Pieces
In which Kurt and the Doctor fail completely at alleviating one another's grieving process, decisions are made, and Kurt is not a fan of Martha Jones. Post-Doomsday.
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
AN: I got a lot of requests asking for the aftermath of Doomsday. I was going to write it anyway but wow, you guys must live on angst, eh? I sobbed hysterically for longer than I am ever going to admit at the end of that episode, I swear to god. This is skipping over the Christmas Special that takes place between the seasons, mostly because I've only seen it once and don't have it on hand to reference. I don't ignore its existence but I don't go into detail on it either.
And now we get to a particular subject that I've discussed before in author's notes: character bashing. Martha Jones is not given a particularly good light for the most part of this fic. This has nothing to do with my personal opinion on her character but everything to do with Kurt's mindset at the time. He's irrational, emotionally fucked, and isn't thinking clearly. He knows this. I don't believe in character bashing due to a writer's dislike of a character rather than the feelings of the other players in the story and I don't appreciate it when people take characters that the other characters in the original medium like and appreciate (Kairi from Kingdom Hearts; Natalia from Tales of the Abyss) and warp them into unrecognizable parodies of themselves. For example, you might dislike Rachel, but Finn clearly adores her and that should be taken into consideration. On the other hand, I also dislike it when a reader disregards the character telling the story and immediately jumps to the conclusion of character bashing from the author whether it is or isn't.
Please take it with a grain of salt.
Sorry, that was my soapbox. Getting down now before my note hits three-hundred words.
Kurt didn't know how long he stood there with tears dripping freely down his cheeks, onto the floor of that plain, simple room. He couldn't move, couldn't think, couldn't say a word because everything was pressing down so hard, crushing him to the point that all he could think was I am not going to survive this again. He didn't actually have to look up to know what the Doctor's face looked like; pale and stricken much like his own, horror and despair written over his every feature.
The only difference between them was the resignation that the Doctor held, more potent than Kurt's own. Far, far more potent.
"We can… we can find some sort of way," Kurt attempted, feeling the words come out foreign and scratched against his throat, "We can get her back. There has to be some sort of way. There has to. There's no such thing as impossibility."
The Doctor raised his head and met his eyes.
No.
There was no hope written in that face, no hope and no optimism, just sadness and grief. Kurt lurched forward to dig his hands into the man's collar.
"There's always a way!" he insisted, heart clenching in misery when the Doctor's face just twisted and Kurt didn't know if he could stand to see any more tears. Not from him, not when he could reach up and feel the tracks down his cheeks that mirrored the ones on his own. It was only Kurt that kept them standing when the Doctor sagged as if his bones had turned to gelatin, dropping all of his weight against Kurt's shoulder.
He remained there only long enough to whisper, agonizingly,
"There is no way. Not this time. I won't ever see her again."
As if Kurt's heart hadn't already been in enough pieces, those words were enough to grind it to powder.
And then the Doctor was pulling away from him to stand on his own two feet, having taken that brief moment of helplessness that he allowed Kurt without question when he needed it. His eyes didn't stray from that simple gray wall.
Rose was on the other side.
They couldn't reach her.
Kurt wanted to step forward, to touch that wall and wonder, achingly, whether the girl who had become family to him was touching the other side of it, wondering what had happened and whether they'd be coming back for her. He didn't, though. The Doctor was already there, leaning against the wall as if he could sink through it forehead first, eyes shut tight.
That was his right. His decision, his hurt, and Kurt wouldn't take that right from him though he'd have done literally anything to lessen the pain.
This pain was something he'd felt only twice before. Once when he was eight, once when he was sixteen, and now after losing someone he'd easily and quite proudly claim as a sister, loyal and infuriating and true. There were tremors running up and down his frame and Kurt wasn't sure whether they were from the exertion and adrenaline wearing off or from sheer anguish.
He wouldn't ever really know because he was freezing, freezing, freezing, spine to ice and bones to snow and breath to frost and he didn't know how he was still standing.
Kurt wanted to like Martha. Kind of. Mostly he just wanted Rose back and to hell with the rest of the world, Martha included. He was sure that she was a very nice girl. Kind of. She could be the prickliest, screechiest harpy for all he cared as long as long as she didn't do anyone in the TARDIS harm, most especially the Doctor.
In theory, anyway.
In practice it was a very different story because he kind of couldn't stand her.
He held his tongue through landing on the fucking moon because they kind of had bigger things to worry about than the Doctor finding a girl who was clearly considering schmoozing on him and he held his tongue through the Doctor's invitation for a trip because yeah, kind of not his time machine and not his place to really protest.
All of that had led to where they were now: preparing to leave with one extra guest.
"How about it, then? One trip to the past, one trip to the future?" the Doctor had asked, avoiding Kurt's widened eyes and shocked intake of breath.
"No complaints from me," Martha had shot back and Kurt fought the urge to pout because he was nineteen and nineteen year olds didn't pout. At least not where other people could see. Or maybe they did because Rose had pouted all the time, so maybe it was just Kurt who didn't pout. And there was the feeling that he'd never be whole again that he could only stave off by either screaming at the top of his lungs or putting himself into situations where he'd be running for his life.
Neither of those were particularly fun to indulge in so he'd taken instead to holing himself up in a back room, popping in his headphones and singing until he couldn't make another note.
He couldn't even look at Martha without something poisonous and wrong twisting up inside him like a sponge being wrung out, leaving him tired and hurt and angry by the end. He avoided her as best he could, a feat that was surprisingly difficult considering the size of the TARDIS and the fact that after all this time, Kurt liked to think that he knew the layout at least a little better than someone who had barely seen the command room.
He tried to not see the TARDIS materializing a room for her as a betrayal.
It had nothing to do with him, nothing to do with the fact that her very presence reminded him of everything she wasn't –blonde and ridiculous and so, so loved- and nothing at all to do with the fact that Rose's door, simple and clean just like her, had remained where it was. Kurt passed it every morning and rested his hand on the warm wood, said hello and goodbye and love and pain and why did you leave us?
He'd never opened the door.
It wasn't his place, not when he could see every single day the agony that showed on the Doctor's face every time Martha turned away, not when he knew that eventually, everything inside that room that she had touched would fade away because when the Doctor slept, as little as it was, he'd taken to seeking refuge in that room. Kurt wouldn't take that from him. Couldn't, not just because it was something that he couldn't do to a person he loved but because it would have disrespected Rose more than he could stand.
She'd loved them both but the Doctor had been hers and she had been his.
It was harder than anything to be in the presence of Martha Jones.
He was sure, really sure, that she was probably a very nice girl but right now, she wasn't winning favor from him and Kurt wasn't sure how much of that was because of her and how much of it was his heart, shattered just like the rest of him, hating everything about her that wasn't what he needed.
"Are you sure it's okay?" Martha asked, looking first to the Doctor and then to Kurt, who realized too late that he had his arms crossed, legs locked, stance defensive and wearing an expression that could only be described as ugly. He wiped it off, not fast enough to a Look from the Doctor.
"Yes, of course," the man said, smiling and adjusting his coat. Kurt had never hated him so much as he did then, "I wouldn't have offered if it wasn't."
Slam.
Kurt flung the door shut behind him when he dragged himself out of the main command room.
His breath was shallow and quick and upon looking at his hands, they were trembling. It was a minute shake but it was there and it was consistent and how long had that been going on? Long enough for Kurt to not notice the tremors, at any rate, which was disturbing for more than one reason. It was more disturbing than the fact that once again, his sleeping patterns had been shot to hell and that everyone else he knew, living in a tiny little town in Ohio, still thought he was off having the time of his life.
He hadn't been able to tell anyone, not that he was so desperately missing Rose but that now his dreams were filled not just with her but fire and screams and Torchwood One burning, people half-converted by those things dying slowly and painfully and begging for salvation and death and whatever might make the pain go away. Kurt found himself jumping at noises again, unsure of whether he expected to see something metal coming to kill him or a girl he'd never see again.
God.
He was falling apart at the seams and no one but the Doctor knew a thing.
Kurt didn't know if it was because he couldn't stand the truth or because he couldn't stand the pity, but he'd let everyone back in Lima keep their little delusions. Let them think he's happy, let them think he's safe, let them think that he had nothing to do with Canary Wharf and that he doesn't think about it every goddamned second. It would be better for them in the end.
Let them think he's playing a game, that a time machine can fix everything that's broken.
Kurt could take it; he was used to being broken. They couldn't.
It was long enough for Kurt to realize that the hallway was silent.
The TARDIS began to rumble and the familiar noise of takeoff was already sounding and Kurt resisted the urge to bury his face in his hands, forcing down the same sobs that threatened to take him over. The fear was so familiar that he could taste it.
No one was going to hurt him in the TARDIS, not the Doctor and not Martha Jones, and there weren't any conversion units or cybermen lurking around the corner. Kurt knew that much at least, though he knew little else.
The fear rushing through his blood stayed fast.
It was wrong, so wrong, and no one was okay.
Martha didn't know what to make of any of this.
It was wonderful, even just the idea of being able to travel through time but her companions…that was where things got tricky.
She'd never met an alien before but as far as they went, the Doctor seemed…terrifyingly normal. Oh, she knew in theory, had heard his two hearts and discovered the differences in the physiology, but the way he spoke, the way he looked… he appeared so normal. Maybe the normalcy was what scared her most, the fact that he didn't have tentacles or extra eyes or spines in weird places and if she hadn't actually known, she might not have really known.
Kurt, though…Kurt was the strange one. He'd clearly been around for a while; he didn't think too hard about where he was going in the TARDIS unlike Martha, who had to be guided to her room about three times and have instructions written down. He seemed normal enough, just a nineteen year old human kid younger than her, who had apparently been sticking around with the Doctor for a while.
Was he the type to just pick up people like it was nothing? Maybe, he'd certainly picked up Martha though it had taken some convincing to make it more than a one-time thing. He was a fascinating man.
And then there was the other side of things where it was clear that Kurt hated her.
It wasn't hard to tell, not when she'd meet his eyes and the only thing there would be hurt and fury in equal parts and Martha had no idea what she did wrong. Was he just an angry person? Was it something she did? It made things unbelievably awkward, especially when someone accidentally made the mention of Rose.
Rose.
The very name made her bristle at this point, because it made the Doctor flinch and Kurt even more reclusive and neither of them would be able to even look at her. It wasn't her fault that she wasn't there. It wasn't her fault that Martha couldn't be this perfect, beautiful person who was so clearly missed and loved.
Martha Jones thought that if she ever met Rose Tyler, she might slap her for the situation her absence had caused. That was a horrible thing to think, she knew. She didn't wish harm on Rose, a girl she'd never met, nor even so much as seen a photo of. She just wanted to know, in that way that she wanted to know everything about the world, what would make someone like her leave someone like the Doctor and what kind of person could leave a kid like Kurt such a broken mess.
Kurt was bleeding and it was no one's fault, but he was all too aware of so close, so close and hazel eyes and how the Doctor's hands shook with thoughts of what could have been as they bandaged him up.
The fear was the worst, he decided. For both of them. The fear of leaving and the fear of being left.
Martha couldn't understand and Kurt understood that she couldn't understand but he still disliked her fiercely for her confusion, for not knowing why the Doctor wasn't letting him out of his sight and why he'd resorted to touching every chance he got.
Things were wrecked, he knew. Wrecked in every way that mattered and they were still trying so hard to pretend like they weren't, like shoving puzzle pieces together that didn't fit. The Doctor had lost his balance, his equilibrium, the hand on his that balanced Kurt's on the other side. He lurched, leaning too hard, and then overcompensated by staggering in the opposite direction, leaving Kurt feeling smothered and abandoned by turn.
Martha couldn't understand why they fought so hard. Why they fought so hard to pretend, as if pretending could pick up some of the debris.
He did feel bad, a good part of him. She wasn't a bad person, and he was sure that if circumstances had been different, even a little bit, they could be friends. They were together here with the Doctor in common.
Kurt didn't want to be friends though, not without Rose.
So he managed as best he could with the Doctor's hovering and the things he wouldn't say and please don't leave me too. He squeezed the hands on his and tried to say as best he could without speaking don't leave me either and tried to let the hum of the TARDIS calm him down, because how could he possibly be calm when everything was so wrong?
He didn't sleep that night, wandering around for hours until finally giving in and heading into the control room. Maybe the Doctor would be working on something. Maybe something would be the way it used to be.
The room was empty, though, with no clatters of a wrench or squeaking bolts or rattling panels. Just the hum of the TARDIS. Kurt brushed a hand along a wall, thanking her for being consistent.
He wondered if the Doctor was holed up in Rose's room.
He wondered if he cried still.
Kurt did.
Martha was probably asleep, unaware of everything but the things she noticed.
With a shake of his head, Kurt removed a panel from the floor and slid in. He'd done enough work down there over the years that he knew what could be fiddled with and what not to mess with, and sometimes there was nothing to fix at all. Sometimes, he just needed to do something with his hands and his mind, to think about something that didn't matter just so that he could function the next day, and the TARDIS would let him know if he was starting something he shouldn't.
She always did, the dear girl.
It never failed; eventually his eyes began to droop and his movements went sluggish and eventually, he mustered up the energy to boost himself out of the flooring, curling up on the spotless floor underneath the coral spires and finally, finally managing to get some needed rest. It wasn't enough, it was never enough, but it was enough to manage if not thrive and Kurt thanked the TARDIS again for being home.
She was the only home he had, because the thought of asking to be dropped off in Lima made him sick to his stomach. He wouldn't be able to stand it. If he didn't fit in last time, how could he ever expect it to be any different this time around? Kurt Hummel wouldn't accept pity, not now and not ever, and there would definitely be pity. There was always pity for him and that was the last thing he wanted, not when it was hard enough to keep the pity out of his own head, for both himself and for the Doctor, and even for Martha for walking into this without knowing.
When Kurt woke up the next morning, it was to Martha nearly tripping over him with breakfast and the Doctor in a chair, an unreadable expression on his face and two plates of scrambled eggs in his lap.
Something would have to change.
It was three days later that the situation, simmering already, began to bubble.
The hovering from before had faded and the Doctor had backslid into something resembling polite blandness as if Kurt was the one on some temporary joyride, as if he hadn't been a constant presence since he was barely seventeen, as if he hadn't been saved, as if he ought to be grateful for being allowed in the TARDIS, much less allowed to live there for what would be and indeterminable amount of time.
The worst part was that underneath his own offended bluster and hurt (because the abandonment was always worse than the smothering), Kurt was grateful. Had always been grateful, for being given a home and a life and experiences that no one else he knew would be able to have. Had always been grateful for those people in his life, for the Doctor and for Rose and for Jack, who he still couldn't think about without wanting to cry. For being saved and given a chance to become someone better.
This felt like blackmail.
"Are you okay?" Martha leaned in closer and he swayed away from her outstretched hand that looked about to feel his forehead for fever.
"I'd be better if you'd get out of my face," he snapped in retaliation, feeling his stomach twist with hurt and guilt when she recoiled from him, look like she was regretting having even tried. He hated this. This wasn't the kind of person he was, the kind of person who took everything out on others when they didn't deserve it. And Martha hadn't deserved it, not from him, not when he knew –knew!- that she was only speaking from concern and the perspective of a doctor.
A real doctor, not a Time Lord who called himself one and didn't even know how to heal himself.
He opened his mouth to apologize but the Doctor beat him to it.
"You're out of line, don't you think?" he asked icily and Kurt shot him a glare in reply.
Butt out.
"Sorry, Martha. Don't know what's eating him—"
Oh.
Oh.
No.
No, no, no.
Kurt lurched to his feet and gathered the things spread out around him, a notebook that contained a few sketches of the local landscape and notes on what foods were safe to eat, his mp3 player, a piece of alien tech that he was pretty sure acted as some kind of supercomputer that he was trying to fix. He was angry enough that on another day he might have just dumped the lot of it into the waste bin for drama, but he didn't trust the look on the Doctor's face to not actually throw it all out. So instead, pulling back the tremor of hurt and replacing it with something brittle and bitter and nasty, he replied,
"At least I'm not a professional liar. Not even a good one, are you?" he bit out, gritting his teeth.
"Leave," the Doctor's frame was stiff and he was watching Kurt like he'd never seen him before, almost quivering with tension, "Just—leave the main room. There's no managing you when you're like this. Maybe you ought to stay in the TARDIS for this trip."
It wasn't a suggestion.
And if Kurt hadn't been so furious with the entire situation –loss and loss and pain and where did he even stand anymore and what was going to happen next?- he might have swallowed his feelings and apologized for the thing he wasn't sorry for.
Instead, he watched the two of them leave.
Martha looked back, worried and torn. The Doctor didn't.
The door of the TARDIS closed and Kurt bit his lip to bleeding to keep from crying.
And then everything boiled over like a pot with the lid on too tight.
Kurt didn't even know how it had started, probably with too many sharp comments and too little sleep and that constant feeling of fear, that any second the thread that held them together would snap like a daisy chain and he'd be as alone as he felt every second of the day.
It was all a blur of words and shouting and flung insults and it might have been therapeutic until a look that Kurt had never seen before crossed over the Doctor's face, an expression of such anger and pain that it shook him to his bones.
"Your father would have been so disappointed."
Kurt swallowed back the agony that hit him like a battering ram straight to his heart and instead of cowering back from the verbal blow that hurt more than any physical hit he'd ever received, lobbed one of his own in reply.
"And you think Rose would be any prouder of you?"
He hadn't been expecting how much that would hurt him too and he wanted to scream, watching the heartbreak flash over the Doctor's face because this wasn't him and the man in front of him wasn't the one who'd dragged him out of his hole and kept him from falling back in. The Doctor had become someone who would use Kurt's greatest source of shame against him when he knew exactly what it would do to him and Kurt... Kurt had become someone who would use Rose, someone they both adored with all of their hearts, as a weapon.
The Doctor wasn't moving and Kurt felt a heat slipping down his cheeks, hot and angry and guilty. When had he begun to cry?
He hadn't cried in front of the Doctor since the immediate aftermath of Canary Wharf. They'd had enough of their own grief to deal with; he hadn't wanted to put that on someone else who was hurting as much if not more than he was.
So Kurt cried after his nightmares, cried when he thought too much -because sometimes there was only blood and fire and screaming and fear-, cried in the floor panels of the TARDIS when no one was around, but hadn't shed a tear in front of the Doctor. He couldn't.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," he found himself sobbing, wondering how he could feel numb and have needles shooting up his spine at the same time, "I didn't mean it, I'm sorry."
Part of him did mean it, but not the part of him that said it.
The part of him that meant it just a little bit would never, ever have voiced such a thing.
The part of Kurt Hummel that would say such a horrible thing was the part of himself that he was ashamed of, that he tried desperately to keep from rearing its ugly head, the part of him that he had lost control of the second the Doctor had used the memory of his father against him. What had they become? Kurt couldn't see someone he loved standing in front of him right now, he saw someone he felt he had to defend himself from.
You didn't feel that way about someone you loved.
Except that there was love. There had always been love, so much love that had never left and that tore Kurt up inside every time he thought about how he wasn't enough, how the hole was so big, how he couldn't fill the spaces.
Fuck.
The Doctor's brown eyes had gone huge and wide and he looked near tears himself. He stared at Kurt from across the room and the silence was so heavy. Even the TARDIS had given up on her humming and had gone quiet.
That was it, then, Kurt thought suddenly. That was really and truly it. It was all over. The Doctor was going to kick him out -rightfully so, how could he have ever said such a disgusting thing?— and he'd be back in Lima or worse, dumped off somewhere he didn't know or in a time that wasn't his. How could he not?
A movement from the doorway and a clatter of sound distracted them both.
Martha stood there, silent as a statue. She'd been carrying a tray that had dropped to the floor and she didn't bother to pick it up. She looked as if she couldn't pick between confused, horrified, and shocked and finally settled on a mix of the three, glancing from the Doctor and all that he was to Kurt who hadn't so much as bothered to wipe his eyes. Her lip trembled.
Kurt moved first, bolting for the door, past Martha and through the halls that had become home.
His bedroom door, which he'd definitely closed that morning, was open and waiting for him and when he entered, closed behind him. The click of the lock he hadn't touched was the only thing he heard before the wave crashed down and the shock washed out of him to leave a bone-deep panic that left him breathless and his heart racing. Kurt couldn't move, couldn't breathe, couldn't do anything but sit on the floor of the only place he could call home and cry, gasps turning into whimpers turning into sobs until he was screaming.
He didn't notice the turning of the lock or when the door swung open again of its own accord and closed behind the tall, slim girl who had her hand raised to knock.
He didn't notice when she dropped the floor next to him, curled up into the smallest ball he could manage with his arms over his head, and wrapped herself around him as if that would somehow protect him.
She might have spoken, Kurt didn't know, because the only thing he knew was that he was going to lose his home. Again. Going to lose someone he loved. Again. And it would all be his fault. Again.
Because he couldn't keep his mouth shut.
Again.
It felt like forever before he was even aware that there was someone with him, before he recognized the feeling of a body at his back and a voice in his ear and that the door had been locked again. Martha was in here with him but the door was locked and not giving in to the person on the outside who was pounding on it with everything he could muster, Kurt couldn't understand his words.
"How'd you get in here?" he whispered, voice hoarse. He didn't trust her to hear him –didn't trust her at all, didn't, didn't- but she did, somehow.
"Dunno," she answered too honestly, so honestly that it hurt, "I was about to knock but then the door just opened."
There were drums pounding in Kurt's head and it was like being in a fishbowl. Certain sounds were sharper while others warped and twisted, allowing him to hear but not understand. He felt like he'd been turned upside down and shaken until all of his bolts had fallen loose.
"Don't let him in, don't let him in, don't let him in," Kurt babbled, hands gripping at the carpet, "I don't—he'll—"
I'm losing my home.
"I don't think the TARDIS wants him in here right now," Martha said quietly in his ear, rocking back a little to give Kurt his space, enough space to try and sit up and clear out his head. He hated how a part of him didn't want that, had liked the feeling of not feeling so alone even if she wasn't exactly who he wanted. It wasn't good to get used to things, he realized not for the first time. Get used to things, and it hurts all the more to lose them.
The words behind the door were becoming clear and Kurt flinched at every one.
Nevertheless, he dragged himself up enough to lean against his bed, sturdier than anything.
"Please," he called, still shaking with the aftershocks of sobs, "Please don't do this to me. I'll—I'll go, I won't fight you, just—g-give me a moment. I promise, I'm sorry." The noise got louder and he couldn't breathe again and Martha had gotten to her feet and approached the door. She didn't open it but instead leaned in closer and spoke lowly, rapidly, through the wood and out to the other side. Things went quiet and Kurt sagged against the bed. His hands were in his hair again, raking it out of place.
Martha was at his side again, pulling his hands away from his face and telling him to breathe. When he couldn't, she placed one of his hands on her stomach, taking deep breaths and he tried to follow her lead, forcing his lungs to take in the air he couldn't get otherwise. She might have said something, he didn't know.
Kurt Hummel was burning and freezing.
When his vision stopped blurring, there was a sound that made his heart stop right there.
The lock clicked and several things happened.
Martha sidled away from him and Kurt found himself making a panicked, half-terrified grab for her hand when the door flew open, but he didn't have time to do anything before the Doctor was dropping in front of him, pale-faced and horrified, and flinging his arms around him to bundle him up and crushing him close to his chest. The tears were coming again and despite everything, Kurt buried his face in the space between the Doctor's neck and shoulder, his hands fisting in the fabric at his back.
It wasn't a gentle hold.
If he hadn't needed it so badly, he might have hated it, cage-like and confining. Now, though, all he could do was grip back with all of his strength as if that could make the tremors running through the Doctor go away, feeling bruising fingers dig into him.
"We're going to talk," Kurt heard stilted words in his ear, "Soon. Sometime very, very soon."
"Please don't kick me out—"
"You're not going anywhere. I promise," the Doctor sounded steadier than he had in weeks, "Not unless you want to go. This is your home, Kurt, your home for as long as you want it. I told you that before and it hasn't—it hasn't changed. We'll talk when we're both calm. I think we've both been…avoiding a few things."
Understatement of forever, Kurt couldn't help but think and held him tighter because it didn't take a genius to see they were both falling apart. He needed this, needed to feel needed and wanted and needed to be touched.
Maybe the Doctor needed it too.
The door closed and it took Kurt longer than it should have to realize that that was Martha making herself scarce. He didn't move away though, just curled himself into the thin, lanky frame pressed up against him and tried to give as much comfort as he was taking, to try and apologize even though his words weren't working.
"We're going to try and make this okay. Somehow."
Kurt didn't know how it could ever be okay but he let the fingers gripping the nape of his neck do their best to convince him. For now, at least, maybe they could stop breaking each other long enough to put themselves back together.
Kurt felt calm for the first time in what felt like forever. His heart didn't feel like it was going to beat out of his chest and escape, though he'd be lying if he said he wasn't nervous.
This just wasn't really something they did. They'd never needed to before but he supposed that things changed. The game changed when they got to the point that they were willing to draw blood. It wasn't like they hadn't done the whole care-and-share before but it had been easier before, easier when Rose had been there as a buffer to ground them both even when they were at their worst. Because she always knew, somehow, when either of them were upset.
Kurt had thought that the worst had been anger. Instead, it was pain.
Martha had done a runner for the day, stealing the Doctor's wallet with a cheery wave and ducking out of the TARDIS amidst warnings to be careful. Kurt had even contributed one of his own and had rather enjoyed her expression of pleased surprise. He owed her if he had to think about it and if even he hadn't, he owed her the respect and good grace he'd give other people even if it was harder.
Kurt approached the kitchen table with two mugs of coffee and slid into a chair. The ceramic was warm in his hands and he took a sip, relishing the taste.
Uncomfortable was the only adjective to describe the Doctor just then, looking at if he was heading towards the chopping block.
"We really don't do this nearly enough for a healthy relationship, do we?" he asked suddenly and Kurt couldn't hold back the startled laugh that the question inspired in him. It was far too easy to go sober again.
"No," Kurt answered eventually, "I suppose we don't."
"It was easier wasn't it? I always complained about Rose being nosy, like a dog on a bumper, but…"
"It was easier," Kurt picked up, "A lot easier." The Doctor flinched and looked away, and it didn't occur to him to not scoot his chair over so that instead of being on separate sides, they were next to one another instead. For a while everything was silent, mostly because Kurt couldn't find the words he wanted. "It feels like there's a blizzard inside me," he offered, finally, "And it never gets easier." The feeling was a familiar one, complete with a sensation of drowning. "And it's so hard. Because I'm not like this. I'm not…mean to people."
And he had been mean. He had reasons, he knew, but reasons didn't make excuses and he wouldn't pretend to have any.
"I don't know how to get my bearings back," the Doctor admitted after deliberation. Kurt was honestly a little surprised. "Nine hundred plus years of travelling companions…this isn't the first time I've lost someone I've become attached to." And that was honest, ragged hurt in his voice that couldn't be faked.
Kurt found himself reaching under the table for his hand, giving it a squeeze.
"But Rose… she got me."
He could understand that.
"And I look at you and I just see everything. It's funny," he said with a self-deprecating smile that didn't fool anyone, "The good memories hurt more than the bad ones sometimes. And it makes me remember that forever is a stupid, impossible word."
"Is that why you do it?" Kurt forced himself to ask, "Why sometimes you can't even look at me? Like you don't…" Like you don't know who I am. The smile that passed over the Doctor's face wasn't a happy one, not at all, and he reached out a hand to brush his knuckles down Kurt's cheek.
"I look at you and you scare the hell out of me. I don't know what I'd do if something happened to you, but then at the same time, I can't help but wonder if it would be better if I just went solo for a while. I won't," he amended at Kurt's stricken expression, "But I won't lie that it's something I wonder about from time to time."
"Would it be…" Kurt whispered, "Would it be easier for you if I left?"
"No," the Doctor insisted, leaning forward and taking Kurt's cheeks in his hands, "It would most certainly not be easier. At all. In any way, and I won't have you thinking that it would. I promised you a home for as long as you wanted it and I believe you promised me hell or high water."
And all the tension sagged out of Kurt like water going down a drain. He couldn't control the ragged breath he took and he leaned forward to bump his shoulder against the other man.
"If I go…" he paused, "Distant on you, I want you to chuck something at me. I can't promise that it won't happen again, but I want you to get my attention about it. She wouldn't—" the Doctor chokes a little, just a tiny bit, "You were right. She wouldn't want this."
"I should never, ever have said that to you," Kurt couldn't hold back and it was all he could do to not launch himself forward for a hug, "Ever, in a million years. I'm so sorry." He lost his battle not seconds later and realized too late that kitchen chairs were really not suited to tackle hugs, but that was alright because the Doctor hugged him back, firm but no longer desperate.
"And I shouldn't have ever brought your Da into the matter. I'm sorry too. We both dealt out some low blows."
"Below the belt," Kurt agreed and slid back into his chair. "But we're…okay?" he asked even though he knew the answer. No, they weren't okay, but they could be. Would be if he had anything to say about it. And Kurt Hummel had everything to say about it.
"Aye," the Doctor replied, ruffling Kurt's hair out of order. It was good to see that familiar scowl, the one that was all bark and no fang, "We're fine."
This wouldn't be the last of these conversations, they both knew that much. Not by a long shot. It'd be like pulling teeth to get the Doctor to actually talk, and Kurt didn't even know where to start on his nightmares now but for now, things could be a little bit okay.
"You're gonna have to be nicer to Martha, though."
That was a topic for another day and the Doctor let it drop when Kurt averted his eyes and slowly nodded. They would talk about that eventually but not right now; there was enough that had been put on the table and the fact that Kurt hadn't protested the statement said more than any of his words might have. He wouldn't worry about it until it came up again.
"It feels a little like blackmail, sometimes," Kurt confessed suddenly, "And maybe that's me being paranoid about it. But sometimes…sometimes when you get upset with me, I feel like it's not too far a jump. I can't fly the TARDIS or…or any of that stuff. So there's really nothing stopping you from kicking me out if you want to. And sometimes, that makes me really scared. This is my home," he insisted. "It's the only one I've got."
The Doctor didn't look surprised, just a bit sad and more than a bit resigned.
"And I'll say it again as many times as I need to. It's yours for as long as you want it. It has been since the beginning and it will be to the end. I've got a pretty crappy temper sometimes and I'll say some really idiotic things. But I won't ever use that as a threat. It's not right. Okay? One step at a time."
Kurt just sat and breathed
"One step at a time," Kurt agreed, speaking into his coffee cup rather than out of it, still looking drawn and stressed but relieved as if a significant weight had been taken off of his shoulders. Perhaps it had.
They finished the drinks in silence. A contented one this time, though, not an awkward one.
"Shall we go find Miss Jones before she spends all of my money?" the Doctor asked, raking a hand through his hair and standing. "She's been worried."
Kurt quirked a single eyebrow as if to ask oh really?
Oddly enough, he could believe it now.
The Doctor nodded as if he'd actually spoken.
"Yes, quite a bit about you, actually." Smiling wry, he extended a hand. "Allons-y?"
Kurt stared at it for a few seconds but made up his mind, reaching out to take the offered hand and allowing the Doctor to pull him to his feet. Pointlessly, he dusted himself off even though the kitchen was spotless.
"Always," he confirmed, "Allons-y."
AN2: CHRIST, THAT WAS A VERITABLE OCEAN OF ANGST. God. Please leave a review if you liked this or even if you want to spear me with a trident for writing this. Let it be known that this was requested, in reviews and in private messages, at least twenty times. YOU GET WHAT YOU ASK FOR.