Title: Empty
Rating: K+ Just to be on the safe side.
Summary: A study in optimism. Set during the gap between Runaway Bride and Smith & Jones. Is the glass half-empty or half-full? It's all about your perspective.
Disclaimer: I own nothing of the Doctor Who universe! The BBC own everything, and rightly so!
A/N: My first Doctor Who fic. (Well, the first that's been good enough to post, anyway.) Reviews are very much appreciated!
Doctor Who - Empty
The water jug sits innocently on the table. A glass jug on a time and space ship very prone to accidents and rough landings that would shatter everything short of reinforced steel – what had he been thinking when he bought it?
Well, technically he hadn't bought it. He had been persuaded, coaxed, cajoled into it – and it wasn't his money, anyway. But here it was, sitting proudly – and amazingly intact – on the table in front of him.
The cup he is drinking out of (plastic, this time) is resting in his clasped hands. The surface of the water inside it ripples slightly as his fingers begin to shake.
"But why do we need one, though?" he asks again desperately, realising he is in far too deep with this one.
"Honestly, Doctor – I mean, no offence to the TARDIS an' all, but anything could have gotten into those pipes and then who knows what we could be drinking?!"
She's taking this far too seriously, he tells himself. All this fuss over a drink of water at bedtime. He is reminded of exactly the reason the Doctor doesn't do domestic. Silly little human things like this – oh why did Rose have to insist on always having to take a drink of water to bed with her? Her point was redundant anyway – a water jug would do nothing to prevent what she was suggesting and the TARDIS was perfectly safe…And besides, the hypersonifiedplasmaevaporatingcondenser would make sure the water was perfectly pure anyway…
The Doctor agrees to land the TARDIS somewhere they can pick up a water jug and Rose rewards him with a delighted squeal and a hug.
It was just a water jug…
The plastic cup shakes so violently that the cold water spills out all over his lap and he has to slam it down hard on the table top. He stands abruptly. His hands are shaking uncontrollably now and the urge to smash that goddamn water jug over his own head is growing by the second.
He wills himself to stop. He siphons off the anger and seals away the pain until all that's left is bitterness and regret. It is now when the self-hatred begins to bubble to the surface once again.
He's better off alone. People don't get hurt this way.
Yet still Donna's words rattle around inside the vast, empty hole in his vast, empty heart in this vast, empty ship in this vast, empty universe…
Empty. Without her.
Oh gods, Rose.
He sits back in his chair. Half the water in his plastic cup is gone. The cup was half-empty (Rose would always say half-full) and the Doctor thought he knew how that felt.
Over and over, Donna says "I think you need someone to stop you."
And maybe he did. Those Racnoss – he still heard the screams ringing in his ears any time he was brave enough to close his eyes and make an attempt at sleep. And her scream…
The water jug sits forgotten as he rises slowly to his weary feet once more. The corridors are long and winding as he makes his way out of the kitchen and to the control room. The water is still drying on his suit.
The TARDIS hums softly and encouragingly as his fingers grace the controls once more. The co-ordinates are set for London, England, Earth and the ship jerks into motion.
On the table, the glass jug remains unbroken.