Hello everyone. It's been so long since I've published anything. I've started so many stories but never finished them. :( Oh well, maybe having this one finished will motivate me to write more. ;)
Disclaimer: I do not own Doctor Who or any characters associated with it.
"So what's so special about this planet then?"
Clara and the Doctor were currently on a small planet. As far as planets went, while not boring, this particular planet didn't seem to have anything that seemed unique.
The native people looked almost human, even wearing brightly colored clothes that bore a resemblance to those of ancient China.
The main difference was their brightly colored hair, for girls, bubblegum pink, and for boys a shade of mint green. Other than that, nothing really stood out.
And yet the Doctor had taken her here for a reason, saying that it would be a valuable learning opportunity for her. Well, that's what she took it as. His exact words had been more along the lines of finally cramming some useful knowledge into her tiny brain.
"Well you see Clara, the Antimorians are very similar to Timelords. Not technology wise mind you, in that department they're barely further than you humans. They haven't even invented teleportation yet. But biology wise, very similar to Gallifreyans. They've got two hearts, for instance, as well as a rather sophisticated respiratory system that's almost up to par with a Timelord's. Some of their cultural traditions also share a remarkable likeness to those of Gallifrey. In fact, one of their main holidays-" Clara glanced up as the Doctor cut off abruptly, mid sentence to find that he had also stopped walking mid-stride.
He was standing stock still in the middle of the street, staring at something through the crowd. His mouth hung open slightly, and his eyes held a deep, unnamable emotion. He looked as though he had seen a ghost. Worried, Clara followed his gaze to see another man looking very out of place among the bright and busy locals.
The mysterious man was of average height, standing in the middle of the crowd as he stared forward, seemingly at nothing in particular. He wore a worn black leather jacket and jeans, quite dull in comparison to the bright colors around him. His hair was short and dark, his most notable feature being his large ears. On his face was a look, so heartbroken, so lost, so full of self-loathing that the likes of which she had seen on only one other person.
"Doctor," she asked, "who is that man?" She wasn't sure if she wanted to hear the answer.
"A ghost," the Doctor replied, his voice sounding distant and unfocused. "A ghost from my past. I remember this," he continued, voice barely above a whisper, "I remember this day…"
He trailed off, and Clara could see that he was lost in a memory. She knew that he wasn't one for hugs, and so she offered her support in the only way that she knew how. Reaching out, she threaded her fingers through his, squeezing gently to let him know she was there.
They stood there for a long while, mirroring the man across the street who had yet to notice them. Except, where he looked so very alone, they stood together, knowing they were not alone.
Then, after what seemed like forever, the Doctor seemed to snap out of it. He reached into his pocket, pulling out a sheet of paper and a pen, then proceeded to scribble something down upon it.
Before Clara could ask what he had written, he turned away from her and began speaking to a young Antimorian boy in the native language. He pointed to the leather clad man and then handed the paper to the boy.
"What are you doing? What did you write on that piece of paper?" Clara asked, but the Doctor was already pushing her along, ignoring her questions.
"Come on Clara, back to the TARDIS, lots more to see and do."
He was alone. All alone. It was silent in his head. Even the colorful crowd of joyful people surrounding him could not lift his mood.
What had he done? There had been no other choice. There's always another way. Not this time.
There was nothing left for him now.
There was a tug on his sleeve. He looked down to see a young boy. "Excuse me sir," the boy said, "I was told to give this to you."
He frowned deeply, but took the proffered paper. Unfolding it, he stared at the writing.
It was written in circular Gallifreyan. A dead language, ever since… if there was no one left who knew the language, then how could this note exist?
A small flicker of hope began to well in his heart as he read the note. Desperately, he turned to the boy, "Who gave you this?"
The raw emotion contained in his voice must have startled the kid, for he stuttered slightly as he replied. "I-I don't know, some guy. He was over there, he's gone now."
He cursed under his breath as he realized that whoever it was, they were now long gone. But that was okay, because now he had this, and for the first time since that dark day he dared to hope.
With a quick nod of thanks towards the boy, he turned and began to walk away. He had to get to the TARDIS, there was somewhere he was supposed to be. As he walked, he clutched the paper to his chest as if it was his lifeline, which, in a way, it was.
It only left his hands when he set it on the console so that he could have both hands for driving. As the he threw the lever to send them through the vortex, he read the words one more time.
2005
London, England
Auton Invasion
So there we have it. Did you like it? Feel free to drop a review and tell me what you think, I'm always open to constructive criticism.