taste- won't taste), nothing to smell except the cool, almost sterile air of the Pandorica (sterile- clean- too clean- can't feel!), but he could hear.
Of the five senses he had, the only one he could still properly use was the one he didn't want.
Don't hear- shouldn't hear-
Echoes.
Echoes of the long past.
When the Pandorica opened, it was all the Doctor could do to not leap out and joyfully hug Rory (hugs- touch- friends). He wanted to whirl around and smell the dank, damp air of Stonehenge, he wanted to dig a jammie dodger out of his pocket and simply savor it, to start talking and listen (listen!) to something other than echoes from the past, he wanted to just stare at everything and observe.
His body decided to just stay put for a few moments.
The Doctor stared, stared at Rory (Rory the Roman! He should start calling him that!) drinking in the familiar sound that his sonic screwdriver made.
Wait.
The sonic?
"How did you do that?"
And as the Doctor leapt back into his adventuring, he couldn't help but be thankful that he was no longer stuck.