Stolen Faces
Characters: Twelfth Doctor
~Pairings: None
Word Count: 537
Note: Spoilers for anything up to Deep Breath
The Doctor stares at his face; his reflection stares back, stern and serious.
He knows this face; he knows he knows it, but how? How can one know their own face before they see it? He must've taken it from someone…it's happened before, not with him though.
It was with another person, a Time Lady he thinks. She looked like a princess, stole her face.
He thinks for a moment pondering, he thinks he may have traveled with her once…no it had been the other way around, she had traveled with him.
What had her name been? Roman? Riana? Roxanna? Oh it doesn't matter she was long gone now.
Besides there it was no use thinking about times long gone, about people long gone, he had more pressing matters.
Like where his face had come from.
He stares; he stares and stares and stares!
Who is he?!
He isn't young, not anymore…then again he hasn't been young in a very very long time, but now it shows. It shows in the wrinkles and the frown lines, on a face he has never frowned in. Okay so he had frowned in it now, but not enough to gain those.
And the hair was all wrong! Too short and too gray, what was he supposed to do with that!
But no, he'd figure it out later; first he needs to figure out the face.
He knows this face, he knows he knows it.
Just as he knows, he knows about the robots turned men and the ship's sister, but he doesn't know, he can't remember.
He hates not remembering, because not remembering means not knowing, and not knowing can get him killed.
Get both of them killed him and, and—the name escapes him—he can feel panic well in his hearts. The girl, the human girl, the not him, the one who travels with him, no that doesn't work he's had too many of those.
He needs specifics, she has brown hair, she's curious, investigative, she may or may not have loved him—Sarah-Jane?—No! Clara, there it is.
Clara, he held onto that name like a lifeline. Clara who hadn't left, Clara who didn't know this face, but had stayed.
He catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror again, right his face. He knew it. He'd stolen it, just like he'd stolen his ship…could it be called his when he had stolen it? Shouldn't it still technically be someone else's?
He doesn't know, he doesn't really care at this point, it's not like can return it.
But the face, the eyebrows, the intense stares, he knows it.
He's seen it before, long ago he thinks, when he had another face, well obviously he would've had to have had another face, this one is brand new!
He stares and stares and can't remember, until he thinks of redheads. He thinks of redheads in Pompeii, and of a family long gone, but oh so alive and he realizes with a start that he knows who has frowned him this face.
He knows who he has stolen it from and he almost laughs, because isn't it funny that he stole this face from the man who stole his blue box.
Here we have it, my first story with the Twelfth Doctor, I tried to make it a bit chaotic, with a lot of tangents, to match the Doctor in the new episode. In my mind his mind is still "rebooting" right now and so his thoughts don't connect and they're bouncing around
Anyways I hope you guys liked it :D
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