AN: I am very new to the Dr Who fan scene. And by very new I mean I started watching the new(er) Dr Who about four weeks ago and haven't been able to stop since. It has devoured my brain and left me a husk, incapable of sensible thought, and certainly incapable of paying attention at uni. I blame Chris Ecclestone for his fantastic 9 (unf, that accent, that face). Then Tennant for his glorious 10. Now Matt Smith for his insane 11 (I've only just started with Matt Smith's series, loving him so far!).
See, I'm a real sook. I love happy endings, and 10 got nothing. Even 9 got a life saved and a kiss. But 10, he gave the woman he loved to another-man/himself. I sobbed. Actually bawled my damn eyes out. And then, the last thing he wants to see before he dies is Rose. I wailed. In fact, I'm crying just thinking about it!
So this little thing crawled into my brain and refused to leave. I'm a bit nervous about putting this up, because the Dr Who fandom is like nothing I have ever come across. It is so established, and encompasses so many people, young and old. There have been people writing fanfics for this since before I was born. But I'm being brave (or feckless) and sticking my little ditty up in the hopes that it may bring some enjoyment to someone.
This is fresh-off-my-brain and un-beta'd.
It's in your eyes, a color fade out
Looks like a new transition
The starting up and shaking your ground
Turning your head to see a new day calling
Vitriol spewed from his lips. Vile words, phrases, that had no right to be thought let alone said.
Cowardly words. He was so far beyond coward it couldn't even see the dust his feet kicked up. Fear had devoured his guts and sunk its teeth into his hearts. His seeming victory had been cut short.
By four tentative knocks.
The most insignificant, bumbling, moron of an old man was staring at him through the glass, all vacuous and uncomprehending.
Four knocks and you will die.
He didn't want to die, didn't deserve to die, didn't deserve any of thi-.
A crunch and lights sparked before everything went out.
When he came to he was slumped over, head throbbing and vision triplicating. He tried to sit up but his wrist was tied to something. That got his vision to settle. One image of metal cuffs about his wrist and a radiator bolted to the wall. Convenient radiator.
His free hand scrabbled at his jacket for the sonic screw driver, eyes flicking about the room. Human still behind glass, check; sonic screw driver, check... wait...
"Looking for this?" himself asked him. The sonic screwdriver was held in a pair of very familiar hands that were somehow all the way over there attached to him. The Doctor. Except that Doctor was in a blue suit, and he, himself, handcuffed to the radiator, was in a brown suit. He couldn't possibly be that Doctor as well.
That Doctor looked grim. "How did I ever become a coward?" he growled. "I came to rescue you and I find you drivelling."
And the words escaped him. Fled from the tip of his tongue and came out as a garbled 'guh'.
"You're an idiot, you know, you really are." The sonic screwdriver was still waving around the air, twirled by dexterous fingers. "And she deserves better than you, but may all the Gods forgive me, I can deny her nothing."
Words formed, fled, mangled in his breath. "Rose?"
"Of course this is for her!" the other Doctor howled. "I look like you, I think like you, I feel like you, but I'm not you!" The other Doctor's eyes were deep and sunken, fingers no longer stable enough to flick the screwdriver around. They were clenched around the little tool, white knuckled. "I know it, Time knows it, and damn you she knows it. Oh, she is Rose." A humourless grin spread over the other's teeth. "She loves unconditionally, fully, delightfully, but deep down she knows I am not you, and she was always meant for you. Not your image. Not the most convincing fake in all the universes." He snorted.
His throat closed up. His hearts juttered.
"You didn't even think to check, did you, whether there were any lasting effects after you removed the Heart." Here, the other did sneer. "She doesn't age, not any more, and she may only have one heart but she's more Time than I am. She'll see me grow old and die, and you know, I know, we cannot live with ourselves for her to go through that."
The tears wouldn't stop falling.
"Time loves her. It knows who she's meant to be with, and it's not me. It never was me."
The sobs choked their way out, hiccuping out his throat.
"She deserves better than me. She damn well deserves better than you. She never asks for you, you know. But I feel it, I know it." The other Doctor turned away to hide his own tears. His shoulders straightened and he breathed deep, settling himself. "There's a little wibble in the fabric of time where the Tardis sits. I came through that, and it'll fit the Tardis. It's stable. Probably got a few more years before it closes itself." His hand was on the door. This other Doctor, so willing to take the step he was so reluctant to.
His throat unlocked. "Don't," he whispered.
"You know it. It's always been you, you're just too coward to see it, too afraid to accept the one good thing in your life." With a final glower, the other Doctor let the sonic screwdriver drop. It clattered on the ground. The door hissed open and shut. The door clunked open, spilling Wilfred out. The other Doctor stood there, behind glass, facing him down.
His chest clenched, teeth ground, arm strained against his restraint.
"Give her my love," the other said, tears dripping from his chin. His face scrunched up, mouth gaped in a worldless scream, hands clawed at his head. He sank, slowly, achingly to the floor, body contracting into itself, arms wrapping around his head in futile protection.
He wouldn't stop the sobs. Could barely see the blue suited man behind the glass for the tears. The blue suited body that should have been brown. That tiny little voice, his own voice, presence, in the back of his mind, winked out.
Wilfred cried. He cried for the one in blue and the one in brown and the golden girl he'd never met. Then he brought the Doctor his screwdriver and helped him to his feet. Helped him remove the body in blue and carry him back to the Tardis. Cried and hugged him as he was dropped off to his family.
Later, in a very different universe, the golden girl answered the door to a weary Time Lord. She opened her arms and cried for all of them. She cried for the one she'd lost, the one she'd gained, and everything in between. And somewhere else entirely, Time shifted just a little bit to the left and settled.
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